The next morning at school I received an unexpected gift from Jenny McCafferty.
She had created a Facebook group for Into the Woods (“SIGN UP FOR IMPORTANT LAST-MINUTE EMERGENCY UPDATES!!!”), so I was given the perfect excuse to friend Felix in order to conduct some deep research on him. So I sent off my friend request to him (and everyone else, too, to not appear too stalkerish) and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Honestly, I was getting sick of checking my various devices, especially since I had spent all of yesterday checking my inbox for the cast list.
By the end of the day, everyone else had signed up to the group and answered my friend requests. And I mean everyone. Ferchrissake, Mrs. Murray signed up, and now we were online BFFs. Don’t they have computers at St. Paul’s? Or phones?
At least Felix didn’t join the Facebook group and ignore my invitation—could you just imagine if that had happened?
“It is very uncool of him,” Xiang agreed as we walked toward the parking lot, where my mom was waiting in the car. But Xiang’s distant, moony expression made me think she wasn’t even really listening; she and Parker had been officially notified that they were both in the show’s orchestra, so there were definitely going to be some hot times in the orchestra pit this fall. Eww. Meanwhile, I was supposed to be all psyched and giddy over getting the Little Red Riding Hood part.
A crap day.
The next morning was Thursday, the first rehearsal day, and it was the first time since coming to Our Lady that I really spent time examining myself in the mirror and gussying up before heading off to school. I mean, I would be interacting with boys, and now that Felix had said I was beautiful, I had a reputation to uphold! And if his lack of online activity meant that he wasn’t that into me, maybe he’d think twice?
I managed to get to Jerry Hall a bit early. When I walked into Room A, one of three rehearsal spaces tucked away behind the auditorium, I quickly learned that I didn’t have anything to worry about: Felix was instantly at my side, breathing into my ear.
“Hiya.”
Suddenly the world went from an angry, dirty magenta to a cool, sparkly white.
I turned, smiling. “Hi, there.”
His perfect row of upper teeth was absolutely hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
Ohhh, meltiness . . .
“Really?” I exhaled.
Then I suddenly remembered I was mad at him. “Well, you know there are these newfangled things called computers, not to mention phones? Those strange, thin boxes that glow?”
He looked away, across the room, still smiling that killer smile. “Oh, you mean Facebook. I got your invitation in my e-mail, but I can’t get my Facebook account to work. I think someone hijacked my password and changed it. Probably one of my buds at St. Paul’s.” He grabbed my hand and held it, entwining his fingers with mine. “But were you thinking about me?”
I was surprised by the sudden physical contact and a little embarrassed by the question. What am I supposed to say: “Oh, honey. Incessantly”? I mean, I couldn’t say that!
I decided to play it coy. “Maaaybe . . .”
His grin grew even wider. “Sweet. ’Cause I can’t get you out of my head.”
I just blushed in response. Never in my life had anyone ever said anything remotely like that to me, and the fact that it was coming from the most beautiful person on the planet was just . . . unreal. He was so forward, so direct; it was unnerving.
Clearly, I was dreaming. I was asleep in my bedroom on Iroquois Trail, drooling on my pillow and strangling a pink Care Bear with my twisted sheets.
Or was I?
Suddenly he pulled his hand away, stepped back, and kinda slumped, looking down at the floor. “Sorry, I’m probably freaking you out. I mean, I’m freaking me out!”
“No, no,” I said, putting a hand on his upper arm.
There was a muscle there. A proper, wonderful muscle.
“It’s just—I dunno. I just feel like we have a connection,” he said. “You probably think I’m nuts.” He brushed a fallen lock of hair back from his eyes and peered at me.
“I don’t think you’re nuts.” We just looked at each other for a long moment, and I was tongue-tied. I mean, what was the appropriate response? Seriously. Is there something—anything—to say? Something about the play, the weather, politics, sports . . .?
“Actually, I’m a liar. You definitely are nuts.”
Did I just say that? Did I just completely kill the moment by trying to be coy and funny? Oh, God. A classic Marty misfire.
But it wasn’t. He very gently leaned forward and placed his lips against mine.
Reality came back hard and fast as I broke away from the kiss and saw Jimmy staring at us. I thought we were alone in the room, but he must have just walked in, holding a pile of identical paperback books. He looked shocked. Felix ran a hand through his hair and kind of stepped back from me, flustered.
A wave of shame washed over me. I mean, I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of, but I still felt the feeling throughout my body. Jimmy was my, like, soulmate, and to have him see me . . . I dunno, it just felt super-awkward. But I didn’t have time to process everything, because Jenny barged in, clapping a hand against her clipboard and shouting “Listen up!” to a bunch of people walking in behind her. Oliver stumbled in, too, holding more of those paperbacks in his arms.
Then I turned back toward Felix, who locked eyes with mine and smiled a small, secret smile, and I felt something unfurl within me.
“OK, guys, here are your scripts!” Jenny was saying. “Grab one and make sure to write your name on the inside cover—we don’t want them getting all mixed up once you’ve started highlighting and taking notes on blocking. We’re still missing a few folks, but Sister Mary Alice and Mrs. Murray are on their way, so let’s be ready when they come in. Grab yourself a chair from the back, and let’s arrange them in four rows, facing this wall. On this show, we’re going to hit the ground running!” Jenny looked around the room with bright eyes.
God, she was irritating.
I pivoted toward Felix and did a quick “Hit the ground running!” McCafferty imitation, and he chuckled soundlessly in response. As I turned back, I thought I saw Jenny meet my glance, but she quickly looked down and spread the wobbly piles of scripts into two fans across the table. Everyone moseyed over toward them, and Oliver gave me a slow wink as he handed me mine. Jimmy was standing next to him, and I tried to make eye contact, dying to know what he was thinking about me and Felix. Unfortunately, he was too busy checking off people’s names on Jenny’s clipboard.
Then everyone lumbered over to grab metal folding chairs from a rolling rack by the far wall. The door opened, and Mrs. Murray backed into the room, pulling a rickety, old-school TV stand into the room. Sister Mary Alice emerged from behind it, and she helped guide the television toward the front of the room. “Oh, heavens, this is heavy. Thank you, Nancy.”
Jenny ushered Jimmy and Oliver to the back of the room with her usual officiousness. Felix was seated in the row just in front of me, and we exchanged a few shy glances before he finally turned to face forward.
I leaned back in my chair and looked around the room at the other actors. Maria Kilkenny was whispering away with this tall girl named Penelope, who was cast as the Baker’s Wife, so Derek would be having lots of scenes with her. (Actually, the Baker’s Wife is probably the biggest role in the whole musical, but people always seem to forget about it, because she’s not a famous fairy-tale character.) Then there was a clump of three guys—Jason, Kirk, and Foster—who would be playing the Narrator, Rapunzel’s Prince, and Jack. They were all from a town not too far from Our Lady of the Oaks, and so far they were pretty shy around all us girls. Glamorous Kate O’Day, who was Cinderella, was sitting right in the front, notebook and pen ready. Short and friendly Mr. Gonzalez, one of the cooks from the cafeteria, had been recruited by Sister Mary Alice to play Cinderella’
s Father, since he only had a couple of lines in the whole play and it wasn’t worth bringing in some guy from another school for the role. This would be the last time we saw him, though, until dress rehearsals. He hovered near the back of the room, just in front of the gaggle of three girls—Jenna, Madison, and Emma—who would be playing Cinderella’s Stepmother and Stepsisters. They were also with Chloe, who would be playing Jack’s Mother. I was sitting next to Daisy, who was playing Cinderella’s Mother and the King’s Guard. (Normally the guard is a male role, but, well, it’s a girls’ school, and there’s not much to either role.) I smiled at her as people settled in, and she beamed back at me. “This is so exciting!” she whispered.
“I know, right?”
This play was going to rock.
More likely, I was feeling all dreamy because my lips were numb with prickly pleasure. In fact, I could swear they were actually swelling—is that a thing? Does that happen to everyone, every time they kiss? Are people walking around in a constant state of lip puffiness? And I couldn’t help staring at the back of Felix’s head. Who knew the back of someone’s head could be so interesting?
Sister Mary Alice popped a DVD into the player on the TV stand and finally turned to address us. “Ah, my intrepid crew of thespians!”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Murray double-fisted the remote controls, trying to get the screen to work. I looked back at Jimmy, who made a funny, bewildered face at me. In response, I covered my eyes with one hand, in mock shame.
OK, so things weren’t that weird between us because of the kiss.
“This will be your easiest rehearsal,” Sister continued, heading over to the light switch. “You don’t have to do a thing. Today we’re just going to watch the original Broadway production from 1987 so we know exactly what we’ve gotten ourselves into.” She chuckled. “On second thought, this might be the most difficult rehearsal. I assure you, I will not accept any resignations after the screening.”
The lights dimmed, the show began, and I sat there, watching the blue light of the television caress the silhouette of the head in front of me.
Lights, camera, action.
So then, after the movie/rehearsal ended, Felix and I went into an empty classroom and had hot monkey sex.
*snort*
Yeah, not quite. Sister Mary Alice turned off the TV once the credits came up, then started going through the different roles, explaining what she saw to be the main challenges for each actor.
“Martha,” she eventually said, turning to me, “I think the role of Little Red Riding Hood is one of the hardest.”
Oh, crap.
She continued, “True, she does seem pretty simple and straightforward, and she gets to deliver some of the funniest lines. But unlike all the other roles, Little Red doesn’t have a clear trajectory that makes sense to me. Normally, a character wants something, so they go and get it. Along the way they make choices, have regrets, learn something about themselves and the world. But in your case, you’re stuck between being a child and an adult.”
I swallowed. The way she kept saying you made it all sound weirdly personal.
“I’m not sure what you want, other than the occasional sweet,” Sister continued, shaking her head. “After your encounter with the wolf, you learn about naïveté and protection, so you do seem to grow up. But in the second act you become orphaned, and you’re still very vulnerable. The trick for you will be to make that believable. I want the audience to understand that even when you seem most sophisticated and most confident, you’re actually totally outside of your comfort zone, that it’s all just bluster. That’s the only way you’ll have our sympathy later on, when you really need help. No easy feat for any actor.”
Then, after what seemed like an unusually long moment of me nodding back at her, Sister turned to Maria Kilkenny. “Now, the Witch is a whole other story . . .”
OK, I thought to myself, I can do this.
And, actually, I was eager for the real rehearsals to start. Acting is fun! I mean, I think it’s really weird that as kids we’re constantly pretending to be someone or something else, and then suddenly we all grow up, and the only place we can keep playing is onstage. Doesn’t that seem . . . wrong? I feel like everyone should be in theater.
Sister continued with her character breakdowns, and when she got to Derek, he tensed up and flushed.
“The Baker, in my view, is the hero of this show,” she said, clasping and reclasping her hands. “Yes, he ends up protecting the children and defeating the Giant’s Wife. But really it’s his struggle with right and wrong that makes him heroic to me. And, like all of us, he doesn’t always get it right.”
Sister paused and took a deep breath. “Now, Derek.” Derek swallowed audibly. “I know you’re not used to being onstage. But you have a great talent, and I don’t want you to hide your light under a bushel.”
(I think Sister may have forgotten that people at secular schools don’t necessarily get Bible references, but if Derek was confused, he didn’t let on.)
She continued. “Your challenge will be to use your insecurity about being onstage. I want you to embrace it and channel it into your character. The Baker is insecure about everything, from the second scene onward. Everything he thought was right and good and proper is turned upside down. His whole world becomes upended with disappointment and betrayal and grief. And he, like us, comes out stronger at the end. He learns, and we as an audience learn along with him. So, in many ways the play rests on your shoulders.”
Derek couldn’t have looked more pained. Sister chuckled at the sight of him and walked over to pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, you’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”
When “rehearsal” was over, and everyone was busy folding their chairs and returning them to the racks along the back wall, Felix pulled me aside, far from the others.
“About before, I’m sorry if I—”
“What? No, don’t be sorry!” I said quickly. “I mean, there’s really nothing to be sorry about. It was all good.” All good? “You know, it was, well, a moment. Or whatever.”
Oh, Marty, shut up, just shut up. But I couldn’t stop: “Really, it’s no biggie.”
You know, like I make out with cute boys all the time. Make-out Marty, that’s my name!
Felix looked up at the ceiling with a pained expression, then said, “It’s just that maybe it wasn’t a good idea.”
WHAT?
Oh, God. My scalp tensed up, preparing for The Worst Thing Ever Imaginable.
He must have seen my terrified expression, because he stepped closer and put a hand on my arm. “No, no, no, no, no, don’t get me wrong! It was a great idea! I just . . . I think we should try to keep this between us. Under wraps.”
“I wasn’t going to . . . I mean . . . ,” I stammered.
“Plays like this one, they can be really intense. And I don’t want people to be weirded out that we’re, like, you know, and to be talking about us all the time.”
I opened my mouth to say something—honestly, I had no idea what it would be—but he rushed in again. “Don’t get me wrong! I want us to, you know. But maybe not, like, in everyone’s faces. I’m just worried that it’ll make things strange and complicated. I’ve seen that happen before, and the whole fishbowl thing can really screw it up. You know?”
He looked at me searchingly, almost desperately, and I felt my whole body unclench. After the awkwardness of seeing Jimmy see us kiss, it wasn’t like I was looking forward to more PDA. “No worries,” I said, relaxing into an easy smile.
“I just think we’ve got something here, and I don’t want to mess it up.” He didn’t seem convinced that I understood him, and it was touching to see how worried he looked.
“Felix. It’s OK,” I said. Now it was my turn to reach out and rub his arm (the muscle!). “What we do together, well, it’s nobody’s business.”
Now, how cool was I? Finally, for once I had said the exact right thing to him. And it was true: This was nobody’s swe
et business but ours.
Then we just sort of grinned at each other for another lingering second before Felix turned and walked off.
Moments later, Jimmy materialized in front of me. “You,” he exclaimed, wild-eyed. “And . . . that guy!” Jimmy flailed his other arm toward the door.
I snapped my fingers in a sassy arc. “Damn straight.”
He was giving me an appraising look, clearly impressed. “I cannot believe this. Seriously. Well played, Sullivan. Ten points for Gryffindor!”
“But, Jimmy, you can’t tell anyone. Swear.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I really don’t want people talking about it. Trust me, it’ll make the whole play weird if everyone knows we’re together. So keep it to yourself. Got it?”
Jimmy huffed and rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious. Not even Derek.”
I could see the wheels turning in Jimmy’s head. Could he and I still have secrets, or would he run to tell Derek any little thing I told him? I was testing how he would handle this, and he knew it. And he knew I knew it. And I knew he knew I—yeah, well, you get the picture.
“Fine,” he finally said, waving the issue away with his hand. “Whatever. But I am still in total shock over this.”
“I know,” I said—OK, squealed.
Jimmy put his arm around my shoulders as we walked out of Rehearsal Room A.
“Aww, my little Marty. They grow up so fast, don’t they!”
“Ugh, finally, it’s Friday!” Xiang’s peach-colored plastic lunch tray clattered onto the table across from me.
“I know. It’s been such a long, crazy week, hasn’t it?” I asked. I mean, it really had been, what with the callbacks on Monday, the anxiety over getting cast in the musical, Xiang going practically nympho, then the Big Kiss last night—how much more could happen?
Xiang eyed me, noting the chipper tone in my voice. Suddenly her hand slammed down onto the table, rattling the tableware. “You didn’t!” she exclaimed.
I snapped a celery stick in two. “Did. Too.”
Xiang made a high-pitched “eep” sound.
Beyond Clueless Page 9