Crossing (6 page)

At the edge of the circle they’ve formed around him, there is a break and Chase glances up at me.

I feel their harsh words in their stares, lasering in on me and think,

‘
I can stop being his friend and they won’t hurt me anymore, because he is always going to hurt.’

He isn’t even standing up for himself.

One word out of Chase’s mouth:

RUN.

He’s wrong.

I’m one of THEM now.

To save myself, I back away slowly.

I tear my heart out and dropkick it into the bloodthirsty crowd.”

I back up a step.

“
Later that night I send him a text:

I’m sorry.

I’m pathetic.

I probably could’ve taken Robbie Johnson on, he’s always had that limp.

No answer.

The next day at school, the hum is louder. My parking lot transformation was a sham and I’m glad of it.

I search for my friend.”

Turning to the side, I make myself tall, like I’m towering over someone.

“
Oh, pooooooooor hag. Ding dong her fag is dead.”

I turn to the other side and cower.

“
What?

Surely THEY hadn’t beaten him to…”

Back to towering, I make a finger gun and put it to my face.

“
Bang!”

I shrink to cowering.

“
What? I heard myself saying again, but I knew.

Chase had taken my words and made them his own.”

I shift my gaze away from Liam and utter the last line:
“I didn’t mean it, but he did.”

Then, I wait a beat before looking back at him. I wish I’d waited longer. Liam’s eyebrows are drawn together tightly into a scowl and his lips are pursed. He’s pissed. I’ve said something stupid and I don’t even know what it was. My monologue sucks.

“Okay well, I can tell you hated it and now I’m mortified. Awesome.” I rush over and grab my backpack.

“Dani, no—”

“Forget it,” I say flustered, already heading for the door.

“Break both of your legs and don’t forget your lucky lipstick,” Elizabeth says to me on the way out the door.

“Right.” I lean back into the’plex and swipe the tube of Perfect Red from the front pocket of my fleece on the chair.

Lipstick always fits and it transforms my mood nearly as much as it transforms my face. Perfect Red is my lucky color. I wear it during midterms and finals, when I do poetry slams, and most importantly, when I sing karaoke.

It helps me kill and has never let me down. I’ve got thin lips, but when I’m wearing lipstick and remembering to apply it repeatedly over the course of the day, people pay more attention to me. I’m convinced it’s because they can clearly see my mouth. No foolin’ where the sound is coming from, people. Right here, outta this pucker.

I hoof it over to the theatre building, mentally running through the new monologue I spent all last night memorizing.

After I’d run from the practice room yesterday like a fucking emotional cripple, I went directly to the green room, grabbed four monologue books, and hid in the women’s dressing rooms until I was absolutely sure Liam had left the building.

God. Liam. What an embarrassing mess. What he must think of me. I’d told Elizabeth what happened, and she’d wanted me to do the monologue for her, but I just couldn’t. It was ruined. The conclusion I’d come to was that Liam was disgusted with me for trading on my friend’s death to get a part in a play. Which, the more that I thought about it…Jesus. Yeah. How gross of me.

So, now I’m doing a monologue from a popular play and I’m sure at least one other actor will be doing the same one, but whatever. It’s not like I’m going to get the lead anyhow. Maybe I’ll get Eccentric Best Friend, but I don’t know. I’ve been in the acting program less than a month, and half the time casting decisions are made more on who you know than how your audition is. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

I bypass the crowded hall where everyone is milling about talking to themselves and going over their lines in favor of the quiet of the dressing rooms downstairs.

I close the door and check myself out in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of it. I look good, for me. I’ve got on funky vintage black and red pumps, my stockings with the seam up the back, a black pencil skirt, and a fitted red v-neck cashmere sweater. Elizabeth helped me hot roller my hair so it’s wavy and falls across my forehead just above my eyes. I take the lipstick out of my backpack – my only less than chic accessory – and reapply it. Sticking my index finger between my lips, I pull it out, making sure I didn’t get any Perfect Red on my teeth. That would be less than perfect.

I pace around the room a few times before facing the vanity mirrors over the dressing tables and running my monologue. I’ve got it and I’m happy Maren turned us on to the trick about acting the intention, because that somehow makes me freak out less about forgetting my words.

Squaring my shoulders, I thrust my chest out and wink at myself in the mirror. I will not embarrass myself. I will show promise. If I don’t get cast in this show, there will be another chance. There is always another show.

I gather up my backpack and pea coat and head upstairs to the upper entrance of the Little Theatre. The auditions have just begun and India is pacing the hall outside, chewing on her nails.

“You ready?” I ask, hoping I come off as friendly and not competitive like I did when the audition was announced. Competition makes me ugly.

India shakes her head, too distracted to be bitchy to me. “I’m doing the same monologue as the girl that just went in.” She points to Cassandra and Evelyn over in the corner by the door, talking in hushed tones. “And her, and her. Fuck.”

“What monologue are you doing?”

“Phyllis from
Miracle Mile
.”

“Oh, shit.”

She slaps herself on the forehead. “Don’t tell me you’re doing—”

“Nope,” says a male voice to my left at the same time a strong hand grips my arm and pulls me away from India. “Dani wrote an original monologue.”

I let Liam guide me into an empty classroom. He lets go of my arm and shuts the door then goes over to the bank of desks and takes a seat.

“Practice, Dani. I’ll give you notes.”

I stand in the middle of the room. “What? You hated—”

He wags his finger at me. “No. I never said that. I was on the verge of crying and trying not to. Your monologue was awesome. You’re going to get the part.”

“Oh.” I look down at the floor. “I really made you cry?”

“Like a freaking baby. You’re deep, woman, and convincing as hell when you connect with what you’re saying.”

“Your almost crying face makes you look really pissed off, just so you know.”

“I haven’t heard that. Although, I don’t make it a habit of crying too often, or at least not looking at myself when I do.”

If I were him, I’d be looking at myself all the time doing
alllll
sorts of things.

Walking over, I dump my backpack and coat on the desk next to him. “I thought you were disgusted by me. I thought you thought I was profiting off the death of my friend, and I started to believe that that was true.”

He rolls his eyes. “God, the places your mind wanders. Does it ever let you off the hook?”

I shrug. “I have a hard time trusting my instincts.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t if I were you. You only write amazing pieces and wipe your competition off the field.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. He has to be feeling guilty. He’s being way too nice to me. “You think I have competition? Ha! Not a single one of those girls sees me as competition.”

“Bullshit. Of course they do. India couldn’t stop staring at your boobs the whole time she was talking to you. You could see the jealously pouring off of her in waves. She may be hot, but she’s not beautiful and talented. You win.”

I break out in a grin. I can’t help throwing his words back at him. “Look at you, complimenting me.”

“Well, someone has to build you up. Otherwise, you waste all your time tearing yourself down. Now rehearse your fucking monologue. Act the shit out of it. One, two, three go!”

X

“Nice job, Ms. Walker,” David, the director, says. He steeples his fingers. “I really enjoyed your piece. Let me know if you want a rec for the playwriting seminar Spring term. You usually have to be a Junior, but I think you’re more than qualified.” He leans over and whispers something to the woman next to him and she nods.

“Thank you,” is all I say. I’m not sure what the protocol is, and for once keeping my mouth shut seems like the right way to go.

David nods. “I’m not big on callbacks, so the complete cast list will be posted Monday morning on the board in the hall.”

“Thanks!”

Get the hell out!

I step through the door and Liam is waiting right there, leaning back against the wall with one leg up, looking sexy as hell in freaking sweatpants and a ratty Golden Valley Brewery t-shirt.

“Well?” he asks.

I direct him with my eyes back over to the classroom I rehearsed in earlier.

The second I shut the door, he’s grabbing me by the shoulders. “He gave you the part already, didn’t he?”

I shake my head. “No, but it looks promising. I think I definitely got
a
part. Maybe not the lead, but my hat is in the ring.”

He wraps me in a hug and I hardly have time to catch my breath before he’s pulling back. “I knew you’d be awesome.” He looks at the clock on the wall above the dry erase board. “It’s a little early to grab a celebratory drink. How about I buy you that raincheck coffee?”

“I think you owe me that for causing my existential crisis yesterday,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm.

He smirks. “I’ll even spring for an extra shot or whip cream or whatever stuff you screw up your coffee with.”

“Now who’s supposing?” I scoff. “I take it black.”

He seems impressed. “How manly of you.”

I stick my tongue out at him and take my lipstick out of my backpack, along with a little hand mirror. I touch it up, aware that Liam is watching me the whole time. See? Lipstick makes me noticeable. “How manly do I look now?” I of course destroy the sexiness of the question by doing the finger thing to make sure I don’t get any lipstick on my teeth.

Liam wiggles his eyebrows at me. “That’s a neat trick.”

And I die. I imagine myself losing the use of my legs and falling to my knees, ripping my stockings, forgetting to breathe, turning purple, and dying. But I don’t. I just snap my mirror shut like I’m some sexy bitch that purposely makes weird blow jobby faces at hot men all the time.

“Ready?”

“Of course you were Prom King! Did you have to wear a crown?” I lean forward across the café table, extremely interested in hearing every embarrassing past detail that Liam is willing to reveal to me.

He nods deeply. “Oh, yes. I had a crown and a scepter.”

“And I suppose that Ariana was the Prom Queen?”

“She was.”

“Oh, to be The Golden Couple,” I tease, finishing off my second cup of coffee. “I nominated myself for Homecoming Queen.”

He screws up his mouth.“Uh, why?”

I shrug. “I felt like I deserved a chance to have that particular surreal high school experience and I knew no one else was going to nominate me.”

“Did you win?”

I snort. “No, I didn’t even win the Student Council nomination. I don’t know if you know this, but sometimes people find me obnoxious.”

Liam smiles. “Not me.” He gestures to my cup. “Want another?” He bounces his leg up and down.

“I better not, or you either, you’re about to upset the table.”

His eyes get wide and wild. “It’s true!” His face calms down. “You doing anything this evening?”

“Nope, no plans besides curling up with a book and a beer. I guess I did think I’d be nursing my wounded pride, but seeing as it’s not wounded…what did you have in mind?” My heart stops. “Uh, that is if you were asking me to do something with you and not just asking me what my plans were out of curiosity which is a completely valid thing for you to have done.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I was asking because I wanted to know if you want to go to the movies with me.”

“Sure! Funny, stupid, or blow shit up?”

He shakes his head. “None of the above. Actually they’re doing an Ed Wood retrospective at the Bijoux all this week. Tonight they’re showing
Glen or Glenda
.”

Not what I was expecting. I toy with the handle on my coffee mug. “Huh. Sure. I don’t really know anything about him. I did see the one with Johnny Depp in it, because what living female doesn’t see every Johnny Depp movie ever, even if he is playing a man in a skirt?”

“Did you like the movie?” Liam asks somewhat tentatively.

“Dude, I just said Johnny Depp was in it. Weren’t you listening?”

He rolls his eyes again. “Anyway. That’s what I’m doing tonight if you want to come with. And if you do, we’ll have to leave pretty soon because it takes a while to get to my apartment. I’ve got to change since I kind of spazzed out halfway through my workout this morning and ran all the way to school to convince you that you’re awesome.”

Interesting. I stand up. “Okay, let me go pee and then we can make the great trek to the other side of the tracks.”

He circles his mouth with his index finger. “You’ll probably want to fix your lipstick again. It’s rubbed off in the middle.”

X

We get on the #23 and he pays for me, which is surprisingly nice, even if it is only $1.75. I maybe belt out a few bars of
Hey Big Spender.

Liam makes like he’s brushing off my seat before I climb in by the window. He takes the aisle, sheltering me from the questionable guy across from us. “Only the best for my scene partner. I’ve got your movie ticket too, as a matter of fact.”

“You have it already?”

“Yeah, I bought two to each show for Ariana’s birthday last month as some sort of dumb attempt at friendship.”

“And she didn’t want to attempt back?”

“Nada.”

I grit my teeth. “Nice of her to make you suffer like that.”

He shrugs. “I can’t really blame her. I was super messed up when we split. I didn’t want to move out of our apartment at first, thinking I could find a way to make things work. Making up weird excuses like, I paid the rent so I should get to stay the whole month, crap like that. But then, by the end of that month I thought I was going to gouge my eyes out if I had to look at her face one more second drinking her fucking triple chocolate mocha caramel whipped frappe bullshit coffee and pretending like she could work the New York Times crossword. That’s when I knew it was over.”