A wood-paneled door on the other end of the room bore a handwritten sign that read SAD ACTORS KEEP OUT!
“Anywhere that says ‘Keep Out,’ keep out, ’kay? Pretty self-explanatory.”
“Got it,” I nodded. “Mind if I ask why?”
“Oh, you know …” She led me out of the lounge and down a narrow hall. “We’re lucky Bald Mountain lets us use the place at all. Usually they board it up in the off-season, but we got them to open the downstairs and this wing for us. But it’s easier to keep anything we’re not using boarded up, you know? That way we don’t have to clean it. And, you know, mice.”
“Wait, what?”
“This is you.” She jerked her thumb at a door that had the names Cass, Amy, and Heidi cut out of magazine letters and taped on it. Like an artsy ransom note.
I hoped she’d been kidding about that whole mice thing. Not that I’m afraid of mice or anything; I would just prefer not to share my living space with them. Those things poop everywhere.
“This is the girls’ room. The boys live at the other end of the hall. I’m upstairs in the attic—holler if you need anything, and I may respond. If I don’t have anything better to do. But I’ll hear you—the walls are thin. I’ll leave while you get acquainted with your fellow captives. Meeting on the lawn in fifteen.”
As Langley popped in her earbuds and walked toward the lounge, I pushed open the flimsy wooden door, which creaked noisily. Like everything else in this house. Inside, a girl who looked like a teeny-tiny fairy tale princess was sitting on a rollaway cot, sobbing silently but profusely. Fat teardrops spilled out of her big blue eyes, clung to her thick dark lashes, and landed on the tip of her perfect button nose. A very tall, thin girl in a peasant top had draped one long, elegant arm around the princess’s shoulders, copper bangles clanking up and down her wrists. The two of them looked up.
“H-h-hi,” the tiny blonde sputtered, and blew her nose into a Kleenex. White crumpled tissues dotted the floor like gross, mucus-filled snow.
“Come on in,” the tall girl waved me over with her free arm. “We’re having kind of a rough day.”
“I’m r-r-ruining our first m-m-moments together as r-r-roommates,” the blonde sobbed. “This is not good memory making!”
“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine,” the other one said soothingly. “It’ll be funny in like a week, I promise.” She smiled, crinkling the dusting of freckles across her nose. “I’m Heidi. You must be Cass.”
“Yup. Hi.” I dropped my bag next to a set of bunk beds lined up next to the wall. The bottom bunk had stuff strewn over it, so it looked like the top for me. I walked over toward the girls on the cot.
“S-s-sit,” the short one sniffled. “I’m Amy.”
“Hi.” I sat on the other side of Amy. “This is probably a stupid question, but are you okay?”
“N-no,” she sighed. “No, not at all.” She picked the cell phone up out of her lap and handed it to me. I read the series of text messages on the screen:
Connor: its ovr
Amy: Y???>
Connor: we gradu8d an I wanna hook up with hotsluts @ skool
Gradu8d? I stared at the text, puzzled for a few minutes.
“Your boyfriend broke up with you because he wants to ‘hook up with hot sluts’ in college?” I asked incredulously.
This kicked off a fresh round of sobs.
“He did it today,” Heidi whispered, “just as she crossed the border into Vermont. That’s when she got the text.”
“What a douchebag,” I muttered murderously. Who would do something like that? Somehow, the depths to which the male species would sink continued to surprise me. “Okay, firstly, saying something so crass makes him a total douche. Secondly, he broke up with you via text, which is like, douche move one-oh-one. But most importantly, you could never be serious about someone who uses text words like gradu-eight and misspells school and thinks hotsluts is one word. You just dodged a bullet, my friend.”
“I don’t want to dodge him; I love him.” Amy sniffled. “He may be a bullet, but he’s my bullet.”
“Maybe … maybe it’s time to let the bullet fly away,” Heidi offered, making a flapping, birdlike gesture with one large hand.
“Yeah, and shoot someone else,” I mumbled. “I know we just met”—I folded my legs up under me—“so it’s probably not my place to say anything at all, and I definitely shouldn’t have just used the word ‘douche’ about forty-seven times, but this guy is clearly a Class-A douchebag.” Forty-eight times. God, I’m classy.
“No, no, he’s not! Not at all! We had some good times, too!” Amy reached over Heidi to pick up a framed photo that was laying in a partially unpacked pink floral quilted duffle bag. “See?”
I picked up the silver frame, which was engraved with A NIGHT TO REMEMBER: BIG BEAVER FALLS HIGH SCHOOL PROM. I studied the picture: Amy, in formal wear and a plastic tiara, was clinging to a good-looking blond guy in a plastic crown.
“That does look … fun.” I set the frame down decidedly. I hadn’t actually made it to my prom, so maybe that had been a barrel of laughs. What the hell did I know? “But still—”
“Wait!” she reached over me to grab another frame. “More fun!”
Amy smiled sadly at the frame, which read GO BIG BEAVERS!, and showed her in a cheerleading outfit and the guy I assumed was Connor sweating profusely in a football uniform.
“Although Cass may have been putting it a bit bluntly,” Heidi said as she gently removed the frames from Amy’s lap and placed them back in the bag, “I think she’s right. You wouldn’t want to be with someone who would break up with you for such a terrible reason anyway.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Really, why be with anyone?” I added earnestly. “Commitment is a waste of time. It only ends up like this. Being single is so much better. None of the messy emotional cleanup.”
“Well, I didn’t mean that all relationships are bad …” Heidi started.
“Sure they are.” I nodded again, then realized I was in danger of going full-on bobblehead. Definitely time to stop nodding. “They all end. So why bother starting? I sure wouldn’t.”
“Wait a minute.” Amy dabbed at her eyes. “You wouldn’t? So, are you saying you’ve never been in a relationship?”
“Oh, God no!” I shot her a horrified look. Both Amy and Heidi looked slightly stunned. Clearly, neither one had ever watched her mom staple-gun half-naked pictures of her dad’s new wife to every tree and telephone pole in town. Now, I knew what came after “I love you.” What came next was going batshit crazy and having your teenage daughter bail you out of jail after a property damage charge. It was so much better to stay safe. Stay alone. Not open yourself up to any of that mess. I never wanted to have a cop wrestle me to the ground and pry a staple gun out of my crazed hands.
“No relationships? But … but why?” Amy spluttered.
“Um … Exhibit A.” I picked up a Kleenex. “Exhibit B.” I picked up another one. “And Exhibit C.”
“Tissues?” Amy wrinkled her nose.
“Tears,” I clarified. “So not worth it. There’s no boy who is. It’s better to get out before someone gets hurt. Or ends up holding someone else’s used tissues … gross.” I dropped them hurriedly. “I rest my case.”
I felt like it was a little early in our friendship to get into the whole sext-printout-staple-gun-telephone-pole-jail-bailout explanation.
“Or maybe,” Heidi said gently, “you should just choose someone nicer next time.”
“Good luck with that.” I shook my head sadly. “Every guy is a giant toolbox. No matter how nice he seems at first. I promise you this.”
“That’s not true.” Heidi squeezed Amy’s shoulder before mouthing the word “nicer” to me behind Amy’s back.
“Choose someone who’s less of a giant toolbox then, maybe,” I amended brightly, attempting to be conciliatory. Nicer, as instructed. “I mean, comparatively. If you have to. And just don’t get too invested in the whole situ
ation. Protect yourself and you won’t get hurt.”
“Maybe the boys here will be nice,” Heidi suggested hopefully.
“Oh, because there’s a strain of men not known for their total douchebaggery—actors.”
Heidi shot me a warning look. Amy’s lower lip wobbled dangerously.
“Just kidding. I bet they’re super.” I grimaced. But, like, a nice, friendly grimace. “Should we go check ’em out?”
“It’s just about time for our informational meeting anyway.” Heidi glanced down at her watch.
“Just a minute!” Amy bolted up from the bed and sprang to her mirror, performing a quick makeup rehab. Seconds later, you couldn’t even tell she’d been crying. “Ready,” she announced, a look a grim determination on her flawless face as she spritzed herself with a bottle of “Touch of Pink” by Lacoste.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Heidi unfolded her limbs. Standing, she was even taller than I’d thought. She could have easily rested her chin on my head.
“We’re meeting on the lawn,” Heidi replied, “and then, we’re off to points unknown.”
I still wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate this maze of a house, but Heidi, explaining that her flight from Boulder had gotten in hours earlier, knew where she was going. Amy and I followed in her wake. The door to the outside world appeared after a short trip down a flight of stairs and around a corner. Langley was already at the meeting point, standing on the lawn, clutching an enormous binder to her chest.
“Welcome,” she said flatly. Pretty much the least welcoming welcome of all time. God, Langley was even worse at enthusiasm than I was. “I gather from your presence here that you made it with no real problems?”
Heidi nodded her assent. Amy swiped on some lip gloss like she was girding her loins before heading into battle.
“Well, I got in a small car accident—”
“A car accident?” Amy gasped.
“No. Well, yes, I did, but I’m totally fine,” I explained. “It was really minor. Some toothless yokel in a jeep almost ran me off the road, but seriously, no damage. Like beyond lucky. I’m fine.”
“I’m from New York. Hardly a yokel,” an all-too-familiar male voice announced from the back of the room. “And I’m pretty far from toothless.”
I turned. I would have recognized that insane growth of facial hair anywhere. It was the guy from the jeep, grinning through his heavy beard, displaying an irritatingly full set of teeth.
“You!” I gasped.
“Yup,” he said grimly. “Me.”
This was way too coincidental to actually be happening. How was this even possible? How was he here? Why was he here? It made no sense.
“How’s your neck?” he asked, all fake solicitousness.
“Fine. No thanks to you.” I glowered. Okay. Regroup. I took a deep breath. Time to play it cool. I would not be defeated by some lame-ass hipster lumberjack. “And you said you’re from New York?” He nodded warily. “Ah, well that explains why you can’t drive.”
“New Yorkers are the best drivers in the world,” he shot back.
“Maybe in a world that consists solely of Boston and New York,” I replied.
“Please,” he said. “You’re criticizing my driving? You had practically stopped in the middle of the road and were slowly veering into oncoming traffic.”
“There was no oncoming traffic. I had slowed down for … reasons.” Don’t say maple candy. Don’t say maple candy. Don’t even think about maple candy. Anymore. “And the last time I checked,” I picked up steam, “there was no minimum speed on one-lane dirt roads. Ramming into someone in a no-passing zone, however—”
“No-passing zone?” The stupid toothy non-yokel was getting louder, and the visible parts of his face had turned red. “There are no no-passing zones on one-lane dirt roads, because there are no lane demarcations. That’s the whole point of a one-lane dirt road; you can pretty much do whatever you want!”
“Because that’s a great traffic law!” I realized I was shouting, too, but I didn’t care. “Everybody, go ahead and do whatever you want! Who cares what happens! Talk about a New York attitude—”
“New York attitude?” he parroted. “New York attitude! What does that even mean?”
“It means—”
“Enough!” Langley barked. We stopped yelling at the same time and turned to face her. The rest of the cast must have arrived. Five pairs of eyes stared at us like we were a volatile reality show. “Sorry to break it up when things were getting interesting, but we’ve got places to be. You can do more … socializing … later.”
I snorted, as the jeep guy muttered, “No, thanks.”
“Everyone.” Langley pulled six strips of silk in bright jewel tones out of her binder. “Please choose the silk that speaks to you and your aura,” she read off her binder, “and tie it on.”
“Like a blindfold?” Amy asked querulously.
“Or a ninja?” one of the other boys asked in a slight Southern drawl. I turned to look at him and nearly got whiplash. Holy hotness, Batman.
“Like a blindfold,” Langley replied.
“Are you joking?” I arched an eyebrow.
Heidi was already tying on an amethyst blindfold. “Close the eyes to see,” she smiled serenely. “Classic trust exercise for ensemble building.”
I preferred to trust myself with my eyes open, thank you very much. I disliked these moments when, all too often, theater games turned into amateur psychology. Shudder. Couldn’t we just run our lines or something?
“This is clearly a joke,” the toothy non-yokel said.
“Not a joke,” Langley insisted. She seemed a little too amused that we were all about to blindfold ourselves. Hmph. “Choose a color.”
“None of these really work for me,” a third boy complained, as he held various strips of fabric against his cheek and discarded them disdainfully. “This palette is awful. I hate jewel tones.”
“I think it’s supposed to flatter your aura, not your skin tone,” I replied, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. How could a piece of fabric speak to your aura? I was pretty sure I didn’t have an aura. And that poly-silk-blends couldn’t talk.
“Whatever you pick, it’ll flatter your insides, not your outsides.” Heidi tried to pat his arm, but missed, as she was blindfolded, and pawed the air. “Besides, the only important thing is that we can’t see. That’s how we build trust.”
The boy with the Southern accent tied a turquoise blindfold around Amy’s shiny hair before tying a sapphire blue one around his own head of sandy blond hair. How chivalrous. Heaving a sigh, the indecisive boy picked up the topaz yellow strip between two fingers, considered it at arm’s length, and eventually resigned himself to tying it on. The toothy non-yokel took emerald green, and I was left with ruby red. Fantastic. Now my head looked like it was on fire.
“Honor system,” Langley said. “We’re trusting you to say you can’t see. Get it? Cuz it’s a trust exercise. Can you see?”
“No,” I said honestly, amid mumblings from everyone else to the same effect. I groped around in front of me until I grabbed onto someone surrounded by a little cloud of what I recognized as “Touch of Pink.” Amy.
“From now on,” Langley said, “silence. Form a chain. Lay on Macduff. And cursed be he who first cries ‘hold, enough!’”
CHAPTER 3
Generally speaking, I’d prefer not to have Macbeth quoted at me while I am visually incapacitated. Way too macabre. I walked right into a sandalwood-scented blur that must have been Heidi. She grabbed my wrist, then felt her way down until she clasped my free hand firmly. I heard everyone shuffling around, and we must have formed a satisfactory chain, because we gradually began shuffling away. Next, I heard what sounded like a car door opening, and I was lifted along and up into something so high it must have been a van. I was wedged between Heidi and Amy. My eyes watered at the potent cocktail of sandalwood and Touch of Pink. Good thing I only smelled like Powder Fresh deodorant, o
r it would have been unbearable in there.
The van started and bumped its way out of the driveway. I wondered idly if this whole summer theater apprenticeship thing was a front and I’d actually been kidnapped. Nothing broke the silence except for the soft crunch of tires on gravel, Amy’s nervous giggles, and Langley’s infrequent shushing. I had no idea how long we were in that van. Being naturally impatient, everything always seemed longer to me than it actually was. And it seemed even longer because I couldn’t see anything. Kind of like how Space Mountain seems like such a long roller coaster, because you have no idea where you’re going. Nevertheless, many bumpy, blind minutes later, the van ground to a halt. I heard the door open once more, and I was pulled out, scrambling until my feet hit solid ground. The group shuffled along something that felt similar to the gravel driveway back at the Boat House until I walked straight into Amy, who’d stopped cold. Heidi walked into me, and then, with much shuffling and bumping, everyone gradually came to a stop.
“Drop hands,” Langley instructed. “Remove your blindfolds.”
I took mine off. We stood at the base of a mountain that climbed toward the sky, stretching endlessly onward and upward, covered in rocky patches of grass studded with wildflowers. It must have been an off-season ski slope, because a stopped chairlift stretched all the way up it, looming over our heads like a big metal monster.
“Tie them around your heads like the warriors you are,” Langley droned on, still reading off her binder without any expression whatsoever. Heidi had finished tying hers before Langley had even stopped speaking. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of the pages of a Free People catalog. I rolled my eyes at Amy, who scrunched her nose and chose to tie hers like a headband instead. One pointed look from Langley, though, and she sheepishly changed it. I tied mine ninja-style, while the boy with the yellow ribbon tied his with a spectacularly gorgeous bow, then twisted it so the bow sat a rakish angle to his brow. The stupid jeep guy was still staring down Langley. Heaving a mighty sigh with an even more obnoxious eye roll than mine had been, he eventually tied his sash sloppily around his head.
The Taming of the Drew Page 2