“Are you an actor, too?” Katie asks me.
“Sort of,” I say.
“How come you didn’t audition for The Wizard?” Mika asks, slipping the elastic out of her hair again.
“I did.”
An awkward silence settles over the group. “I’m not really into musicals,” I say quickly. “I’m not much of a singer.”
“Don’t worry, Clarissa,” Charity says. “Actors face tons of rejection.”
All of a sudden the whole group is talking at once, telling me about the shows they didn’t make, and all the horrible auditions they’ve had. They compete to see who had the worst audition or the most rejections. Instead of making me feel better, it makes me feel worse. How can my one measly rejection compare to their endless audition horror stories? It’s just one more thing I don’t have in common with them.
Suddenly Mika jumps into the conversation, squealing, “Oh my God, did you see what Dopey was wearing today?”
“Dopey?” I repeat.
“The ASM,” Charity says, as if that’s supposed to clarify things.
“Assistant stage manager,” Benji explains.
“Right, right, sorry, I forget that people don’t know what that means,” Charity apologizes. She doesn’t seem all that sorry to me. “We call him Dopey because his ears stick straight out, like Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, you know, the Disney one?” She must have seen my face, because she adds quickly, “We don’t call him that to his face, we’re not horrible people.”
“Anyway,” Mika says, looking directly at me, “Dopey is, like, the king of AV at school and he is madly in love with Charity.”
“He is not,” Charity protests, but the group all cries out in agreement with Mika.
“He’s like a sad, lovesick puppy,” Katie says.
“Yeah, a puppy who has been hit by three Cupid tranquilizer darts,” Beckett adds.
“ANYWAY, so today he shows up wearing his Les Mis t-shirt from, like, four years ago. How sad is that? I don’t even know where mine is.”
When it becomes clear that no one is going to explain to me what a Les Mis t-shirt is and why it’s so hysterically funny, I get up to leave.
“Where are you going?” Benji asks.
“I have stuff to do,” I say.
“What kind of stuff?” Charity asks.
I shrug. “Oh, homework, chores, that kind of stuff.” Benji frowns and I look away, avoiding his gaze. He knows I never do chores or homework on weekends if I can help it.
Charity pats the step beside her. “Can’t it wait? We want to get to know you. The Benj is always going on about you.”
The Benj? What kind of a nickname is that? Still, hope, like a single birthday candle, flickers in my chest. If Benji talks about me to these loud, funny, and interesting people, he can’t have totally forgotten me. But even though I’m tempted, it doesn’t feel right to stay and hang out with them. I don’t know any of the people they know, and I don’t understand any of their inside jokes. I’m not a part of their crowd. To them, I’m just another audience member.
“Maybe another time,” I say. “It was nice meeting you.”
Inside, I go down to the basement and turn the TV on as loud as I can without Mom hollering at me to turn it down. That way, I don’t have to hear the laughter coming from Benji’s yard.
Envy
Benji’s new theatre friends have been showering him with soundtracks from all kinds of musicals I’ve never heard of. He plays them for me when I go over to visit him. “Listen to this song, isn’t it amazing?”
After listening to Rent, Spring Awakening, and Les Misérables from beginning to end, I think it’s safe to say that as much as I love acting, musical theatre is not my thing. Hairspray was pretty funny, though.
There are so many things that are going on in my life that Benji doesn’t know about. I can’t remember a time when this was the case. It’s always been the two of us. Now I have to repeat conversations that he missed, or listen to him describe people I’ve never met. It makes me think about what Mom said — that in high school everything changes. It’s starting to feel true already. But what if I don’t want it to be true?
“You should come to one of our SAPS,” Benji says.
“What’s that?”
“It stands for Saturday After Practice Shindigs — I told you about them last week. It’s when we get together after rehearsal to just hang out.”
“What do you do?”
“All kinds of things, sometimes we go out to dinner, or go to someone’s house and watch movies and play improv games and stuff.”
“I don’t know, it sounds like it’s just for cast members.”
“Not at all!” Benji insists. “People bring friends all the time. Last week we played musical charades. Charity and I won. You could be on our team.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather watch movies with Denise.” I admit that was a bit low. That is generally the kind of comment I reserve for people who get on my nerves and Benji knows it, only he’s never been on the receiving end before.
In the old days, before he became an actor and hung out with his actor friends, Benji would’ve frowned, I would’ve apologized right away, he’d forgive me and that would be that. But this Benji, or should I say, The Benj, just looks me straight in the eye and says, “Fine. But one of these days I’m just going to stop asking you.”
Well, good. That’s fine with me. Who wants to hang out with a bunch of drama queens anyway?
Mattie is no help where the Benji issue is concerned. The one time I open up and tell her I’ve been missing him, she immediately jumps to conclusions. “Now don’t get mad, but are you sure you’re not jealous because secretly you have feelings for Benji?”
“No! Why does everyone keep asking me that? I am not in love with Benji, he is my best friend! Can’t a girl be friends with a boy without it being all about love?”
“Okay, okay, I just wanted to check!”
If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if Benji was my boyfriend, I’d be a zillionaire by now. Of course I love Benji, but I love him the way you love your best friend, or a brother. I’d jump in front of a bus for him but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. I don’t think about kissing him or wonder what it would feel like to have his arm around my shoulders.
The way I feel about Michael is totally different. With Michael, it’s all butterflies and tingling and curiosity, but Benji is so familiar he’s like a part of me, like a leg, or my nose. The way I feel about Benji is deeper than how I feel about Michael. Without him, I wouldn’t feel like me. Maybe it should be the other way around; shouldn’t I be in love with the person I care the most about? I don’t get love. Maybe no one does. Maybe that’s why there are so many songs and books devoted to it. It makes me feel a little better knowing it’s not just me, that the whole world is trying to figure it out.
Like, or Like-Like?
Now that Mattie and I are completely over the Josh fiasco, I have someone to talk to about the Michael situation. Benji knows the basics, but I haven’t told him everything. It’s weird to talk to a boy about another boy, even if one of those boys is Benji, who I consider a friend first, boy second. A part of me is keeping the I Like You confession to myself because Benji has this whole other secret life with his stupid play, and now I have this secret about Michael. Now we both have things in our lives that the other person isn’t involved in.
“What it all comes down to is the fact that he actually said the words ‘I like you,’ right?” Mattie asks.
“Yes,” I confirm, blushing at the memory. “Those were his exact words.”
“And you said what?”
“I said ‘that’s good,’” I admit.
Mattie sighs. “That’s good? Poor Michael. He’s probably confused.”
The bell jangles and both of us look over to see who has walked into the arcade. Normally I would never set foot in an arcade, but Mattie heard that Declan James, her latest crush, is
a huge arcade and video game nut. That alone is enough to turn me off, but Mattie doesn’t seem to mind. So here we are. Luckily the arcade has a pretty good selection of candy.
When I pointed out that video game prowess doesn’t seem like much of a skill, Mattie said, “Good hand-eye coordination is important. Maybe he’ll be a surgeon.” Doubtful. I think you have to be good at school to become a doctor and the only thing Declan has going for him is that apparently he can beat some video game I’ve never even heard of in two hours. That and he is pretty cute. Otherwise he’s just as lame as Josh, but with nicer skin.
The customer heads over to Dance Dance Revolution and deposits a handful of change into the machine. Definitely not Declan.
“Mattie, what’s the big deal with Declan anyway?”
Mattie shrugs. “He’s cute. Don’t you think he’s cute?”
“I guess, but have you ever talked to him? Has he ever said one nice thing to you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t hang out with any girls, really. Maybe he’s shy.”
“Or maybe he’s not worth it.”
Mattie is silent.
“I just think you’re too good for him,” I say.
This perks Mattie up a little bit. “You’re just saying that because you’re my friend and you have to say things like that.”
“No, it’s the truth,” I insist. “You were too good for Josh and you’re too good for Declan.”
“Well, we can’t all be lucky enough to have Michael Greenblat fall in love with us,” Mattie jokes.
I grab the sleeve of her jacket, glancing around the arcade wildly. “Shh, keep it down, someone might hear you!”
Mattie laughs. “You just don’t want to admit it. Michael is in love with you.”
“He is not.”
Mattie rolls her eyes. “He is, too.”
“What does love mean anyway?” I grumble.
“Fine. But he definitely likes you, and not like a friend, he like-likes you. Now you have to decide what to do about it. Do you like him?”
“Yes.” This is the first time I admit out loud — to myself, Mattie, and whoever else is within earshot — that I like Michael Greenblat. And not just like him, but like-like him. It’s not that bad. There’s no fanfare, no flashing lights. I feel relieved and even a little bit liberated.
“Do you want to hang out with him?” Mattie asks.
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“I guess so,” I say, even though the thought of hanging out with him alone, in private, fills me with mild panic. What would we do, watch a movie? How closely should we sit together on the couch? Do we have to hold hands? Would there be kissing?
“Earth to Clarissa,” Mattie says. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’m fine, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.”
“At the very least you owe him a phone call.”
“Why?”
“Clarissa, he told you he liked you, to which you responded ‘that’s good,’ and then when he clearly wanted to kiss you, you ran into the house.”
“I did not run.”
“You basically did.”
“Ugh! Why is this so hard?” I put my forehead in my hands, worst-case scenarios running through my head.
Mattie pats me on the shoulder. “Love is hard,” she says dreamily. “Not that I’m speaking from experience. Until Declan realizes I’m perfect for him, I’ll just have to keep living vicariously through you.”
Now I’m the one doing the eye rolling. “If you’re counting on Declan, you might have to wait a while,” I point out.
Mattie pouts, crossing her arms. “I’m sick of waiting for love. Hurry up and get here already!”
“Good things come to those who wait,” I say with a grin.
Mattie laughs. “Oh, please! You’re the most impatient person I know!”
“Want to trade places?” I ask.
“I’d trade places with you in a second.”
“Will you call Michael for me then?”
Mattie laughs. “You big baby. Just call him already!”
Call
Even after my conversation with Mattie, it takes me a while to work up the nerve to call Michael. I keep telling myself that he’s the one who said “I like you” and that I have nothing to lose. It’s already been a week since that night at Pizza Hut, and I’ve barely spoken to him. If I were him and I had said, “I like you,” and the other person hadn’t even called me, I’d be freaking out. But maybe only girls do that. That, plus the fact that my mom is in the middle of a perm and won’t be able to interrupt me, makes me pick up the phone and dial his number. It rings six times before a man picks up — his dad?
“Hello?”
I clear my throat. “Um, yes, hello. Could I speak with Michael please?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Clarissa.”
“Hang on a second, Clarissa. MICHAEL! THERE’S A GIRL ON THE PHONE! SOMEONE NAMED CLARISSA! IS SHE YOUR GIIIIIIIIRLFRIEND?” Definitely not his dad. Maybe one of the three brothers?
I hear laughter and then something, possibly the phone, clatters. After an excruciatingly long time, Michael comes on the line. “Hello?”
“Hi, Michael. It’s Clarissa.”
“Oh, hi. How are you?”
“Good, how are you?”
“I’m good.”
It occurs to me that this is as far as I had planned. What am I supposed to say now? I couldn’t possibly just launch into any romantic stuff. I need a segue, and a good one. “So, you’re good?”
“Yeah, pretty good. Baseball tryouts are soon, so I’m kind of nervous about that, but otherwise I’m good.”
“Baseball?” I repeat. Cripes, is there any sport Michael doesn’t play?
“Yeah. I’m thinking of trying out for a different team. It’s still Little League, but it’s a step up. There’ll be more guys trying out; some of them will be a lot better than me.”
“You don’t know that. I’m sure you’re just as good as those guys.” I’m glad we’re on the phone and that Michael can’t see me blushing.
“Maybe, if I make the team, you could come to a game?” Michael says.
“Sure,” I say, thinking, could this be date number two?
There is a pause in the conversation. Last year, Mr. Campbell taught us that every ten minutes there is a natural lull in conversation. Michael and I have only been talking for five minutes. I wonder if this is a bad sign. I take a deep breath and continue. “So, about Pizza Hut.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about the whole sharing a table with my mom thing.”
“That’s okay. It was kind of fun. But maybe we can get something to eat on our own sometime.”
My heart is thudding so loudly I hold the phone away from me, just in case Michael can hear it. “Yeah, that’s kind of why I was calling.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. To say that if you wanted to get dinner or lunch or any kind of food, really, that would be good.” The minute it’s out of my mouth I want to sink into the floor. Good? That would be good? I can’t believe I said it again. Michael must think I am some idiot with a limited vocabulary.
I want to say more, but I’m interrupted by a beep. “Michael, there’s a call on the other line. Do you mind if I take it? It might be someone calling to book an appointment at the salon.”
“No problem. I’ll just wait.”
“Great, thanks.”
I press the call-waiting button and take the second call. “Hello?”
“Clarissa, it’s Benji.”
I don’t know why, but I immediately feel guilty, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. “Hi Benji, what’s up?”
“Are you busy?”
I’m not sure how to answer that, so I don’t. “Why?” I ask instead.
“Charity was supposed to come over and help me with my song, but she has an audit
ion. Apparently the casting director asked for her specifically,” Benji says. I can hear the stars in his voice. “I really need a second opinion,” he adds. “Can you come over?”
I don’t much appreciate being second to Charity, but I bite my tongue. I think about Michael, waiting patiently on the other line for me. I don’t want to leave him hanging, but it’s not like we made any plans to hang out tonight. I told Mattie I would call him and that’s what I did. Benji is so busy these days that I have to take any time I get to spend with him. Plus he needs my help. I’m sure Michael will understand.
“Can you give me one sec?” I ask Benji. I put him on hold and go back to the other line. “Hi, Michael?”
“Hey. Was it a client?”
“No, it was Benji. I have to go. He needs my help with something.”
“Oh.” Michael’s voice sounds heavy.
I rush on, “It’s for his play, The Wizard of Oz. He’s the Cowardly Lion, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. When is it? I really want to see it.”
“In a few weeks.”
“Maybe we can go together.”
I think of all the people I know who will be there: my mom, Denise, Mattie. If Michael comes with me, there is no way around it, I’d have to introduce him and then the cat will be out of the bag. Everyone will know about “us,” whatever “us” means. “Okay, sure.”
“Well I guess you better go help Benji. It was really nice to talk to you, Clarissa.”
“You, too. Bye, Michael.”
“Bye.”
“Hello, Benji?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be right over.”
Lion
My phone call with Michael leaves me feeling light-headed and giddy, like my whole body is made of root beer or ginger ale or something fizzy. I have to walk it off before I am able to calm down and head over to Benji’s. But when I arrive and see how anxious he is, the fizzy pop sensation goes flat.
He’s downstairs in the den, seated at the edge of the big leather couch, his foot tapping like mad against the floor. He’s wound so tightly that he practically springs off the couch when I enter. “Thanks for coming. You’re my last hope,” he says.
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