I know. Spruce itself just hushed up at my act of daring to criticize the work of one of Ms. Joy’s most prized students.
She picks up the script in front of her and frowns down at it, appearing to read the title page over and over.
Then: “You’re right. It sucks.”
Everyone at the table turns to Ms. Joy, shocked.
She takes in everyone’s faces, then looks up at me and shrugs. “The script is stale. Trite. Pretentious at times. The tiny changes the playwright made in gender-swapping Danielle to Danny didn’t do their story any justice. No, this script needs a truth bomb. Is that how you kids say it?” she asks, giving Frankie a look for some reason. “A little bit of a—” She spreads her hands, making an odd explosion sound from her mouth. “—truth bomb? Anyway, I want this to be a lesson: a play is more than just the sum of its parts. The lines may be weak. Unintelligent. But they’re just words on a page until you breathe life into them. Don’t let it just be a blow-up doll, Vann. It’s your job to strengthen your character. If Kingsley feels flat, give him dimension. Are you dissatisfied with all of your frickin’ this, frickin’ that?” Ms. Joy eyes me with an amused smirk. “Own the frick, my boy. Make those fricks yours. Vann might not ever say fricking, but Kingsley is saying it, not you, and it is your job as an actor to be Kingsley. Make him yours—at least, during the time in which you’re on this stage. Otherwise, where’s the effort in acting? Have you ever actually read Romeo & Juliet? Romeo has to be one of the most boring characters ever written, and look what actors do with him. I dare you to find someone who doesn’t know Romeo.” She closes her script. “That being said, I will talk to the playwright about … some rewrites regarding Danny. Yikes.” Ms. Joy clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “That lazily gender-swapped Danny is an insult to the gay community. We’ve got to do better.”
With that, we’re then dismissed to go home. Toby catches me halfway to the door. “Hey, uh … Vann?”
I tug on my backpack strap and lift an eyebrow. “Sup?”
“I was just wondering if, if …” He hugs his script to his chest as his eyes search the ground adorably, looking for the rest of his sentence, I guess. “Well, you said you wanted to walk with me to my house from Biggie’s on the weekends … or something. And it got me to thinking if, uh … if that means …”
“Yeah?” I prompt him, urging him to get to the point.
He clenches his eyes shut, then finally pulls them up to mine. “Never mind. Do you want to go over lines, like, after school one of these days? To, like, y’know …” He shrugs and lets out a small, nervous laugh, then does air-quotes as he finishes. “… ‘make these characters ours’ or whatever?”
I frown at him. “Isn’t that what rehearsal is for?”
“Oh. Well, yeah. Uh …” His face blushes worse than it ever has. He starts drumming his fingers on his script with shocking tempo. “Yeah, alright. Okay. I’ll …” He shuts his eyes again. “I’ll see you in chemistry tomorrow.” And with that, he takes off.
And I’m left standing there, watching him go.
What was he going to ask me at first?
That night at home, I finish my copyright-page creature, then realize with a start that I think it’s the winged-demon version of Kingsley. He’s handsome, egotistical, athletic, has a chip on his shoulder, and doesn’t look like a very pleasant conversationalist. That notion inspires me, and I find myself getting to work on a demonic counterpart for him, drawing the winged-demon version of Danny next to the cast list. By the time midnight rolls around, I realize that my version of Danny didn’t come out as a demon at all. He’s just a normal guy—cute-faced, seemingly innocent, no wings, no horns protruding from his head, but he has a glint of adventure burning in his eyes, like he’ll dare to go wherever the demon takes him. Satisfied, I flick off my lamp light, then fall asleep with my sketchpad on my chest, charcoal pencil dangling from my fingers.
Every morning is a silent movie. I wake, shower, dress, then stand in the garage and stare at a bike that’s not mine (for another month, at least) while I wait for