A nonprostitute kind.
Setting: Woods, modern day.
MAN 1
(Putting his pack down)
Wow! This hike has been crazy!
MAN 2
(Joining him)
Right? So many . . .
I chewed on the end of my pen a little. So many what? I wondered. Leaves? Trees? Of course there are trees. Everyone knows the woods have trees. . . . What might be surprising about being in the woods?
A little yellow bird landed on the path in front of me. It cocked its head, hopped twice, and then flew away. I took the pen out of my mouth.
MAN 2
(Joining him)
Right? So many different types of birds!
MAN 1
I haven’t seen this many birds since . . .
I closed my eyes. Does anyone actually care about birds? Do people talk about birds in real life? This is so dumb. It’s stilted. It sounds like robots talking. I shook my head to quiet the editor in my mind. Back home, my coach, Jenn, says there’s a time for the editor, but only after the writer has had free reign. Press on, I reminded myself, you can revise later.
MAN 1
I haven’t seen this many birds since we went to the bird-feeder convention.
MAN 2
Holy cow! Is that a dead body?
MAN 1
A dead body? Like a dead bird body? There weren’t any of them at the bird-feeder convention. What are we going to do? Do you have a shoebox? We could bury it . . .
MAN 2
No! A human body!
MAN 1
That’s not going to fit in a shoebox.
I sighed and ran my pen off the paper. The bird-feeder convention maybe had potential. But where was this going? What was the point of the scene?
I tore the page out and stuffed it into my bag.
What was a funny kind of dead body? Who could be dead, and we’d be okay with it? I could hear Jenn saying, “Punch up, not down.” She means it’s funny to make fun of people more powerful than you—not less.
With that in mind, I flipped my notebook to a fresh page and made a list:
Funny Dead Bodies:
1. Not actual dead bodies—just bodies you think are dead and then when they wake up and everyone else freaks out, they’re calm and are named Jeff or something.
2. Super-mean substitute teachers . . . Eh. Usually mean substitute teachers are just mean because kids are mean first. Though sometimes they’re straight-up jerks. Still. Still feels like punching down.
3. Hitler? That’s punching up. Or other things Nazi-adjacent? . . . But what are decades-old Nazi bodies doing undecomposed in the woods?
I shook my head, dropped the notebook and pen, and stood up to stretch. I paced around a little, shaking out my hands. Maybe there was something wrong with the premise. Dead body . . . What was funny about dead bodies? Suddenly, I imagined my biological father and Will’s biological mother scowling at my abandoned list on the ground.
“Come on, Zelda,” I muttered, rolling my eyes at my overly dramatic daydream. “It’s a comedy sketch. It’s not real life.” I whirled around, pointed at my notebook, and proclaimed, “Okay, you. Let’s do this. No messing around this time.”
I settled back against the tree again as I propped the notebook on my knees.
Tap-tap-tap. Maybe I should just write a palate cleanser. Something non-dead-body-related.
Tap-tap-tap. Or maybe I can push the boundaries of the premise.
Setting: Mount Rushmore, modern day. We hear “Hail to the Chief” play as a group of politicians walk and wave.
Okay. Presidents. What’s unexpected for a president? I chewed on my lip.
POLITICIAN 1
Thank you! Thank you! It’s so great to see so many of you here today at Mount Rushmore, where we’ve carved dead presidents’ faces into sacred Native American rock face and called it a national park! Please put your hands together for the next president of the United States, Moose MacPhearson!
I threw down my notebook.
I needed to talk to some sane people. I particularly needed to talk to my parents, but they were hiking.
Will was sane and here. He’d be sympathetic to my flailing in the deep end of the hypermasculine pool that was Varsity. But after he warned me about flirting with Ben, I worried he wasn’t going to be interested in helping me figure out what Ben’s mixed signals meant. Still. . . . Maybe I could just tell Will about the weird dude teammate stuff and omit the weird Ben stuff. Where was JV rehearsing? The Main Lodge?
I reached for my cell to text Will and ask him where he was, but quickly remembered that the Rocky freaking Mountains were a freaking cell phone tower dead zone.
Sighing, I tucked my pen behind my ear and slipped my notebook in my bag. Make active choices. It was time to find Will, and the Main Lodge seemed like a good enough place to start looking.
Retracing my steps, I turned down the path that would eventually cross in front of the Main Lodge. As I neared the edge of the woods, someone shouted, “Watch out for the Bludger!” I smiled at the Harry Potter reference, and when I emerged from the trees, 150 guys—probably the Skill-Building teams—were playing the nonflying version of Quidditch in the field in front of the Lodge. There were like eight games going on simultaneously. It felt like everyone was laughing.
My stomach twisted in envy as I watched a short blond guy dressed all in yellow leap over the fence. He must be the human form of the Snitch, I mused. He was chased by a much taller guy, giggling and straddling a broomstick. Sure. And that guy’s the Seeker.
The Snitch zoomed past me and I yelled, “You know where JV is?”
” The Seeker was close on his heels. “They’re playing Capture the Flag back by the cabins!” he called over his shoulder.
“Thanks!” I said, but my voice was drowned out by the celebratory cheer of the Seeker’s team as he tackled the Snitch.
I watched as the whole team barreled after their Seeker, piling on top of him. I tried but failed to imagine Varsity having this much fun together . . . but before I could wallow in too much self-pity, I squared my shoulders. Remember, you’re going to meet Nina Knightley. I forced myself to look away from the Quidditch festivities and turn back toward the cabins.
Nearing Gilda Radner, I heard voices coming from inside, so I picked up speed and threw open the screen door.
“Hi!” I said, eager to be greeted by any familiar face, but hoping against hope Will was there.
Startled, the Pauls stared back at me.
“Hello,” Paul DeLuca recovered first.
“Uh, hi,” I said again. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
“We came to meet your new counselor,” Paul Paulsen said, drawing his shaggy eyebrows together into a wooly caterpillar, “although I’m not sure if she’s showing up.”
“Give her time.” Paul DeLuca waved away the concern, but he patted the sweat off his forehead with a folded handkerchief.
“We’ve been waiting for an hour,” Paul Paulsen insisted. “She’s not coming.”
Paul DeLuca sighed, his girth seeming extra-large squeezed into the small cabin. “We should head back and check the voicemail.” He turned toward the door, then changed his mind.
“How are you girls getting along?” he asked, doubling back and peering into my eyes.
“Uh, great,” I said. I put a hand on one of the top bunks and patted it. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Paul DeLuca raised his eyebrows at Paul Paulsen, whose own eyebrow caterpillar seemed confused. Finally, Paul DeLuca turned to me again. “We’re really struggling to find a young woman to come up here at such late notice to be your counselor. What if . . .”
“Paul,” P2’s voice was low and urgent.
Paul DeLuca waved away this concern, too. “I checked the forms. Sirena’s eighteen. Technically an adult. Plus, there’s only five of them.” He gestured around the cabin as if to show how empty it was.
“What about curfew?” P2�
�s lips were thin.
Paul DeLuca turned to me. “Was anyone late for curfew last night?”
I shook my head.
He smiled broadly and turned back to Paul Paulsen. “They’re girls! What trouble are girls?”
I made a sound of protest, not sure how I felt. It seemed like a compliment, but I found myself frowning.
Paul Paulsen’s eyes studied the cabin, then me, and then he sighed. “Lock the door at night, okay?” He pointed a pencil at Paul DeLuca. “We’ll keep looking,” he said. Then Paul Paulsen turned away and peered through the window. “If Marcus was still here, we’d have a female counselor,” he muttered. “He always managed to find one.”
Paul DeLuca nodded and caught my eye. “Say. Are you having fun? Making new friends?”
I opened my mouth. Maybe this was who I could talk to about the weird guy dynamic on Varsity.
“Well,” I began, raising an eyebrow at P2. “The guys on my team are . . .”
“It’s not too often we have a girl on Varsity,” Paul DeLuca interrupted me. “It might take them a little bit to get used to the estrogen in the room.”
I cocked my head like the yellow bird that had landed on my path. “I—”
“But don’t worry.” Paul DeLuca clapped a hand on my back. “Ben’s got it all under control. Marcus trained him well. Plus, Ben and Laura were really close for a while. He’s used to funny girls. Good, good.” He filed out of the cabin, P2 close behind.
Before he joined the other Paul, P2 looked back at me. “Please tell us if anyone comes back late.”
“They’ll be fine!” Paul DeLuca bellowed.
Mouth open, I watched them go. Why did they ask me how things were if they weren’t interested in my answer? Clearly, the Pauls were not the sane people to talk to.
It’s okay. Just plant yourself here and sooner or later, someone is bound to come by. And in the meantime, write.
After I climbed up to my bunk and took out my notebook, I decided that even though traditionally sketches are supposed to be inspired from the scenes we create together, I didn’t have to be married to the dead body premise. After that, I managed two or three minutes of a sketch about a sleepwalking bear. As I read it back to myself, the rhythm felt good. The jokes needing punching up, but it was a start.
I flipped over to a fresh sheet of notebook paper when Paloma and Sirena practically fell through the door, gasping for breath.
“Oh my god, they’re going to find us!” Sirena hissed to Paloma. Her braids were flying everywhere as she pressed her glasses on her face to keep them from falling off.
“Who?” I asked.
They both screamed.
“Zelda! Geez!” Paloma clapped a hand over her heart.
“I heard a scream from Gilda Radner!” a male voice called from some distance away.
“I’m sorry!” I whispered. “What’s going on?”
“Capture the Flag!” Sirena grinned, shaking a blue-and-red square of nylon at me. “And we’ve captured it!”
“Oh, that’s right! That’s great! Well, hide!” I exclaimed. “I’ll cover for you.”
They buried themselves: Paloma under a crumpled-up blanket and Sirena behind the door.
I stayed in my bunk like nothing had happened.
“Got you cornered!” Jonas exclaimed, banging into the cabin.
“Guilty as charged!” I smiled.
Jonas jumped and braced himself against the door frame. “Zelda? What are you doing here?”
“Writing.” I tapped my pencil against my notebook. “We were sent off to write cold opens, so I’ve been reading mine out loud, doing all the voices.”
His face fell. “That was you screaming?” he asked.
Oh, sweet, earnest Jonas.
I nodded and fixed an innocent look on my face. “Why?”
He flopped down on the bottom bed of the opposite bunk—a foot away from Paloma.
“Capture the Flag,” he said. “Dion’s team versus Roger’s.”
I tried not to sigh. “That sounds like fun.”
“It is,” he agreed. “I’m glad for you that you’re on Varsity, but I wish you were with the rest of us.”
“Me, too,” I said wistfully.
Paloma shifted on the bed and it squeaked.
Jonas’s eyes darted around. “But you’re . . . uh, good?” he asked.
“Well . . .” Jonas could be my sane person, right? He’d at least smile sympathetically. “They’re jerks, actually.” I felt lighter saying it out loud. “All of them. Pretty big jerks.”
“Really?” Now his eyes were on mine.
I nodded.
“Are you going to quit?”
I opened and closed my mouth.
“You can’t quit!” Paloma threw off her blanket. Jonas screamed so loudly, it made Paloma jump. He also fell off the bed onto the floor. I laughed until tears streamed down my face.
“Jonas? Are you okay?” It was Will’s voice.
“He’s—”gasp“—fine!” I was still laughing. “Oh my god, Jonas—the look on your face!”
“I’m sorry!” Paloma said, trying to help Jonas up off the floor. But he was laughing too hard to be moved.
“I’m fine!” Jonas said, waving her away as Will barreled into the cabin. Jonas took my brother’s proffered hands and stood. “I’m not sure if I should be pleased or embarrassed that you recognized my scream.”
I laughed again. “Pleased, I think,” I said. “Clearly, he loves you.”
“Z—” Will shot me a look.
“Oh come on, Will.” I threw my legs over the side of the mattress. “You are on opposite sides of Capture the Flag and you revealed your position to check on him. You. Mr. Competitive. Mr. Monopoly-Money-Launderer. Mr. What-Battleship-Up-My-Sleeve? You revealed your position.” I shrugged. “Only two explanations—you’re sabotaging the game so you don’t have to run at this altitude, or you love him.”
“You were dead before, and now you’re going to be double dead,” Will moaned, closing his eyes and covering them with both hands.
Jonas removed Will’s hands from his eyes and gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad that you’re here.”
Will was a puddle.
Paloma turned to me, arms folded. “Zelda, promise me you won’t quit,” she said.
Now it was my turn to moan. “Why?”
Will still held Jonas’s hand, but he frowned at me. “Quit what?”
I made a disgruntled sound. Telling Jonas was one thing, but telling Will made things . . . real. And although I wanted to talk to him, I wasn’t sure I was super jazzed about my growing audience. Still, there really wasn’t any getting out of telling him now. “Varsity,” I groaned. “The guys are gross. And Ben’s . . . weird. Kind of mean? I can’t explain it. And maybe it’s not important, but you guys are having way more fun than we are.”
“But you’re on Varsity.” Paloma climbed up on my bed and sat on her knees. “Do you know how long it’s been since a girl was on Varsity?”
I shook my head.
“Fifteen years. When Nina Knightley was a camper here.”
What? Paul DeLuca said it wasn’t very often girls were on Varsity. I didn’t realize “not often” meant every decade and a half.
“You have to stick it out. Be better than those jerks. Just be awesome and funny and ignore them. Look, I saw your audition. You didn’t make it just because you’re a girl. You made it because you deserve to be there. You have to stay on Varsity,” Paloma stressed each word. “For us. Promise me.”
My mouth was still hanging open. I closed it and swallowed. “Nina Knightley,” I repeated.
She nodded. “Be our Nina Knightley, Zelda.”
I took a slow breath in and out, trying to adjust to this new weight on my shoulders. “Okay,” I said. How could I turn back now? If Nina Knightley had to go through this challege for her career, then maybe I would have to, too. “I promise.”
“Yay, Zelda!” Sirena shouted, bolting out from behin
d the door, the screen door banging shut behind her.
Jonas jumped and screamed again. Will steadied his arms to keep him upright. “Has she been in here the whole time?” Jonas demanded, shaking off Will. He was on fire now.
Paloma and I smiled sweetly.
“And,” Paloma added, “she’s got the flag.”
“Dammit!” Jonas yelled. He tore after Sirena. Paloma hopped down to follow him. Will looked like he had itchy feet, but he squeezed my leg. “You can do this, Z,” he said, “you’re a warrior.”
I bit my lips and nodded.
I had to stay on Varsity to get on SNL.
Plus, the Gildas needed me.
And Will believed in me.
I nodded again, afraid if I said anything, I would start to cry. I picked up my notebook and pen and set my face. Trust yourself.
I had to show those asses what I was made of.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“They have coffee cake!” Paloma called from the front of the line.
“At lunch?” Sirena called back. “That is my real reward for capturing the flag.”
“Well, well, well!” Hanna was right behind Paloma up in front. “Gosh, I sure am hungry. This whole tray of crumbly, brown-sugary-cinnamon goodness looks like just the right amount for ME.”
“Don’t you dare, Hanna!” Sirena warned her. “If I can capture a flag, I can certainly capture that coffee cake.”
Emily ran up to Sirena and hugged her. “I heard it was you!” she squealed.
“You can’t cheer for the enemy, Emily.” Hanna marched over, holding the whole tray of coffee cake.
“Yoink.” Sirena smiled and stole two pieces in quick succession.
“I can cheer for whoever I want to,” Emily insisted, smiling as Sirena handed her half of the stolen booty. I found myself nodding, encouraging Emily’s emerging confidence. “Plus,” Emily continued, “she’s not the enemy anymore.”
Hanna shook her head and handed the tray off to Jonas. “J, will you put this on our table? I gotta grab a plate—”
Brandon and Xander walked by and lifted the whole tray out of Jonas’s hands without breaking a stride.
“Hey!” he and Hanna exclaimed. But not very loudly.
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