Signing up for Battle
ACT I, SCENE II (MODERN ENGLISH VERSION) Unsuspecting Manhattanite returns to private school in attempt to make life easier for herself. Finds struggle and uncertainty waiting on the front steps. Seeks trouble unintentionally. Seeks tutor. Seeks happy ending to epic first day.
SETTING
Student Activities Fair, Thoney
Gymnasium, Upper East Side Manhattan
Enter Peppy Student Senate kid with high ponytail and argyle shift dress.
PEPPY STUDENT SENATE KID
Hi! Welcome to the spring semester Student Activities Fair! Here’s your packet! And your Thoney ballpoint pen! And your window sticker—cute, huh? Please proceed in a counterclockwise motion around the gymnasium, and feel free to sign up for as many activities as you like!
HEROINE
Oh. Um. Thanks. Thank you.
Counterclockwise, did you say? Okay.
Somehow I had made it through the first day of school, rebounding slightly after the embarrassment of this morning’s Shakespearean stumping. But what I saw when I entered the Thoney gymnasium at three forty-five on Monday afternoon was a whole different kind of overwhelming.
The place was insane. Sure, it showed some signs of being a high school gym—there were basketball hoops, free throw lines painted on the floor, retractable bleachers, and bad fluorescent lighting high up in the rafters. But if there’s one thing the Upper East Side knows how to do, it’s upgrade.
The overhead lights had been shut off, and the room was lit by a hundred soft-white antique street lamps. Individual wooden booths had been wheeled in and set up in concentric circles around the room. Each was decorated by a painted clapboard sign designating which club, team, or organization it represented. Clusters of girls with megawatt smiles and VOSS bottles in their hands beckoned those milling about to approach their booths and sign up. Bite-sized burgers and veggie sushi rolls went around on silver trays. And a deep gold carpet had been rolled around the booths so that it felt like you were following a yellow brick road toward your extracurricular dream destination.
I guess the sight of it all was sort of thrilling. I could totally dig the man in the beret flipping crepes at the French Club booth. And the Fashion Club’s minirunway was attracting more open-mouth stares than the Saks windows at Christmastime. But as I started walking—counterclockwise—around the room, the conversations I overheard brought me back to reality. Sure, the execution of this fair was award-worthy, but underneath the soft lighting, I was starting to see that this whole event was yet another Type-A UES spectacle.
“It just won’t work,” I heard a brunette in a red poncho and tortoiseshell Salt Works glasses say as she fiddled with her Trio. “I already have Key Club on Monday afternoons, riding on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and drama practice on Wednesdays. My masseuse asked me not to commit myself on Fridays so I can have some detox time. You’re going to have to switch the Latin Club to a power lunch or I don’t see how I’ll be able to fit it in.”
At the next booth, a Korean girl in a tailored suit and funky jewelry was facing her almost identically clad friend with crossed arms.
“No, I already told you. I was secretary last year. If I don’t get at least treasurer this year, I’ll never be president by senior year.”
I kept walking, past a slew of other frantic voices looking for the Pilates club, the technology club, the Susan G. Komen breast cancer philanthropy club. Everyone in the room seemed to be in a hurry to pump up their college résumés. Coming to a high school like Thoney was a boost to any application, but it seemed like the student body here was still pretty cutthroat about securing a place at Harvard or Yale after graduation.
But all I wanted right now was to find my friends, sign up for a low-maintenance club or two, and debrief on how intense this place was while simultaneously gearing up for the Dalton pizza party later this afternoon. Where was Camille? The dotted line on the map she’d drawn me this morning only extended as far as the entrance to the gym. With the number of girls-on-a-mission in this room, I was beginning to worry that I might never find her.
I started to push my way through Roberto Cavalli tote bags and Halogen down jackets with as much vigor as the other girls when suddenly, I hit a roadblock. A very tall, very muscular, and somewhat scary-looking roadblock.
“Whoops,” I said, taking a step away from the girl I’d just run into. “I’m sorry, I was just—”
“You’re new,” said the girl. She was sporting a gray zip-up hoodie with Thoney spelled out across the chest. Her long dirty blond hair was pulled back and, despite her intimidating frame, she had great cheekbones and friendly hazel eyes.
“Um, yeah,” I stuttered. I still wasn’t used to the fact that almost everyone else in this school knew each other—and that I stuck out because I didn’t. “I’m Flan Flood,” I said. “I just transferred from Stuyvesant.”
“Cool,” she said, nodding and flipping her ponytail over her shoulders. “Stuy has a killer field hockey team. Did you play?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, thinking that the field hockey girls at Stuy were all super intense and sporty and looked, well, a lot like this girl. Not that it was a bad thing. Suddenly feeling judgmental and guilty, I said, “But I used to see them practicing a lot. They looked pretty good.”
The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Ramsey Saybrook, captain of our freshman team. Have you ever thought about playing? We’re not as hard-core as the Stuy team, but we could really use some height,” she said, pointing at my frame as she talked.
I’d never thought about joining a sports team before, but I had spent many summers in the Hamptons playing roller hockey with Patch and his friends—once I gave Arno an accidental black eye when things got heated during a game-winning goal.
And hey, why not give field hockey a try? New year, new school, new activities, right? Ramsey seemed cool enough, and she did mention the team being more low-key than the one at Stuy, which was definitely a good sign.
I shrugged and nodded my head. “Sure,” I said. “I’d love to sign up.”
“Killer,” Ramsey said, sounding genuinely enthused. “Let me get your e-mail, and I’ll let you know about practice and everything.”
After saying goodbye to Ramsey, I felt like I’d accomplished my extracurricular goals for the day. Now I just wanted to find Camille and the girls and maybe snag a crepe.
“Flan! Yoo-hoo—over here,” I spun around in the direction of the voice and grinned when I saw Morgan waving me over. Camille and Co. were clustered—amazingly—right in front of the crepe stand. I so loved these girls.
“Hey, guys,” I said, wading through the booths to get to them.
“How was your first day?” Camille asked. “Oh my God, have a bite of this banana Nutella thing—it’s to die for.”
I nibbled a bite from her crepe and said, “I guess you could say I’m still getting adjusted.”
“Oh, but it’s only your first day,” Amory said, tugging on the brim of her black newsboy hat.
“And we’re all still in winter break mode, so everyone’s a little out of it.” Morgan nodded as she fast-forwarded through a song on her iPod.
“Don’t worry, you’ll settle in fast. And we’re here to help,” Harper agreed.
Camille looped her arm through mine. “Did you guys sign up for any clubs yet? I just can’t decide between yoga and Pilates. I mean, really, what’s the difference?”
“I put in my time at the debate booth and managed to argue a few new people into joining the team,” Harper said, tugging on her heather gray vest and looking pleased.
“Good work, Har,” Amory said, shifting her Prada knapsack to the other shoulder. “I found out that auditions for the spring play are next week. We’re doing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” She beamed. “And I’m dying to play Maggie.”
“I talked to Ms. Bridge about the radio station,” Morgan added. “They’re going to let me DJ on the station’s Web site Thursday nights.”
“I signed up for field hockey,” I said, glad to be able to contribute to the conversation with my very involved friends. “I’ve never played before, but I think it’ll be fun—”
“You did not!” Camille said, wide-eyed. “Didn’t you get my e-mail?”
I shook my head. The day had been so crazy, I hadn’t even had a chance to look at my iPhone.
“What’s the big deal?” I asked. “I met this girl Ramsey, and she seemed really nice…. Kinda scary, but enthusiastic, and she said they needed more tall girls.”
“Flan, Flan, Flan,” Camille said as a teeny brunette munching on a raspberry crepe skirted around us.
“Jeez,” I said, watching all the other girls shake their heads. “Did I already break another cardinal Thoney rule?”
“It’s just that, um, Kennedy and Willa are on the team,” Camille said. “And they are fierce.”
Morgan nodded. “I heard Willa’s father made her sign up so she could take out her ‘aggression’ in a productive way.”
Suddenly there was a field hockey ball–sized lump lodged in my throat.
“Well, I can’t back out now,” I said, looking at Morgan’s, Amory’s, and Camille’s worried eyes. “I’ve already signed up, and Ramsey said the first practice is tomorrow.”
“Do you really want to play?” Camille asked. She bit her lip and cocked her head to the side, studying my face.
“Sort of,” I said. “I mean, I did. And I don’t want to let Kennedy or Willa stop me just because they’re being so vicious, but …”
Camille looked at me in her Camille way.
My lips curved into a smile. “Are you having one of your ideas?”
“You could call it that,” she said, smiling. “Would it make you feel any better to have a field hockey sidekick? I think I’ve still got my old stick from summer camp in our storage unit somewhere.”
I couldn’t bob my head “yes” fast enough.
“Have I mentioned before that you’re a lifesaver?” I said.
“Well, girls,” Camille said, wrapping her red scarf around her neck. “That’s settled. I think we’ve sufficiently conquered the Activities Fair. Who’s ready for some pizza?”
“And boys!” Amory added.
“Me!” The rest of us chimed in at the same time, although I had to admit that I hoped one of the boys wasn’t going to be TZ….