I’m not talking to Dad.
I can’t. I’m too disgusted with him.
Unlike Mom, I can’t find somewhere else to stay for the week. If I weren’t still on terrible terms with Leili, maybe I could stay with her and Azadeh, but that seems like a lot to ask.
Plus, no matter how pissed I am, I wouldn’t want to leave Dad solo in this house. What if he fell and couldn’t get to his phone?
So I’m staying put at home. But I’m not talking to him. When we’d usually be watching Marvelous Mrs. Maisel or whatever else, I’ve been in my room. Dad cooks dinner for two, we just don’t eat at the same time.
Last night after dinner, though, I watched Breakin’ on my laptop in the family room because why should I be the one who has to hide out in my room every night?
“Ohmigod, I haven’t seen this in forever,” Dad said. “How’d you hear about this?” I shrugged. “I didn’t know teenagers knew this existed. Is it…Do you mind if I sit and watch with you?”
I didn’t respond, which Dad took to mean it would be all right. Which is kind of what I meant. As furious as I am, it felt nice to have some company. I never directly spoke to him, though. Not even during the broom scene.
Mom didn’t talk to Dad for a week after she found out he cheated, so I figure I can at least match that. It was officially confirmed Monday night, and it’s now Thursday afternoon, so what is that…two and a half days? Geez. I kind of thought it had been longer.
But whatever, I’m not talking to him for at least another five days.
Unfortunately, Leili has been using a similar strategy with me. Not that I’ve tried that hard to reach out to her. I mean, I’m still pissed. But it feels like I’m walking around without some vital organ, like my liver or something. Leili’s conveniently had yearbook work to do every day during lunch, and I somehow never see her in the halls.
And Evan’s back to sitting with Tim Stabisch and some other dodos at a table as far from us as possible, so it’s been me, Azadeh, and Roxanne at lunch every day. Which has been surprisingly nice. I hate to admit that Leili’s right, but I have sort of been in my own bubble for the past few weeks, and it’s cool to have some substantial conversations with Azadeh and get to know Roxanne better.
“They all know?” I ask.
“Yup,” Azadeh says, sticking her fork into a cucumber-and-tomato salad. “All of ’em.”
One of the girls on the field hockey team figured out their fairly obvious secret, and now everyone knows.
“I’m so glad,” Roxanne says. “Doing the Monica and Chandler thing was fun for a minute, but then it just felt stressful.”
I look to Azadeh, mouth agape, like Is she saying that because you told her? Or because she had the same thought Leili and I did?
Azadeh shakes her head, smirks, and rolls her eyes, like I didn’t tell her. She independently made the same imperfect reference you did.
“I totally hear that,” I say, beaming at Roxanne. “I’m mainly just glad Siobhan knows.”
Azadeh lets out one of her trademark loud laughs.
“Well played,” Roxanne says before glancing at her phone. “Oh shoot, I’m supposed to go meet Mrs. Okin for extra help before the test tomorrow. Gotta jet.”
“Don’t goooooooo,” Azadeh says, grabbing Roxanne’s arm as she gets up from the table.
“I gotta, I gotta,” Roxanne says, giggling.
“Okaaaaaaaaay.” Azadeh makes a pouty face.
“I’ll see you at practice. That’s, like, really soon.”
“Fiiiiiiiiiine.”
I should probably be annoyed, shouting “Get a room!” but it actually makes me really happy.
“So,” Azadeh says as soon as Roxanne is gone. “Today’s the day, right?”
“Improv rehearsal?”
“Well, yeah, that, but no, I mean today’s the day you and Leili make up.”
“I want to,” I say, “but she’s avoiding me!”
Azadeh gives me a deadpan stare, like Come on. Even I heard how defensive I sounded.
“Yes. Today’s the day.”
“Good,” Azadeh says, forking some salad into her mouth.
“I really miss her.”
“And she misses you! This is so stupid!”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m done talking about this.”
“Okay, but—”
“New topic: Did you see SNL last weekend?”
“I did, but—”
“Today. Is. The. Day.”
I sigh. “Today’s the day.”
I can’t stop looking at Leili’s face.
We’re doing a couple of practice Harolds this afternoon at improv, and I’ve been trying to get Leili’s attention all rehearsal—I really do want this to be the day—but it hasn’t worked. Evan’s not here—he’s clearly avoiding me at every turn, which makes me feel simultaneously terrible and powerful—but I’m still so in my head after his and Leili’s comments.
Thus far in rehearsal I’ve been trying to stick with what’s worked, using my go-to characters and bits, like I need to prove to Leili that she’s wrong. But it hasn’t felt exactly right. It’s like I’m trying too hard to be funny instead of living in the moments of what’s happening.
Leili gets up to do a scene, and I realize if I want my best friend’s attention so badly, there’s an easy way to get it.
I jump up into the playing space. It’s the third beat of the Harold, so Leili’s already established her character in two earlier scenes: a park ranger with the supernatural ability to talk to trees, which confounds all her coworkers. I decide I’ll play a loudmouthed tree. It’s not a character I’ve ever done before, so it will count as real improv.
As I make my arms into branches and stare at Leili, about to speak, it occurs to me that this is the first scene we’ve done together since I joined Improv Troupe. How is that possible? She’s my best friend and we haven’t even performed together in a single scene? “Hey, lady,” I say, in my most gregarious tree voice.
“Oh, hello,” Leili says. She looks right at me, and it’s with none of the baggage of our past week. I don’t know how she does that. She’s just so in it, as if we’re meeting for the first time. As if I’m actually a tree.
“I’m lonely,” I say, the thought forming and leaving my mouth simultaneously. “I’m the loneliest tree in the forest.”
“I’ve heard about you,” Leili says, without missing a beat. “The other trees are worried about you.”
It feels so nice to be talking to Leili again, even though it’s in this supremely weird way. “If they’re so worried,” I say, “why don’t they come talk to me directly?”
“Well, I guess maybe…It’s because they’re rooted to the ground.”
Everyone laughs, and I pout and say, “Well, they could try,” and I am, for the billionth time, in awe of my best friend. How does she come up with lines like that? I want to do what she does, and I can’t!
Oh man.
The scene continues, and I try to respond in cogent ways, but the truth is, I can barely focus. Because I’m seeing it now:
I am jealous of Leili.
I’ve been jealous of her since the first day of rehearsal. Has some part of me been shutting her out the same way Evan shut me out? Because she’s better at improv? Is it so hard to let her be the funny one sometimes?
Finally, the Harold ends and so does rehearsal. Leili speeds toward her backpack as soon as Mr. Martinez dismisses us, but I’m ready for it. I jump off the stage into the aisle to block her. I kind of twist my ankle in the process, but I don’t care.
“Lay, wait,” I say, grimacing.
She doesn’t.
“I’m so sorry, Leili.”
She stops walking and looks at me. I’m glad because my last resort was to start blasting Enya from my phone.
People are all around us getting their stuff, but I don’t even care. I want them to hear this. “I’ve been a shitty friend, and I’m so sorry.”
Leili looks at our feet. “You haven’t been a shi—”
“I totally have. Just let me say it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to be a shitty friend anymore.”
“Well, I was shitty to you on the phone, so—”
“Yeah, but I deserved it! You’re so amazing, Leili. You’re the most amazing. Honestly, I think, like…” It’s hard to get the words out. “I’m jealous of you.”
“What?” Leili looks confused, like this never would have occurred to her in a million years. “Why?”
“Uh…Because you’re good at everything, including improv. And I think of myself as so funny, so I thought this would be the one area where I could, like…But you’re way better than me at this, too.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You’re smart and funny in every scene you do, and you’re so good at listening, and I just think you’re incredible. And I don’t know why I don’t tell you that more. I know that everything…like, Azadeh being with Roxanne, and me with what’s-his-face, has been hard. And I’m sorry I haven’t been better about being there for you.”
Now people are kind of staring and listening, which feels more awkward than triumphant. “Thank you for that,” Leili says. “But here, let’s…” She gestures to the far wall of the auditorium.
“Yeah, good idea.”
We walk over there. I sort of limp, actually.
“Is your ankle okay?” Leili asks.
“I dunno. But we’re talking again, and not just in an improv scene, so yes, definitely. This feels really good.”
“It does.” Leili smiles.
“What’s going on? Are you all right?”
Leili sighs. “Not yet. But I will be. It’s really not your fault. It was mainly the stuff with Azadeh, how she’s, you know, got a new person now. And how she’s been around so much less. But also…”
“Also what?”
“I don’t know.” Leili looks at her Chuck Taylors again. Almost everyone has filed out of the auditorium. “You think I’m good at everything, but I’m not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, people just gravitate to Azadeh in every room she’s in. It’s always been that way. We’re almost identical, yet people never want to…”
“You are so gravitational,” I say. “You totally are.”
“You know what I mean, though. She’s the fun one. So she attracts people, like Roxanne, and then you’re so funny, and you attract Ev— I mean what’s-his-face, and I’m like…” She starts to quietly cry. “The closest thing I have to anything like that is my pathetic crush.” She side-glances at Mr. Martinez, who’s trying to untangle the strap on his messenger bag. “And obviously I’m so happy for Oz, and I was for you, too, but what about me? Will I ever have that? So I threw myself even more into everything else I have going on. Because that’s my thing. I’m the driven one. But, ohmigod, Winnie, it’s so exhausting.”
Now I’m crying too. “I’m really, really sorry. I want you to know: you are so fun and so pretty and so smart and so wonderful, and people are and will be attracted to you. And I won’t ever drop the friendship ball again. Can I hug you?”
“Of course.” We hug. It’s such a relief.
“Can we keep hugging forever?”
“No. But I could probably go for a few more minutes.”
“Deal!” I shout.
Our laughter fills the auditorium, which we now have all to ourselves.