But on Friday something happens that changes everything.
I’m unsuspectingly passing by the drama classroom heading towards Miss Heyns’s class, when Mrs Elgin suddenly calls from inside: “Hey! Yoohoo! Redhead!”
I get the fright of my life and spin around to see who’s behind me. Really dumb, if you consider that I’m the only redhead in the school ...
“Me, Ma’am?” I stutter in disbelief.
“Yes, you! Come here, quickly!”
I walk into the dim classroom, and before my eyes can adapt to the gloom, I crash into Estelle Wolmarans. She’s rushing out with a face like thunder.
“Look where you’re going, Fatso!” she hisses, just loud enough for me to hear.
Mrs Elgin is an eccentric woman who dresses like someone from another world: layer upon layer of flea-market creations, regardless of the temperature or season. There is always an assortment of African beads dangling from her short neck, and quite often she wears a turban wrapped around her head. She’s the drama teacher and in charge of this year’s school play, the musical comedy Hairspray.
“Can you sing?” she asks. She is sitting at the piano.
“Erm ... not really. I do sometimes sing in the bath, Ma’am,” I say hesitantly.
She stands up and closes the door behind me. There is no one else in the room.
“Is there a favourite song you like to sing in the tub? Anything?”
I think. Currently, I love to belt out ‘Call Me’ loudly in the bath. It reminds me of better days, when I still thought there could be something between Dewald Fourie and me.
“Blondie’s ‘Call Me’,” I say.
“Well. Knock me down with a feather. Who taught you that old song?” she asks with sincere incredulity.
“My mom and I listen to oldies, Ma’am.”
“Very well, sing a few lines of ‘Call Me’. I’ll accompany you on the piano. Don’t be shy. It’s just you and me here. I want to hear how strong your voice is, and whether you’re on key.” She begins to tentatively tap out the first notes on the piano.
Is this really happening? How much bad luck can one person attract? Haven’t I been punished enough? Somewhere, someone is pushing pins into a plump, red-haired voodoo doll. Maybe it’s that awful Irma Geyer.
But Mrs Elgin isn’t joking. She waits for me to start singing, repeating the intro to the song over and over again until I join in.
“Cover me with kisses, baby, cover me with love ...” I begin softly, before gaining confidence. By the time I reach the chorus my voice is at full throttle.
Mrs Elgin leaps off her chair and claps her hands.
“I’ve found my Tracy! I’ve got my Tracy Turnblad!” she squeals, jumping about like a wind-up toy.
I feel as though I’ve briefly landed in someone else’s life. As if the door to the drama classroom is a portal to a parallel universe. What’s going on?
Mrs Elgin walks briskly over to a clothes rail, takes something off it and holds it out in front of me. It’s a shortish, sunflower-yellow sixties dress made of coarse fabric, with a big white collar.
“Go try this on behind the curtain,” she orders.
I walk meekly towards the curtain.
As I go, she yells, “What’s your name, Honey?”
“Arnelia van Zyl, Ma’am,” I say, feeling cornered.
I pull the weird-looking dress over my head. Like Cinderella’s shoe, it fits as if it was made for me. There’s no mirror in Mrs Elgin’s makeshift dressing room, and I go out to show her.
She claps her hands with delight and cries: “My Crimplene Queen! You’ve made my day! Congratulations, Amelia! You’ve got the lead role in our musical!”
I’m so stunned that all I can think of in response is, “Arnelia, Ma’am. Not Amelia. My name is Arnelia.”
I simply don’t understand life. Just when you think you have it all under control, someone lets a fox loose among the chickens. In this case, Mrs Elgin is the fox. She has no idea what kind of trouble she’s about to cause.
The On a Roll crew have strict rules about extramural and cultural activities: we’re not allowed to participate this year. The tuck shop and Dewald’s school and hostel fees are our priority. We all agreed to focus on nothing but schoolwork and the tuck shop. If we don’t give it our all we may as well not do it at all.
And what about Dineo? She’s going to have a fit if she hears that I landed the lead in Hairspray without even trying. This was her dream, not mine. She’ll see it as the ultimate betrayal.
“Mrs Elgin, I’m really flattered, but I can’t accept the role,” I say with genuine regret. I have to admit that it would have been nice to be a school celebrity for once.
“Why on earth not?” I can see that the drama teacher thinks I’m an ungrateful fool.
“I’m with On a Roll, Ma’am. A founder member, you might say. Between school and the tuck shop, I won’t have time for anything else.”
Mrs Elgin looks as if her head is going to explode.
“And do you think, Amelia—?”
“Ar-NE-lia,” I correct her.
“Ar-NEEE-lia,” she says irritably, “do you think Meryl Streep turned down her first big role because she’d already committed to being a waitress in a fish-and-chips shop?”
This gives me pause.
“But, Ma’am, my friends won’t understand. They’ll be furious with me. We’ve only just started the tuck shop; it’s to raise funds for our friend Dewald, who—”
“And do you think, Ar-NE-lia, that your friends would refuse an opportunity like this because it would possibly upset you?”
I’m considering this when she says: “No! They would not! In showbiz, as in life, it’s everyone for him- or herself, darling. The sooner you learn that, the better.”
This steamroller has no brakes. Mrs Elgin doesn’t give a hoot about my On a Roll dilemma.
“I really have to go now,” I say and head for the door.
“Here. Take this and read it tonight. Have you seen the movie? John Travolta in a fat suit. Queen Latifah, Zac Efron. Wonderful production.” She stuffs a thick wad of pages into my hand. “That’s the complete script of Hairspray. Go and, over the weekend, think about what I’ve said, Arnelia. Loyalty is for dogs. Give me your answer on Monday.”
Arnelia’s choice
I wrestle with the Hairspray issue all weekend. If I turn down the role, I might never get another chance like this. For one thing, I’m not exactly oozing musical talent. And here’s thing number two: Mrs Elgin has made it clear she’ll think me a total idiot if I don’t accept the lead role in her musical.
If I do accept, and let the On a Roll gang down, my friends will very likely become my enemies. Dineo, in particular, will hate me with a vengeful heart. I’m finally part of a group of cool people who think I’m cool too. And now I’m thinking about throwing it all away. I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t even open the script. I just leave it lying on the kitchen table among the other scatterings of our humble existence: discount coupons, paper clips, empty coffee mugs and a bowl of seriously over-ripe bananas Mom must be grooming for banana bread.
By Sunday morning I can stand it no longer. I read the script from beginning to end while lying in bed, gnawing on dry rusks. I take note of how much dialogue and time on stage my character, Tracy Turnblad, has in the play. I watch clips of Hairspray’s unbelievable music and choreography on YouTube, the beautiful retro costumes, the hairdos, the amazing, intoxicating, spectacular fun ...
Maybe Mrs Elgin is right. Would my friends refuse something like this because it might upset me? I’m not so sure. The rusk crumbs in my bed are irritating me. But causing even more discomfort is the thought taking shape at the back of my mind: the possibility that I could perform the role of Tracy Turnblad. What would it feel like to be in the spotlight? To be someone important in my
new school? Not just the new girl with the huge appetite. How would it feel to let down the On a Roll gang? Would they be cool with it in the end? Would Dineo understand?
It is already after nine when I decide to talk to Mom about my dilemma. Perhaps I should spoil her with coffee and something to eat before I pepper her with deep philosophical questions.
I’m making pancakes for a late breakfast when she shuffles into the kitchen.
“Morning, Noldy,” she yawns. “It smells like a church fête in here.”
“Helloooo, gorgeous Mumsy,” I say cheerfully. “Want a pancake? The first three were flops and I’ve already eaten them, but this one is going to be a beauty. Specially for you.”
Mom starts prepping the Bialetti espresso pot for her morning coffee ritual. “Smells heavenly, sweetheart. Yes, please.”
She chooses something on the iPod. It’s AWOLNATION’s ‘All I Need’. She knows I’m crazy about that song.
The weak sunlight paints lines on our beloved old table top. I tell Mom in detail of my Catch-22 situation. She chews her pancake slowly and listens attentively. Then she says, “Noldy, talk to the On a Roll gang about this. Be honest, exactly like you have been with me now. Explain how desperately you want the role, and how you don’t want to leave them in the lurch. Get their blessing. Perhaps it won’t be as difficult as you think.”
Mom makes it sound so easy that I send a message to our WhatsApp group as soon as I’ve cleaned up the kitchen.
What are the chances of meeting at Dairy Devil later this afternoon, say at 3pm?
The replies trickle in as my friends wake up, or return home after the morning’s church service. Everyone can make it, except Dewald, who is out on the farm. That suits me fine. I don’t want to see him anyway.
They’re already seated at our usual spot by the window when I pitch up; laughing and joking and fake-reading the menu. Everyone is still basking in the afterglow of On a Roll’s successful week.
Shaun spots me and calls out: “Come here, you legend!”
I slide in next to him. The waitress comes over and I order a double-thick Oreo milkshake. I’m not going to make it through this without carbs and sugar.
“Well, girl, I know you didn’t summon us here because you were missing us,” Dineo says. “What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?”
Why does everyone have to be extra nice today?
I look at Ilana with her tight little bun and thick glasses, Shaun with his cheeky gelled hair and his shirt certainly a statement with that lilac-and-purple paisley design. It accentuates his jiggling pink Adam’s apple, I think, and smile at my private joke. Darling Dineo, with her dimples that go in and out, always ready with a joke when the rest of us take ourselves too seriously.
Mom’s right, we’ve been through too much to be ripped apart by something as silly as a role in a school play.
“Mrs Elgin gave me the lead role in Hairspray on Friday,” I drop the bomb. I mean, even in the Second World War people could at least hear the shwieeee of bombs dropping from enemy aircraft. A brief moment to look for shelter or prepare themselves psychologically for impact. If only to pray for atonement of their sins. My friends don’t have that luxury.
There’s a deathly silence at first. It’s as if the world has stopped revolving for a few minutes.
Shaun is stunned. “Mrs Elgin did what?”
“I’m going to play Tracy Turnblad in this year’s school production of Hairspray.”
Dineo instantly jumps up and runs towards the restaurant toilets.
“Shit, Arnelia. Where’s your heart?” Shaun leans across the table, whispering in a strange, raspy voice. “We all promised we wouldn’t take on extramurals for the rest of the year. And don’t pretend you didn’t know it’s Dineo’s big dream to land a role in the school play.”
I’m about to open my mouth to say something when Ilana jumps up and walks determinedly to the cloakrooms, presumably to console Dineo.
“I didn’t go to the audition, Shaun. I was just walking past the drama class when Mrs Elgin summoned me in. She’s a teacher! How could I not obey?” I feel like someone under cross-examination.
“Did you tell her you’re part of On a Roll?”
“Of course I did! Several times! She wouldn’t listen. The other girls who pitched up to audition were simply all too skinny. The lead role requires a chubby girl. Mrs Elgin has a whole rack of costumes that fit me perfectly. Can I help it that I’m one of the few chunky girls in the school?” As soon as the words are out, I realise I can actually help it. Drinking fewer milkshakes would be a good start. With ironic timing, the waitress sets down my Oreo milkshake in front of me.
“And what about On a Roll?” Shaun asks, clearly bitter. “Are we now yesterday’s news?”
“Of course not! I can still work my break-time shifts at school. I just won’t be able to work at other events, because we’re going to do a lot of rehearsing. And, naturally, I won’t be able to work on show nights.” I don’t know who I’m trying hardest to convince, Shaun or myself.
“Well, I think it’s bloody selfish. What would happen if we all suddenly wanted to be in the musical? Should Dewald just go back to the farm to look after sheep?”
Shaun’s just being unreasonable now. I feel the tears burning behind my eyes. I fiddle with the corner of the laminated menu and keep my head down.
When I look up, Dineo returns teary-eyed from the toilets, Ilana supportively next to her. They sit down beside us again.
Dineo takes the pink Dairy Devil paper serviette and holds it over her face with both hands.
“Dineo, I didn’t go for an audition, I promise. Mrs Elgin head-hunted me.” I speak softly, because the people at the next table appear to be very interested in the drama unfolding at our table.
“You mean she boob-hunted you! Because I can assure you it’s got nothing to do with your head, my friend!” Dineo says furiously. Fresh tears well up in her eyes and she presses the Dairy Devil serviette against the two little pools to mop them up.
“I’m so sorry, Neo. But I can’t – and really don’t want to – turn it down. You guys don’t know what it’s like to be me – the fat girl who takes up space in the background. On top of that, I can never make my mark anywhere because, before I can do anything that’s worthwhile, we’re already moving to the next town. Can’t you please try to understand? I’d gladly want every one of you to have a chance like this! Perhaps nothing like this will ever happen for me again.”
“Well, here’s something that’ll definitely never happen for you again: your friends will never again trust you. Run along to your rehearsals and enjoy the spotlight while your buddies work their arses off in the truck. Why couldn’t you just make your mark with On a Roll, huh? I will tell you why: because you don’t have what it takes to be a Trucker’s backside, man. Go break a leg! And break an arm while you’re at it!” Dineo hisses, then jumps up and stalks out of the restaurant.
Ilana and Shaun sit in uneasy silence with me for a few minutes.
“It’s not as if I went looking for it,” I explain, now desperate. “And also not as if I haven’t agonised about it. It’s one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.”
Then my two remaining friends also get up and walk out of The Dairy Devil without a word.
Hungry Noldy was right. My streak of good luck sure didn’t last long.
Four untouched milkshakes just sit there, accusing me. I get up with a heavy heart, pay and walk out.
Showbiz is hectic
This is what it must feel like to be on drugs, I think after my first day of rehearsals.
My friends have ignored me since that awful Sunday afternoon at The Dairy Devil. I’m walking around with what feels like a brick in my heart. At break I go sit against the pillar at the library where Shaun used to hang out when Dewald’s mom was sick.
Solit
ary confinement, I think. Self-inflicted. I had it all, then threw it all away. But, when the Hairspray cast gathers in the hall for our first rehearsal, the excitement kicks in and for two whole hours I completely forget the fact that my friends hate me now.
The romantic hero in Hairspray, whom my character, Tracy Turnblad, falls for is Link Larkin and that role is being played by none other than Hein Geyer, Irma’s brother.
At the first rehearsal we read through the script together to familiarise ourselves with the storyline and character development. Mrs Elgin also shows us snippets from the 2007 movie, produced by John Travolta.
We’re not going to sing all the songs from the original comedy, but Mrs Elgin has included sixteen of the twenty-one songs in her version. I now see our eccentric producer-director in a different light. She’s not just a crazy woman who wears layers of clothing and lots of beads. She has become Sofia Coppola to my Scarlett Johansson. I put my heart into everything she asks me to do.
By the end of the afternoon I realise once more that I would have been stupid not to accept this role. Whatever does it matter that I have no social life or friends? Between school and Hairspray, there’s no time for that anyway.
Ma is baking beskuit when I get home in the late afternoon. It is one more recipe she can pull off with reasonable success. Today she’s adding handfuls of seeds and bran to the mixture. There’s flour all over, even on her face and in her hair. There is already a tray of rusks in the oven and the aroma is heavenly. I realise I’m ravenous.
I’m beat and fling my school bag down on the table. A little cloud of flour floats up towards the ceiling.
“Showbiz is hectic,” I say.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?” Mom asks. “There’s juice in the fridge.” She raises her forearm to brush the hair out of her eyes. “Oh, yes, Dewald came by to collect his Tupperware containers.”
How is it possible to plunge from the ecstatic high of being more-than-okay to the depths of being not-at-all-okay at such breakneck speed? I swear I feel nauseous. I must have altitude sickness.
Confessions of a Ginger Pudding Page 9