License to Spill

by Lisi Harrison

  THEM: Who were those girls?

  ME: I dunno.

  THEM: Why were they so into you?

  ME: Dunno.

  THEM: Maybe it’s his cologne.

  (Annoying laughs.)

  THEM: Or those Wonder Woman cuffs he’s wearing.

  (More annoying laughs.)

  HUD: Seriously, dewd, what are those?

  ME: Heavy Metal Bands. The name is kind of Velveeta but they balance my arms so I can throw better.

  THEM: Aren’t they kind of heavy?

  THEM: And metal?

  COOPS: And band-ish?

  (This time I laughed too.)

  ME: They have that moisture-wicking stuff on the inside so they feel pretty good. I dunno. They were only $19.25.… Anyway, I scored eighteen points tonight so I guess they worked.

  THEM: Where’d you get ’em?

  ME: Online.

  I pulled up the Trendemic site on my phone and showed them.

  Feeling = Slicker than the Situation’s hair.

  THEM: One of your stalkers said she liked them.

  ME: Don’t say that word.

  THEM: What?

  ME: Stalker. I have one. It sucks. She stole my lucky sneaks.

  THEM: You have a stalker? For real?

  ME: Yeah.

  THEM: Sheridan?

  ME: No. She’s super cool.

  THEM: You into her?

  ME: We hang.

  They looked all impressed.

  THEM: So who’s the stalker?

  ME: Lily Bader-Huffman.

  COOPS: She’s kinda hot.

  ME: All yours, guy.

  COOPS: Thanks.

  HUD: Hope she’s into Darth Vader boots.

  COOPS: I got this boot protecting you, Princess, so watch it.

  THEM: How did you get to be such a player?

  ME: It’s those bands. I think they really work.

  THEM: No. The other kind of player.

  HUD: Yeah. Girls weren’t that into you in middle school.

  ME: I dunno.

  Feeling = I really didn’t. But my friends were talking to me again so I went with it.

  ME: I guess the high school ladies know a good thing when they see one. Hey, let’s see if these bands work for air hockey.…

  They did. I won seven games in a row.

  Saturday

  I woke up to a call from Anton. Last night I sold nine sets of Heavy Metal Bands and sixteen bottles of WhispHer for Him.

  Feeling = $2035.15 - $380.45 = $1654.70!!!

  Feeling = Take out the “l” in “player” and you have “payer.” I’m both.

  Sunday

  There’s a shoelace missing from one of my hiking boots.

  I told Mom they wouldn’t be safe outside. She didn’t believe me. She said only a crazy person would want those muddy old hiking boots.

  Feeling = She was right about that.

  10.27.12

  INT. BEDROOM—CLOTHES CLOSET—DAY.

  SHERIDAN searches for an appropriate costume for her first PAYING GIG. Overcome with emotion and overwhelmed by options, she sits on the closet floor, hugs her knees to her chest, and lifts her gaze skyward. A cityscape of clothing looms overhead. She feels like a TOURIST in Times Square; small, timid, poorly dressed.

  I seem to be channeling an animated mouse. Male for some reason. Dressed in a blue beret and red scarf. I’m all alone in the big city cowering from heartless pedestrians.

  CUT.

  Where am I even going with this? I need to stay focused on my shoot tonight.

  SHERIDAN lights some SAGE. She waves its cleansing smoke around her bedroom, hoping to rid herself of the negative energy brought on by ANDREW DUFFY.

  I went to the game last night thinking he only wanted to be friends and I left knowing it. Does it sting like the bite of a thousand bees? Worse. But I must channel an Olympic pole vaulter and get over it. I have two scenes tonight, neither of which calls for an extra with emotional baggage.

  To Be Continued…

  END SCENE.

  OMG, I have two scenes tonight!

  To Be Continued…

  END SCENE.

  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  To Be Continued…

  END SCENE FOR REAL THIS TIME.

  Oct. 27.

  Mother asks if I like the lamb chops.

  LIE #37: Yes.

  Q: Then why aren’t you eating them?

  LIE #38: I will.

  I scrape off the green jelly when she’s not looking.

  The chops still taste like toothpaste.

  Noodle doesn’t care. That dog Dyson’s up the minty meat fast as I can drop it.

  All done, I say. Then I stand.

  Not yet, Father says.

  I sit.

  Your mother and I have some bad news.

  I hope he says they’re going to jail so I can stop lying.

  He doesn’t. He says Governor Christie declared a state of emergency for New Jersey. Hurricane Sandy is expected to make landfall on Monday and we need to prepare for the worst.

  I’m not sure what “the worst” means. I I bite my fingernail anyway.

  Father tells me not to worry. He will do everything he can to make sure the annual Legacy Hygienics Halloween CarnEvil still happens.

  Mother says if we have to move it inside, so be it.

  I bite my thumbnail.

  Father reminds me that nail-biting is a sign of weakness. It shows that you’re nervous. That and rapid blinking will kill a negotiation.

  –Okay.

  I stand again.

  –Not yet, Mother says. I’d like to know what is making you so nervous.

  –I think I’m going to skip CarnEvil this year.

  They look at me like I asked to be emancipated for real.

  Q: Why? Father asks.

  A: I made plans with a friend.

  Q: What plans?

  A: Neighborhood stuff.

  Q: What kind of stuff?

  A: Going to houses, I guess.

  Q: You guess?

  A: I always go to CarnEvil so I don’t know exactly. Whatever normal people do on Halloween.

  Q: And we’re not normal?

  LIE #39: That’s not what I’m saying.

  (That’s exactly what I’m saying.)

  Q: What are you saying?

  A: I want to do something else this year.

  Q: Who is this friend?

  Q: What’s his name?

  LIE #40: Au—nette.

  Q: His name is Aunette?

  Q: Are his parents Eastern European?

  A: Aunette is a girl.

  Q: A girl?

  Dad refills their wine glasses.

  Q: Is Aunette your girlfriend?

  A: I guess.

  Q: You guess?

  A: Yes. Yes, Aunette is my girlfriend.

  It tingles when I say that because, other than the name, it’s not a lie.

  Q: Why haven’t you mentioned her before?

  Q: Or introduced us?

  Q: Or invited her to dinner?

  Q: Or to a Legacy function?

  LIE #41: No reason.

  (There are 41 reasons.)

  Q: How about taking her to CarnEvil? We’ll all ride together.

  (You’re in prison.)

  LIE #42: She doesn’t like crowds.

  (On death row.)

  LIE #43: She’s claustrophobic.

  (I live in a pet store.)

  Father exhales sharply.

  –The party is outside, he reminds me.

  –Not if Hurricane Sandy hits, I remind him back.

  Father looks at Mother like this is her fault.

  –Daniel, honey. You love this party. You always have, Mother says.

  –I know. But I want to hang out with my school friends this year.

  (Because I have school friends this year.)

  –Family first, Father says.

  –Family’s always first, I say.

  –Most kids would appreciate what
you have, Mother says.

  (Like Jagger.)

  So give my ticket away.

  Father takes the napkin off his lap and tosses it on his lamb scraps.

  Rosemary, I’ll take my brandy in the den.

  Then Mother says, Any girl who tries to come between you and Legacy is bad news and not worthy of a Ponnowitz boy. Do you understand?

  Yes, Mother.

  This time when I stand they let me leave.

  I go to my room and write the whole thing down so I remember my lies. That’s what I’m doing now.

  The crazy thing? Audri doesn’t come between me and Legacy, Legacy comes between me and Audri.

  That won’t change unless I tell her who I am.

  First, I need to decide who I am.

  Daniel or Jagger?

  Technically, I am both.

  Realistically, that won’t fly.

  Noodle is barfing outside my bedroom door.

  Mother just arrived on the scene.

  Daniel, why is your dog regurgitating lamb on the carpet?

  LIE #44: No idea, Mother.

  October 27th

  Mrs. Martin did not question my outstanding GPA or how I earned it. In fact, she fully supports my desire to make like Microsoft and Excel. She upgraded my classes to AP, constructively criticized my social media posts to make me more “likeable”82, and shared the credentials of past Phoenix Five winners83. Thusly, I was certain that Lily hadn’t told on me, so I was able to leave school yesterday with a scintilla84 of hope.

  #HurricaneSandy is trending right now because she is expected to hit land Monday. In an attempt to stay #relatable and #likeable I just Tweeted: Will be singing in the rain. #HurricaneSandy. With a link to the following playlist. (Get it? Singing in the rain? )

  Self Hypnosis—Positive Affirmations for a Better Life—The Subliminal Mind

  Green Eyes—Erykah Badu

  Forget—Lianne La Havas

  On & On—Erykah Badu

  At Your Best—Aaliyah

  Want U Back—Cher Lloyd

  Breathe—Blu Cantrell feat. Sean Paul

  Break My Stride—Blue Lagoon (radio edit)

  Big Girls Don’t Cry—Fergie

  Wide Awake—Katy Perry

  The A Team (by Ed Sheeran)—performed by Birdy

  One Step at a Time—Jordin Sparks

  Perfect—Pink

  I already got RT85 nine times86 and favored by thirty-six people87.

  O my G, @BlakeMarcus just this second Tweeted:

  @Vanessacharlotriley Epic list #greatmindsthinkalike.

  Mom and Dad are arguing downstairs about who dented the Nissan. Normally, I’d escape to the roof but it’s too windy. Not that it matters. I don’t even itch! Theory: Mrs. Martin has provided me with the tools I need to regain my #1 status. The promise of a better tomorrow has cured my allergies.

  I am a phoenix rising from the ashes! A butterfly emerging from a chrysalis! Teen Jesus!88

  Ver? Why put a label on it? For the first time in a long time there’s hope. That’s the real takeaway here.

  October 28th

  Mom found a plain white envelope under the welcome mat this morning. It was addressed to me. The note inside was typed with an old-fashioned typewriter. How Lily is that? It says:

  THE TRUTH WILL BE REVEALED.

  I’m done.

  Eyes darting. Can’t breathe. These threats are weighing heavily on me. I can no longer carry them alone. I need A.J.

  I’m back and breathing thanks to the empty bag of microwave popcorn I found under A.J.’s bed.89 Yes, Journal, I told him everything. His first question was, “Think she’s gonna tell on me too?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He kept shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards. It was working my last nerve. He said it helps him think.

  “Lily doesn’t want to turn you in.”

  “How do you know?” I asked while breathing into the bag.

  “I have a lot of experience with threats,” A.J. said. “She would have done it already.”

  “Then what’s with the notes?”

  “She wants an apology.”

  “For what?” I asked, even though I knew.90

  A.J. stopped shuffling long enough to flash Dad’s classic you-really-don’t-know smirk: head cocked, brows raised.

  Dear Lily,

  Happy belated Birthday. I wanted to extend my wishes when I saw you outside Mrs. Martin’s office but was afraid of getting snubbed. You see, I have been fragile lately and wasn’t sure I could take any more rejection. I am sorry for that.

  I am also sorry for not doing that thing I promised to do the night of Octavia’s party. It’s just that when Blake ditched me to hang out with you I was severely depressed and feared my skills would be compromised as a result. If only Blake and I were as solid then as we are today. But alas…

  That said, will you ever forgive me for “stealing him away”? I put quotes around that phrase because I imagine that’s what it feels like. I assure you, Lily, I had no intention of taking your place. You said you didn’t have feelings for him and I don’t think you were lying to me. I think you were lying to yourself. Only now it’s too late because Blake and I are sort of a thing. You probably know that, though, since everyone at school has been calling us Blanessa.

  Is this why you look so sad? I’d like to help you or at the very least, expose you to the teachings of Deepak Chopra. He has helped me swallow my pride so I can ask for forgiveness and I’m sure he can help you, too. I’m not doing this for any reason other than I really miss being your friend. Veritas.

  Please forgive me.

  Sincerely,

  “Fine.”

  I decided on a handwritten apology because Ms. Silver says emails siphon the sentiment out of correspondences. So I will transcribe the following onto my VCR91 embossed stationery and deliver it tomorrow at school.

  I just proofed this twice. I’m going to transfer it onto my stationery and then spend the day listening to the rain, drinking caramel lattes, and getting ahead on my homework. I hope A.J. is right about this. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

  Monday, October 29, 2012

  At first I didn’t care how dangerous Sandy was going to be. I wanted to wrap my loving arms around this Frankenstorm and thank her for keeping me out of school.

  Now I’m not so sure. The winds are 80 miles/hour. I can’t even see into Duffy’s bedroom window because the rain is so thick. They say it’s going to get worse in the next few hours, which means I can’t do that thing I swore I wouldn’t do anymore but still want to, because I can’t go outside. Also because I shouldn’t. I did it yesterday morning and it made me feel pathetic for the rest of the day. It should be noted, though, that while doing it I get a rush. Something about sneaking up to the house and—

  Power just went out.

  October 29th

  School is canceled because of Hurricane Sandy, thusly, I can’t give my apology letter to Lily. I ha—

  O my G! A tree branch just smacked my window92. I can’t take this anymore. Forgive me, Ms. Silver, for I am about to sin by emailing said apology to Lily. I have no choice. I need to know that she forgives me. My nerves can’t live like this.

  I proofed the email. Ready to hit “send.” 1… 2…

  Power just went out!

  Sandy or Lily?93

  Can’t breathe.

  10.29.12

  INT. SPENCER HOME—BASEMENT—SURVIVAL MODE—LATE AFTERNOON.

  The HOUSE shakes. ELECTRICITY is out. The FUTURE is uncertain. SHERIDAN stuffs her MOUTH with CHOCOLATE CARAMEL CORN to avoid screaming, “I’m not ready to die!” MOM and DAD hover around the emergency radio. The TWINS slice the darkness with blue LIGHT SABERS. SHERIDAN steadies her quaking hand by putting quill to paper.

  Candlelight flickers against the pages of her JOURNAL. Like waves, it undulates and sways, reminding SHERIDAN that her longtime battle with motion sickness is far from over. Nauseated, she moves away from the flame a
nd turns on her PHONE, then the flashlight app.; 11 percent battery power remains. She must tell her story with haste.

  It begins with a wide-eyed girl and a dream. Shoot. Battery at 10 percent.

  FLASHBACK.

  EXT. SEASIDE HEIGHTS—BOARDWALK—SATURDAY EVENING.

  The Atlantic Ocean looks silver under the darkening clouds. Wind blows through the deserted carnival with ease. There aren’t any crowds to navigate or whirling rides to change its course. The approaching storm has transformed this “Home for Family Fun since 1913” into a ghost town. SHERIDAN, driven by unwavering passion and the need for TV credits on her resume, will not be deterred.

  Ivy led me straight to the table inside the registration tent marked EXTRAS. My name wasn’t on the list, but attendance was low because of the weather so I was given a CAST sticker and told to make myself comfortable. My eyes pooled with tears.

  Don’t be bummed. (Ivy to me.) I’m sure some dumb PA forgot to give the extras coordinator my message. But you’re in now, so…

  Bummed? No, I’m excited. (Me.)

  “Excited” was a superlative understatement. I felt like an alien who, after fifteen years of searching the universe, had finally come home. I wasn’t channeling an alien, though. I was channeling Samantha Boscarino from the Nick show How to Rock. Not Molly, her character, and not her body because she’s a carrot, not a pear. Really just Samantha’s effortless style, which always seems to say, “Anyone up for a boardwalk stroll?” I was hoping that my knit cap and striped sweater would allow me to blend into the crowd, but at the same time poke out just a bit. Because that’s the line an extra has to walk; a fine one indeed.

  Personally, I thought I’d nailed it until Paige, the extras coordinator, said, “Lose the stripes. They stutter.”

  Really? They sounded fine in rehearsal. (Ivy. Joking, o’course.)

  But I wasn’t in the mood. All the T-shirt shops were closed and I didn’t have options. I assumed my big break was broken until Ivy gave me a gray sweatshirt.

  I declined. Politely, o’course. Sorry, but I can’t pull it off. Gray makes me look flu-ridden and sweatshirts box out my curves. I’d be fine with it if I was playing a character who wore unflattering clothes, but this is reality.

  So? (Paige.)

  So, I’m supposed to be real. (Me.) And I would really never wear gray.

  Paige laughed. You think this show is real?

  I nodded yes. She fixed her eyes on mine, like fine print she was trying to read. Oh honey, no. We have writers and wardrobe stylists and editors—all kinds of professionals who get paid to make this cast seem interesting. Reality is the nap they took this afternoon, before the cameras got here, and who wants to watch that?