"Gerald Longchamp," a sto
ut boy with dark brown hair responded. "I play Mr. Webb." He looked over at me with a tight, crooked smile. "Emily's father."
Moments later, I discovered that the handsome boy was Corbette Adams, playing George Gibbs.
"For those of you who have never seen this play performed, I'll first describe the staging," Mr. Bufurd said.
"Mr. Bufurd," Maureen Knowland called out, her hand high. She was playing Rebecca Gibbs, George's sister.
"Yes, Maureen?"
"Before you arrived, we were all wondering how you were going to solve the problem," she said.
My heart, as though it was attached to rubber bands, felt like it bounced in my chest because of the way she pronounced "problem" and looked at me when she said it.
"Problem?" Mr. Bufurd said with a small smile of confusion. "Which problem? I've got about two hundred."
"The biggest one, Mr. Bufurd," she sang. "We all read Our Town in class of course, and we know it takes place in a small New England town. I don't think people had mixed marriages then, do you?"
You could hear the stillness, the holding of breath, the tightness in everyone's body, not a leg or arm moving, not even the wispy sound of clothes creasing. Mr. Bufurd stared at Maureen for a moment as if he was still trying to understand her question.
"Oh," he finally said as if he just realized it. He was a good actor himself, I decided, "you mean the fact that our George Gibbs and our Emily Webb are a little different from the traditional?"
"A little different?" She smirked and looked at the others, but most let their eyes drop except for Colleen Littlefield, who was standing beside Mr. Bufurd. She pulled the corner of her mouth into her cheek and gazed at me as if I was some smelly homeless person who had wandered in from the street.
"Well, that's a good question," he said. "I don't want to get into a lecture today, but you all know that America has always been what we call a melting pot. The great thing about Our Town is how well it lends itself to changing times. It's not a period piece, so put your mind at rest, Maureen. In fact, I was thinking of adding a line at the end to make the point that skin color is just one of the 'layers of nonsense' in our lives.
"Anyone uncomfortable with that?" he concluded.
I couldn't help but glance at Corbette, who glanced at me and then stared forward.
"Good. So let's begin," Mr. Bufurd said and started the rehearsal.
We read through the first two acts with Mr. Bufurd stopping us occasionally to explain a line or what he envisioned would take place on the stage. While I read my lines to George Gibbs, I could feel Corbette Adams's eyes on me. I glanced up to see a small smile on his lips before he started his lines. Amazingly, he seemed to have his part already memorized. When the rehearsal ended, I couldn't help but ask him about it.
"I guess I always assumed I would get the role," he said, "so I took the chance and began memorizing. Are you a hard study?"
"Pardon me?"
Most of the students were leaving slowly, lingering to watch us talk, especially Maureen.
"Is it hard for you to memorize lines?" he explained with just enough of a condescending tone in his voice to make my spine stiffen.
"I don't know, but I don't think it will be. Of course, I never anticipated being cast as Emily Webb. The truth is, I never even expected to go out for the play. I just enrolled at Dogwood?'
"I know," he said still holding that selfsatisfied, impish grin. I felt like slapping it off him. He leaned closer to me. "You've stirred up Mr. Bufurd's melting pot. I think this is going to be lots of fun," he added and turned to catch up with the other boys from Sweet William.
When I turned around, I saw Colleen Littlefield glaring at me with eyes so full of fury again I imagined I was the most distasteful thing she had encountered. Rather than put fear in me, it lit a fire under my simmering sense of outrage. Maybe the Grandmother Hudson in me was awakening after a lifetime of hibernation. I walked right up to her.
"You and I got off to a very bad start today," I said, "but if you're really concerned about the play and helping Mr. Bufurd, you'll put aside your stupid prejudices and help me, too."
"I am not prejudiced," she wailed, looking toward Mr. Bufurd to be sure he hadn't heard. "Why is it you people always use that excuse whenever you're criticized?"
"Maybe because it's all we've experienced for the last two hundred years," I said. "I'm not leaving this play unless Mr. Bufurd decides I should, so get used to me," I told her. Remembering Nicole's aggressiveness, I put my face right up to hers and she nearly had heart failure. Then I screwed my eyes into hers and added, "Don't get me angry again."
Before she could blink twice, I turned and marched up the aisle, holding my breath and hoping she wouldn't challenge my threat. I burst out of the building into the late afternoon sunshine and let out my hot breath.
"You're good," I heard and turned to see Audrey lingering in the shadows.