Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,5
room with a curious smile.
Anyone like to go first?
A quiet pause. I don’t see the hand go up behind me.
Eva! That’s what I like to see.
Eva? Crap. Should have volunteered. She stands up and smooths out her skirt. I never had her pegged as an actress type, which goes to show I shouldn’t peg. Clutching her bag, she makes her way toward the stage. Mia moves to a seat in the first row, her elegant chin raised, gazing up at her.
MIA
Think about where you’ve just come from. Close your eyes and experience the hall in your mind before you step into the classroom. We need to get the impression we’re seeing a snippet of a seamless existence.
Eva nods and amid a few hushed whispers heads behind the curtain. My stomach flutters, nervous for my turn. She takes her time and when she finally reappears, she’s herself. I’m impressed how familiar it seems, watching her carefully unpack her books neatly on the desk and tuck her bag beneath it the way I see her do every day. She seems to accept exactly who she is, embracing the traits that people make fun of, and I feel a pang of fondness for her. She opens her book for English, smooths flat her ribbon bookmark, and then she reads. Just reads, her expression a genuine pout of concentration. Two minutes are over so quickly. She looks up expectantly when Mia speaks.
MIA
Very good, Eva. You came into the room with very believable purpose. Great work.
Eva beams, her usual prissy expression falling back into place as she returns to her seat. Mia looks thoughtfully at the class, scrunching up her nose in a way that I know I will come to love. I watch her eyes roll past me and my hand goes up before I’ve given it any thought. She returns her gaze to me and nods for me to come forward. Nerves pervade my chest as I grab my bag and climb past her onto the stage. She smiles at me. Same thing, she says.
Backstage, I take a breath. Be natural, I tell myself, gazing unseeingly at the ripples in the curtain. Try not to think of Mia. Given that for some reason I’ve been thinking of her since she arrived, it would be true of this moment for her to be on my mind. So I close my eyes and, picturing the hallway outside her classroom, the smell, the blue notice board with the paper peeling up in the corner, I push through my imagined door, stepping out onstage. No one here yet. Mia’s jacket on the back of her chair. Maybe she’ll be the first to arrive. I swing my bag onto my desk, then check the glass square in the door for any sign of her. I’m rearranging my bangs in the hazy shape of my reflection there when I realize I never finished copying my timetable into my notebook. I sit down and take out the book and a pen. I’ve reached Wednesday. No Mia Wednesday, the dark day. Thursday starts with Mia and we have her Monday and Tuesday afternoons. Friday I can get through. Theater is what I want to be good at, three periods a week to win her respect. Maybe I care too much about what people think? But no more than anyone else, right? Everyone cares, that’s how we measure success—by what people think. I fill in Thursday. So it’s normal that I sometimes say what I think I should say, hide what I think I should hide. I push my hair back from my forehead again, absentmindedly twirling it around my finger and wondering for a second how people see me, whether it’s anything like how I see myself.
MIA
Excellent!
I look up, seeing the room full of eyes on me. I embraced my real-life thoughts, gave myself to the moment. I gaze at Mia’s open expression, her involved eyes. She nods, and my heart is still racing as I settle again beside you.
Ryan is next. He puts his head on his desk and sleeps for two minutes. Surprisingly believable. You can’t quibble with the truth in that. Mia laughs. I make it my goal to elicit that perfect sound from her.
When the bell rings at the end of class, people collect together their things in an instant and flock toward the doors. I hang back, reaching underneath the seat for my bag. Mia is still at the front of the stage, so I wave