Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  “Should I call your parents?” Mr. Davis asks.

  I tell him Dad is running late.

  “I have to print out the programs for the show,” he says. “I’ll be in the office. Just pop in and let me know when you’re leaving.”

  “OK,” I say.

  As soon as the door swings shut behind Mr. Davis, I step onstage and take it all in. The lights, the set that I helped design. Everything is perfect. I don’t know what takes over me, but I start reciting my favorite part of the play, just like I did on my vlog, but this time even better.

  “I don’t believe this!”

  I press the remote to make the man-eating plant, Audrey II, move her lips.

  “Believe it, baby! I can talk!” Audrey II screams.

  “Am I dreaming right now?” I place my hand on my chest, exhale dramatically, and take a bow.

  A slow clap rings out from the audience. At first I think it’s Mr. Davis, but as the shadowy figure walks down the aisle, I realize it’s not.

  “By all means, continue acting out my part.” Rachael crosses her arms tightly.

  Horror finds its way to my face. “Sorry, I was just fooling around. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Steal my shine?”

  OUCH!

  “Anyway, I forgot my notebook.” Rachael places her fist over her mouth and lets out a liquidy-sounding cough.

  “Of course, you do the scene better.” I die a little more after each word.

  “Whatever. I get it.” Rachael coughs again. “That’s one of my favorite scenes too.” She finds her notebook, places it in her backpack, and then starts to walk away.

  Everything inside of me is crumbling into dust.

  “You know,” Rachael says as she turns around, “If you weren’t so… I don’t know… different, I’d say judging by the way you just performed, you were the real Daphne.”

  Different. Translation: dorky.

  The imaginary camera pulls in tight to my face. Hello, sweat beads!

  “Not that I watch that or anything,” she says flatly.

  “Yeah, me neither,” I lie. My shoulders collapse into my chest.

  “And girl, I was just kidding.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, totally.”

  And end scene!

  24

  It’s Showtime!

  On the opening night of the show, I get a text.

  Mae: Good luck tonight. I wish I could be there, but will be rooting for you from across the pond!

  Mom helps me dress up as jazz legend Billie Holiday for Halloween. It’s totally different from how I typically dress at school, which according to Rachael is different, aka dorky. But tonight Mom transforms me into a celebrity. She pulls my curly hair into a low bun. For once, every strand feels like it’s in place. She sprays it with hair spray just to make sure. She gives me one of her dresses to wear. Navy blue velvet with a white flower attached to the lapel. And to top it off, a white flower for my hair.

  “You look beautiful,” Dad says as I come down the stairs.

  We drive to McManus, and when we get there the parking lot is packed. It seems like all of Linden showed up to support us on opening night!

  “See you after the show!” I kiss Mom and Dad goodbye.

  When I walk backstage, I get stares from Navdeep and John.

  “Um, hi, Annabelle!” Nav says, his cheeks growing red.

  Then John goes, “This costume’s even cooler than the Daphne one!”

  Before I respond, they both whip around so fast, as if it was choreographed.

  Boys can be so weird sometimes!

  After that, a few of the cast members and backstage crew start complimenting me.

  “Awesome costume!”

  “Who are you dressed up as?”

  “Duh, she’s that singer lady from the old days!”

  “Well, well, well, look who decided to dress normal,” Rachael says. She is seated at a lighted table with a mirror, guzzling something from a thermos. Her skin looks damp and a little grayish-green. Not her typical golden brown.

  “Are you OK, Rachael?” I ask, walking over to her.

  “Just a tickle in my throat.” She sighs. “And I wish my parents were in the audience. But, whatever. Work comes first. Always.”

  Rachael begins to put her face on, and I’m sure I see tears building up in her eyes. I lean over and give her a hug. She doesn’t hug me back though. In fact, she kind of pushes me away.

  “I’ll be all right,” she says.

  Mr. Davis yells for us to take our spots because the show is about to begin!

  The character trio of Crystal, Ronette, and Chiffon take their places in front of the closed curtains. The music begins, and they belt out the signature song, “Little Shop of Horrors.”

  Halfway through the song, the curtains open, revealing the shop in all of its glory. The audience erupts in applause and then settles down as the actors begin their lines.

  Rachael, as Audrey, enters stage left, while John, aka Seymour, makes loud noises behind the set. John enters the stage, clumsily tripping over his own feet, causing a roar of laughter from the audience.

  The story moves through the lives of Mr. Mushnik, the unhappy owner of a failing flower shop, Seymour, an orphan who’s totally crushing on Audrey, and then there’s Audrey, an urban girl with suburban dreams.

  The discovery of a Venus flytrap–looking plant gives them all the kind of hope they need.

  The music cues up for “Somewhere That’s Green.”

  Rachael begins singing, “I know he is the greatest!” The first notes come out in perfect pitch to the beat.

  I stand in the wings, mouthing each word she sings.

  But then: “. . . still” (cough) “Seymour’s” (cough) “a” (cough, cough) “cutie!”

  “What’s up with Rachael’s voice?” Clairna whispers in my ear.

  I don’t know why, but my nerves take over. And I’m not the one on stage. On the inside, I’m whispering to Rachael, Take a deep breath! You got this!

  But that doesn’t stop her downward spiral until the final note.

  The curtains close. Clairna, Nicholas, and I change the set for the next scene. Meanwhile, I hand Rachael a bottle of water and a paper towel to wipe her drenched face. Once the curtains open again for the next-to-last scene of Act 1 (feeding Audrey’s wackadoodle boyfriend to the overgrown fly trap), Rachael’s face turns paler than her blond wig.

  She makes it through once more, coughing after every word. It’s during intermission when the chaos begins. Clairna and I close the curtains. Rachael makes a beeline toward the garbage can near the stage exit door. She trips a bit, almost misses it, but gets there just in time to empty out the contents of her stomach.

  We all rush to her side.

  “Are you sick?” someone asks.

  I pat her on the back, helping her get the rest out, holding my breath to block out the smell. Rachael lifts her colorless, sweaty face and says, “I don’t feel so good. Can we just extend intermission another few—”

  Rachael starts throwing up all over again.

  Mr. Davis is panicking now. “Rachael’s family in the audience! Find them, NOW! Annabelle, we need you to take over her part!”

  Now I feel like I’m the one who’s going to throw up!

  “Absolutely not!” Rachael pipes up. “I didn’t work this hard to let her take my spot!” She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. “I just need about ten more minutes.”

  Rachael’s grandfather arrives backstage with a bottle of ginger ale and a plastic bag. “Her mom had to work late tonight. I’ll take it from here,” he tells Mr. Davis.

  The next thing I know, Mrs. Gironda is shuffling up to me, waving a black leather bag full of props. “Clairna, quick! Help me get Annabelle changed.”

  Th
e two of them swish me away from the scene to a room backstage. Mrs. Gironda locks the door.

  “What’s happening here?” I’m so confused.

  Neither of them answer. Mrs. Gironda goes into action mode. She tosses Clairna the Audrey wig and makeup bag and orders her to put my face on. Clairna starts piling the stuff on like I’m a cake being frosted. Mrs. Gironda hands me a leotard.

  “And when you’re done, spray this on your bottom,” she says.

  I move the bottle closer to my face and notice the name: BUTT SPRAY.

  “What in the world is this?” I can’t hold in my confusion.

  “A theater essential, my dear,” Mrs. Gironda says. “It’ll keep the leotard in place.”

  Clairna laughs. “Aka wedgie blocker!”

  Everything is moving too fast. Mrs. Gironda attaches a body mic to the collar of my dress, unlocks the door, and starts pushing me toward the stage. I don’t even have time to say no. “Whew! Perfect timing!” she says. “Intermission is almost over.”

  The heavy curtains smack me in the face, leaving a tiny opening. The houselights are still up, and everyone is going back to their seats. I spot Mom and Dad making their way down the aisle. When those curtains finally open, I’m not sure which of us will be the first to have a heart attack.

  Clairna and Nicholas roll in a second version of Audrey II, the biggest model we created for the set.

  “We’re ready to begin the second act. Quiet on set! Places, everyone!” Mr. Davis whispers.

  Clairna gives me a fist bump before rushing to the side of the curtains.

  Mr. Mushnik, Ronette, and I position ourselves at the phones, ready to receive the thousands of calls that are coming in, all thanks to our main attraction, Audrey II.

  My pulse is on high speed, mind scattering to remember the lines.

  The music cues up. The stage lights rise. I want to crumble right there in the middle of the stage. Or run away and never come back again. But then I see Mom and Dad. And as soon as they see me, Mom starts slapping Dad on the shoulder.

  Code for: “Holy moly, Ruben, get your camera out! Our baby is up there!”

  I take a deep breath, and suddenly I don’t feel so afraid. In my mind, it’s just me up there, pretending to be someone I am not. Just like Daphne.

  The phones begin to ring off the hook, and the three of us talk over each other.

  “Thank you for calling Mushnik and Son. Your favorite florists of Skid Row!”

  And I soar like this right through to the end. Never missing a beat, a note, or a line.

  When the play is over, we all line up backstage behind the closed curtains, and I hear the whispers.

  “Good job, Annabelle!”

  “That was amazing!”

  I grow taller with every word. The curtains open, and the crowd goes wild.

  One by one, Mr. Davis calls the cast members forward. He announces that Rachael Myers played the role of Audrey for the first act, and saves John and me for last. John reaches out to take my hand and winks at me. My stomach does this flippy-floppy thing as I see the spotlight twinkle in his brown eyes.

  As soon as the curtains close, everyone scrambles to find their parents. I don’t have to look very far. Mom and Dad are waiting at the foot of the stage with flowers.

  Mom elbows me in the side when I get to her, “Well, that was quite the surprise! Nice work, sweetie!”

  “Yes, you were a real professional up there.” Dad kisses me on the forehead.

  “Thank you, Mom, Dad.” I lean in to my father’s embrace, feeling my whole universe warm up.

  “Why don’t you grab the rest of your things and we’ll meet you at the car? K, Daph?” Mom winks at me, and she and Dad make their way toward the exit.

  When I turn around, Rachael Myers is standing smack in front of me. Empty barf bag in her hand. Her face a little less green.

  “Whoa, you scared me! I thought you went home,” I say.

  “Did your mom just call you Daph… as in Daphne?”

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Rachael.

  “Way to avoid the question, Annabelle.” She does her signature arm-cross move, though the barf bag makes her look borderline ridiculous.

  I squirm a little but keep my cool. “Oh that? Noooo, my mom said I made her laugh!”

  “I heard what I heard.” Rachael doesn’t flinch. Then she eyeballs me up and down. “I begged my grandpa to let me stay and see the rest of the play. Hope you enjoyed your little moment. It wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t get sick.”

  She starts coughing, spit flying, germs dancing in the air. I take a step back.

  “I hope you feel better, Rachael.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Rachael says. Then she walks away, holding on to that empty barf bag as if her life depended on it.

  25

  I Don’t Do Drama

  When I get home, I retreat to my girl cave, because even though I should feel on top of the world right now, I don’t. I don’t want to talk to Mom or Dad. Or even Mae. She texts me around ten p.m., which means it’s three in the morning in the UK, which means she literally waited up all night to ask: “Hey, amiga! How was the play?”

  And for once, I don’t respond. I know, I know. Worst. Friend. Ever.

  But I need time to sort through my feelings. I don’t understand why Rachael seemed so mad at me. I only did what understudies are supposed to do — to step in when I was needed. At first I thought I would like doing drama, but what I’m seeing is that with drama comes “drama-drama,” and that is not for me. Suddenly I feel an itch to make a video.

  I look at my clothes rack and pick out an outfit — a royal, Victorian dress. I put on a white wig styled in a bouffant, piled high on my head, and bright-red lipstick. I hold a lace handkerchief in one hand for dramatic effect. I set up my camera and scribble down my scenes. A few runs through my lines, and I’m ready to shoot. Counting down in five, four, three, two…

  “Hey, guys. It’s your girl, Daphne, and I’m back with another episode of Daphne Doesn’t. Now I know in my last video I was all about ‘Daphne Does Drama.’ But I changed my mind about one thing. I may like drama, but I definitely don’t do drama, and here’s why:

  “Number one: Too much makeup. Like, seriously… how is it comfortable to walk around with an entire cake frosted on your face?

  “Number two: The bright lights blinding you. It’s like: Is the white light coming to get me? Is this how it all ends?

  “Number three: Eyeballs. Yup, you heard that right. EYES, people!!! When you’re on stage, there are people… staring at you. And then your heart starts to beat really fast and your hands start to sweat and you try to do what all the books say: Picture everyone in their underwear. But when you do that, you see your grandma sitting in the front row, and she’s got hair on her chest. So you try to unsee that whole travesty, but when you do, it’s back to the glowing eyeballs. And the fear starts all over again. Now I know what you’re thinking: ‘But Daphne, there are eyeballs watching you on these videos.’ Touché! But! Right now it’s just me in my girl cave, with a single camera. The eyeballs come later — when I’m not around. Whew! I’ve said a mouthful. But seriously, people: beware the eyeballs.

  “Number four: Butt spray. ‘What is that?’ you ask. I’m glad you did. Citizens of YouTube, there is a thing called butt spray, and if you can’t already tell by the name, it’s an adhesive that you spray… on your butt… to avoid getting a serious case of the wedgies mid-scene. So here you are walking around in your costume like one big sticky-butt zombie. And if you think that stuff comes off easily in the shower, think again. I still have spray in places I’d rather not mention.

  “Number five: And last but not least, I definitely don’t do drama because, well, I don’t do the other kind of drama. The catty fighting over roles. This one is better than that one. It’s al
l just… exhausting. It’s good to do theater if you want to learn how to be a good actress, but, people of YouTube, don’t become the drama, if you know what I mean. Want to know why? Because in the end there’s enough sun for us all to shine.

  “That’s all for now! Share, like, comment, subscribe. However you’re feeling, just go with it!”

  26

  Daphne Climbing

  19,079 views. 1,850 shares. 3,714 subscribers.

  I present a sample of the comments.…

  Drumroll, please!

  BritishBabe: Loving this funny girl! Just cheeky!

  ThespianGoddess: Haters gonna hate. Keep doing your thing.

  FamousLamous: Def keep the Daphne Doesn’t format. Loved the Group Project vlog, too, but this one is a slam dunk.

  MaeFromTheUK: My bestie “Daphne” is going VIRAL! Don’t get too famous on me, Jersey girl!

  Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we’re back on track.

  27

  Making the Deal

  “I see your videos are really picking up steam,” Dr. Varma says as I follow her into her office. “I showed the one you did about group projects to my daughter and we were cracking up. I’m telling you, Daphne will be viral before you know it.”

  Do I want to go viral? I’m not so sure.

  I take a seat on her couch, and we begin our session.

  “Tell me about your experience at McManus so far,” she says.

  “As you know, I’ve made some friends. John is really cool. Clairna and Navdeep are too. And then there’s Rachael. Sometimes I don’t think I have a lot in common with her. But then I learned something about her that made me think maybe I do.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Her dad is in the army, like my mom. But he’s been deployed.”

  “Well that certainly is a connection.”

  “He’s been gone a year. And I’m starting to wonder if that has anything to do with the way she acts.”

  “How so?”

  “One minute she’s half-nice to me. She even came to my house, and she and John and I worked on a presentation together. Well, more like John and I did the work, and she sort of slacked off. But we still got an A on the project, so I guess it all worked out. But then she totally got mad at me over the play, even though she’s the one who got sick and couldn’t finish her part. I was just doing what I was supposed to do… fill in!”