Unscripted

by Nicole Kronzer

  We nodded.

  “Now, go to college and stuff,” she continued. “Learn and write and read everything you can. But when you’re ready for the next step in this business, let me know. I can’t get you work, but I can get you seen. Contact my agent. She’ll know to pass you on to me if you use the code word—” She looked at the ceiling. “Coffee cake. Do they still make that amazing coffee cake here?”

  “Yes!” Sirena said as we all laughed. “It is the only amazing food here.”

  “Or maybe it isn’t,” Hanna mused. “Maybe just compared to the turkey tetrazzini . . .”

  We laughed again, Nina leaned back, and we all dropped our arms. She turned to me. “It sucks so hard what happened to you. I’m sorry.”

  I nodded.

  “But you’re going to be okay?”

  I teared up a little but nodded again.

  She squeezed my shoulder and shook her head. “That kid with the ears. Thank that kid with the ears.”

  “Jake,” I smiled. “He’s come a long way.”

  Then, as the throngs of people started to flood around Nina, she pulled me in for a hug. “Nice to meet you, Zelda.”

  I grinned into her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, too, Nina Knightley.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The next morning, after one last night as a Boy Scout, I found myself back at RMTA to collect Will and Jonas. Sirena climbed the steps to the Main Lodge’s porch, where I was waiting with the rest of the Gildas, and she took Emily’s hand. “I got us settled in the van—as far away as possible from Erick and Ty, the snoring lawnmower parade.”

  “Wait!” I exclaimed as Emily kissed her cheek to thank her. “That reminds me.” I unzipped my backpack and pulled out five, flat, square-shaped presents wrapped in newspaper.

  “That’s not—” Hanna gasped.

  “Guess who had a desktop computer, a stack of blank CDs, and something called a ‘CD burner’ in his office?”

  Emily tore off the newspaper. “There are five copies of Pacific Coast Whale Sounds now?” she squealed.

  “Thanks to Greg, the Scout Master who is not interested in advancing his office technology, yes. Five copies. One for each of us.”

  Emily and Sirena hugged me tight, but Paloma shot me a look. “You know what you just did, putting this CD into Hanna’s hands,” she said.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Created a monster?”

  “Not quite,” Hanna corrected me. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Youuuu created a moooooooooooonsterrrrrrrr!”

  We giggled, but I couldn’t totally give myself over to the moment. I kept eyeing the screen door.

  “Hey, Z,” Will called from the gravel lot in front of the Main Lodge. “You want me to put your backpack in the car?”

  “Not yet,” I called back to him. “But thank you!”

  “Okay. By the way, I put my suitcase and your suitcase and Jonas’s suitcase on your seat, so you’re going to have to ride in the trunk.”

  I smirked over my shoulder at him. But then, passing between a couple of parked, fifteen-passenger vans, I spotted my Boy Scouts. “Hey!” I called, taking the steps down two at a time to meet them. Murph and Ricky jogged up behind Jesse who wrapped me up in his arms. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to get away this morning!”

  Jesse pulled back from our hug and grinned. I wanted to kiss him, and I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but there were a million people around. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and boinged one of my curls. My stomach flipped over, remembering what had happened the last time he did that, but I batted his hand away and pointed at him, mouthing, “You’re dead to me.”

  He laughed and thumbed in Ricky and Murph’s direction. “We struck a deal with the Webelos,” he said.

  Murph nodded. “Let’s just say us coming here involved a lot of contraband candy.”

  “Thanks, guys.” I released Jesse long enough to hug Murph and give Ricky a high five. “I’m excited to see you both back in Minnesota.”

  Ricky nodded, reached out, and palmed me one last, smooth rock.

  I flipped it over in my hand. Ricky had penned, “Climb on.” I met his eyes, speechless, and nodded. He nodded back and slipped behind Murph.

  I cleared my throat, realizing that the Gildas had left the porch and joined our little group at the foot of the stairs, and so now my moment with Ricky had an audience. I turned to my Boy Scouts. “I’d really like you to meet our parents,” I said, my hand in Jesse’s. “But they’re inside talking to the Pauls.”

  Jonas and Will jogged over to join us. “Uh, ‘talking’ is probably not the word you’re looking for,” Will said, one eyebrow raised.

  This morning had been a bit of a whirlwind. Mom and Dad had arrived at RMTA to find only one of their children. Will had done his best to explain, but before he got terribly far, Mom had stormed inside to find the Pauls, and Dad had leapt back in the Subaru to pick me up at Boy Scout camp. Dad let me tell my whole story without saying a word. Then he’d made me promise fifteen times that I was okay before he drove us back to RMTA to get Will, Jonas, and Mom.

  After the night I’d had with Nina and the Gildas, I really was feeling okay. But it was going to take a while to get my parents there with me.

  “Milwaukee folks!” a voice I didn’t recognize called out. “We’re outta here!”

  “That’s us. Okay, Gildas,” Paloma said, hands on her hips. “Flights are weirdly cheaper to Denver from Milwaukee and Minneapolis than they are in any other configuration, and plus, of the three cities, Denver has the superior March climate, so spring break in Denver?”

  Nodding, I dropped Jesse’s hand, and all the Gildas stepped in, our heads together and arms around each other’s shoulders like we’d stood with Nina the night before.

  “But I don’t want to wait that long to see you,” I said, impending tears thickening my throat.

  “Fall break?” Paloma asked.

  Sirena was the first to cry. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, seemingly surprised by the tears on her cheeks. “I’m supposed to be the steady one.”

  “All crying means,” Emily said, tears rolling down her own face, “is that you’re feeling something, remember?”

  Sirena dropped her head and nodded. We clutched each other.

  “As soon as we get a signal, I’ll start a group text,” Paloma offered, sniffling. “It’ll be like we’re all still together.”

  “I call naming the group text,” Hanna said, shooting a hand into the sky.

  “Oh god, Hanna,” Paloma moaned.

  “It’s going to be called ‘The Destroyers.’ ”

  Paloma dropped her arms, and we all stood up, smirking and wiping away tears. “It’s going to be called the Gildas,” Paloma insisted. “That’s who we are, Hanna.”

  Hanna slung her backpack over her shoulder, firmly ignoring Paloma. “The Estrogen Avengers. The Coffee Cake Coterie. THE GUILD OF GILDAS!”

  “Unnecessary!” Paloma exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

  “I’m glad we all came here,” I said quietly.

  The Gildas stilled.

  “Yeah?” Sirena asked. “Despite what happened with Ben?”

  I bit my lip and nodded.

  “Because you got to meet Nina Knightley?” Paloma asked, smiling.

  “Because you met Jesse?” Hanna smirked.

  “No,” I said. “Yes!” I amended over my shoulder. Jesse grinned back.

  “Because of Pacific Coast Whale Sounds,” I said.

  Emily gasped.

  “Emily!” I laughed. “Because of us. The five of us. I’m glad because of us.”

  The Gildas became a pile of arms and teary faces, not for the first time.

  And not for the last time, either.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Firstly, thank you to my sisters and to our parents who have always encouraged our creativity. (Including, but not limited to, the time we made a murder mystery movie in honor of the Greek musician with long, flowing locks we’d seen on P
BS and called our film Yanni Cuts His Hair.)

  Deb Peterson was my singular high school theater director and acting teacher. Much thanks to her and to the people on my high school team for launching my love for improv.

  Karen Estrada, Mike Holmes, Dan Jessup, Kurt Meyers, Roger Payton, and Adam Prugh taught me that improv with people who love and respect each other is a form of magic here on earth.

  As I transitioned into teaching and writing, Jennifer Dodgson at the Literary LOFT took me seriously as a writer long before I did.

  I estimate that I have had more than four thousand teenagers in my classes over the past thirteen years. Their curiosity, kindness, and hope has made coming to school less like work and more like joy. Thank you to every single one of you.

  Terri Evans, my former school librarian, brought many authors into our building and showed me they were simply people—not magical unicorns.

  Gene Luen Yang was our first visiting author. When Gene found out I was the creative writing teacher, he asked me if I did any writing myself. I stumbled around, admitting that I’d always wanted to write a book. “You should,” he told me.

  The thing that pushed me over the edge to actually put pen to paper was E. Lockhart speaking at Teen Lit Con. “When I was writing We Were Liars,” she said, “I’d tell myself, ‘Today, all I need to do is get the kids on the boat.’ And I’d write a bunch of words—some of them decent, a lot of them terrible—but I’d get the kids on the boat.” I’d heard many writers talk about crappy first drafts. But something about Emily’s image spoke to me.

  Thank you to the Creative Writing and Literature for Educators MA program at Fairleigh Dickinson University, especially fellow students Lori-Ann Desimone, Mickey Diamond, and Kate Overgaard, and professors Renee Ashley and Kathleen Graber.

  I was on airport duty to pick up Nina LaCour for an author visit to our school, and Nina said I would recognize her due to her bright blue pants. I pulled up to the curb, and indeed, there she was—bright blue amongst the sea of gray and black. A decade later, Nina has continued to be that beacon for me through writing and agenting and selling. I am lucky to call her my friend.

  I’m so grateful to David West. Our ten Julys together teaching improv at MITY were an absolute joy. To all of our students—and now Karen and my students!—thank you for sharing some of my best times with improv.

  My principal, Mike George, and the CPHS English department have cheered me on from go. Thanks to them and to Steve Slavik at the district for their rock-solid support.

  Special thanks to my loyal, fierce best friends: Dr. Kaia Simon, who shares my roots; Chris Baker-Raivo, who shares my brain; and Karen Estrada, who shares my heart.

  I finished the first version of this book ten feet away from Dr. Ellen Margolis on our two-woman writers’ retreat in Door County, Wisconsin. She has been a mentor to me as an actor, teacher, writer, mother, and badass.

  Thank you to my sagacious agent, Sara Crowe, who passed on the first book I tried to write, then snatched me up six days after I sent her this one.

  Thank you forever to Kristi Romo, my critique partner. She is a phenomenal reader, questioner, and feedback-giver, and this book wouldn’t exist without her.

  Beta readers Chris Baker-Raivo, Karen Estrada, Terri Evans, Jann Garofano, Joe Gaskill, Allison Hackenmiller, Belinda Huang, Dan Kronzer, Ricky Kubicek, Micky Kurtzman, Nina LaCour, Kelsey Lauer, Dr. Ellen Margolis, Maame Opare-Addo, Erin Payton, Kristi Romo, Heather Sieve, Katie Widestrom-Landgraf, Bethany Watson, Riley Wheaton, Annika Williamson, Kevin Yang, and Meng Yang offered me such thoughtful feedback. Many of these folks also shared their personal experiences as people of color, identifying as LGBTQ, living with albinism, and surviving abuse. Also, essential insights on improv comedy, the Boy Scouts, and medicine. Unscripted has stronger legs and more nuanced details thanks to all of you.

  My school nurse, Sheila Davies, and my school police liaison officer, Detective Andy Dickman, were endlessly patient with my endless questions.

  Allison Hackenmiller, my superlative school librarian, supports me in a thousand different ways.

  Daniel and warren Mosier have given me years of wonderful friendship and excellent beta reader manuscript prices at Cornerstone Copy Center in Burnsville, Minnesota.

  I’m so thankful for my creative writing students who listened to and gave me feedback on early chapters of this book.

  Thank you to my godsend editor, Maggie Lehrman. When she signed off her very first email to me “Zip, zap, zop, Maggie,” I knew Sara Crowe had found someone special. With her own background in improv, Maggie understood what I was trying to do and say. Because of her, this book is better in every way.

  Thanks also to Emily Daluga and the entire team at Amulet for taking such good care of Zelda and me.

  My daughters, Eliza and Eleanor, can often play with each other for hours without me needing to intervene. This, probably above everything else, was the reason I could string time together to write. Monkeys, you’re in the house right now as I type this, making a pizza hat for Daddy. (God, I hope it’s not real pizza.) I love being your mom.

  Lastly, Danny. Seriously. When I said to him, “I think it’s time to write my book,” there were a million reasons not to do it. But Dan isn’t the kind of person who focuses on reasons for not doing something. He’s the kind of person who says, “Sure. How can I help?” I will never stop thanking him for loving me.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nicole Kronzer is a former professional actor and improviser who now teaches English and creative writing. She loves to knit and run (usually not at the same time) and has named all the plants in her classroom. She lives with her family in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Visit her online at nicolekronzer.com.

  Loved the book?

  Check out our entire catalog of great novels, graphic novels, and non-fiction for young adults and middle-grade readers at Amulet Books!

  Hungry for more YA?

  Take a

  with sneak piques, behind-the-scenes, interviews and much more inspired by our latest YA books at piquebeyond.com!