Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,64
out of my bag like it was the prize I’d been searching for this whole time. “Hey, Jake!” I called and walked away, not waiting for Ben’s answer.
Neither Jake discovered which one of them I was calling for, though, because Ben clapped his hands and said, “Edge of the stage, people!”
After we seated ourselves in clumps, he folded his arms. “We have one week until the performance. That’s seven days before improv reps and an increasing number of high-profile alumni will be in the audience. Past Varsity performers have been recruited straight to the big leagues from here. And I know I don’t have to tell you where alumni of those places go: Saturday Night Live, Hollywood, and television.”
“Did they ever recruit you?” I asked. I was baiting him, but it came out before I could stop it.
“I was invited to audition for Second City mainstage, but I didn’t want to move to Chicago,” he said, meeting my eyes, daring me to ask why.
“Too bad,” I said.
He shrugged. “Too cold for my taste.”
“Yeah,” Brandon said, “Ben likes it hot.”
Whether the snickers that followed were in support of the innuendo or to make fun of Ben, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, the tension broke.
“We’re putting the cold open on its feet, and then Ellie will go off and revise.” He nodded to me. I stared back. He pursed his lips and turned to everyone else. “Okay. I’ve cast ‘Sleepwalking Bear.’ ”
I frowned. Back home, the convention is whoever writes the cold open sketch for the beginning of the show also casts it. But I knew what little good it would do to say anything, so I bit the inside of my cheek instead.
“Xander, Brandon, you’re the hikers. Jake, Cade, and Donovan, you’re the circus performers. Trey, you’re the pilot, and other Jake, you’re the bear.”
He passed out scripts and the others got to their feet to start rehearsal.
Did I miss something? Had he called my name, and I didn’t hear him?
“Uh, Ben?” I followed him as he climbed the steps up on stage. “Who am I?” I had been hoping to play the pilot, but I wasn’t even one of the circus performers?
He didn’t even turn around. “The writer.”
“Right.” I hurried to catch up and snagged his shirt.
He paused, turned around, and folded his arms. “Yes?”
“I know I’m the writer. But who am I in the sketch?”
“No one. Traditionally writers aren’t in the sketches they—”
“That’s not true,” I interrupted. “Amy Poehler. Tina Fey. Kristen Wiig. People on SNL both write and perform all the time.”
“Well Marcus didn’t here, so we don’t.”
I put my hands on my hips. “If you’re trying so hard to prepare us for the professional world, why have special rules here? Aren’t special rules a crutch?” I was pushing it, but the moment he’d sidelined me in my own sketch, I’d stopped caring.
He met my eyes. “I will run my team the best way I see fit. And you will accept that.”
We were getting too loud—the others had quieted to listen in.
“Have a seat, Ellie,” he said. He handed me a script. We stared at each other.
Part of me wanted to walk out. But then I’d look like a bad sport. So I didn’t get cast in my own opening sketch. At least it was my writing coming out of everyone’s mouths. Surely that would count for something with the reps from the improv companies, right?
I tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace. “Will do, coach.” I started to cross to my bag for my notebook, but Ben snapped his fingers. Automatically, I looked over my shoulder.
“Sit by me, Ellie,” he demanded.
I seethed. “Just getting my notebook first,” I snapped.
“Hallway. Now.” He dropped his clipboard with a clatter and pointed.
The easiest thing to do was to follow him. But I couldn’t be alone with him. I’d promised myself. “Whatever you want to say to me there, you can say to me here,” I insisted, crossing my arms. I expected some sort of vocal reaction from the team, but they were still and silent.
Ben barked out a laugh. “Fine. You sit where I tell you. You revise what I tell you. You play structures the way I tell you. You are a player. I am your coach. You. Will. Listen.”
He held my gaze until a vein in his forehead started to pulse. Then he pointed at a chair in the front row.
For a moment, I flashed back to the weight of his body against mine, pushing me