by Marisa Calin
We continue around the circle, getting louder and louder, until everyone’s in, and the energy is electric. I steal a glance at you. Your excitement is more subdued than most but no less real. I’m surprisingly mesmerized by your face, lightened by this euphoric but silent intensity that flickers as we make eye contact. I want to know what you’re remembering—I’ll try to remember to ask. The sweep of people stepping out reaches me, the stage getting quieter, and as I step back I have a chance to look at Mia. She’s more cheerful than she’s been all day, the contagious excitement putting a genuine smile on her face. She waits for complete quiet before she laughs, gives us a pleased nod, and asks for another emotion.
ME
Sad.
She meets my eye. There are other suggestions ringing around the circle.
MIA
Relief! Good.
She rubs her hands together bracingly.
Same thing. Remember a time when you’ve felt truly relieved—experience exactly how that felt.
Elle starts this time. I’ve felt relief, too many times to choose from. The time you fell out of the tree on your head and I thought I’d killed you: my heart pounding, panic in my throat, and then how I cried and laughed and squeezed and hit you when you sat up. I never wanted to care that much again and at the same time I wanted to hold on to the feeling forever. I relax abruptly as I realize it’s already my turn to step out of the circle. Mia’s gaze is concentrated on me when I look over. I smile with a mixture of emotions. She smiles back.
That keeps my spirits lifted for the remainder of class but as we’re leaving, I hear Mia compliment Kate on being emotionally present. I try to tune out her words but they find their way in like a frequency that you can’t stop yourself from hearing. I’m as present as I can be. How am I supposed to be more present than that? You’ve started talking now but I don’t really hear, leaving my ability to concentrate behind in the room with Mia. I look deafly at your kind expression as we walk away, wishing that I could regain the contentment I used to feel when it was just you and me.
STUDY HALL. NEXT PERIOD.
It’s the start of study hall. The day is catching up with me. I rest my chin on my forearms on the desk as the room moves around me. I squint to make patterns out of colors and light. Grace is perched in the middle of a circle of gossip girls like the needle of a compass. I catch Mia’s name and lift my head.
ME
What’s that about Mia?
The circle widens as we become an entire class of iron filings drawn into the magnetic field.
GRACE
I was just saying how Mia and her boyfriend broke up.
A rush of jealousy that someone else knows more about her than I do hurtles through my blood; then I think of her in class today and it makes sense.
ME
How do you know?
Grace relishes her moment of glory.
GRACE
Well, Jen told me that she sat at the table next to them at Sixpence last night. She said they were talking, and then Mia got upset and left during dinner. He stayed a few minutes and then he left too.
The oohs and aahs ring out, and then the magnetic field starts to lose strength. Grace continues.
She moved here especially for him. She’ll probably leave now. I know I would. Can you imagine …
She keeps going. She has an active imagination but this sounds plausible. Even so, I want to throw something at her head to make her stop speaking. Mia’s only been here a few weeks but already I can’t imagine rooms and hallways without her. She’s single?—
There’s a flash. I blink and look left to see Ginny taking a photo. I put my hand in front of my face.
ME
Stop it!
GINNY
Relax! It’s for the yearbook. Natural pictures are the best and how often are we all together?
ME
Every day.
I’m not excited to see how that one comes out. She does this all year. Find an awkward moment and trust Ginny to be there, snapping pictures to make it worse. Some people love getting in the yearbook. They dive into shots, wrapping their arms around people they barely know just to smirk at the camera.
Voices become murmurs, my thoughts spiraling. The study hall supervisor’s chair is still empty. Maybe I could run for it before it’s too late. The door opens and … Mia, of all people, comes in hugging a stack of files. She’s everywhere! Grace sees her and starts whispering to Elle, prompting me for the second time to imagine throwing something at her head. I carefully examine the page of my book instead but the symbols have lost all meaning. I stare at my fingers flicking my pen lid open and closed. Despite my best efforts, she glows in my peripheral vision, like when you look directly at a lightbulb and then everywhere you look you see a spot.
SCHOOL GATE. THE NEXT MORNING.
I’m standing at the gate, hands in my pockets, coat buttoned up. You’re already inside but I’m hoping to catch a moment with Mia to console her about her breakup. I think I’ve missed her. How is that possible? I wait a few more seconds, kicking at the sea of red fallen leaves from the maples on either side of the gate. There’s no satisfying crunch underfoot, they’re damp and soggy. It’s stupid to stay and wait but I can’t leave just yet … My mind keeps changing the shapes and colors of approaching figures into Mia so that my heart jumps with expectation but when they get closer they’re not even similar. I check the time. Great, now I’m late again! This is pointless. I turn, trying not to slip on the leaves—that would be the kicker—and glance over my shoulder one last time as I start toward the front steps.
COURTYARD. SOON AFTER.
It’s quiet and still. Class has started. School is so different without faces and voices at every turn: deserted, like you’re in a dream and you know it’s supposed to be school but it doesn’t look the same. I think I see you at the English room window. The face disappears and I slip through the door into the hallway. I catch sight of the clock and pick up my pace, still imagining what I might have said: that she’ll be okay, that she should stay? There are footsteps around the corner and somehow I know before I see her that it’s Mia. In seconds, she stands before me—here in my head and then in these sudden unexpected places. I smile. She takes a second to register me and then glances up at the hall clock.
MIA
You’re running late. Again? Better get to class.
I stand there, my mouth suspended between words and a strange sensation of wanting to cry. Pull yourself together, Phyre. She’s a teacher, not your friend. Squashing the conspiratorial feeling from when she covered for me last week, I swallow, my cheek twitching with the effort of not crying, and start walking briskly toward class. I hear her footsteps walk the empty hall in the other direction, the silence embarrassing. My face burning, I flinch at letting myself imagine that waiting for her this morning could have been so different. The reminder of her authority follows me into class, late. Everyone stares.
READING ROOM. LUNCH.
You’ve tried to catch up with me a couple of times today. You’ve asked what happened this morning but I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll probably never want to talk about it as long as I live. I didn’t feel like eating lunch today so I came straight to the reading room, which is always quiet and empty, to curl up and die. It seems you know me too well. I can see you coming toward me through the square of glass in the door. I look back at my book and only hear the door swing open.
YOU
For a minute there I almost couldn’t find you.
I look up from pretending to read and make a face at your sarcasm. You sit down beside me, more cheerful than I feel like being.
YOU
I’m glad I found you. There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you for ages now. It’s just never seemed like the right moment recently, with you being …
A bird in the tree outside catches my eye, landing on a branch that bounces under its weight. The shifting leaves intermittently expose the sun, blinding me every
few seconds. You’ve stopped talking and are hunting in your bag. The bough is still swinging, the sun in my eyes again, and again. The branch settles, a shadow across my face. The bird tilts its head, watching something, which reminds me of Mia, of the way she watches us in class. Now I’m really losing it—everything reminds me of her! I look back to see you frowning at me.
YOU
Phy? You’re not listening.
ME
Sorry, I’m distracted. There’s a lot going on, that’s all.
I look at the book in my lap that I haven’t really been reading and for some reason I can’t shake the feeling that everything is terrible and I can’t see how you’re going to make it any better. The breeze shifts the leaves again, more fleeting sun.
ME
Anyway, I was kind of in the middle of something.
YOU
Oh. I just figured that if you were hiding you might need cheering up.
ME
Maybe I was hiding because I didn’t want to be found.
Even as I say it I don’t mean it how it sounds. And you’re right. Mostly if I hide, it’s to wait for someone to come and find me so I know that they care. I’m glad you’re here. You stand up, taking me at my word, and shrug as you turn away.
YOU
Okay. See you later.
The door bangs sharply behind you and I sigh into the pages of my book.
THEATER. MONDAY AFTERNOON. THE NEXT WEEK.
We haven’t seen each other for a couple of days. We haven’t even spoken since Friday and you didn’t wait for me at the gate this morning, so I get the impression you’ve finally lost your patience with me. We agree there. Feeling depressed about Mia is one thing but not seeing you has made for a crappy weekend. Maybe I should just get over myself and tell you how I feel. I’ve been too embarrassed but I’ve always told you everything so maybe I can count on you, to help me see sense. Mia’s class is up next so I head into the theater hoping to find you. There you are—leaning forward to chat to Kate in the row in front of you. I head straight over, happy to see you, and settle myself down to wait for you to finish talking. When you finally pause, you look at me—as though I’m interrupting—in a way that I’ve never seen from you. It throws me. Plus, you’re wearing yellow. Never in my life have I seen you wear yellow. I don’t see you for a weekend and suddenly you’re all sunshine. I hesitate, feeling uncomfortably like you’re expecting me to earn this valuable moment of your time.
ME
Hi. Haven’t seen you for a few days. Thought we could catch up.
Your expression is mixed.
ME
I’ve been meaning to talk to you, since …
Angry eyes. Still cross about the reading room. I get it but I persevere.
I could use your advice.
YOU
Yeah?
I swallow. You’re not giving me the warmest sharing vibe.
ME
Well … it’s complicated.
I look at Kate. She can sense she’s in the middle of something here and semi-turns away, biting her lower lip. You smile at her, as if sharing some kind of joke.
YOU
Go ahead, Phy. Tell me your deepest secrets.
On a normal day I would smack you but this isn’t playful. I came to make peace with you, so I rise above it and try not to tell you to forget it as that’s not how I really feel.
ME
Can I talk to you or not?
You’re considering it in an animated way, for Kate’s benefit maybe, and I’m getting angry. With the ultimate worst timing ever, Tony appears beside me:
TONY
Hey Phyre!
He puts his hand on my shoulder. I notice he looks a bit more put together today and he’s wearing a new pair of jeans. I try to smile.
ME
Hey!
Awkward pause.
TONY
I wanted to see if you wanted to go to a movie this weekend … maybe.
Shit.
ME
This weekend? I’m sorry, I can’t this weekend but some other time for sure. Thanks though.
I give him a semi-thumbs-up, which then seems silly. I’ve never been very good at this. He nods, pauses as though he may say something else, and then walks away. You look at me, puzzled.
YOU
Some other time?
ME
Oh, you know I didn’t really mean that.
YOU
Why did you say it then?
—!! Everyone else has arrived so there’s no chance to ask What the hell is with you? I turn my attention to Mia, as usual. She is perched against the front of the stage and seems cheerful, not sad or distracted about her breakup like I thought she still might be. There go my hopes of being her shoulder to cry on, deflating with an audible whistle inside my head. She presses her fingertips together as she talks about her plan for the class.
MIA
Today is about listening.
I spare you a look of irony.
Really listening onstage is essential. We never know what’s coming next. We’re not exchanging lines, we’re responding to a thought with a thought. Remember when you were a kid—didn’t you think the aim of sword fighting was to clang your swords together? Really, you aim for the person and they deflect the strike. Acting is the same.
Everything you do is a response, not a preconceived pattern of one, two, one, two. Volunteers?
I have zero intention of volunteering today so I purposely look at the floor.
Phyre!
Yes. That would happen. She can tell I want to curl in a ball. I feel almost angry. When I catch her eye, I hope she can tell. To make matters worse, she calls you out as my scene partner. You slip off your jacket and we clamber equally reluctantly up on stage, standing side by side as if caught in headlights.
MIA
Contain your enthusiasm! Everyone’s going to try this.
She smiles at me, igniting that spark in my chest. I try not to respond, setting my jaw, but despite my anger and despite feeling my heart sink every time I think of our last meeting in the hall, I smile back.
MIA
Can either of you fence?
My eyebrow shoots apprehensively skyward. I needn’t shake my head, my expression has it covered.
MIA
Physical activity is a great way to stay in the moment. We’ll try an exercise that combines fencing and karate.
Your cheek shifts into a smile that from this angle looks smug. Probably because you are—at the thought of my pinkness and sweating.
MIA
Think of this as a physical conversation.
I’ll give you a physical conversation. I want to grab your sunshine-yellow shoulders and give you a shake.
MIA
The aim is to tap the shoulder or hip of the other person, their left side with your right hand, and vice versa. To defend yourself, swing your forearm on the same side up in front of your shoulder or down in front of your hip. Simple, right?
She smiles.
Keep it steady. Remember, you’re communicating. Recognize that their action causes your reaction. Take it in turns, so the person who just blocked takes the next tap. Gentle. Go!
You reach out almost instantly for my left shoulder and I swing my forearm into your path. Pretty Karate Kid–esque if you ask me. I can’t suppress a smile, and go for your left hip. Your forearm meets mine before I’m even close. We go on like this, your taps getting faster, but I’m equally committed. You swing for my right shoulder—there’s sting in your effort. Gentle! She said gentle! You meet my eyes; you know me well enough to see you’re pissing me off. It seems only to fuel the fire and, eyes locked, we’re getting more determined. I started angry, this isn’t helping. It’s just getting more intense and I’m considering trying to concede with my eyes when:
MIA
All right! A nice example!
I relax, rubbing my forearm and knitting my brow at you.
The next step—the same idea wi
th words.
She looks at you.
Let’s imagine you’re in homeroom. Phy, you’re going to come in with a purpose. First—