Unscripted

by Nicole Kronzer

  Finger-flipper stepped forward. “185 lawyers walk into the bar. The bartender says, ‘We don’t serve lawyers here,’ and the lawyers say, ‘Objection!’ ”

  The crowd was warming up now. I started to step out, but Crotch-grabber stepped in front of me. “. . . And the lawyers say, ‘We’ll be brief!’ ”

  I jumped out again, but Finger-flipper cut me off. “And the lawyers say, ‘We’ll be the judge of that!’ ”

  I was out before Finger-flipper even finished his joke, but Crotch-grabber was already talking. “185 lawyers—”

  The crowd began to murmur in response to the tension building between the three of us. Some guy yelled out in a falsetto voice, “Get it, girl!” A bunch of guys laughed.

  Now I looked out at the crowd. I spotted Emily and Sirena and Hanna and Paloma, urging me on with their eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek. Crotch-grabber delivered his punchline.

  I hesitated. Crotch-grabber and Finger-flipper looked at each other and grinned. One of them turned to me in a sort of courtly bow. The other mirrored him.

  I could feel my cheeks flush. My heart was a hammer against my sternum. They’d taken all of the low-hanging-fruit jokes. There weren’t any lawyer puns left. I looked to Ben to switch the occupation. It was clearly time. Roger leaned over to Ben, probably to tell him the same thing. But Ben shook his head. He glanced up at me like we were strangers. He clicked his pen and waited.

  I stepped forward. The crowd cheered. I searched for Will, but he and Jonas hadn’t returned yet.

  “185 lawyers walk into a bar,” I began.

  Jenn, our coach back home, tells us anything can sound like a joke if you sell it like it’s a joke.

  I increased my volume. “The bartender says—” I racked my brain for lawyer puns: defendant, prosecutor, bailiff—“ ‘We don’t serve lawyers here,’ ”—opening statement, verdict—“and the lawyers say—”

  My brain popped. It was empty. Totally empty.

  I backed up. “And the lawyers say—”

  “That girls aren’t funny,” Crotch-grabber muttered only loud enough for everyone on stage to hear. The performers snickered.

  I shuddered an exhale, but with my full voice, boomed, “The lawyers say, ‘We’d like a lawyer because we’re going to sue you.’ ”

  Next came the last sound any improviser wants to hear: polite applause.

  The scene was called, and I was furious. Furious at Ben, at those asshats, and at the three other guys who didn’t step forward at all. And mostly at myself for going blank up there.

  I couldn’t just walk out of the Lodge, even though I wanted to. Then they’d win. I sat carefully in my folding chair. Will and Jonas were still gone and, assuming they’d stopped Jonas’s nosebleed, were probably making out somewhere. Sirena and Emily were in the next group.

  Crotch-grabber and Finger-flipper didn’t say anything to me as they took their seats. They didn’t have to. They knew they were in my head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I had to show my face at lunch. The Gildas invited me to sit with their teams, but I sat with Jonas and Will instead because they didn’t know about the one-liner disaster. I wanted to be in a space where I could forget it had happened.

  The third time Jonas kicked me under the table in an effort to slide his foot next to Will’s, however, made me shift into lunch-inhaling mode. Once I disappeared my soup and sandwich, I pulled on my stocking cap and said, “I’m going for a walk. Shake off the morning.”

  “Team lists are up in an hour, right?” Jonas asked. At my nod, he turned to Will and gave him a secret smile. “Do you want to ‘go for a walk,’ too?”

  I messed up Will’s hair as a parting gesture and took the steps two at a time down to the main path. Inhaling the pine scent (and any air, really) as deeply as I could, I turned in the opposite direction from the cabins. Time to explore this place a little.

  A couple minutes later, the dirt path narrowed, and the trees grew denser. They were skinny and white and looked almost like birches. Birds chirped and the wind cooled my skin. I pulled the flannel out of my bag, put it on, and buttoned it up.

  You can do this, I told myself. Improv is your thing. This is where you belong. Maybe you’ve been coddled too much back home. This is the real world. Time to toughen up.

  I jumped up and down a few times and shook out my hands.

  “Hi.” A low voice startled me, and I whipped around.

  Three guys who looked about my age in matching navy blue T-shirts and khaki cargo shorts smiled back at me.

  “Sorry,” two of them said.

  “We didn’t mean to scare you,” the one in front continued. He had a warm grin and dark brown skin and big brown eyes for days.

  “It’s—I’m fine,” I stammered, both because of the surprise, and how cute he was. “Just—I, uh—”

  “Are you lost?” A white guy behind him popped out. The sun glinted off his braces and his red hair.

  “No, I’m—sorry. Um. I’m just thinking. You startled me. You’re . . . Boy Scouts? There’s a camp nearby, right?”

  They nodded. The redhead stepped off the narrow path. “Are you sure you’re not lost?”

  The cute guy smiled. “Don’t listen to Murph. He’s trying for his orienteering merit badge—”

  “And I’m this close!” he exclaimed, holding up two fingers an inch apart.

  “He’s not that close,” the cute guy whispered loudly.

  My laugh felt different here than it did back at auditions. Freer.

  “I’m Zelda,” I said. “I’m . . . uh, at improv camp.”

  They nodded. “We gathered that,” Murph said. “You being a girl and all.”

  I blinked.

  “We’re Boy Scouts,” he continued. “No girls. Well, except the nurse. And we know her.”

  “Of course!” I exclaimed. Geez. How stupid was I?

  “I’m Jesse,” the cute guy said. “That’s Ernest Murphy.” He pointed at the redhead. “We call him Murph.”

  “Because naming a kid ‘Ernest’ is cruel and unusual punishment,” Murph said, rolling his eyes.

  “I have a great-uncle named Ernest,” I countered.

  “Is he a hundred years old?”

  “Well—”

  “Case closed.”

  Jesse and I caught each other’s eyes and grinned.

  Murph pointed behind him. “This last guy doesn’t matter, so—”

  “Hey!” the third guy exclaimed.

  Everyone laughed again.

  “Ricky.” A dark-haired guy with olive skin and glasses reached out and shook my hand. “Sorry.” He pointed at the dirt on his hand and tried to wipe it off on his Boy Scout–issued shorts.

  “Always picking up rocks, that one.” Jesse chuckled.

  “And putting them in my backpack!” Murph complained.

  Ricky just smiled.

  “You’re off on a hike?” I asked.

  “We take this hike over lunch most days,” Jesse said, tugging at his backpack straps.

  “Gets us out of lunch duty,” Murph added.

  “Smart,” I said. “I love hiking.”

  “Join us some time,” Jesse offered. He caught my eyes again and held them.

  “Really?” I blurted. “Is that allowed?”

  The others nodded.

  “Of course. Two hours up, lunch, one back.” Jesse grinned. “You’re welcome any time.”

  “That’s awesome!” I said. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so cold anymore. “I don’t know what the rehearsal schedule is going to be yet, but I’d love a good hike if I’m free . . . It’s . . . nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” Murph reached out and high-fived me. “And, uh, improv camp is back that way,” he pointed.

  “Thank you,” I said solemnly, “I feel very oriented now.”

  “Doesn’t count,” Jesse called over his shoulder as they hiked on.

  “It does!” Murph protested. “Ricky?”

  Ricky unzipped the side
pouch of Murph’s backpack and inserted a rock.

  “Ricky!”

  Their boots thumped on the path, and their voices faded away. The birds and the breeze replaced them. I stared up into the trees.

  It’s just improv, I told myself. It’s not brain surgery . . . or orienteering. I smiled. You can do this.

  My name was second from the top. On the Varsity list. With Ben as my coach.

  “See? I told you. I knew you’d make it!” Hanna exclaimed, leading me away from the bulletin board in the Main Lodge. “What did I say? I mean, I’m funny, but you? You’re really funny.”

  I was still speechless.

  “That one flub was nothing compared to the rest of your morning,” Sirena assured me, joining us as we pulled further away from the mob of people crowding the lists. “Right, Emily?”

  But Emily was close to tears. “We’re not together,” she said to Sirena.

  My eyes widened at her reaction. I mean, I knew everything was a little bit harder for Emily, but still—she was going to cry because she and Sirena weren’t on the same team?

  But Sirena was clearly very used to all of Emily’s big feelings. She took her hands. “Hey,” she said.

  Emily looked at her shoes.

  “Hey,” Sirena said gently. Emily’s eyes met hers. “We’re both on JV.” Sirena smiled. “I bet we’ll practice together sometimes. And you’ve got Hanna.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Hanna said. “And as I have well established by now, I am a very nice person.” Hanna flung an arm around Emily’s shoulders, but with Emily so much shorter than her, it was more like Hanna’s armpit resting on Emily’s head. “We’re the Elsas, okay?”

  “Okay . . .”

  Hanna threw her other arm around Sirena. “Don’t worry. Em an I are going to build an ice castle to protect us from idiots. It’s going to be great.”

  As I trailed behind the three of them making their way toward the front door of the Lodge, I tried to imagine being in Sirena’s shoes. Would I be so willing to acknowledge Emily’s feelings as she always was? My family was comfortable with a lot of emotions, but this wide-open vulnerability? We didn’t really do that. You pushed that serious stuff down. Made it into a joke.

  Maybe that’s why Dad had never told me how dark things had gotten for him when Will was a baby. Or why Will hadn’t told me he liked Jonas. I caught the screen door to keep it from slamming into me and watched Sirena and Emily find seats on a bench together on the porch. Maybe they were onto something.

  “You’re funny and smart, Emily. You’re going to be fine,” Sirena promised.

  “Okay.” Emily nodded little nods.

  “And you’ve also got Jonas,” I added, finding my voice. “He’s my brother’s . . . friend.” Almost slipped there. “My brother’s and my friend. He’s maybe not quite as nice as Hanna . . .” I grinned at her.

  “Is anyone?” Hanna wondered, peering at the sky.

  “But still super nice,” I assured Emily.

  Paloma threw open the screen door and marched up to us, handing everyone a schedule. “We start rehearsal right away. Come on.” She gestured for us to come inside, and we followed her back into the Lodge. “Congratulations, Zelda. You kicked so much ass this morning. You totally deserve it!” Paloma gave me a high five as we all circled up by the stage.

  “Thank you!” I shook my head. “I still can’t quite believe it. And hey—you and Sirena are with my brother, Will. Give him hell for me.”

  Paloma nodded. “Done.” Her forward trajectory halted upon seeing Emily’s face. “Are you crying?” She turned to Sirena, concerned. “Is she crying?”

  Emily shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I promise. Just surprised. I hadn’t—I didn’t prepare myself for—I don’t know why I assumed—”

  “We’re fine.” Sirena tucked an arm around her.

  “Okay.” Paloma looked unconvinced. “Because there can be crying in Gilda Radner, but if these guys are going to take you seriously, there can’t be crying in improv.”

  “I think that’s baseball,” I joked.

  “True. Also, improv.” She stared at Emily. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Emily nodded, fiddling with the cuff of her shirt.

  I squeezed her shoulder. “Would this have been a moment for the Pacific Coast Whale Sounds CD?”

  Emily coughed on a laugh. “Yes.” She flashed a small smile at Sirena who pulled her into a hug.

  “Youuuuu’re so braaaaaaave,” Sirena said, imitating a whale.

  Emily laughed and hugged Sirena tighter. She let out a slow, deep breath. Then she let Sirena go. “I’ll be fine,” she assured us.

  Paloma tilted her head. “Good.” She turned to me. “I’m glad it’s you, Zelda.”

  I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant, but Roger and Dion whistled and waved for their JV teams to follow them. The Gildas dispersed just as Will and Jonas ran in from opposite doors. Seriously. Who did they think they were fooling?

  They stared at the list on the bulletin board. Seeing they were on opposite teams, they glanced at each other, then down, then back, then both folded their arms awkwardly. I wished they could turn to one another for comfort like the girls did. But instead, Will and Jonas just exchanged shy smiles of disappointment and trotted off in opposite directions.

  With the JV teams gone, I looked around the dining/stage area at who was left: seven guys who had done really well at the audition—two guys who looked black, and five guys who were probably white. Then my stomach dropped. Two of the white guys were Crotch-grabber and Finger-flipper.

  “Hey, counselor,” Crotch-grabber said, sauntering up to me. “Get it? Counselor? Cuz camp? And cuz you’re a lawyer?”

  I grimaced. “Got it. But if you have to explain your joke, then it’s not a very good joke.”

  “Whoa! Kitty wants to fight!” Finger-flipper made a meow sound and clawed the air, crossing over to us.

  I frowned. I was just standing up for myself. Plus, Crotch-grabber had started it. Wasn’t he the—

  Ben clapped his hands, and everyone turned to give him their attention. “Congratulations and welcome to Varsity.”

  The team whooped and hollered.

  “As you know, my name is Ben Porter—”

  More whoops and hollers.

  Ben nodded and smiled. “And in addition to teaching and performing at UCB, as well as the film and television I’ve been doing in LA, I’ve had the great privilege to study with Marcus Holland right here at RMTA.”

  Clearly a bunch of these guys had also studied with this Marcus Holland person because they stomped their feet and hollered even louder at the mention of his name.

  Ben held up his hands to quiet them. “He was a successful stand-up comedian for more than twenty years, was a coach here for ten more, and taught me everything I know about improv. In his retirement, I am honored to take his spot as the Varsity coach, and my hope is to transmit his improv wisdom to you.”

  I looked around at the faces next to me: determined, fearless. I smiled.

  “So, lots of work to do,” Ben said, hopping off the stage, “and no time to waste. Let’s get started with the warm-up version of What Are You Doing?”

  He strode through the room grouping people up.

  “Are we all going to introduce ourselves?” I asked Ben when he paired me with a pale guy with short brown hair and extra-large ears.

  Ben’s eyes were glued to his clipboard. “Everyone else already knows each other.” His eyes flicked around the room and he gestured at each of the pairs. “Brandon and Xander are over by the window—” That was Crotch-grabber and Finger-flipper to me. “There’s Cade and Donovan—” A big white guy with scrubby facial hair who looked closer to thirty than eighteen pretended to mow a lawn as his partner, a light-skinned black guy with chin acne, beautifully mimed shooting an arrow into the sky. “And then Trey”—he pointed at a round guy with dark brown skin miming lifting something heavy over his head—“and the other Jake.” A short, mu
scular white guy pursed his lips and fanned himself.

  Ben clapped a hand on my partner’s shoulder. “And this Jake can introduce himself.”

  Ben walked away, and I tried to exchange a look of, “Isn’t this a little weird?” with my partner, but he didn’t meet my eye. In fact, if I was being paranoid, he didn’t seem terribly excited to be paired with me at all.

  “Hi, Jake. I’m Zelda,” I said and smiled.

  “Hi,” he said, nodding at me.

  “How many years have you been coming here?” I asked.

  “This is my third. Second on Varsity. I had Marcus as a coach last year.”

  “Oh, cool. He was a big deal, huh?”

  “Yeah. He really loved Ben. What are you doing?”

  For a second, I thought he was challenging my asking him questions. Then I realized he had already started the game. So much for team building. “Uh, okay . . . rowing a boat.”

  He began to mime rowing a boat.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Painting a picture,” he responded, still rowing the boat.

  I mimed dipping a paint brush onto my palette. “Ah, the lilies this time of year!” I cooed in a terrible French accent.

  “No,” Ben stepped in. “There’s no talking in What Are You Doing? It’s about listening and space work.”

  “Oh,” I stammered, “O-okay. It’s just that I was taught—”

  “The high school version talks,” he cut me off. “But I’m training you to be professionals.”

  I nodded and shook out my hands. “Okay. Got it.”

  I watched him stride over to another pair of actors without a second glance in my direction.

  Will had been totally wrong thinking Ben was flirting with me at dinner last night. He was basically pretending we’d never met. Or maybe meeting me was so unimportant that he wasn’t pretending—he just didn’t remember.

  “Hey—what are you doing?” Jake asked.

  What was I doing indeed.

  •

  Three hours later, I was flabbergasted. We’d worked on voice development. We’d worked on building characters through movement. We’d worked on miming objects and handing them off to one another. And every time I thought I knew how a structure worked or the purpose of an activity, Ben had shut me down. Now we were on to scene work.