I shook my head. “Nothing. We were just talking.”
“And grinning. And giggling. And touching.”
“What? Look, Will, I am not denying he is all kinds of hot—”
Will spluttered.
“But he was just making sure I was auditioning tomorrow. He liked my zombie sketch.”
He sighed. “He’s a coach, Z.”
I frowned. “I know that.”
“A coach you were flirting with.”
I scoffed. “I wasn’t flirting. Or,” I said at his look, “if I was, he certainly wasn’t flirting back.”
I glanced at the table where Ben had found the other coaches. His muscular back flexed as he pointed at some papers on the table. None of the guys I knew looked like Ben. He was only three years older than me, but he radiated . . . confidence. Adulthood.
Will snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Zelda. Are you seriously that much of an idiot?”
“Hey!” I protested, knocking his hand away.
He shook his head as Jonas slid between us and flirtatiously elbowed Will who elbowed him back.
“Hi,” Jonas said to Will.
“Hi, yourself.” Will smiled.
For all intents and purposes, I had disappeared.
“What’s the holdup?” Jonas asked. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Zelda’s got her flirt on,” Will said, crossing his arms and moving a quarter inch closer to Jonas so their biceps and hips were touching.
“Don’t say ‘flirt on.’ ” I rolled my eyes. “You sound like Dad.”
“Whatever. Ben’s a coach,” Will repeated.
“I was just—”
“You were flirting with a coach?” Jonas asked, scandalized.
I folded my own arms and stared at the ceiling. “Just drop it. It’s nothing. He remembered my zombie sketch and liked it. That’s all.”
“Well,” Will began, “as your older brother—”
“Four lousy months does not make you an older brother. Girls mature faster anyway, so as your more mature sister—”
“Guys!” Jonas interrupted.
We looked at him.
“Isn’t anyone hungry?”
•
“Okay, RMTA! Are you ready for some improv?” Ben clapped his hands to get the crowd amped up.
The tables had been removed and the chairs reconfigured to face the stage. There were ten coaches—all guys—standing in a line. They introduced themselves, but as I whooped and clapped, surrounded by the other Gildas, my eyes were glued to Ben.
“As I’m sure you all know,” he said, fists on his hips, “improv is completely made up on the spot. You give us suggestions, we build characters and scenes out of thin air. We’re going to play a little, just for fun, and give you a chance to get to know us.” He dropped his voice and gave his fellow coaches a slow smile. “Hopefully we won’t embarrass ourselves.”
The crowd chuckled, and he stepped forward, chest first. “To start us off, I’d like a location where two people might run into each other.”
“Coffee shop!” someone yelled.
“I heard rocket ship!” Ben said. Over the laugher, he grinned. “Just kidding. Coffee shop!”
Half of the coaches jogged off in one direction, the rest in the other. They lined up in the wings on each side of the stage, facing one another—some standing, some bending over like they were preparing to pounce. Jenn, my coach back home, called this “clearing to neutral.” But Ben stayed where he was. I frowned for a millisecond. Why wasn’t he clearing to neutral with everyone else? The person who gets the suggestion doesn’t automatically start the scene . . . I glanced up and down the row I was sitting in to see if this was bothering anyone else, but everyone was either watching Ben or whispering to the person next to them. Huh. Maybe this is just one of those extra-polite things Jenn insists on, I decided.
“FredrickSON!” Ben bellowed. A couple coaches made brief eye contact, and one of them nodded. Then he hunched over and limped onstage to meet Ben.
“Yessir,” he said, his voice hissing like a snake.
I grinned. What a great vocal and physical choice. He reminded me of Dr. Frankenstein’s assistant, Igor.
“Ah. There you are, Fredrickson.” Ben whipped around to face him, miming holding a cup of coffee. “What is this?”
“Fredrickson” shuffled from one foot to the other, his eyes avoiding Ben’s. “Your nonfat, no-whip, skinny soy latte, sir.”
Ben huffed. “That was my order last week. The campaign is ramping up, Fredrickson. So what do I need?”
“Uh . . . a different order?” Fredrickson whispered.
“Of course!” Ben raged. He stomped in a circle around Fredrickson, who cowered a little more with each step. “I have speeches to give! Hands to shake! Babies to kiss! You think a nonfat, no-whip, skinny soy latte is going to fuel THAT?”
“Uh . . . no, sir?”
“Correct, Fredrickson!” Ben mimed dumping the coffee in the trash and then flipped something that looked like a dog treat into the air. Fredrickson jumped and “caught” it in his mouth. Like Fredrickson, the crowd ate it up.
“So . . .” Ben put his hands on Fredrickson’s shoulders and glared down at him. “What’s my coffee order this week?”
Fredrickson trembled. “A . . . full-fat, full-whip, whole-milk cappuccino?”
“With?”
“Those little shaved chocolate curlicues?”
“Aaaaand?” Ben tapped his foot.
“Ummm . . .” Fredrickson’s face twitched, and he lowered his voice. “If I guess right, can I have another treat?”
Ben stepped back, affronted. “Of course. What am I, a monster?”
I giggled and caught Sirena’s eye. We leaned our shoulders into each other’s and grinned.
“Of course not, sir. All right then, sir. A full-fat, full-whip, whole-milk cappuccino with chocolate curlicues . . .”
“Aaaand?”
It had to be something that made sense in the world of coffee but was also a little unexpected. My brain automatically started making a list: cinnamon, extra napkins, sprinkles—
“A twisty straw?” Fredrickson asked.
Perfect, I thought.
Ben patted Fredrickson’s head like a dog. “Who’s a good boy?” He threw another “treat” into the air, and Fredrickson twisted around to catch it in his mouth again.
The lights blacked out, indicating the ending of the scene.
We cheered and applauded as the lights came back up again. Ben grinned, soaking it all up.
“They were so good!” Emily said, leaning across Sirena.
I nodded, my chest swelling. I knew I belonged up there with them. And tomorrow, I was going to get a chance to prove it.
CHAPTER SIX
“Ah, the relief of nightfall,” Hanna proclaimed, banging open the screen door to Gilda Radner. She stripped off her button-up shirt, throwing it and her baseball cap onto her bunk. She examined her arms. “Now that I’m sleeveless, we won’t need a night-light in here. And bonus—if anyone wakes up to use the bathroom and gets lost wandering around in the woods, the glow of my arms will help you find your way home.”
Emily looked to Sirena. “Am I going to get lost in the woods?”
Sirena and I just smiled and shook our heads.
“With me around, there’s no chance of it.” Hanna threw her arms up in the air and slowly turned in a circle. “Boop. Boop. Boop.”
I glanced back at Emily. Her face was twisted with worry. Couldn’t Hanna see that her joke was making Emily tense?
Paloma kicked off her sandals and glared sideways at Hanna.
Hanna continued to boop and rotate. “I’m a bear-proof lighthouse.”
“Bears?” Emily bit her lip.
“Hanna,” Paloma warned her, turning on the wall-mounted heater by the door. “You’re making our new friends nervous.”
I was glad Paloma was here to temper Hanna. I wasn’t sure what to say.
Hann
a pulled flannel pants out of her suitcase and squinted one eye. “If all my jokes are albinism-related tomorrow, do you think that’ll make me more or less likely to get on the top team?”
Paloma pulled her hair out of her ponytail. “Ignoring you.”
Suddenly, Emily gripped the bunk and started taking in quick, shallow breaths. Before I even realized something was wrong, Sirena was at her side. “I breathe in one,” she said softly, a hand on her back, “I breathe out one. I breathe in two . . .”
Emily nodded, and struggled to match her breath to Sirena’s words.
“What’s the matter?” Hanna turned around. For the first time since I’d met her, she was completely serious. Paloma looked up from brushing her hair, startled.
Sirena held up a “one-minute” finger and continued counting for Emily. “I breathe out three . . .”
I exchanged a look with Paloma, and she snagged Hanna’s sleeve.
“I breathe in four,” Paloma said, raising her eyebrows.
Hanna and I nodded. “I breathe out four,” we said.
Paloma kept brushing her hair, and Hanna and I took her lead in not staring and changed into our pajamas. We continued counting breaths in and out for Emily until she released the bunk bed and stood up straight.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was really nice of you. I’m sorry I freak out, I just—”
“I’m sorry.” Hanna interrupted her. She twisted her hand around awkwardly. “Part of my albinism is my eyesight is pretty crappy, so I can’t always read facial expressions. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop.”
We all just sort of stared at each other with half smiles on our faces. Finally, I said, “I think we just had our first Gilda bonding experience.”
“You’re right!” Paloma exclaimed, reaching for her toiletry kit. “Let’s go brush our teeth, because then I think we’re ready for our next bonding experience: ‘My First.’ ”
“Dental hygiene be damned,” Hanna said, climbing on the bed and pulling Paloma down after her. “Let’s do this now.”
“My first what?” Sirena asked. She knotted her robe at her waist and sat on the bottom bunk across from Hanna and Paloma.
All pretense of us getting ready for bed was swiftly abandoned. Picking up her stuffed owl, Emily clambered next to Sirena, and I sat on the floor.
“Pick a category,” Paloma instructed. “Like, my first job. Then everyone says what their first of that thing was. I can start. My first job was babysitting the next-door neighbor’s twin three-year-olds. It was horrible. They used pee as a weapon.”
We all groaned, except for Hanna, who grinned evilly, clearly having heard this story before.
“Not sure if this counts,” I said, tapping my fingers on the floor as the groans died out, “but technically my first job was tutoring my slightly older brother in telling time.”
“This was last week?” Hanna deadpanned.
I chuckled. “Third grade. He got so angry when any adult tried to help him, so my parents told me they’d let me pick out five books at the bookstore if I could get him to learn to tell time.”
“Nerd.” Hanna coughed into her fist.
“Just wait until you hear what one of the books was,” I said, climbing onto my knees.
“Chess Strategies for Kids?” Paloma joked.
I shook my head. “Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child.”
“What? What were you thinking?” Hanna demanded, laughing.
I peered up at the ceiling. “It was really hard, teaching Will to tell time. That book was big. I think I wanted my money’s worth.”
“Did you go on to become a child prodigy in cooking?” Sirena asked.
I shook my head. “The closest that book ever got to the kitchen was on the seat of my dining room chair. I was a really short kid.”
I looked around at four beaming faces. My brain felt all buzzy and warm. I liked it here in Gilda Radner, I decided. I was glad we’d be staying together.
“My first job was super boring compared to Julia Child over here,” Hanna said, thumbing at me. “I just bussed tables at a brew pub.”
“I bussed tables!” Sirena exclaimed. “At my parents’ restaurant.”
“My first job was also working in Sirena’s parents’ restaurant,” Emily said, smiling at Sirena. “Washing dishes.”
“That’s how we met,” Sirena said. She glanced at all of us quickly, then back at Emily. Emily returned a tiny nod. Sirena took a breath. “Then we started dating like two months later.”
“Oh!” Paloma cooed, clasping her hands together. “That’s so nice! I had a feeling, but I’m so glad to know for sure.”
“That’s awesome,” I agreed. I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that I knew, their closeness made even more sense. I couldn’t help but ping a little with jealousy—they had a person, the way Will and Jonas had each other.
“Thank you,” Emily said, blushing. “My mom says we’re lucky to be both girlfriends and best friends. She loves my dad, but her best friend lives in Baltimore.”
“My mom likes to pretend we’re only best friends,” Sirena said, rolling her eyes. “But Dad’s cool. We’re working on Mom together.”
That sucked. I took a moment to be grateful for Will and my parents.
“Maybe you should tell her she should be happy about it because neither of you is going to accidentally get pregnant,” Hanna said.
Paloma moaned. “Hanna.”
Hanna looked at Paloma, shocked. “What?”
Sirena and Emily laughed, so I joined in. “I’ve tried that one, actually,” Sirena said. “No dice.” She took Emily’s hand. “It’s okay. It’s better than it was. And the guys on our team are . . .” She looked to Emily for the right words.
“Less grossly into us being together than they used to be?” Emily suggested.
Sirena pursed her lips. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Well, I think that sucks,” Hanna said. She threw up a hand. “You don’t suck. Let’s be clear, Paloma. The situation sucks.” She gestured to Emily and Sirena. “The situation should be if you two are happy together, everyone else should be happy for you. And not gross-happy.”
Sirena and Emily cracked a smile.
“We love the guys on our team,” Emily insisted. “And we love improv.”
Paloma nodded. “But just being a girl is hard enough without also being . . . Do you have a label you like?”
Emily beamed. “Thanks for asking.” She turned to Sirena. “Isn’t that nice? To be asked?”
Sirena chuckled, squeezing Emily’s hand and nodded. “Yeah, it is.” She looked at their clasped hands and smiled. “We like ‘gay.’ And ‘lesbian’ is fine, too. In certain contexts, ‘queer’ makes the most sense. Right, Em?”
Emily nodded. “I did have a boyfriend freshman year, and he was really nice to me, but dating him felt mostly just weird. Like I was playing a part? And then I met this girl during the play, and at first I was like, ‘She’s really cute. Oh my gosh, do I like girls?’ and then I was like, ‘Yes, I do, because, this is what kissing is supposed to—’ ”
Sirena coughed. Paloma and I caught each other’s eyes and grinned.
Emily giggled and leaned her head on Sirena’s shoulder. “Sorry! Sirena doesn’t love me talking about Bailey. I’m Sirena’s first girlfriend.”
Sirena shook her head and smirked. “Not true. Tiana in Princess and the Frog was my first girlfriend.”
We all laughed.
“Anyone else have a label they like?” Emily asked.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend,” Paloma said, gazing at the ceiling, “but I’m pretty sure I’m straight.”
“It’s a shame it’s such a long label,” Hanna joked, “because ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, but I’m pretty sure I’m straight’ doesn’t really fit on a T-shirt.”
“If you could manage it, I’d order one,” I said.
“Me, too,” Hanna said, pulling her shirt
close to her face. “Maybe if we make the font smaller . . .”
As the laughter died down, Paloma sat up straight. “How have we not talked about this yet? Five girls showed up here. Out of two hundred campers. And the Pauls are excited!”
“Yeah . . .” Hanna said slowly, straightening her shirt. “That worries me, too.”
Sirena reached for a large satin scarf in her robe pocket. “And we’re all here for the first time. Does no girl ever come back?”
“People get busy,” I said. “It could be just a coincidence.”
“Maybe,” Sirena said. She folded the scarf into a triangle and tied it around her braids. “But did anyone talk to you about not having a counselor? Is that related?”
We shook our heads.
“The freedom’s nice and whatnot,” Paloma allowed, “but it seems a little irresponsible.”
Now we were all leaning forward.
“I talked to one of the coaches,” I said, not mentioning Ben’s name on purpose. I mean, even with all this openness with the Gildas, after Will and Jonas’s reaction, I wasn’t sure there wasn’t another round of flirt-shaming in my future. “He was surprised that Laura—who was supposed to be our counselor—wasn’t here. The gig was super last minute, I guess.”
“Huh,” Paloma said, tapping her knee with her pointer finger. “I kinda wish she was. We’d have someone to answer questions, you know?”
“Like auditions tomorrow,” Sirena said. “Are we all going to make the upper-level teams because we’re good? Or because they need women?”
We were silent for a moment.
I sat on my hip and tried to channel Will’s encouragement from the car. “Come on,” I said, “we can’t think like that. We’re good. It’ll be fine. We’ll just go in, stay out of our heads, and be in the moment.”
Sirena exchanged a look with Paloma.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s just . . .” She sighed. “Sometimes, when I get an opportunity, I wonder—is it because I deserve it, or because I help fill a quota?” Emily took Sirena’s hand again.
I frowned. “A quota?”
Hanna smirked. “Yeah. Did they ask me to be on Student Council because I’m smart and have good ideas, or because vampire girl helps Student Council look diverse?”
Unscripted Page 4