by James Ramos
I already knew why I was here. This was the payback I’d long been expecting. By now I’d had long enough time to prepare for it, so it was no surprise. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of revenge he’d spent all this time cooking up for me as I made my way to his desk. There was something a little too calm, even subdued, about him that worried me. Doubtless he was going to drag this out and enjoy it as much as possible. He expected me to sit here and squirm. Well, he had another thing coming.
“This is about what happened between your brother and me, isn’t it?”
He scoffed. “No, of course not. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m sure it won’t happen again. No, what I wanted to talk to you about was your place here on The Quill.”
I frowned, but waited for him to continue. He twirled a pen in his long, talon-like fingers for a full ten seconds before finally speaking. “While your piece work thus far has been perfectly adequate, quite frankly, what we need is innovation. We need contributors who will push the envelope, who bring something new to the table so to speak, and honestly, I don’t know if you’re up to the task.” He leaned back in his chair with a grave expression. “Care to share your thoughts?”
He was asking for it now. Literally. My first impulse was to flip him the bird and tell him exactly what he could do with his precious paper, but then I thought better of it. I did not want to give him the satisfaction of scaring me away. I was more than an adequate writer. I was a great writer. Both of us knew it. And I was going to prove it to him along with everyone else.
“Now that you mention it,” I said, fighting to keep my voice as neutral as possible because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d pissed me off, either, “I’ve got an idea for a regular feature, something different and new that I think people would like.”
Christian didn’t try to mask his surprise. “Oh? I’m all ears.”
“I want to follow the winter play and keep regular updates on its progress. It’ll give people an inside look at just what all goes into the production. I can do interviews with the cast and crew, we can get exclusive pictures of the sets—it’ll get people excited to see the play. And there’s an added benefit: theater budget’s been cut; the school can only afford to do two plays this year instead of the usual three. If this goes well, maybe the powers that be will see just how valuable these productions are to the school and increase the budget.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Nicole.
Christian ignored her, and I watched as he deliberated. I could tell he thought it was a good idea as well, and I could also tell that he hated that fact. But I’d spent a lot of time coming up with it. Mr. Williams may have been onto something with his whole “literary career” thing, and I knew there was no real reason for Christian not to go along with it.
At last, he conceded. “You’ll have to clear it with Mrs. Wright, of course,” he said. “But I think this sort of feature would be better suited to our blog.”
“Okaaay . . .” I had no idea the paper even had a blog. “I guess that works, except I’ve never run a blog before.”
Christian smiled, and it immediately made me nervous. “Oh, I don’t expect you to run the blog. That’s Nicole’s job. You provide the words, and she’ll handle the uploading and formatting. I expect the two of you will need to work intimately on this.”
Nicole smiled. “I would thoroughly enjoy that,” she said while looking dead at me. I didn’t want to do anything intimately with Nicole, but that was an argument for a different time.
“We’ll give this a trial run,” said Christian, “Then we’ll put out a survey to gage the reaction. If it’s positive, we’ll keep the feature and I’ll leave you in charge of it. If it’s not . . .”
He didn’t need to finish, because we both knew what he was going to do if this turned out to be a bad idea. So I didn’t bother waiting around for him to add anything else. “I’ll get started right away,” I said a bit smugly as I got up to leave.
“I look forward to reading it,” said Christian in a way that said he was not at all looking forward to it. I let the door close behind me. I’d fought the wrong De Bourgh.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” said Nicole when we were outside. “I’m looking forward to our working together.”
“Yeah.” I tried to add, “me too,” just to be polite, but my mouth refused to say the words.
“Elliott, wait a minute.”
We were still next to the media center, which very few people still used. She looked me up and down, and then her eyes rested on my chest. “What is that on your shirt?”
“The Death Star.”
“Right.” she shook her head, grinning. “You are still such a dork. I think that’s weird. Aren’t dorks supposed to be ugly and unpopular?”
I tugged at my wristband, but it did little to ease my discomfort. “Twenty years ago, maybe.”
Nicole nodded absently, adjusting the straps of her halter-top. “Do you know why I became a cheerleader?”
“Because you have a lot of school spirit?”
She grinned. “Yeah, right. I did it because of the status. Everyone loves cheerleaders. They’re at the top of the food chain.”
“Right above stoners, computer nerds, and outcasts, right? Nicole, this isn’t the Breakfast Club. Nobody cares about that stuff anymore. And even if they did, we’re about to graduate. In a few months we won’t even see most of these people again.”
“That’s the point,” she said. “This is it. The last year of high school. I want it to be perfect, and that’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you about us.”
I swallowed hard. “Us?”
“Yes, us. As in you and me.”
“You and I.”
She laughed. “See that? That was a dorky thing to do. Just like a lot of the things you do. On paper you should be the biggest geek on the planet. But in real life, you’re actually kind of hot. Scratch that, you’re very hot. And people like you.”
“They do?”
“Not the point. I need you. Christian is right, the winter formal is the second most important thing that’s going to happen this year.”
“Third.”
“I need to go with someone who’ll make me look good, someone who matters. And you, Elliott, are that someone.”
My throat tightened, and I had a sudden need for a drink. “Nicole, I’m flattered, but I don’t really think this is a good idea.”
She smiled like I was a kid who was slow to grasp a lesson and joined me against the wall I was leaning on. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite you. I’m going to explain things for you. High school is like the ocean. There are levels. At the top, you have the pretty animals, like the orca whales and the dolphins. Those are the animals that everyone goes to Sea World to look at. Then you have the ones in the middle, the squid and the fish that people sometimes notice but don’t really care all that much about. And lastly, you have the bottom feeders, all the ugly fish and worms that nobody but the scientists want to even look at. Are you with me so far?”
I nodded, surprised at how much sense she was sort of making.
“Good. Now, me? I’m a dolphin. I can’t be seen with, say, a giant squid, and I definitely cannot be seen with a sea cucumber or an amoeba. But you . . .” she inched closer to me, until our shoulders were nearly touching. “You are like a seal. A cute little geeky seal. People like you as much as they do dolphins or penguins. Get it now? That’s why we have to go together. It makes biological sense.”
I inched away from her. “Nicole, dolphins eat seals. And I’m sorry, but I just don’t like you that way.”
“I think you do, and you just don’t know it yet. Besides, we don’t have to like each other, all we have to do is date each other.”
“I think liking each other is a prerequisite for dating, Nicole.”
“Not for me.”
“If you want a . . . top-feeder . . . why don’t you
go to the dance with Christian?”
She scoffed. “Haven’t you been listening to anything I said? Christian is a shark. Sharks are the apex predators of the ocean food chain, and they only go with other sharks.”
I frowned at her shaky grasp of ocean ecology. “I honestly don’t even know if I’m going to the formal anyway. You’d be much better off finding someone else to go with.”
She sighed impatiently. “Elliott, you’re passing up a golden opportunity here. I’m offering you a free upgrade. I can make your senior year the best time you’ve ever had. How many other hot, popular girls are going to ask you to out? I mean, you’re cute and all, but you’re no dolphin. And you’re definitely no shark.”
“Thanks for the offer, Nicole, but in keeping with the whole ocean theme you’re running with, I’m sure you can find other fish in the sea.”
She stared at me, licking her lips, but then she hopped off the wall and shouldered her purse. “Playing hard to get. I like that. Just like a little seal. You’re right, dolphins do eat seals, but only after they catch them. You’d better swim hard and swim fast, because I’m after you.”
With a wink and a little wave she was gone. After a few seconds I followed after her, keeping an eye out in case she was lurking around some corner. This year was getting weirder and weirder.
* * *
“What a remarkable idea!” exclaimed Mrs. Wright when I told her my proposal. “What a fabulous, lovely idea! We would be most honored if you would follow our theatrical sojourn. But,” she added, “I must ask that you allow the cast and crew the space to work. If you have any questions, feel free to direct them to either myself or my assistant.”
“Not a problem,” I assured her. “You’ll hardly know I’m here.” Eat your heart out, Christian.
“Wonderful! Here’s a copy of our schedule, but keep in mind, things can and do change. Oh, please excuse me.” She hurried off to discuss something with a girl holding a clipboard and wearing a shirt that had a picture of a playbill on it.
I found a spot in the last row of seats, where I hoped I wouldn’t be in the way, and waited for Jake to show up. The atmosphere here was busy, yet relaxed. There were close to a hundred people here, perched against the walls or sprawled out across the seats, or else standing in groups on the stage. There were the performance arts kids, the ones you barely saw—or noticed—in the hallways and who ate in the theater while debating the merits of whatever play they had read that week. The arts and crafts people were here too, the ones with peculiar fashion sense who could always be found carting around either an easel or a collection of paintbrushes or chalk. There was even a slew of tech geeks here, huddled together discussing the latest processors or operating systems.
I tried encapsulating the mood in writing.
The air is thick with easy anticipation as the cast and crew begin to gather in the theater in preparation for their adaptation of William Shakespeare’s classic, Romeo and Juliet, this year’s winter play, headed by Ms. Wright, head of the theater arts department.
All of these people had something they were into, their own little niche. They knew who they were and what they were about.
And then, there was me. Plain, bland, lost me, sitting here feeling out of place, a fly on the wall. I skimmed the schedule printout Ms. Wright had given me. Because our school would only be putting on one each semester, Ms. Wright saw this as an opportunity to really hone the two productions, so they would be spending more time than usual getting them right. I tried to summarize what I read.
Ms. Wright plans to rehearse from now until the end of the semester, in December, when the play will debut before the winter break.
And, I didn’t add, right before the winter formal.
There will be three performances, which will give everyone a chance to see the show.
All of this time, all of this preparation, for a show that would only be put on three times. It seemed like overkill to me. I didn’t write that part either.
The schedule seems daunting, but none of the cast or crew seem the least bit worried about it. It will be exciting to watch the production take shape over the next several months.
According to the printout, there would be whole company rehearsals—where everyone from the actors to the sound people to the set designers were expected to attend—once each week. Blocking rehearsals were when the cast figured out what to do on the stage and where, and those would start next month, in October. Then there were depth rehearsals, where they would focus on the acting “in depth,” going over scenes in detail in order to feel the emotions, interactions, and nuances of their characters.
Off-the-book days would begin in December, and by then, everyone was expected to have their lines memorized, hence the off-the-book part. It all seemed like so much work, and I was glad I hadn’t auditioned.
“Elliott? What are you doing here?”
Jake fell into the chair next to mine. “I’m writing about the play for the paper. Tentatively.”
“Hey, that’s great! Bridget wanted to come watch too, but she had homework.”
“Oh darn,” I said sarcastically. “It’s probably better if she’s not here to distract you, anyway.”
“I don’t know about that,” he countered. “Every artist needs a muse, right? Besides, she has a way of lighting up whatever room she’s in. People love her.”
“People?”
“Yeah, everyone likes Bridget. She’s a people person. Why are you giving me that look?”
Before I could answer Ms. Wright snapped up, clapped her hands once and said in a surprisingly loud voice, “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, cast and crew of this year’s fall-winter production, to our first full company rehearsal!”
Everyone clapped. Ms. Wright raised her arms, and the theater fell silent. “Some of you here are familiar with how this wonderful process unfolds, and others among you are, shall we say, uninitiated. So, for everyone’s benefit, let us plot out our journey together.”
What followed was a very thorough breakdown of the plans, and what would be expected of everyone. When Ms. Wright finished her presentation she gave us all a toothy grin and said, “And now, to get this ball rolling, let’s engage in some icebreakers, shall we?”
For the next hour and a half I watched the entire cast and crew run through dozens of exercises meant to get everyone comfortable with one another. They lined up in order of height, age, and birthday without speaking, then played a game called two truths and one lie, where they each had to tell the crowd two true statements about themselves along with one lie, and then everyone else had to try to guess which was the lie. They played telephone and duck, duck, gray duck. There was even a game of charades thrown in for good measure. This was definitely not what I’d expected. But I had a good feeling about it. I’d learned a little about the process, and at the very least I could talk about how dedicated everyone was and how much fun it seemed.
Chapter 15
Spirit week used to be something to look forward to. Back during freshmen year we were all way too excited about it. A chance to dress like weirdos and not get sent to the office on a dress code violation? No one passed that up. They’d had Mime Day, and my friends and I had painted our faces and worn stripes and overalls and refused to talk to anyone all day. We almost got in trouble for that. Things had changed sophomore year, when suddenly everyone was too cool and mature to participate in something so childish. My friends still did, of course, but we didn’t go all out like we had the year before. By junior year, people started to come around, and now, as seniors, most people were as excited about it as the freshmen.
Over the years there had been some interesting ideas that came out of the whole affair. We’d had a Zoo Animal Day (I’d been an ostrich), Desert Plant Day (I was, obviously, a cactus, along with just about everyone else, aside from a handful of palm trees), and my personal favorite, an Inanimate Object Day (I’d been a bookshelf).
This year’s offer
ings were decidedly less exotic. A mainstay of Spirit Week was the infamous pajama day, which was pretty much an invitation to dress as skimpily as you could without being completely naked, which is exactly what Lucas had been trying to get away with since we were freshmen. “If I wear a bathrobe, who’s going to know?” was his argument. “In this heat, I sleep in the nude anyways. Wearing pajamas would be dishonest.”
Kyle and Liam were particularly excited about pajama day, even though the most they were going to see were a few extra bra straps. “There’s a strict no lingerie policy,” I reminded them.
“Rules are made to be broken,” said Liam, who was wearing Oscar Meyer Weiner pajama bottoms.
I rolled my eyes at them and stuffed my pillow under my arm. I was wearing my X-Wing pajama pants and my bathrobe, which was brown and made me feel like a Jedi knight.
Classes that day felt like sleepovers. A lot of people seemed to have taken pajama day to mean, “Roll out of bed and come to school with whatever you slept in.” There was plenty of bed hair and morning breath and BO. Mrs. Hernandez got on the PA to remind everyone to be modest and remember that being allowed to wear pajamas in school was not a license to sleep during class. Aside from the staff and faculty, the only person wearing normal clothes was Darcy, and I was not at all surprised. She didn’t even have a pillow. Given her sunny disposition it wouldn’t surprise me if she slept on a bed of nails or a coffin.
“Do you always sleep in jeans?” I asked when she sat down next to me in English.
“Aren’t we the fashionable one today,” she said as she took in my outfit. “Why do I get the feeling I’m the only person in this room who took a shower this morning?”
“I did, actually. And these are clean, by the way.”
“Indeed,” she said, like she didn’t believe me.
“So what, are you too cool for Spirit Week?” I asked.
She tossed me a sidelong look. “I’m not in love with the idea of prancing around in my underwear in public.”