Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,27

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.

SCHOOL LAWN. LUNCH.

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