“Now, this is supposed to be fun,” Mrs. Delany told us. “I don’t expect perfection. We’re all getting to know each other.”
The play opened with Cinder Ellen (Paige) and her stepmother (played by a girl named Kayla) fighting about Cinder Ellen cleaning out the barn. Cinder Ellen’s stepbrother and stepsister joined in. It was a funny scene, and Paige had most of her lines from the first two pages memorized.
Best friends have private conversations, so I nudged Annie and nodded in Paige’s direction. “Show-off,” I whispered.
Annie frowned. “Paige is just being professional.” Her words smarted like a bee sting.
“Sorry to interrupt, friends,” Mrs. Delany said. “I just wanted to make sure everyone understands that I don’t expect anyone to have their lines memorized yet.” She paused and looked around the group, smiling. “I won’t ask you to be off-book for at least a few weeks. Please continue.”
I guessed “off-book” meant not relying on your script to say your lines. Speaking of the script, Paige looked down at hers when Mrs. Delany was talking. It looked like her cheeks were pink, but I couldn’t tell from across the stage.
As it got closer and closer for me to say my first line, my hearted pounded as fast as Bear’s after she runs down the stairs. But in a good way.
Mr. Goat (played by a kid named Anthony) faked a sneeze.
“Gesundheit!” I said.
Then right after I said it, Anthony sneezed for real. “I said gesundheit!” I didn’t plan to do that. My mouth forgot to consult my brain ahead of time.
But everyone laughed. And I felt as light as fluffy white frosting.
At the next rehearsal, Mrs. Delany had us break into groups. I sat with the rest of the people who were in the party scene. Annie sat on the other side of the stage with the cast members in her scene.
“One of the most important aspects of storytelling is character development,” Mrs. Delany announced. “Before you can step into the soul of your character, you must know who they are.”
Master Kim said something like that once. Only it was about walking around in someone else’s shoes, even though we went barefoot in class.
Mrs. Delany continued, “You need to know your character’s backstory. It will tell you how they fit into the story, and why they are onstage.”
Vivian (Little Pig No. 2) spoke up. “But if you wrote the play, don’t you already know?”
Mrs. Delany smiled. “Yes. But it’s not important for me to know, it’s important for you to know.”
This sounded a little hokey. Like when Dad told me I should decide on my own punishment for forgetting to turn off the faucet and overflowing the sink. (FYI, I didn’t forget. I wanted to see if the little hole at the top of the basin worked.)
“Today,” Mrs. Delany said, “I want you to explore your character’s backstory. Who is your character? What makes them go tick tock?”
Paige rolled her eyes when Mrs. Delany said this last part. I didn’t see what the big deal was. Mrs. Delany had funny ways of saying things sometimes. So what?
Everyone got out their scripts (Rules 3 through 5: Always bring it to rehearsal), and Mrs. Delany passed out paper since we had to leave our backpacks on the floor in front of the stage. Along with our scripts, we were supposed to bring a pencil to every rehearsal.
“Shoot,” I whispered.
JJ (Little Pig No. 1) whispered back. “What?”
“My pencil isn’t sharp.”
“So what?” Vivian said. “It’ll still write, right?”
“I hate dull pencils. I need a sharp one,” I said, trying not to panic.
JJ motioned to the back of the stage. “I think there’s one of those sharpeners you crank on the wall.”
I crept backstage and found it. By the time I returned, Mrs. Delany was already giving instructions.
“I want you to take some time and really think about this,” Mrs. Delany said. “For example, if your character doesn’t have a name, give them one. If they already have a first name, give them a last one. Write down your character’s age and where they live. Tell me about their family. Do they have any siblings or pets? What’s their happiest memory? Tell me about their most embarrassing moment or a secret they have. Read through your script and see if it gives you any clues. Get creative. And remember, there are no wrong answers.”
I got busy with the exercise. Right away, I decided my character’s name was Julia and she had a goldfish named Sprocket. I didn’t know her last name yet. “Pig” seemed boring.
There were twelve of us playing party guests, and we all helped each other.
“What do chickens even eat?” Miles asked.
Kate looked it up on her phone. “Greens, such as weeds, grass, and vegetables, and they also peck the dirt for bugs. Or just chicken feed from the pet store.”
“What hobby should my character have?” Paul wondered.
“What kinds of things do you like to do?” I asked him.
“How old should I make my character?” Vivian said.
“Forty-two,” JJ answered. “The answer to any question you don’t know is forty-two.”
“I’m not making my character forty-two,” Vivian complained. “She can be sixteen.”
Mrs. Delany walked around and checked in with everyone. When she got to me, she pointed to my note about Sprocket and said, “That’s my favorite!”
Character: Little Pig No. 3
Name: Julia (no last name)
Age: fourteen
Siblings: one brother (Little Pig No. 1) and one sister (Little Pig No. 2)
Pet: goldfish named Sprocket
Favorite subject in school: mud mixing
Least favorite subject: barn building
Wants to be: marine biologist
Favorite thing about self: curly tail
Hobbies: kicking doors open and making cakes
Happiest memory: going on a tractor ride with Farmer Ted
Most embarrassing moment: once sneezed really loud in the middle of the library
Secret: allergic to corn
Three words that describe her personality: funny, talkative, kind
Nicely done,” Mrs. Delany told me. “Does anyone have any feedback for Eliza?”
Several hands went up.
“Yes, Paige?” Mrs. Delany prompted. I straightened my back. Paige Abraham had advice for me?
“I liked the part about the mud mixing class,” Paige said sweetly. “But maybe you could have made your character’s embarrassing moment taking a shower at school.”
Paige held my gaze while people snickered. I looked away first.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Mrs. Delany said.
“Oh, I was just brainstorming,” Paige told Mrs. Delany. “You know. How people have dreams about arriving late for a test or forgetting to wear clothes.”
Mrs. Delany ignored the giggles and called on two more people to share their feedback. I pretended to listen to them.
After rehearsal, JJ came over to me. “Paige is a jerk,” he said.
“Yeah,” Vivian agreed.
I looked around for Annie. Annie always knew how to make me feel better. But she was on the side of the stage, talking to Paige.
I had no desire to be anywhere near them, but I was riding home with Annie. So I headed in their direction.
I imagined their conversation in my head:
What you said about Eliza’s character was hilarious, Annie says.
I know, right? Paige responds. It just came to me.
My stomach sank as I moved closer.
“Of course this is my business,” Annie was saying. “She’s my friend.”
Paige smirked when she noticed me. “Were your ears burning?” she asked.
Annie pulled on my elbow until I was standing next to her. “It w
asn’t nice,” she told Paige. “You owe Eliza an apology.”
Phew! Annie was on my side!
Paige rolled her eyes. “For what? Mrs. Delany asked us to give feedback, and I gave her feedback. I was trying to help. You’re the one reading more into this.”
Annie hesitated, as if she was considering Paige’s explanation. But I thought Paige knew exactly what she was doing. And she’d said it in front of everyone. The only way she could’ve been more obvious was if she’d called me Nimbus.
Paige went on. “Actors are supposed to draw on real-life experiences,” she said. “Believe me or don’t believe me. I really don’t care. Either way, I’m outta here.”
Annie and I watched her float out of the cafeteria. “Thanks for sticking up for me,” I said after Paige was gone.
Annie turned to me and smiled. “I’ve always got your back.”
I should’ve known that. People didn’t call me Nimbus much anymore, but when they did, Annie confronted them or used her mind trick where she took out a pen and asked their name like she was going to report them. When she wasn’t around, I ignored them.
Annie and I made our way toward the parking lot and climbed into Mo-mo’s car. “Your character development was awesome, by the way,” I told her.
“Thanks!” Annie said. “I really liked yours, too.”
I cheered up even more when Annie’s mom handed Bingo to me over the seat. “Here. He missed you.”
If Annie and I ever had a sleepover, maybe she could bring Bingo. I bet he and Bear would get along as well as Annie and I did.
“Tell me about your character thingy,” Annie’s mom said. “I need details.”
Annie and I laughed. Then Annie gave her mom the rundown. She’d decided her character’s name was Mrs. Riesczecks. Her mom cracked up. Apparently, that was a cranky neighbor of theirs with blue hair.
“Maybe we can get you a wig and spray-paint it blue,” I suggested. Annie agreed this was an excellent idea.
“My book says looking the part can help you get into character,” she said.
Annie rattled off the rest of her character’s traits for her mom.
“My favorite part was her being a retired lunch lady!” I said.
“Yeah. Monica liked that part, too!”
“Monica?”
“You know,” Annie insisted. “She plays the Dairy Godmother.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Hey!” Annie said excitedly. “I just thought of something to add in our Rules to Surviving guide. What about: ‘Talk to at least one new person a day’?”
“Sure,” I said.
While Annie pulled out the notebook and wrote it down, I thought about it more. I talked to JJ and Vivian. So Annie talking to other people was okay, too. Best friends were understanding. I wasn’t worried. After all, Mrs. Delany said a cast was like one big, happy family.
I stared at the front door as if that would make it magically unlock.
Soggy pretzels! Dad said to remind him to give me the spare key and I forgot. And then he forgot. No one was due home for another hour, and I had accidentally left my phone on the kitchen counter this morning.
Now what? Mom would never let me stay home again if she came home and found me sitting on the front step. Or frozen to death. (Okay, fine. It wasn’t that cold.)
I took a deep breath. We learned in taekwondo that remembering to breathe could help keep you from panicking in an emergency. Not that this was a full-blown emergency. More like a roadblock.
Wait. Road, car. Duh, I thought. The garage.
I walked over and punched in the code. I made sure the door was all the way down, too, before I went in the house. Mom would freak out if she came home and the door was open. She worried about someone walking in and stealing our bikes and tools.
I remembered how eerie the house was last time, so I called, “Bear! I’m home!” right away. She came running and barking.
Mom had left a note for me.
Rules:
Make sure the front door is locked.
Homework first.
If the phone rings, let the machine get it. (If it’s me or Dad, we’ll leave a message and you can call back.)
If someone comes to the door, don’t answer it!
You can let Bear out but lock the door once she comes back in.
Don’t go anywhere.
A little ways down, after the rest of the list, Mom added:
Have fun.
After I put my backpack away and kicked off my shoes, I made myself a bowl of ice cream with whipped cream and mini chocolate chips on top. I’d wanted to do that ever since I saw Kevin eat his humongous sundae in Home Alone. (FYI: Home Alone is a movie about a boy who accidentally gets left behind when his family goes on a trip at Christmastime. At first, Kevin goes a little crazy having fun, sledding down the stairs, and eating a bunch of junk food. And, oh, there are a couple of funny burglars who try to rob his house, so Kevin sets up booby traps.)
It was important Mom knew I could be trusted, so I made sure to clean up my mess. (Plus, I kinda didn’t want her to know I’d eaten ice cream in the middle of the day.) Mom’s note said Homework first, but having the house all to myself for an hour was too cool to waste on a chapter about the influence of geography on the development of ancient civilizations.
I flipped on the TV and tried to sit down on the couch to watch, but my arms and legs felt jittery, like someone had plugged them in. So after pressing OFF on the remote, I stood in the middle of the living room.
The first thing I did was spin until I was dizzy.
Then I did a few front kicks in the air. “Huuup!”
My voice echoed off the walls and wooden floor, sounding extra loud. “Echo,” I said. Then louder: “Echo!”
Bear looked confused. “Don’t worry,” I told her, and laughed.
The doorbell rang.
My laugh got stuck in my throat. But Bear found her voice super quick.
Bark! Bark! Bark!
“Shhh,” I told her.
Then the person knocked on the door. It wouldn’t be Sam. He was still at band practice and even if he’d come home early, he’d probably use the garage door like he did before.
Whoever was at the door rang the bell and knocked again.
No one’s home, I tried to say with my mind. Go away.
Knock, knock, knock. (Bark, bark, bark!)
I ninja-ed my way to the front door, trying to keep my heart from beating too loudly. When I got there, I stretched on my toes to look through the peephole. There was a man there, just off the front step. He was wearing a black jacket and had a messenger bag on his shoulder. He looked like some kind of a salesperson.
Should I just answer it?
Mom said not to, but what if the guy was there casing the place to rob? If he thought no one was home, he’d break in. Maybe I should flick the porch light on just to let him know someone was there. While I debated what to do, he knocked again. I jumped back a little, which made Bear bark even more.
If I’d been Kevin from Home Alone, I could’ve used a recorded clip from a video to scare the guy away. But I didn’t have any booby traps. All I had was a yellow belt.
I took a deep breath and remembered what Miss Abigail said in taekwondo class about not feeding fear.
Standing perfectly still, I waited until the man gave up and left. Then I peeked out the window to make sure he’d really moved on.
When Dad came home an hour later, I was sitting at the kitchen table working on social studies.
“Hi, honey. How’d it go?” he asked.
“Piece of cake,” I told him.
Miss Abigail helped Master Kim unroll a giant, square mat in the middle of the room.
“We are going to work on falls today,” Master Kim told our class.
; A couple of people said “Yes!” and pumped their fists. And everyone hurried to find a spot along the mat. Because we trained at the community center, we didn’t get to practice falls very often. The carpet was the short, stiff kind that gives you rug burns. Thankfully, when I first started training, my feet were already toughened up because it was summer and I went barefoot a lot.
Each person took a turn being in the middle of the mat with Master Kim while everyone else watched. White belts went first.
“The most important thing with any fall,” Master Kim said, “is to protect your head.”
Master Kim showed a white belt how to crouch down and cross his arms.
“Tuck your head,” Master Kim told the boy. “Drop your chin to your chest.
“Now, roll back slowly.”
Master Kim put his hand on the boy’s back and guided him as the boy teetered backward.
“Back fall!” Master Kim said. I’m not sure why, but Master Kim always called out which fall you were supposed to be doing.
When the boy hit the ground, he smacked both of his hands flat beside him on the mat, and let out a kihap like he was supposed to.
“Good,” Master Kim told the boy.
After the rest of the white belts practiced, the yellow belts were up.
Rolling backwards while you were low wasn’t too hard. But yellow belts had to start their rolls from a standing position. It was a lot harder, and I was still getting used to it.
I stood in the middle of the mat and crossed my arms.
“Drop your chin to your chest,” Master Kim reminded me. “And…back fall!”
My body wouldn’t budge.
I giggled nervously.
“Trust your skills,” Master Kim told me. But it wasn’t me I didn’t trust. It was gravity!
“Go slowly if you need to,” Master Kim said. “Pretend you are sitting down in a chair.”
I tried again and imagined myself sitting down. When I was about halfway down, Master Kim said, “Back fall!”
I rolled back in a half-sit-half-fall and smacked my hands on the mat like I was supposed to.
Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star Page 6