Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,1

play World’s Worst.”

Ta da! Statement!

“World’s Worst?” Jonas’s eyes flew open.

Asleep, my ass.

“I’ll play World’s Worst with you, Zelda,” he offered.

Will unwrapped his arm from around Jonas with a flash of regret in his eyes. He sighed. “Z, this is our first time at this camp. Don’t count on making any of the top teams, much less the top team. Just relax. Have fun. Don’t care so much.”

I twitched. “Don’t care so much? Jane Lloyd started this camp!” I thumped The Scene Must Win against his shoulder. “Every year representatives from Second City and iO and UCB come to the final show. Which only the best performers get to be in. If I’m going to be on Saturday Night Live by the time I’m twenty-five, this is my best chance to get a foot in the door. Did you not read anything they sent us? Don’t you remember me talking about this, like, nonstop?”

Dad groaned, adjusted his Twins baseball cap, and wiped sleep out of his eyes. “I do, Zelda-belle.”

“Thank you, Dad.” I reached up to the passenger seat and squeezed his arm. “I’m glad someone believes in my dream.”

Will scoffed. “Come on, Zelda. Jonas and I love improv, too. I’m just tired—”

“World’s Worst sibling? Should we start there?” I asked.

“Hi.” Will smirked. “My name is Zelda.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d walked right into that one.

“How about World’s Worst ambulance driver?” Jonas offered. “Or garbage collector?” He dug into his bag. “Tell you what—I’ll make a list.”

I grinned at my brother. “I really like your boyfriend.”

Will shook his head at me. “Enjoy this now. Until he learns not to let you manipulate him.”

I scoffed. “I’m not manipulating him. I’m just a really good convincer.”

Will snorted.

I dropped the book on my lap and folded my arms. “This is going to be amazing,” I assured him (and myself). “Mom and Dad will be hiking for two weeks, and you and Jonas and I are going to hone our improv skills in the mountains of Colorado. And isn’t it going to be even better if we make the top team?”

“For the love of god, Zelda . . .” Will shook his head but the corner of his mouth curved into a small smile. “You’re really lucky I kind of like you and stuff.”

“I know,” I said, bumping his shoulder with mine.

My phone buzzed, and I flipped it over.

AR: Hey. Question for you.

My heart beat a little faster. Alex was the latest improv guy I had a minor crush on who I was pretty sure did not think of me in that way. Like, as a girl-person he could have feelings for.

ZBC: Fire away.

The ellipses danced on my screen as his typed his response. I waited. A question for me. It was probably just about the rehearsal schedule . . . But it could be something else.

AR: Jenn’s starting rehearsal again on the 25th?

I grimaced. Or not. But then again, maybe absence would make the heart grow fonder . . .

ZBC: Yup . . . I’m with Jonas and Will on our way to improv camp in CO! Back in 2 weeks!

The ellipses again. Responding right away to my text . . . good sign . . .

AR: Oh, that’s right! Have fun, dude!

Dude.

What is that saying? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride? For me it was more like always a friend, never a girlfriend. And at least up until now, Will had been in a similar boat. But suddenly I was the only one in the family who wasn’t in a boat built for two.

Mom always says you can let yourself drown in self-pity, or you can choose to swim away.

So fine.

I flipped my phone over, closed my eyes to regroup, and front-crawled toward the shore: Boyfriend-schmoyfriend, Zelda. You’re going places: Jane Lloyd’s improv camp. Second City. Then Saturday Night Live.

CHAPTER TWO

The car had barely come to a stop in the parking area when I threw open the door and jumped out, skidding a little on the gravel because I was too busy looking up at the breathtaking mountains. “Breathtaking” is a doubly accurate description, actually. Breathtaking, because up close, the Rocky Mountains are aggressively beautiful—rocks and trees jut into the sky at impossible angles. But breathtaking as well because it’s really hard to breathe.

Seriously.

“We’re at 9,200 feet above sea level,” Dad told us, pointing at small print on the Rocky Mountain Theatre Arts Summer Camp sign in front of the Main Lodge. “That’s nearly two miles!”

“No wonder it feels like there’s a vise