Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,67

parts.” Ben’s forced smile moved into grimace territory.

Paloma stood up. “If you developed it as a team, why not develop enough parts for everyone? There could easily be another circus performer—”

Ben didn’t even acknowledge them. He turned to his notes and wandered away like no one had spoken.

I slowly exhaled, staring at the floor. Wasn’t this supposed to be the moment to celebrate my hard work? Why was Ben taking that away from me?

I felt someone standing over my shoulder.

Roger. He pushed his way between the seats and sat in Ben’s vacated chair.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” I turned to face him.

“Will says you wrote that sketch.”

I nodded.

Roger’s curly hair was like mine—boingy. The curls bounced as he shook his head.

“It’s good. I hope Ben tells you that. Does he tell you that?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Not in so many words, but . . .”

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Okay.” He started to say something, then stopped himself. Then he stood up, took a deep breath, and sat back down. “Let me—or Dion—know if . . . if you need anything. Okay?”

I squinted. “Need anything?”

He glanced up at the stage, maybe looking for Ben. “Just. You know.”

He squeezed my shoulder and called to his team. “Let’s clear these chairs, JV!”

Will scurried over and hugged me. “Say something,” he pleaded.

“To who?” I whispered. “And say what? It’s not fair? I didn’t get credit for something that was really everyone’s idea in the first place?”

He grabbed my shoulders. “Please. Promise me you’ll say something.”

“Will—”

“Ellie?” Ben wandered back into the room and seemed surprised to see Will still there. “Aren’t you two going to help set up for dinner?”

“Yes,” I said, grabbing Will’s arm. “Jonas and the Gildas will be waiting for us. That’s okay, right, Ben? No team dinner tonight?”

“No team dinner,” he said, slowly clicking his pen. “But we’re running one-liners afterward. Seven o’clock. Rehearsal room B.”

I furrowed my brow as a wave of disappointment crashed over me. “No—I can’t. I have plans.”

“With who?” Ben snapped.

I opened my mouth to answer, but decided I didn’t owe him the truth. I shrugged and stammered. “Th-the Gildas.”

“It’s a required rehearsal,” Ben insisted.

“But it’s not on the original schedule,” I protested. My heart rate was increasing as my irritation at his demands did.

“You’re there, or you’re off Varsity.” His calm, snake-like voice was back. “And none of us wants that.”

Then he was gone.

“I’m finding the Pauls,” Will murmured. “This has gotten out of hand.”

“Will! No!” I grabbed his shirt. “Please. Listen to me.”

“No, I’m—” He pulled out of my grip.

“Then you’re no better than he is!” I exclaimed.

Will looked like I’d slapped him. “How can you say that?”

“Let me make my own choices for my own life,” I said. “Nina Knightley. Improv. Script writing. This is my life. If you tell the Pauls, I’m off Varsity.”

“Or he is,” Will retorted.

“Who will defend me?” I demanded. “The Varsity guys? No way. And the little that Roger and Dion and JV have seen? That’s not egregious enough to get someone removed. And if Ben knows I complained, he’ll sideline me. I’m already not in the cold open. I can’t risk it. Let me handle this. My way.”

“But he—” Will turned away. He was shaking. “He controls you. Can’t you see that? You’ve got to quit Varsity.”

I shrugged. “I’m not going to. There’s too much at stake.”

“Jesus, Zelda.” His shoulders sagged. “Let’s go eat. Maybe everyone else can convince you. Before your next rehearsal starts.”

“Wait—I . . . I don’t have plans with the Gildas tonight,” I said. The disappointment crashed again.

“Okay.” He caught my eye. “Who do you have plans with?”

I shrugged. “Some Boy Scouts.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Your Boy Scouts? Those hiking Boy Scouts?”

I nodded and dug around in my bag for nothing.

“All three of those Boy Scouts?”

“Well, Jesse for sure, but probably Ricky and Murph, too. Jesse and I ran into each other when I was—”

“You ran into each other?”

“It’s feeling like an echo chamber around here,” I said.

“Good God, Z. How do you go from no guys liking you—”

“Thanks for that.”

He ignored me. “To an older man—”

“Ben’s only twenty,” I protested.

“—And three all-American Boy Scouts all fighting for your attention?”

“Jesse and Murph and Ricky are my friends,” I said firmly. “And Ben is . . .”

“Trouble,” he finished. Then suddenly, he threw his arms around me. “I’m worried,” he muttered into my hair.

I nodded and laid my head against his shoulder.

“Tell me what to do to help.”

I smiled and pulled back.