Understudy

The only great thing about this DVD is that it wakes me up for school better than a cold shower. In first period theater arts class, I sit at my desk in the back and doodle in the margins of my script. Although auditions were open to every senior at Lawson High, most of the members of the play are in Ms. Barlow’s theater class. So lessons have been dropped in lieu of extra play rehearsal.

The stagehands and me—their fearless leader—hang out in the back of the class and bullshit for ninety minutes. Derek isn’t in this class, thank god. Greg drags his chair over to my desk and rests his chin on my shoulder.

“What’s up, bosslady?”

“Not a thing.” I slide over in my desk to knock Greg’s head off me. Just because we’ve made out twice now does not mean something’s going on between us, and he needs to know that. He probably won’t care though, because he’s on the verge of becoming a man whore, following in the footsteps of his mega hot older brother, Brian. Brian graduated two years ago and Margot still hasn’t given up her goal of sleeping with him.

“So, should we be uh, you know,” he says, pointing to the script on his desk. “Working on this play?”

“I guess.” Truth is, I haven’t quite recovered from the roller coaster ride my emotions went through when I found out I didn’t get Gretchen’s role. At first I was pissed, then stoked because I’d get to work with Derek, and now I’m forced to avoid him at all costs because he’s some kind of angry psycho. More than anything though, I’m embarrassed at how I let myself get carried away with fantasies of him. That is the last time I will ever get excited to see a new guy in school.

With Greg’s insistence, we work on ideas for props and costumes. He writes everything in his notebook, organized by scene and character. As the smartest guy in this class, he should be the manager, not me.

I mention this to Ms. Barlow after class and it doesn’t go over very well. “I’m starting to wonder if you care about me at all,” she says, taking off her glasses and wiping them with her rainbow colored quilted vest. “Not only as an educator, but as a relative. You seem so keen on hurting my feelings lately.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You can start by memorizing your lines as understudy.”

I roll my eyes. “Tha

t won’t be necessary. Gwen loves being Gretchen.”

“Memorize them anyway, okay?” The two minute bell rings, warning me that I’d better get to my next class. Aunt Barlow ushers me out the door and into the hallway. “By the way,” she says as if she just remembered something. “Since Derek isn’t in theater, he agreed to meet with you after school to get started on prop construction. You can bring the other stagehands as well.”

A lump forms in my throat. “Yeah, okay.” I rush to my next class, making a mental note to track down Greg and the others at lunch and ask them to stay after school.

Margot saves me a seat at our regular lunch table. I find Greg sitting with the cheerleaders and I choke. I don’t have the self-esteem to go up to him while he’s surrounded by beautiful, charismatic girls who flirt with him to get help on their homework.

The only other stagehand is absent today. And I probably wouldn’t have asked him anyhow, because he breathes loudly and always stares down my shirt. I return to our lunch table, defeated.

“It’s funny,” Margot says, dipping her French fry into a ketchup and mustard mix. “I auditioned for the lead role and you didn’t, and yet here you are working harder than I am.”

“How is that funny?” I pop the tab on my Diet Coke and it bends my fingernail backwards. Gasping in pain, I shove it in my mouth and bite down hard, trying not to think about how this is probably a sign from life that today is only going to get worse.

Margot snickers at my misfortune. “Not funny haha, just you know. Funny.”

“Right.” I shove the soda can aside, no longer wanting to drink it. “It looks like I’ll be stuck working on sets with Derek tonight.”

Margot’s mouth falls open. “Alone?”

“Yep.”

She grabs her purse off the floor and digs around in it, retrieving a hot pink keychain with a small can of mace. “Keep this on you, in case he tries anything.”

“He’s not going to murder me.”

While she’s in her purse, she grabs her lip gloss and reapplies it. “And if he does, I’m going to give a great ‘I told you so’ speech at your funeral.”

Derek sits at a workbench flipping through a fresh copy of LOVE & SUICIDE. An empty bag of skittles sways in the wind from the large fan across the room and threatens to become litter on the floor. Two piles of Skittles sit on the table: a big pile of all the colors and a smaller one with just green and yellow. I toss my bag on the floor and sit on the stool next to him.

“So I guess we’ll be working together.” Though I tried to say that friendly and upbeat, it came out a little gloomy and morose. Derek doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good thing I know my way around the miter saw,” he snorts. He scoops up a handful of Skittles, drops the green and yellow ones in the small pile and puts the rest in his mouth.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask.

“I don’t like those colors.”