by Marisa Calin
YOU
She said no excessive gesturing onstage. She didn’t say anything about real life.
I can’t even bring myself to hit you.
ME
That’s all you’ve got!?
The retelling didn’t even do justice to the catastrophic nature of my performance. I find words for everyone else, sometimes they’re even clever, but with her … I needed something that would leave her thinking of me, and she probably will. Because I’m a crazy person! Now the possibilities are flowing. Sit down, have a drink. Tell me about your life, how you radiate something that makes me care so much.
You’re suppressing a smile. I glare at you, clearly not ready to laugh about it yet, and you bite your lip.
ME
She probably thinks I’m crazy, right?
Any more pearls of wisdom? Great. Thanks! No need to protest or anything: Course not, Phy. I’m sure you seemed really clever …
Your eyes have glazed over and now I’m not sure you’re even listening. I puff out my breath and stare out the window.
CUT AWAY: THE SILENT SCHOOL GROUNDS, THE LAWN, A MOTIONLESS BLUE SKY.
FRONT GATE. SCHOOL. THE NEXT MORNING.
Sitting on the wall before first bell, I watch you walk toward me with a smile on your face, holding two cardboard cups, the early-morning sun behind you. We often meet at the gate to eke out the last moments of sleepy pleasure before school starts. We haven’t spoken since yesterday morning; I went straight home after class. We don’t have theater today so there’s no need to concentrate and I haven’t felt like talking since I excelled at looking like an idiot.
YOU
Morning. To cheer you up.
You hand me a cup that gives gently as I take it, sending a fount of frothy milk and the spicy sweet scent of chai through the drinking hole. I slurp it off the lid as you hop up on the wall beside me, setting down your book bag.
YOU
This is a do-over.
So you recognize that I’m still thinking about bombing under pressure!
YOU
Everyone gets tongue-tied. I’m sure it was more noticeable to you.
Nice try—it would have been noticeable to a newt. You lean toward me reassuringly:
I said “great” five times in a sentence once.
Then, taking a breath, you turn to me properly.
Clearly you really care about what she thinks, so we’ll have a practice, for next time. I’ll be Mia.
I laugh. You set down your drink and put on a cutesy face.
Hey, Phyre. Great name. It’s nice to see you.
Still laughing, I take a swig of my chai, trying to play along.
ME
But you’re you.
You hesitate, subdued, reverting to your regular voice.
YOU
What do you mean?
ME
I mean I’m not nervous around you.
YOU
Oh, right.
Relief flashes into your eyes for a moment.
Then use your imagination!
You fan out your fingers ethereally and I smile, even if you are making fun of Mia’s class.
Evoke memories of Peele’s. The sounds, the smells …
So when you give me my cue:
Have you tried their chai?
ME
Why yes, Mia. It is so creamy and delicious …
You nod your encouragement.
… like a flower’s sweet nectar on a spring day. A golden pond caressed by the sun. Like, a cup … of chai.
You can’t suppress a laugh as I lapse into an impression of my inane jabbering from yesterday. And sitting here, watching you laughing in the sun, I know how lucky I am. You’re still smiling as we slip off the wall and collect our things.
YOU
Really, I think that went well. I found you fascinating!
ME
That’s me. Always something interesting to say.
I down the dregs of my drink as we head toward school. Thanks, I think, without saying it. I feel so much better. You’re the best!
We’re about to reach the steps when I hear the bell ring. Shit! I whip my head around and realize we’re the only ones on the lawn. We’re late! How did that happen? It feels like two minutes since we sat down. I grab your sleeve in a mild panic.
ME
No, I can’t have a late! That means lunchtime detention. I can’t have lunchtime detention.
Detention is Tuesday, the same day as Mia’s scene-study class.
YOU
No need to panic.
ME
Too late!
After a second, my crafty-plan face takes over and I can tell by your raised eyebrow that you know what I’m thinking.
ME
Come on. We have to try!
And just like that, I’m running.
Seconds later, you’re behind me.
YOU
Sure you want to do this, Phy?
ME
Sure as I’ve ever been.
I can hear your second eyebrow meet the first.
YOU
What’s gotten into you?
Such a plethora of emotions in your tone, it’s hard to make them all out. Confusion, amusement, resignation, possible admiration somewhere! And it’s true. Something a little crazy has come over me. It’s new territory. And so is the complex exploit of getting to homeroom unseen.
The principle is simple: the window in the corner of homeroom is behind a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, ground-floor access from the sports field. Make it to the window from the front of school, and you’re home free. The trick: it’s all about appearances. If you come out from behind the bookcase “with the right I’ve been here all the time” face, they get all turned around and are easily fooled.
I can see by your purposeful running that you’ve figured if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right, and as if on cue, you signal to my right.
YOU
We’ve got home ec in five, four, three …
The door opens and we flatten against the wall as Mrs. Kook appears from the main school building and crosses to the home ec block for first period. I smile a relieved Thanks and as we make the second run across the grass I start feeling the giddy tickle of a laugh. I’ve been known to laugh in tense situations. Uncontrollably. We have a fast enough pace that wind is whistling in my ears. The pure unexpectedness of suddenly having to run and a bloodstream full of sugar from my chai makes me feel airless. And yet, for some reason, this is the choice moment I pick to try to tell you why we’re racing through school!
ME
There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.
Now my laughing starts and, clutching my stomach, I think for a minute I might have to stop running.
I laugh when I’m nervous!
YOU
I already know that—
ME
No, that’s not it!
Then there’s the sound of footsteps from the blind spot beside the sports hall and I’m realizing that this is a poorly conceived plan as you reel to the left:
YOU
Plan B!
My forced whisper is louder than my speaking voice:
ME
This is plan B.
Plan A was “Be on time.” I can tell from the way you’re running that you’re laughing. Hey, my laughing was panic induced! You’re headed right for the footsteps and when I grasp your plan, I love you more than life. My look says “my hero,” right before I leap the knee wall and drop down behind it into a ninja crouch. So it didn’t feel so ninja-like. They always land with one knee bent, fingers splayed across the ground, and my knees are by my ears like a three-year-old squatting in a sandpit. I’m lucky I didn’t split my jeans. The first voice I hear is Mrs. Keen, our English teacher. Even from behind the wall she’s as annoying as she’d be if I were faced with her, because her expressions appear involuntarily in my head.
MRS. KEEN
Taking a turn around the garden, are we?
<
br /> Despite there being no one to see, I make a face. I can’t hear your reply but I’m pretty sure you say, We are, and I smile.
MRS. KEEN
Can I assume you have a good reason? You know I have to give you detention for being outside after the bell rings.
She makes it sound like a regrettable hardship but relishes every moment. Then, to my horror (and I use “horror” in its profoundest form) the door to the theater on my exposed side swings open and Mia steps out into the morning sun. I think I actually pretend to examine a buttercup. So now I’m the girl crouched behind the wall like I’m peeing in the woods on a field trip. Could this get any better? I squeeze my eyes tight shut for a second, hoping it might all go away, and when I open them, I’m still squatting over a buttercup with Mia still less than fifteen feet away. From here, it seems she’s managing not to commit to a facial expression. I raise my chin, meet her eyes, and smile a desperate, desperate smile. This is all for you, I could say, but I just crouch here. I hear Mrs. Keen still talking, her voice sounding a mile away now despite the fact that she hasn’t moved. Then, to my astonishment, Mia’s gaze shifts right past me as if I’m not here at all and she crosses casually through the gap in the wall a few feet away to join Mrs. Keen. I hear feet retreating toward the main school building and, the next thing I know, your face appears over the wall. You stare at me where I am still squatting in disbelief.
YOU
This is no time for a pee.
ME
Ha!
—is all I manage and I remain a little stupefied as you take my hand and pull me up. I’m not sure what to make of Mia’s help. I’m filled with a giddy mixture of horrifying humiliation and this delicious sense of complicity.
Moving again, we’ve passed most of the danger areas, so we head more slowly around the edge of school beside the playing fields and cut across the corner of the field hockey turf to the homeroom window.
ME
Detention?
YOU
Yep.
We’re quiet for a minute. I take a breath, shaking my head at the great dearth of words.
ME
Thanks?
It comes out more like a question because clearly it’s not nearly enough.
YOU
You’re welcome?
Feeling a pang of vulnerability that you might now ask why it’s so important that I stay out of detention, and because my reason will never make up for what you just did, I put all my attention into prizing open the unlocked window. As soon as I get my fingers into the gap and pull it wide, I brace my hands against the windowsill. The sill is only chest height but standing here it seems like a surprising challenge. You stoop to give me a leg up, and pressure-induced giggling threatens to return. I tip off balance, psyching myself into it. Then your hushed voice in my ear:
YOU
Someone’s coming!
And I propel myself through the window, practically clearing the sides, like I was sitting on a rocket launcher. I make very little noise hitting the floor, all things considered, and when you don’t appear for a second, I peer carefully through the window. You are doubled over. Laughing. It’s my turn to raise eyebrows. And bare teeth.
YOU
Adrenaline. I knew it would be the fastest way to get you through the window.
ME
Very funny!
I’m considering closing and locking the window when I think of everything you’re already done for me today, and I try a big-girl response: saying nothing.
When you’ve finally stopped laughing I help you through the window and only hit you once before perfecting my “There I was, reading” expression as we step casually around the door. The teacher on duty isn’t even here yet, so I swallow my sweep of guilt as we join everyone else and try not to point out that you got detention for nothing.
THEATER. TUESDAY LUNCH. THE NEXT WEEK.
Today is Mia’s first scene-study class—and your detention, which we haven’t spent a lot of time discussing. The best I could do was a grateful hug as we went our separate ways, but my mind was already here. I push through the theater doors. There’s Mia, alone, sitting in the front row. She has her hand on her forehead, hiding her face. She straightens up when she hears me, and smiles. It may be my imagination but she seems sad, her eyes glassy. Here’s my chance, to be a cheering presence, a reason for her happiness. I head down the aisle toward her. Behind me, the doors swing open again and Kate appears, followed closely by Elle and Cara, then more people, everyone talking. Mia is up and cheerful, too enthusiastic, overcompensating, and the moment is lost.
We sit on stage in a circle as Mia talks about the play. She’s doing her best, holding together, but when she’s not talking, her animation falters, and she’s lost in thought. She only comes back when she speaks again. Streamlined and studious, dressed in black today, she turns an apple over in her hands, apologizing that she didn’t have lunch yet. She bites into it thoughtfully as she asks us what the objectives are for the characters in the play. Seeing her eat feels intimate, personal, and I forget to listen for a minute, watching the ripple of her jaw, the way her chewing pauses when she listens.
When the bell rings for the end of lunch, the rest of the class starts arriving, cutting short this newfound time with Mia. We’re stacking the chairs away as I catch sight of you coming through the door. Mia has asked us to make a circle on stage and I signal for you to stand beside me.
ME
How was it?
YOU
Best fun ever.
ME
I knew it! I missed out.
You nod with a consolatory grin.
YOU
Next time!
Mia has stepped down from the stage to consult her planner so I whisk my head around to face you again.
ME
Have you noticed Mia seems down today? She isn’t herself. Can you tell?
She’s already on the steps, barely giving you time to shrug, and she dives in as soon as she joins the circle.
MIA
Emotion memory.
Hands go up.
BELLA
Evoking personal memories of similar situations to the one your character is in.
MIA
Exactly! Even if we haven’t gone through the same thing, we can use something we’ve experienced to relate to the character. That way you can really explore what’s true for you. Imagine how you would react.
She adjusts her collar. In some lights her black top is almost indigo.
Can someone give me an emotion?
EVA
Excitement!
MIA
Good. Excitement. Think about the most excited you’ve ever been. How did it feel?
Eyes to the floor, I focus on her voice.
MIA
Feel the butterflies in the pit of your stomach, the way they well up and make your throat feel like it will burst. You want to jump up and down, hug someone, pleasure pressing from your chest to the tips of your fingers.
I look across the circle to see if her own thoughts are playing across her face.
You’ll each step forward, remembering that specific time, and react with the greatest intensity of excitement that you’ve ever felt. We’ll go around the circle and every ten seconds the next person will also step in. The excitement should build until you’ve all stepped forward together. Then one by one you’ll step out.
I try to conjure up the feeling I get when the lights go down at a movie or when the curtains open at the theater, when I want so much to be up there with the actors. And then there’s the excitement I feel when I think about Mia.
MIA
Anyone like to be the first?
Sure! Ideally, but the idea of being that vulnerable is cementing my knees locked. Harmony puts up her hand. Presumably named even as a baby for her tiny aura, she makes no effort to challenge her reputation for being away with the fairies. She’s not in touch with reality, everyone says. Perhaps her reality is just really pleasan
t.
She takes a step forward, freeing an easygoing burst of excitement. Ten seconds later, Elle steps in with energy flying in all directions. It’s amazing how the vibe builds. I catch Ryan’s eye, a few people to my right, and he’s actually taking it seriously. Then, with my turn approaching, I let the heat of excitement well up in my chest, picture the bright lights, the vibration of music, the thunderous chorus of voices in my head. It all catches in my throat for a second and then I let it go.