“The one about the clocks stopping, right?” I slid my arm around his waist so we were standing side by side, watching Will and Jonas turn various shades of beet and tomato.
He nodded. “That’s what I wanted: to ‘pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.’ ”
“Even though you had Will.”
“Even though I had Will. But then I met your mom.”
“Pregnant with me,” I inserted.
“Pregnant with you,” he agreed. “And I felt so sorry for her. Losing your father—I knew what it was to be too young to be widowed. But I was too tired and too sad to help.”
“But she wanted to help you,” I said.
“She wanted to help Will,” he corrected me. “He was the only thing that gave her peace. Made her smile.”
“Until I was born.”
“I’ve told you this story once or twice, have I?” He squeezed my shoulder.
“I like this story,” I said, leaning into him. “Keep going.”
“Well then, you know that your mom went into labor during one meeting of our grief group. The old ladies took baby Will and told me to go with your mom. I didn’t think I could—but she looked me in the eyes and said—”
“ ‘You are doing this for me, dammit,’ ” I interrupted.
He laughed.
“And that was the beginning of everything,” I finished.
He reached for the brim of his cap. “Not . . . quite.”
I looked up at him skeptically.
“That wasn’t the moment when there was no turning back,” he said. “I’ve never told you this next part . . .”
I pulled away and faced him, frowning. “What else is there?”
“Zelda-belle.” He exhaled sharply, folded and unfolded his arms, then took my hands. “Your mom loved Will, and I . . . I couldn’t take the sadness anymore. I was thinking about . . .” He raised his eyebrows, willing me to fill in the blanks.
Frowning harder, I cocked my head, trying to find the answers in his face. Then a cold wind swept over my body. Did he mean . . . he was thinking about killing himself?
He must have seen the shock of comprehension on my face because he smiled sadly. “Grief, no sleep, no family nearby—I felt hopeless. It’s not an excuse—it’s . . . an explanation.”
Stunned, I shook my head. “Then what?”
“Then you slid out of your mother’s body—”
“Gross, Dad.”
He smiled and began to tear up, “Not gross—magic, baby. You were magic.”
He gathered me in his arms, and I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar warm Dad-ness. “You raged, entering this world. You demanded the name of the person who so rudely evacuated you from your nice, warm home. There was going to be hell to pay . . . And I saw a sliver of sunlight. You kicked and screamed a crack into my burrow of sadness. And I loved you for it.”
Now I was tearing up.
“You saved my life,” Dad said, “you and your Zelda magic. I didn’t know I loved your mother yet. I wouldn’t know for a while. But I knew I loved you. You are inherently lovable. Without trying. So forgive me,” he said, looking around, “if I’m a little worried about all of these boys.”
I hit him again, and he gathered me back into his arms.
“That is not the same, and you know it,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder and disappearing into his embrace. I knew he was okay now, but I hugged him extra tightly, as if I could infuse him with more Zelda magic, whatever that was.
“Promise me,” he said, pulling back from our hug, “promise me you’ll be careful. And remember the prime attack zones: spectacles and testicles.”
“Goodbye, Dad,” I said loudly. He grinned and held me one more time, chin resting on top of my head.
Then Will and Jonas freed themselves from my mother and hugged Dad, too.
The three of us watched them both walk over to the passenger side of the car and laugh, Dad forgetting it was his turn to drive. He shook the keys at us as he rounded the car, then in a parting gesture to me, pointed at his eyes, and with a weird sort of head movement, nodded toward his belt line.
Spectacles and testicles. I shook my head and grinned. Hilarious. And then the Subaru turned over, Mom blew us kisses, we all waved one more time, and my parents were gone.
CHAPTER THREE
I dragged my duffle bag, backpack, and heavy suitcase up two wooden steps onto the well-worn porch of Gilda Radner cabin and huffed, catching my breath. Suddenly, faced with the prospect of meeting my fellow campers, this whole improv camp thing was becoming very real. I took some slow, deep breaths (both due to the altitude and in an attempt to soothe my nerves). I thought about pulling out The Scene Must Win for advice, but I worried that might make me look weird. Plus, I realized, I had Jane Lloyd’s rules of improv practically seared to my brain:
Trust Yourself.
Trust your Scene Partner.
Say yes. Even better, say yes, and . . .
Perform at the peak of your intellect.
Make statements and assumptions.
Raise the stakes!
Balance giving and taking.
Make active choices.
Be in the moment.
I loved the rules of improv for improv, but they were also really great rules for life. The one that best fit my current situation, I decided, was, “Trust yourself.”
You can do this. I scanned the exterior of the cabin. It was comprised of logs stacked horizontally and painted dark brown, windows with wooden crossbars, and a well-used screen door.
I pushed open the screen door with my free hand, my eyes sweeping around the cabin as I hauled my luggage over the threshold. There were eight metal-frame bunk beds, a single bed (presumably for our counselor), and a dresser. Along with the wide floorboards worn smooth with time, this place felt like a cabin from the old version of The Parent Trap.
A giggle alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t alone. Two sets of feet poked out from underneath a bunk bed: one clad in cheery-pink flats, the other in strappy leather sandals.
“Uh . . . need some help?” I called, abandoning my luggage just inside the screen door.
In quick succession, a thump, a yelp, and more giggles came from under the bunk bed as two people wormed their way back out.
The strappy leather sandals belonged to a tall, brown-skinned girl with long braids and glasses. She rubbed her head where she had hit it on the bottom of the bunk. “Hi,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m Sirena. And uh . . . We’re not always hiding under the bed when we meet new people.”
I chuckled. “Just sometimes?”
She laughed and thumbed in the direction of her much shorter, pink-shoed, pink-cheeked, blond friend. “Just when we’re pretty sure we brought this CD and neither of us can find it.”
“CD?” I asked, tilting my head. “Like a physical . . . disc? With music on it?”
Sirena’s pink friend swept her bangs out of her face. “A physical disc, yes. But not with music on it.”
“It’s fifty-seven minutes of Pacific Coast whale sounds,” Sirena said. “Emily thinks it’s equal parts calming and hilarious.”
“A whale sounds CD?” I couldn’t let it go.
Emily shook her head, smiling. “I know, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Sirena and I said together.
“I’m just kind of surprised,” I said. “It . . . do you have a CD player?”
“One.” Emily picked it up off the bunk. It was a couple inches thick, a little bigger than a CD itself, and bright yellow. “My mom’s old Discman. But we don’t mind sharing.” She turned to Sirena, beaming.
Sirena plucked a dust bunny off Emily’s shoulder, showed it to her, and they shook their heads, laughing again.
“Maybe the CD’s in the van still?” Emily wondered, dropping the Discman on the bed and combing her fingers through her hair, searching for more dust. Then she stopped. “Is that same van coming back to get us all? In two weeks, I mean? Or is
Pacific Coast Whale Sounds lost forever?”
Sirena started picking dust out of her braids. “It’s not in the van, because I was looking for it then, too. I totally needed it to distract me with Erick and Ty back there snoring away like a two-man lawnmower parade.”
Emily threw her head back, laughing.
I realized I hadn’t really introduced myself yet, but they didn’t seem to notice. Sirena abandoned her braids and lolled her head to one side, imitating their snoring. Emily laughed so hard she clutched her waist and moaned, “Side ache!”
I smiled. Physically, these two were opposites: Sirena was a whooping crane to Emily’s chickadee. But they belonged together.
“I’m Zelda . . . from Minneapolis.”
They both looked at me like they’d forgotten I was still there. Quickly, though, Emily flopped down on her bunk which, in addition to the Discman, sported her sleeping bag, pillow, and a stuffed owl that looked like she had been sleeping with it since she was a baby. “I’m Emily. Oh, wait. Sirena already said that.” She laughed a little and Sirena just smiled and shook her head, joining her on the bed. “We’re from Denver. We came here with our whole team.”
“Really?” I asked, plopping down on the bunk across from them. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah. It’s me and Sirena, and the guys are all in Eddie Murphy. Until after auditions.”
Sirena pulled a backpack into her lap and poked around in it. “Thank god we have each other,” Sirena said, pulling out some gum. Without asking, she tore a piece in half and handed it to Emily who wordlessly unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. “I mean, we love our team, but sometimes those guys are idiots.”
“Really?” I asked.
Sirena chuckled. “I don’t think they mean to stereotype us—they just don’t think. But I can only be Harriet Tubman so many times, you know? Emily’s taken to starting every scene as a pilot.”
Emily bumped her shoulder. “Not every scene . . . Sometimes I’m a cop.”
I laughed.
“Or a neurosurgeon,” she continued. “Otherwise, they make me somebody’s mother. Every time. The minute you’re kind of chubby and a girl, that’s all you’re good for, apparently.”
Sirena elbowed Emily. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
Emily smiled shyly.
Sirena looked at me over her glasses. “You know what the guys call it when the two of us are in a scene together?”
I shook my head.
“ ‘Chick-prov.’ ”
I frowned. “Then when guys do a scene together, do they call it ‘Dick-prov’?”
Emily gasped a little, choking on a laugh.
“That,” Sirena pointed at me, “is genius.”
I smiled and tucked one of my legs underneath me on the bunk. “I’m just here with two guys from my team—one of them’s my brother.”
“Oh, wow! How’s that? Performing with your brother?” Sirena asked as Emily combed her fingers through her own hair, still apparently on the search for rogue dust particles.
“It’s good. We get along really well . . . mostly.”
Emily smiled.
“Who’s older?” Sirena asked.
“He is, but just by four months.”
Their confused look is one I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. “It’s a second marriage for both of our parents,” I explained. “So we’re not twins, but we’re in the same grade.”
They nodded slowly.
“So . . . you two just picked a bunk?” I asked, eyeing the one by the window.
“Yeah,” Sirena said. “The Eddie Murphy counselor told our guys to sleep anywhere since everyone’s getting switched around after casting, but we haven’t seen the Gilda Radner counselor yet.” She shrugged. “We figured it probably wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Well, Sirena figured it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Emily amended. Apparently satisfied she’d picked out all the dust, she started braiding her hair over her shoulder. “I was sure we were going to get into super big trouble or whatever, but—”
“But I finally made you see reason.” Sirena smiled, handing Emily a hair binder for her braid.
Emily smiled back, taking it.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assured her, needlessly pulling at my own curls. “And if it’s not,” I said, “I’ll take the blame.” I put on a voice. “Emily tried to hold me back! She pinned my arms to my sides with her exceptional strength, but she was no match for me . . . The Incredible Hulk of Unpacking!”
They laughed. Sirena nodded a thank-you at me. I smiled and retrieved my luggage from near the screen door. After throwing my backpack on top of the bunk by the window, near Emily and Sirena’s, I unzipped my duffle and pulled out my sleeping bag and pillow.
“So,” Emily said, picking up her stuffed owl and tucking it into her lap. “Are you the only girl on your team back home?”
“What?” I released my bright turquoise sleeping bag from its compression sack and arranged it and my pillow on the mattress. “No. There’s like . . . I don’t know. Half my team is girls, I think. My coach is a woman, too.”
“Lucky,” Sirena said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, I don’t really have a problem with our guys,” I said, trying to decide what to do with the stuff in my suitcase. “We actually do a lot of sketches, and I write most of those . . . I don’t know. Maybe with our coach being a woman and all those girls on the team . . .” I decided everything else could stay in my suitcase under the bed since I was probably moving tomorrow anyway. “Maybe she just shuts that sexist stuff down without us realizing it.”
“You are super lucky,” Emily said. “Our team needs some serious help. Like from Oprah.”
I grinned. “Oprah?”
Sirena raised an eyebrow. “Emily thinks Oprah can solve anything.”
I squinted. “You could do worse than to love Oprah, I guess. What—she built a school, created a publishing boom, launched a media empire—”
Emily interrupted me. “She’s smart. And brave.”
“Too bad she isn’t here,” I said, sitting on the bed across from them.
Emily and Sirena offered me identical quizzical looks.
I smiled. “Cuz I bet she could find your CD.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I can’t believe I left the schedule at home!” Emily moaned on our trek to the Main Lodge. I had assumed there would be cell reception, so I’d left my paper copy at home, too. We had been walking three wide, but the dirt path narrowed, so I dropped back.
Sirena put her arm around Emily’s shoulders, and Emily peered up at her like a flower seeking the sun. Sirena’s voice was so gentle, I almost missed it. “All you need to know is the next thing on the schedule, right?”
Emily bit her lip a little and nodded.
Sirena hip-checked her. “Well, then, I’m sure we can beg someone to tell us when it’s time for dinner.”
I took two quick steps to catch up to Emily’s other side as the path widened again.
“And short of that,” I assured her, “I’m really good at sneaking food out of kitchens.”
Emily flashed me a small smile and nodded. “I just don’t want to be late. Or get into trouble.”
Sirena gently tugged on Emily’s braid. “We’re not going to get into—”
But Sirena was interrupted by a voice that sounded like a DJ announcing the bridal party at a wedding reception. “Paloma! Do you hear that? Real. Live. Actual. GIRLS!”
All three of us jerked our heads to the right where two girls were dragging their luggage down the intersecting path toward us.
Sirena and Emily and I waved and walked over to meet them halfway. As we drew nearer, I couldn’t help but stare at Announcer Girl. Her skin was white. But not white-person-white. Not pink-ish or olive-ish or even just super pale. Actual White. At first, I didn’t notice her hair because she was wearing a baseball cap, but when I looked more closely, I realized her ponytail was white, too. She wore dark sun
glasses, jeans, and a light gray long-sleeve button-up shirt layered over a striped tank top.
I felt like I was staring at this shockingly white girl forever, which felt rude, so I smiled. “I’m Zelda.”
“Zelda!” she spluttered. “Is that seriously your name? Holy god, I thought I was going to be the one to stand out, but you? You’re named after a video game about an elf!” She took a step closer to me. “And that hair! It’s so curly! Geez. I bet people want to pull it and watch it spring back all the time. That would annoy me.” Before I could respond, she turned her attention to Sirena and Emily. “Are you two named after video games, too?”
Her friend, shorter and olive-skinned with bangs and long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, put a hand on her arm. “Hanna,” she warned, “we want them to like us.”
Hanna waved her away. “They’ll like you, Paloma. You’re going to take care of us all. And they’ll like me, too. I can tell. We’ve been talking for two whole minutes, and no one has called me an albino yet.”
I choked on the words in my throat.
Hanna’s friend rolled her eyes. “Hi. I’m Paloma. Please excuse Hanna. She’s actually very nice once—”
“Actually?” Hanna protested, dropping her backpack on the ground and putting her hands on her hips. “I’m actually very nice? I’m already being extremely nice.”
Paloma grabbed Hanna’s arm and marched her a few steps away from us, her voice low and full of reprimand.
I turned to Emily and Sirena, who were both staring at Hanna with their mouths open a fraction of an inch. It looked like they were trying to translate what she was saying from another language.
“She’s a little intense, huh?” I muttered.
That snapped them both out of their staring. Emily crossed her arms over her chest and Sirena exhaled sharply, tucking her hands in her pockets. “A little,” Sirena admitted.
Before we had a chance to regroup further, however, Hanna sighed. “Okay!” she huffed at Paloma, putting her hands up defensively.
I tried to exchange a look with Emily and Sirena, but they were already having their own wordless conversation.
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