Pride & Princesses

by Summer Day

  At lunch I was tapping my toe under the table, humming the last bars of a piece I was learning on keyboard for music class when someone touched me on the shoulder and all I could see was a mouth move. Then I took out my ear plugs, turned off my play list and heard a voice. It was quite deep and mature and male. The voice unmistakeably belonged to Mark Knightly.

  ‘You’re on the swim team, aren’t you? I saw you race yesterday. You won. You were good.’

  ‘Oh, thanks...’ I said, kind of lost for the right reply.

  Mark had already won points for making the first move, which is very important.

  Now, one of the first steps in my reference guide (which Mouche decided was mostly outdated, but nevertheless quaint) detailed how to appear nice, yet unobtainable.

  I didn’t think this would really work but when Mark said hello after English class earlier that morning, I tried it. I didn’t actually speak, I just smiled back shyly but when he kept walking, I thought I’d really blown it.

  But here he was trying to get my attention again in the last minutes of the lunch hour.

  ‘Well, um...I guess I’ll see you at the auditions...’

  ‘Yeah, the play is compulsory,’ I said dumbly. Mouche cringed.

  ‘But aren’t you and...your friend PA students?

  ‘Yeah...’

  ‘Cos I saw you both...dancing around this morning. So you must like...artistic stuff, right?’

  I nodded and smiled like a total dork.

  Silence sat uncomfortably between us.

  ‘...see ya, Phoebe,’ he said and walked off.

  I looked at Mouche and flushed, ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He said my name!’

  ‘Oh, please, c’mon, we gotta go...’

  We ran down the corridor to the school auditorium.

  All the serious PA students were warming up at the bar and a few people were hanging out backstage, going over scenes for Rocco and Julie.

  When try outs were about to start and we were waiting in our seats, Teegan said to me, ‘so, did you manage to get your hooks into Mark?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I replied.

  ‘Why not? I saw him talk to you at lunch. He’s definitely open to it. I’m sure he’d date you, even just for one night.’

  I ignored her insinuation that I wouldn’t be worth dating more than once.

  ‘That’s not true,’ Freya said with the phoney compassion she was renowned for. ‘He’s definitely into me,’ she smiled patronizingly. ‘But you never know, if you wait your turn once I’ve discarded him...’

  I walked over to Mouche.

  ‘Never mind,’ Mouche said. ‘It’s payback time.’

  Mouche and I huddled together in our tights and oversized sweaters and ballet shoes. I have had loads of pairs of those pink shoes over the years and so has Mouche. But Mouche is not sentimental. I am. I have all my shoes displayed along the walls of my bedroom, along with the programs of every play I ever attended, when my mother and I went to New York. We saw every show on Broadway, using Daddy’s credit card before he had it blocked off.

  ‘Here. So, you get to write up today’s entry, should be interesting.’ Mouche whispered, placing the pink diary in my tote.

  ‘I’ve decided we take it turnabout; you get this week – then, in the end, we combine the knowledge of everything we have learned from the first ten dates.’

  ‘You’re hopeful. I kind of messed up at lunch. So I think we can safely say we will be attending Fall Fling alone.’

  ‘Give it a few days. Teegan is a piece of work. If Mark has any brains he’ll work that out; meanwhile we need to re-focus. I think these old guides are really good. If nothing else, they might show us what not to do. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yep,’ I say, ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

  ‘Don’t be, you’re fab. I’m so excited. I love auditions when I’m not doing them. You’re going to be amazing.’

  Mouche could be humble like that. She really is an excellent performer when she deigns to grace the stage. I guess she just finds more joy in being behind the scenes these days, and for this production, she will get full credit for design and choreography as well.

  The strobe lighting was being tested as together we sat in the auditorium in the semi-dark, our new bags on the empty chairs beside us, a picture of a fake universe on the roof making the theatre appear like a wondrous planetarium. Our favourite teachers, Mr Frames and Miss Love were busy organizing the order of auditionees.

  Mr Frames said, ‘oops, wrong show’ into the microphone when he mixed up Mr Sparks’ directions and generally acted uncoordinated in front of Miss Love. Then he finally projected the right slides for the background: modern day images, Los Angeles streets, a mock version of Marina Del Rey, The Grove, Santa Monica Pier.

  ‘How does it look people?’ Mr Sparks asked via microphone.

  ‘Awesome,’ some wish-to-be called out sarcastically.

  As we turned our heads, we overheard Freya discussing possible junior prom themes with Jet Campbell.

  ‘I changed the theme because we need a couple of boys on the dance committee. We’re not sure whether to do an inspired Bond theme or ...’ Tory, meanwhile, looked intently at Jet but he seemed to be bored with her attention and lit up when he saw Mouche.

  ‘Mmm,’ Jet said, looking in the direction of Mouche and me. He even took a step back when Teegan tried to paw his arm. Perhaps he had better taste than I imagined.

  The soccer team, led by Alex and Tom, arrived and sat behind us. They began talking very loudly about how they were only here because Mr Sparks (they said his name in mocking high tones) had promised them extra credit and time off to do what really matters – play soccer.

  We felt slightly outnumbered but refused to be intimidated. Watching straight men audition is not pretty. The director, Mr Sparks, was preparing his opening speech (always a classic) and testing the microphone with a little tap of his fingers.

  Ethan Mandel was rather begrudgingly warming up his fingers on the piano (I have to admit I love to hear him play). He was practising his ‘incidental theme’ composition and Mouche and I were whispering about the content of today’s notes.

  ‘Mmm... this really is a nice shot,’ Mouche whispered, pasting the first photograph of Mark Knightly, taken on her cell phone, into the initial pages of the Diary, along with the one of Mark and Jet arriving at LAX and a combined photograph of the Sunrise Soccer Team . Teegan looked over as if she sensed something was up and not just a change of hairstyle.

  ‘I hope this isn’t stalking. This could be misconstrued as evidence at some kind of teenage stalker of the year convention. You don’t think it could fall into the wrong hands and make us seem more viperous than the Princesses, do you?

  ‘No, it’s not for public consumption, yet. Anyway, leave it to Teegan, her nasty side is going to be revealed without too much help from us...’

  By late afternoon, Mr Sparks was getting more and more frustrated. Most of the boys refused to take ‘the process’ seriously. Only one of them could really sing, dance and act; Peter Williamson, no surprise there.

  ‘I wish we were doing a musical,’ Peter said, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Mouche, his scene study partner.

  ‘Me too,’ Mouche agreed tolerantly.

  By now Ethan Mandel, was secretly swigging some suspicious liquid out of a flask he brought from home which he referred to as ‘cough syrup.’ In any case, his playing just got better and better, to the point where he didn’t want to stop even when everyone was talking. Rumor abounded by 6pm that the silver ‘flask’ contained absinthe (wildly popular in Paris at the turn of last century for containing hallucinogenic properties).

  By 6pm the preliminary list of names was read aloud: the last two boys and the last two girls standing; ‘okay, now can we have Phoebe, Freya, Peter and ...Tobias...’

  Miss Tartt spoke the words with a flick of her dancer’s skirt, ‘the parts would be finalized and placed
on the bulletin board next week.’

  ‘I have an announcement to make,’ Mr Sparks said, ‘...this will be my last play here. As some of you know, I recently completed my PHD in Elizabethan studies...yes, you may applaud.’

  A few of the drama geeks clapped tepidly.

  ‘Thank you...really that’s not necessary. Anyway, I’ve accepted a post at the Royal Academy next year, so let’s make this production the best ever.’

  Everyone groaned. The jocks because they knew they had an easy option and the drama students because we were used to Mr Spark’s bizarre theatrical ways and would really miss his enthusiasm.

  Mouche rolled her eyes next to me and whispered, ‘go get ‘em!’

  It was my turn for a recall even though I wasn’t certain which part I was up for.

  ‘I don’t want you to impose character just yet,’ Mr Sparks spoke loudly to justify the fact that he was still in the process of stealing our teen dramas in order to complete his ‘original masterpiece...a comic and heartbreaking journey through teen world titled: Rocco and Julie – a tragedy in three acts!’

  When the boys came back to the raked seats and Jet and his group sat behind me, Alex pulled my ponytail like a twelve year old.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t try to snap her bra-strap as well, you moron,’ Teegan, sitting beside me, said loudly. It was suddenly an unlikely alliance, almost sisterly. Teegan seemed to be coming over to our side. I gave her a hesitant smile and she gave me a truce smile in return. I’m kind of glad Mouche didn’t see me do that, though. I caught Teegan peering over my shoulder to see what I was writing and I snapped the pages shut.

  Alex had wrecked my concentration, I began reading over the part of Julie in my seat, waiting for Mr Sparks to say, ‘thank you, Freya. Phoebe, you may begin...’ and noticing Jet notice Mouche as she discussed dance moves with the teacher-choreographer for the first scene.

  When Mouche sat down in the stands, as I was heading onstage for my audition, she suddenly whooped and hollered like a one woman fan club, breaking the dating rules and not caring what anyone else thought. By then, Mark was sitting quietly in the corner. He looked unimpressed about the possibility of being roped into the roles of stage manager and understudy.

  As I glanced at my script, I have to tell you, although it was based on the original, it was quite different; from scene one, it wasn’t quite what everyone expected. Mr Spark’s version of Romeo and Juliet starts at a dance, in a school gym, with starlight for a rooftop...

  from Act I: ROCCO AND JULIE

  Music plays. ROCCO holds out his hand to Julie at the party where they first meet. Julie is dressed in high fashion, Rocco wears street.

  NARRATOR

  Our tale of two star crossed lovers begins with two families...both from opposite ends of Los Angeles. Rocco lives in a trailer park and Julie resides in Bel Air. Rocco and Julie see each other across the dance floor, Rocco’s best friend Tyrone is with him.

  TYRONE

  I’m out of here

  ROCCO

  I’m staying to meet the girl of my dreams.

  Julie is serving herself some fruit punch.

  JULIE (overhears)

  Really, you shouldn’t reveal so much before we’ve even met.

  ROCCO

  I’m Rocco

  JULIE

  I’m Julie

  Rocco takes Julie by the hand.

  ROCCO

  Palm to palm and lips to lips...

  JULIE

  Not so fast...Rocco. We’ve totally just met.

  ROCCO

  Then take my hand.

  Julie takes his hand

  And feel my heart

  Julie feels his heart

  And hear it beat for you

  They kiss.

  Okay, so we stopped the audition before the kiss.

  Afterwards, when I was hanging around backstage, pulling on my jeans over my dancer’s tights, Mouche hastily scribbled on page three of her entry in the dating diary:

  Auditions today!

  Something weird is happening. Phoebe is a star and boys are noticing us. It must be the ‘Guide for Young Ladies’ advice in chapter 2 – ‘feign disinterest’- that’s working, because Phoebe and I have been ‘feigning disinterest’ all week...and MARK KNIGHTLY and JET CAMPBELL have already spoken to us.

  PS. Jet Campbell just handed me a note. It said: Wanna go to Fall Fling together? Jet He left his number. Does that mean I’m supposed to text him? Does that even count as a love letter? Mouche

  Chapter 8

  Teenage Aliens

  ‘Definitely, definitely do not text him first. He has to make the effort and text you. It says so here, in...I believe this one’s called, The Rules of Young Adult Romance,’ I advised.

  We were sitting on banana lounges in the water, swerving Wednesday around in her tyre, trying to explain to her the things about dating no one ever taught us.

  ‘Of course you have to actually get a date,’ Mouche added helpfully, straightening Wednesday’s sunglasses.

  That’s when I got a text that changed my day and interrupted the boy-rating diaries and our potential date-planning for at least a few hours.

  ‘Gotta move it Mouche – get off the couch potato zone and bring it...forget about school plays, I’m going professional.’

  It was Thom, my theatrical agent. He used to run an agency called Thom’s Kidz but now it’s just called Thomz Starz since all his ‘kids’ are mostly teenagers (except Wednesday).

  ‘You mean?

  ‘You betcha...’

  And in the space of an hour I’m preparing to ace my third professional audition. This time it’s a recall (which means instead of a thousand other teenage girls it’s between me and twenty others) for a part in the low-budget film, Teen Alien.

  So I’m pulling on my best skinny jeans and painting on tooth whitener for the recall for a teen horror flick. Mouche is helping me find a suitable outfit.

  I am pretty excited. I’ve forgotten all about Mark and the Princesses and school play auditions. Instead, I’m all fired up about driving into LA with Mouche. This will be the first time we drive to an audition without a chaperone. And I’m not excited just because I think I might get the part, or because going to Century City will be an excuse to gaze longingly at the surrounding movie studios, or even because I get to play someone else outside my comfort zone. No, I’m excited because I’m definitely on course for implementing the first of our dating strategies – meeting up with an older man (an eighteen-year-old called Matt). We used to take drama class together on Saturdays. I heard he is interning as assistant to the director on this film. He was a PA student at Sunrise High a few years ago. Now he goes to UCLA.

  Mouche has offered to drive me to the Alien movie recall and do some window shopping before meeting me for lunch at Century City. ‘What are best friends for?’ she’d asked. ‘Besides, it all goes in the diary...’

  Wednesday and Mrs Mouche were sleeping in. Wednesday was curled up at the foot of Mrs Mouche’s bed as her older daughter tiptoed out of the house that morning. They made a pretty picture.

  I had stayed over but we hadn’t had much sleep because we were both extremely excited. Thom had tried to get Mouche to audition as well, but as she explained to him, ‘I’m sorry, no can do. I have decided to concentrate on school. Acting is not my forte anymore, Thom. I want to get my scholarship to NYU. Besides, I think I prefer real life.’

  Perhaps Mouche had a point and it certainly helps to have a supportive friend, not just a competitive one. I’m not sure if the desire for the good fortune of a friend can outweigh envy, but I’m working on it. I’d almost forgotten about Mark Knightly and his hotness when Jet texted just before we left for Century City: Mark is coming 2. Text address pick u both up @ 8pm next Saturday night. Jet. PS. Are you going to be in Santa Monica this afternoon? Wanna hook up with us?

  ‘How exciting,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm...it says in Mrs Jones’ Guide that, ‘a boy should alway
s make specific plans not vague notions about what he wants to do with you, and where he wants to take you...’ Mouche replied.

  ‘Even so, I can hardly breathe. Do you think this means they like us?’

  ‘Of course. But I think they could have been more specific...’

  ‘Well maybe they need direction...’