In Drama, Gigi and I are doing this scene from The Glass Menagerie. Gigi plays Laura, a shy girl who’s such a mess she can’t even go to a typing class without puking on the floor. I play Amanda, Laura’s witch of a mother, who lives in this dreamworld of the past where she was belle of the ball. She can’t handle that she’s stuck with no husband and a loser daughter.
Yes, I’m playing my mother. Miss Davis assigned the parts.
I definitely reek less at acting than dance (I mean, I can speak), but I still … well, suck. And I hate everything about Amanda, from her Southern accent (which I absolutely cannot do) to the all-too-familiar way she bullies her daughter. I’d never have chosen this scene. Even the lines are pretentious. Example: “… little birdlike women without any nest—eating the crust of humility…”
Like, hello? What does that mean?
So it’s not a huge surprise when Miss Davis says, “No. That’s not it at all.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Gigi says.
“This is a powerful scene,” Miss Davis says. “A powerful example of an irresistible force meeting an immovable object. Amanda is motivated to make Laura change, and Laura is equally motivated to maintain the status quo. But it only works if each character’s motivation is crystal clear.” She turns to me. “How would you describe Amanda?”
“She’s a complete … um, witch.”
Giggles from the few people who weren’t asleep.
“Would you care to elaborate?” Miss Davis says over them.
Not really.
I say, “She pushes her daughter around. She wants to run her life. She thinks she’s really smart and comes up with schemes.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s … she wants to marry Laura off.”
“Why?”
I think of Mom the other day, talking about marrying Arnold. “She wants Laura to marry some rich guy to support them.”
“Why?”
Don’t you know another word? “So she doesn’t have to keep working or move in with their relatives. She doesn’t care about Laura or think how hard it is for her to talk to people or do new things. She’s completely selfish.”
“But Amanda wouldn’t see herself that way. Someone once said, ‘A villain is the hero of his own story.’ So you have to see Amanda’s side. What is her side?”
I think about Mom, about how she rationalizes. “She’d probably say she’s doing it for Laura’s own good. She wants Laura to be happy, and if Laura keeps being such a wuss, she’s going to end up old and alone like…” I stop.
“Like her mother?”
I nod. “But Laura doesn’t want those things. She wants to sit home and play with her glass animals. She wants to be alone.”
“Does she really want that?”
“Yes. It would be so easy, only her mother doesn’t care what Laura wants. She keeps talking about all the boyfriends she had when she was young, to show Laura she could get a man and Laura can’t. She thinks Laura’s a loser.”
I’m not doing a very good job, seeing Amanda’s side. But Miss Davis nods.
“Do you think Amanda ever had any dreams, Caitlin?”
But the bell rings, so I don’t have to think about Amanda and her dreams. People run like rats from a sinking ship. Miss Davis says, “Okay, we’re going to start rehearsing for the show in class, so we don’t have any more time for scenes, but I think you girls should work on this on your own time. Friday, everyone come prepared to rehearse the first act finale.”
Gigi elbows me on the way out. “Our own time. Like we have all this free time.”
“She’s doing it for our own good.”
We break into unreasonable laughter.
Gigi’s number (one of her numbers) is a duet with Sylvanie, a tribute to Judy Garland, who did movie musicals in the 1940s. So now, we sit with Sylvanie and her friends in the cafeteria, or sometimes go to The Pit, where I try to avoid GrandMa’s cookies. I thought it would be weird sitting with them, like when I started dating Nick and sitting with his friends at lunch. We didn’t have anything to talk about. But now I know that when you’re in a show with people, you can talk about the show … endlessly.
Except today, Gigi’s talking about what I’m eating. My new plan (after the baking chocolate incident) is to bring a nutritious lunch from home—like a sandwich on pita bread—and a bottle of water. Maybe the reason I’m pigging out is I’m not letting myself eat enough. Anyway, I’ve been doing it for a few days now, and I’m down to 113.
“That’s all you’re eating?” Gigi says.
“My jeans are tight.”
“Well, yeah, Caitlin. That’s because they’re a size zero.”
I think of Peyton and Ashley. “They’re a two.”
“There’s a difference?”
“There’s a huge difference. Like ten pounds.”
Gigi rolls her eyes. “I think you could do at least a size three without the marching band playing the ‘Baby Elephant Walk’ when you walk along the sidelines.”
Of course this school doesn’t have a marching band, much less sidelines.
“I wear a seven,” she says. “Am I fat?”
Of course she’s not fat. But she’s also tall. I never notice anyone else’s fat.
“Caitlin thinks I’m fat,” Gigi announces, pouting.
“Girl, you’re way too fixated on weight,” Sylvanie says.
“I didn’t say she was fat!”
“No, but you’re always sitting here with your celery,” Sylvanie says. “Makes me feel like eating more, just watching you.”
I take a bite of my sandwich and look at them like, Happy? I try to chew real slow to make it last longer. Peyton and Ashley could take an hour to eat a side salad. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”
“So, are you, like, singing opera in the show?” Sylvanie says.
“Um, yeah. I have a duet.” I glance over to where Misty’s sitting, assuming Sean’s there too. He isn’t. It’s Wednesday and we haven’t practiced since Sunday.
“You have the prettiest voice,” Sylvanie says. “I wish I had a voice like yours.”
“Thanks.” I figure she’s just being nice, to make up. Sylvanie’s like Gigi—one of those people who’s good at everything so she can afford to be kind to mere mortals. Two weeks into rehearsals, my screw-ups in dance are legendary. She probably feels sorry for me.
But Gus’s sidekick, Rex says, “How high can you go with that thing? Can you break glass?” He holds up his watch, a digital one.
“Not that glass. It’s plastic. I hit an E-flat the other day, though. A high one.”
“Prove it,” Gus says.
“Nope.” I learned early—and the hard way—that people may say they want to hear you sing in public places, but if you actually do it, they’ll think you’re tremendously weird. Nick told me that, actually, but even Nick could be right sometimes.
“Please,” Gus says.
“Please,” Rex repeats. “I think I’m in love with you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No way. You’ll have to wait until dress rehearsal.” Then in case they think I’m being a snob, I say, “Okay, so how bad did we suck today in Drama?” Because I also learned early on that if you’re good, people think you’re a snob, and the best way to keep that from happening is to put yourself down.
And it works.
“You were fine,” Rex says. “Davis doesn’t appreciate brilliance. I mean, she gave me a C on my scene.”
“The noive!” Gigi says.
And then everyone starts talking about how mean Miss Davis is, and, for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not the weirdest person around.
Subj: Practicing
Date: 10/14, 10:35 p.m., Eastern Standard Time
To: pippin725@micromail.net
From: Caitlinmcc@dslnet.com
It was fun practicing the other day. Don’t you think we should get 2gether again sometime? There’s no rehearsal tomorrow.
It took me an hour to compose that e-mail, so I don’t sound like I’m nagging or stalking him or anything. And then I saved it in Mail Waiting to Be Sent for another two before I decided to go for it.
The next morning, there’s a reply.
Subj: Practicing
Date: 10/15, 2:03 a.m., Eastern Standard Time
To: Caitlinmcc@dslnet.com
From: pippin725@micromail.net
we could do it 2morrow (actually 2day) if you don’t mind coming here.