“No,” Ben commanded me. “You’ve done three scenes in a row, and you’ve assumed a relationship each time. You can’t always know who your scene partner is.”
“Really?” I asked. Make statements and assumptions was one of Jane Lloyd’s rules, and this was her camp. Plus, that idea had been hammered into me back home. Assume the relationship. Start the scene in the middle.
“Really,” he said. “It’s a crutch.”
A crutch? It just seemed like common sense. When your characters already know each other, you don’t have to waste time with introductions. You just cut to the chase of what the scene’s about. Plus, I had seen him do it himself last night when he called on Fredrickson.
“. . . Okay,” I said, frowning. “Start again?”
He nodded. “Your suggestion is fast food.”
The other Jake and I cleared to neutral and began again.
I stepped out onto the stage and mimed a counter, wiping it down.
Jake 2 stayed in the wings, frowning.
I called him on, offering, “Can I help you, sir?”
He didn’t move.
Figuring that he must not know what I was doing, I wiped the counter again and turned to the “grill” and flipped a burger to give him some more information. Make active choices. Still nothing. “Guess I was hallucinating,” I said, trying to justify his unresponsiveness. “Maybe a customer will come in soon.”
If Jake 2 hadn’t figured out that I had established a fast-food counter and was a fast-food employee after seeing my space work and getting the suggestion “fast food” from Ben, I wasn’t sure what else to do to help him.
“No.” Ben. “You’re not giving Jake the opportunity to create his reality. You’ve decided for him.”
Was I in an alternate improv universe? What did Ben want me to do?
Jake 2 was frowning. He wasn’t moving.
“Uh . . . he seemed to need some help,” I said, trying to be gracious.
“Her space work was confusing,” Jake 2 complained.
My space work was—
“Well, then.” I tried to smile. “You can come on stage and tell me what I’m doing,” I said. “I’m sorry if it wasn’t clear to you, but if you don’t come into the scene, then it’s my job to establish—”
“NO.” Guess who? “Improv is give and take, Ellie.”
Ellie? Who was Ellie? I looked around. Did he mean me? By the time I realized he was shortening “Zelda” to “Ellie” of his own volition, he was well into a lecture about me being a “taker” and not a “giver.”
“Also,” he continued, “I am the coach. Don’t give your fellow improvisers notes.”
I stood agape on stage, my cheeks blazing. “Sorry,” I said finally. It seemed to be what he was waiting for.
“Again.” He clicked his pen. “From the top.”
CHAPTER NINE
I had to find Will.
I stuck my head in Bill Murray, but it was empty. Then I made a beeline for Jonas’s cabin, Dan Aykroyd, but it had been vacated as well. Seriously. How did anyone find anyone before texting? Did our ancestors just wander around for days looking for each other?
I drummed my fingers against the Dan Aykroyd doorjamb. I needed Will. I needed to be reminded why I was putting myself through this. I needed to talk to someone who believed in me.
Hoping Will was looking for me in Gilda Radner, I took off toward my cabin. But as I rounded Dan Aykroyd, I plowed straight into Ben.
“Whoa, there,” he said like he was a cowboy, and I was his runaway horse.
My face flushed, and I stumbled back. He was the last person I wanted to run into—literally or figuratively.
“I’m glad I found you,” his warm voice rumbled. “Let’s take a little walk.”
“I’m looking for my brother, actually,” I said, flashing him a dismissive smile.
“JV’s not here. They’re at Boy Scout camp doing high ropes. Team building.”
I sighed.
“Come on. It’s a beautiful day. Keep me company.” This sweet, charming Ben was completely different from who he’d been at rehearsal. “Just a quick walk. What else do you have to do?”
I shrugged. “Wash my hair? Re-lace my hiking boots? Take a chipmunk census?” I bit the inside of my cheek. I could be funny now? Where had that been during rehearsal?
“The latest chipmunk census was just filed last week.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“Ten minutes,” he cooed. “Tops.”
I took one more look around, hoping that I’d see Will returning from high ropes. Then I did a quick calculation. If I refused to go with Ben at this point, I’d come across like a baby who couldn’t handle a Varsity rehearsal. Not a great first impression. So even though I wasn’t in the mood for a “Chin up, kiddo, you’re really talented, but you just need guidance” speech, I reluctantly fell into step beside him.
His flip-flops and my Chaco sandals padded on the dirt path.
“Tough rehearsal,” he said, pushing up his white long sleeves.
I nodded. Here it came.
“But you’ve got a lot of talent.”
Predictable. I made a noncommittal sound and ducked under a pine bough.
“It just needs molding.”
Did someone release a how-to book for these speeches? I rolled my eyes.
“Hey.” He took my arm and stopped me. “Look at me.”
I sighed and did as I was told.
“You. Are bursting with talent. It’s really normal, what happened today. You’ve only been on a high school team with gentle, high school rules. You just have to toughen up a little.” He squeezed my arm then released it.
I grabbed my elbow. It was what I had told myself earlier in the day. But it didn’t make me feel any better.
“Give me another day or two and you’re not going to believe how much stronger of a performer you’ll be. I promise. Remember, I teach and perform at UCB. Plus, I had Marcus as my coach for years. He’s a genius. He throws off the rules of improv that weaken a performer and just goes rogue out there. It’s exhilarating. Trust me—I know what I’m talking about.”
He had me there. What did I have? A decades-old book on improv? My coach, Jenn, back home? Sure, she’d done improv in college and had performed at HUGE Improv Theater in Minneapolis, but as great as HUGE was, it still didn’t have the clout that Upright Citizens Brigade did. Plus, he’d been so great last night in the show—he’d run circles around everyone else. Maybe it was time to set aside my ego and just trust him.
He must have seen something shift in me because he said, “Come on. I want to show you someplace cool I bet you haven’t found yet.”
“I . . . I think I just want to be alone for a while.”
“Look, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. And I promise we won’t talk about improv. I just want to show you something I think you’ll like.”
Being with him was a constant reminder of all of my missteps this afternoon. I couldn’t figure out a way to gracefully extract myself, though, so I nodded, following him down a narrowing path that made a sharp turn behind a bush I probably wouldn’t have noticed on my own.
He didn’t say anything for ten more minutes as he made seemingly random turns right and left.
He’d better not try to kill me, I thought. Because I am never finding my way out of here by myself.
“Okay, close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes? You’d better be showing me like a freaking hidden Niagara Falls or something.”
Ben barked a laugh. “It’s not Niagara Falls,” he said, “but it’s still pretty cool. Come on.”
I grudgingly squeezed my eyes shut and let him lead me around one last corner. When he told me to open them, I gasped. A slow creek meandered through the clearing and thousands of tiny flowers dotted the wild grasses. A cliff formed a wall to one side. It looked like one of those nature paintings they turn into puzzles that grandmas buy. I could feel myself softening toward
him as he led me up onto a flat part of the cliff ten or so feet above the ground.
“This. Is my place,” he said, sitting and stretching his legs out in front of him. He gestured like a waiter. “Ta-da!”
My heart was still beating fast from the climb. I tried to take in a slow, deep breath to calm it down as I sat, crossing my legs underneath me. “It’s . . . beautiful.”
We sat in silence for a while, watching the birds and chipmunks and listening to the creek. I tried to focus on the nature, but I was very aware of the warmth of his body sitting next to mine.
“Did you know that aspen trees are all one huge organism?” he asked.
I was confused. “Aspen trees?”
He pointed. “The white ones.”
“Oh,” I said. “The ones that look like birch trees.”
He nodded. “All the aspens are connected by their root system underground. Cool, huh?”
I smiled. “Like a metaphor for improv.”
He turned to me with a quirked eyebrow. “I thought we weren’t talking about improv.”
I smiled. “Improv theory. Not specifics. I’ll allow it.”
“Okay, your honor.” He folded his arms. “How are aspens like improv?”
“Well, their root systems are all connected . . . Like, no one person can stand on their own in improv. They need the team. The interconnectedness of the root system. Trust. Unity.”
He just sort of nodded vaguely.
“Sorry.” I smiled, feeling like I was losing him. It was Zelda Fitzgerald all over again. “English teacher father, Theater professor mother. They see symbols everywhere . . . And now, it seems, so do I.”
We were quiet again.
Seriously. Could this afternoon get any more embarrassing?
He stretched his arms into the sky and then leaned back on his elbows. I pretended to stare at the creek, but I was watching him out of the corner of my eye. With that blond hair and sculpted body, he looked like he belonged in an REI catalogue. Well, except for those flip-flops. Beach shoes on a mountain? Come on.
I swiftly forgot my criticism when a breeze picked up and blew his hair around. He swept it out of his eyes.
My own eyes felt strained from the work of staring out of their corners.
I shook my head. What was I doing? Sure, Ben was definitely good-looking. But he was my coach. Plus, guys weren’t into me like that. There wasn’t a universe in which this older, super-hot guy was going to be into me. Especially not after this embarrassing afternoon.
Still . . . he had taken me alone to this very pretty spot. With flowers and trees and cliffs and a freaking water feature. He’d taken me to his spot.
I sighed. Making out with a hot older guy in a remote, gorgeous, secret nature spot was something that happened to other people. Hiking with a hot older guy to a remote, gorgeous, secret nature spot out of pity to make me feel better about my disastrous afternoon rehearsal was much more along the lines of something that happened to me.
So maybe I should make the most of it.
“You say ‘no’ a lot as a coach,” I said, still staring out at the creek.
“Well, today I did,” he said, “but again—it’s super normal early on.”
“Okay. But a lot of what you say seems . . . opposite of what I’ve been taught. And the opposite of Jane Lloyd’s book. I mean, she helped found this camp. ‘Make assumptions.’ ‘Trust your scene partner.’ ‘Say yes.’ ”
“Marcus says those rules are just there to help beginners,” he said, sitting up. “I’m trying to prepare you for the professional world. I’m taking away your safety net so you develop a heightened awareness. So you can be more aggressive. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be on fire.”
I rubbed the worry lines that had emerged on my forehead with my index finger.
“You want to get better, right, Ellie? You want to be as great as I know you can be? You want Saturday Night Live?”
I hesitated. How did he know that was my dream? Or was it just everyone’s dream around here?
Scooting closer to me, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. His scent—something spicy mixed with fresh air and clean sweat—overwhelmed my senses.
I inhaled him again. If this was what feeling sorry for me smelled like, then I’d take all the personal disasters, thank you.
We sat there for what felt like forever, his arm draped over my shoulder. It seemed much more intimate than a coach/performer gesture, but I had been me long enough to know better.
But then he said, “Turn around. I made you tense today. Let me loosen you up.”
I hesitated. Coaches give back rubs?
“Come on, Ellie. Relax.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a way that made me feel I was being ridiculous. “Give me those stiff improv shoulders.”
What was I going to do? If I refused, it might make him feel like I didn’t trust him, and improv is supposed to be about trust. So, I turned.
I groaned as he began working the knots in my shoulders.
“Holy—”
His laughter drowned out my cursing.
“Hey,” I managed. “Why do you keep calling me Ellie?”
He stopped rubbing my back.
“Oh, you can’t massage and talk? I pick massage,” I joked.
He laughed again. “I can do both.” He resumed his work on my lower back. I froze when he lifted the bottom of my shirt to access a spot near my spine. Seconds later, though, the warm pads of his fingers on my bare skin tripped something new in my nervous system, and silently, I urged him on. I became buried in the feeling of wanting his hand to touch me everywhere.
“Ellie suits you,” he murmured. “I like calling you Ellie.”
Before I could fully consider whether or not I liked him calling me Ellie, he placed his warm, open palm against my cool, bare lower back.
“Huh . . .” I managed, all of my focus on the skin his hand was massaging.
He exhaled. “You are . . . ,” he began, softly.
Suddenly, he climbed to his feet.
My body felt cold where he’d abandoned it.
“Time to head back,” he said loudly, fully breaking the spell of the moment.
I was incapable of speech the rest of the way back to camp. I was what? I was . . . I tried to fill in the blank. Why hadn’t he finished his sentence? If it was a normal, improv coach to improviser thing to say, he just would have said it, right? You are funny; you are going to be okay; you are learning . . . But he didn’t think he should be saying whatever it was. That was why he’d cut himself off, right?
You are . . .
Was this what it felt like to be Will and Jonas? Or Sirena and Emily? Was Ben saying he liked me? Nothing even remotely close to this had ever happened to me before. I was relying on books by Rainbow Rowell and Nicola Yoon and Maurene Goo and on movies like The Princess Bride and Love, Simon and . . . that was it, actually. Just on books and movies.
What else could make him cut himself off?
I followed him wordlessly for ten minutes, but before the last turn, his feet stopped and so did my heart.
“Don’t . . .” He turned to face me and put a hand on my shoulder. Then he looked down, his thumb slowly tracing a path back and forth. “Don’t, uh, tell anyone about today. We don’t want anyone to say the only reason you’re on Varsity is because . . . well . . .”
My body stiffened. “Is what?”
He chuckled and dropped his hand. “You know.”
Is because he likes me? “It isn’t, though, right?” I asked, avoiding his eyes and biting my thumbnail.
“God, no. But you know how guys can be. I’m just trying to protect you. Give me a couple minutes before you follow, okay?”
He took my other hand, squeezed it, and left, leaving me to wonder what the holy freaking hell had just happened.
CHAPTER TEN
In trying to make sense of my day, I wandered. There were probably trees and paths and flowers and buildings and people, but
I was distracted by the questions in my head.
Did Ben like me? Or was he just looking out for me?
Either way, he was in my corner . . . right? I hadn’t just made the team because of a quota? Because I was a girl?
I wandered so much, by the time I decided to stop, dinner was over.
When I opened the door to Gilda Radner, there was a party going on. By the looks of it, both JV teams were squeezed inside.
“Zelda!” Emily shouted. “You were right! Jonas is so nice! And Hanna is so nice! And everyone is so—”
Beyoncé was blaring loudly, and I lost Emily’s last word. “What?”
“NICE!” she yelled near my face. “WOOOO!”
“Typical white girl,” Jonas smiled, sidling up next to me as Emily danced away. “Can’t handle her Beyoncé.”
I laughed. “It’s so good to see her feeling more comfortable.”
He nodded as she twirled to the music. “Yeah. Today was really good for her, I think.”
My eyes sought Will’s as he reached for Jonas. “Be happy for us, Z, because, baby, we are out!” Will shouted and the cabin cheered.
Grinning, I sought Sirena’s eyes, and she grinned back at me.
“Kiss!” someone yelled.
“Not that out!” Will shouted again. Everyone hooted. He took my hands. “Dance, Z!”
I shrugged and joined in.
It still hurt to breathe, but the music sort of made me forget that for a while. As I danced, I tried to push all thoughts of Ben and Varsity out of my brain, focusing on these people, this joy. Be in the moment.
Between songs, Paloma shouted, “Water break, people!”
Hanna put her hands up in protest. “Come on, Mom!”
“You’ll thank me when no one gets altitude sickness!” she retorted.
“But we won’t thank you when we get up five times in the night to pee!” Hanna said.
We laughed as Hanna turned down the music and people flopped on beds, mainlining water.
“Hey!” a JV guy exclaimed, jumping up from the bed he’d just sat on. “What’s this?” He held up a flat, square, plastic case.
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