it within a certain time frame, it makes it more likely that they’ll say yes to the others soon.”
Marisa sighed. She’d expected this approach from the school board, and knew maybe as time went on the offer would sound more tempting. That it was a reasonable thing for them to request. But she was prepared to hold out for weeks if she needed to, and she was almost disappointed they had tried this tactic this early. She’d just snapped the padlocks shut.
She reached into her duffel bag to pull out a book. “These aren’t up for discussion and I’m in no rush,” she said. “If the board is feeling pressured to get these done quickly for some reason, that’s on them, not me.” Marisa opened the book to her bookmark—a postcard from Palawan in the Philippines, a reminder of bleached coral—and looked down at the pages, signaling to Mr. Gigs the way a number of teachers had signaled to her throughout her academic career that the conversation was over.
* * *
From where he was sitting, Kenji could just barely see the green room through the wings of the stage. It was busy with teachers and definitely not with improv.
Lindsay was still outside. In the group chat some of the other players on the team announced they had called their parents for a ride. Scene! Kenji texted, wanting to smile at his joke but feeling its rough landing. No one responded, and Lindsay privately messaged him, I thought it was funny, though she didn’t accompany the text with an emoji or gif or Haha, and Kenji could picture her out there staring unsmiling in the dark.
It was amazing and terrifying just how easily his thoughts could make him feel like he was at home again. Home, for Kenji, wasn’t a warm, welcoming place you stepped back into comfortably after a long hard day in the outside world. Home was a dreaded place he returned to after getting his fill of joy at CIS. At home, his father patrolled the hallways for joy, ready to stamp it down. Joy in and of itself did not lead to success, and therefore it was pointless, it was a cancer that stifled more productive emotions. The outside world had improv, it had jokes, it had people who said “yes.” It had Lindsay. Home was the place where “no” reigned supreme.
What are you doing out there? he texted Lindsay, wanting to get away from his thoughts.
Waiting. What else could I be doing?
Fashioning a bouncy house out of gym mats.
Don’t be ridiculous, all bouncy houses have to be approved by the school board, and I hear they’re busy.
Celeste watched Kenji texting, and pulled out her own phone, too. That seemed to be the socially appropriate thing to do, although sitting there in the auditorium, Celeste couldn’t think of a single person to text except her mom. She could text her friend Jamie back home, but ever since the move, their communication habits had fallen by the wayside, and it could be hours before she heard a response.
Her family, at least, still felt like home.
Hey, Ma.
How’s it going, hun? Having fun?
What are you doing in there? Lindsay texted.
Shouting at people, begging them for a suggestion. I miss improv.
Any luck?
Kenji looked up from his phone. He wondered if it was too soon to ask Celeste to play, if he would scare her off. Not just from improv, but from his company. Kenji typed out a few jokes as a response before settling on, I might have a lead. You know Celeste?
New girl? American?
Yup.
Cool. Bet she’d be fun. She’s quiet, and the quiet ones are always quippy.
Celeste didn’t know how to respond to her mom. She could sense her mom prying about friends. It made her feel cared for, but also sad, to picture her parents cuddled on the couch, talking about how worried they were about her social life, whether they’d made the right choice to come here with Celeste struggling so much. They’d had enough of the US, and so it was right to leave, but had it been right to come here?
Yeah, I guess, she wrote. She didn’t think to tell her about the protest, figuring it would be over eventually, or that she could tell her in the morning.
Well, we’re having a blast over here. Your dad’s been asleep since 8 and I’m sitting on the couch not knowing what the hell to watch on TV.