Between You & Me (13 page)

Hands behind my head, I lie contentedly in bed. It's better to be me right now than it ever has been before. I can't bring myself to close my eyes, to shut out the rosy hue that my new world has. Light shines through the gap in the curtains so I can still see the shape of the play on the bedside table beside me. My new sense of purpose is keeping me awake. I've been given time with Mia, glorious time that will be mine and hers, mine to be visible to her, earn her respect. When I let
my eyes close, I can picture the lights and the stage, and the curtain call at the end of it all. I feel the rush, her eyes on me as I earn her approval. Maybe this is how I'll find a way to be happy being me.

I'm the first to arrive in the theater and I stare up at the lights feeling today like this is my place. This is where I'll prove myself. The rest of the cast is gradually assembling and I look around at the faces with a sense of belonging.
Come in character
, Mia said. I smile at Kate. She's playing Penny. Penny doesn't smile back. Gabe sits next to me; he's been cast as Bobby. I spare him a second glance. He looks strong and boyish, not like a theater type. I've seen him around and figured he was all about sports—the kind of guy who calls you “babe.” He catches me looking and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. He smiles and, close up, I see softness in his eyes. It's surprisingly disarming. His eyes stay on me but I'm not sure if he's looking at me or Lily so my blush is genuine. Zach strolls in at the last minute and sits by Kate. He's playing Michael, Lily's perfect date. He gives me a friendly nod as Mia takes her usual perch on the front of the stage.

MIA

So! We'll start at the beginning. The beginning for your character isn't the first scene, or the moment before the first scene. It's every moment in their lives up until the first scene. Know your character's history. Something I love to do is write a journal in character. Try to think like they do so you can fully inhabit their responses.

We start by introducing ourselves in character. I feel self-conscious but then Lily is too, so I embrace it. Mia calls us up to start the rehearsal.
Purpose
, I think as I get up onstage. I am Lily. I'm seventeen. I want to fit in.

Scene one goes smoothly enough, as I know it by heart. Gabe feels really real and present onstage, which makes him easy to respond to. I get caught up for a second in scene two, remembering our read-through in my bedroom. You put your name in for doing lights, so I know you're somewhere up at the control board, sitting in on the first rehearsal to get a feel for the play.

For the third scene, Sarah, a senior, steps up onstage. She's playing my mother and has embraced the role wholeheartedly. She's been in character from the moment she arrived today and even now takes her place as if it really is her house. Lily is ready for her second date with Michael:

THE PRICE HOUSE. FRIDAY NIGHT.

Lily stands on tiptoes at the kitchen window and watches for headlights in the driveway. She wears her best dress tonight—Michael is taking her somewhere special. He's not here yet, he must have been held up. Her mom finishes setting the table.

MOM

Remember, honey. Don't stay out too late.

LILY

Mom, I'm seventeen. Everyone stays out late.

MOM

All right. But that doesn't mean you have to.

Lily glances at the clock again. It's after seven. He should be here by now. Her dancing shoes are already hurting her feet.

Spotlight on the kitchen wall clock. The hands roll forward. An hour passes.

Lily, still in her dress, sits on the kitchen step, sobbing. She lifts her hands to wipe her eyes but she is wearing her new gloves—she doesn't want to spoil them. She pulls them off and wipes the back of her hand across her cheek like a child. Her mother comes over and sits down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

MOM

I'm sure he just got held up, that's all. There'll be other nights.

LILY

(Between sobs)

No, there won't, Mom, I know it's not that. I'm not good enough for him! He's decided that it won't do to be seen about with me. He wants one of those rich girls. Everyone says so!

MOM

Oh, that can't be true, he'd be lucky to have someone as special as you.

LILY

It is true. He was just biding his time with me till someone better came along. Bet you anything he's out with someone else right now.

Lily takes off her jewelry.

They spend all their time at some girl's pool house. They're always talking about it. And they never invite me.

MOM

Well, how about I make you something to eat and we'll just wait and see if he stops by to make his apologies.

LILY

He's not coming, and I'm not hungry.

Lily stands up and kicks off her shoes.

I wish I'd been born someone else—

She takes the stairs to her room two at a time and flops face-first onto her bed, covering her head with the pillow.

Energized, the first rehearsal at an end, I watch everyone flocking out of the theater and stay behind with Mia. My intention: to sound casual.

ME

Mia—

I'm almost touching her shoulder as she turns.

—Thanks so much for giving me the part.

She smiles.

MIA

You deserved it.

ME

Really?

She nods warmly.

MIA

When I look at you onstage, I see someone trying to deal bravely with emotions. That can be a lot more sympathetic than watching a person indulge them.

She picks up her file and we start together toward the doors. I'm glowing with the compliment.

You've seen movies where if you have to watch a minute more of a girl sobbing
you're gonna throw your popcorn at the screen, right?

I laugh. She breaks into an impression of indulgent crying, shaking with sobs. I chime in and she chokes through her pretend tears:

MIA

I'm so sad. And I'm such a good actor.

My crying becomes laughing and so does hers. She shakes her head.

Give me trying
not
to cry and a quivering lip any day.

ME

Not too quivery!

MIA

God no! Never
too
quivery. Then you've almost got pretty-girl crying. And that's worse.

ME

Way worse!

We start pretty-girl-crying impressions, passing a few staring eighth graders in the hall.

Must not make a wrinkle.

MIA

Must not look ugly.

This ends in a similar way and it may be the best feeling I've ever had. She sighs.

If you're going to cry, there's an “I can't help it, creased-up face” happy medium.

She's still pretty, whatever her expression.

Ultimately, it just needs to be real.

We've reached the staff room. I feel like I've walked her home after a date. She turns squarely to me.

MIA

Never get overdramatic on me, Phy, and we'll be fine.

I quiver my lip and don't blink in the hope of achieving glassy eyes. She laughs again, heartily. I start walking away before she pushes open the door, not to outstay the moment—so that when I turn and wave over my shoulder, she's still looking.

There's a warm spell and I'm sitting on the lawn, carefully situated where I know Mia walks by on her way to her seventh-grade class after lunch. With the glimmer of a new friendship, I'm even more excited to see her than usual. I have one knee curled up and the other stretched out, running my toes through the grass. Open on my knee is my copy of the play. No coincidence. I've planned, in the cool glow of early afternoon sun, for Mia to come along and see my thoughtful dedication. The
coolness
of the sun has taken me by surprise. Part of my plan was the emerald halter top I'm wearing but the day is not as warm as it looked. Sitting still for half an hour can make even a warm day feel cold and this sun is misleading. My bare shoulders still have their summer tan but goose bumps ruin the effect. I tuck up my knee, trying to look warm and relaxed, and focus on the play. So far, I've read the same paragraph eight times and I still don't know what it says. I can hear the words in my head but they have no meaning. My peripheral vision is working far too hard to allow for concentration. I am making an arc in the grass with my foot, and pluck a buttercup between my toes when I see Mia at the start of the path. I return self-consciously to the script and only look up again when I think she will be nearer. She has cut across the far side of the lawn and smiles when she sees me looking. She waves and
keeps on walking. I paste on a smile. She is too far away to see that it's a glassy attempt to hide mortification. Maybe I looked too studious to be disturbed. I stare at the same paragraph, now not only cold but also without the will to warm up. When I find the energy to move, I pick up my bag and start back toward school to get ready for class.