Inevitable and Only(36)

“Man. College.” It seemed like Micayla didn’t have time to think about anything else these days.

“Yeah … let’s talk about something else.”

“Oh! Guess what—I found out Robin’s birth name. Before he changed it to Robin Goodfellow.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You won’t believe this: Rubens Pfefferkorn.”

Micayla’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. So he had more than one good reason to change it, huh?”

“More than one?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that he changed it after his parents kicked him out—they disowned him or something.”

“What?”

“Yep. Small-town, small-minded family couldn’t deal with their fabulous son who loved Broadway and Shakespeare. And other boys.”

“But—that’s ridiculous! He’s so talented. They should’ve been proud of him.”

“‘Course they should’ve. Therefore, the name change, I suppose.”

We lapsed into silence. Wow. Poor Robin. If I thought my family situation was tough …

A loud cheer went up from the front of the bus. We’d finally pulled up in front of the Shakespeare Theatre.

“People! Please wait outside the bus in some semblance of order so we can count and tag you like cattle.” Robin sounded a little stressed. He was wearing his usual black turtleneck and tight black jeans, but he’d added a black blazer on top for the occasion. I looked at him and tried to imagine what it must’ve been like for him to make his own way at eighteen. Just a few years older than I was.

We waited outside the bus for Robin and Peg to take roll, then filed into the theater. It was only 6:00—we’d arrived early enough to hear the preshow lecture. As Micayla and I walked through the lobby, Heron ran over to join us. “Hey, Mic, let’s see if we can check out the costume room before it starts!”

“Do you think they’d let us?” said Micayla.

Heron shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask, right?”

“Save us seats,” Micayla told me, and they took off.

I went into the theater and plunked myself down at the end of a row. Then Sam Shotwell came down the other aisle, waved at me, and started to make his way down the row from the other side.

I jumped up as if I’d been sitting on porcupine quills and looked around, pretending I was trying to find someone I’d been waiting for. I walked back a few rows, a safe distance from Sam, and this time I picked a seat in the middle of the row, right next to the person who was already sitting there. Zephyr.

“Hey,” I said. “Mind if I sit here?”

I draped my coat over the empty seats to my left, to save them for Micayla and Heron.

“Hey,” he said.

I took that to mean Sure, go ahead.

Zephyr didn’t say much off stage, when he didn’t have lines written out for him. Maybe that was smart. Sometimes I thought my life would be much smoother if I could hire a scriptwriter to dictate it all for me.

We hadn’t talked to each other at all, in fact, except for the words we’d spoken as Beatrice and Benedick in the audition and the read-through. I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was two grades ahead of me, a senior, and he’d only started at Fern Grove three years ago. Which, in Friends terms, made him a newbie. No one seemed to know him very well. He wasn’t involved in any activities besides drama and he didn’t belong to any particular group—jocks, art kids, nerds.

“So,” I said, “have you been here before?”

“Couple of times.”

“Me, too. My dad and I already saw this production, actually. We don’t usually come all the way to DC for anything except Shakespeare. We have season tickets to Center Stage in Baltimore.”

He nodded.

I nodded.

We were like two bobbleheads on a dashboard.

“They’re doing Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? this season,” he offered. “At Center Stage. You seen it yet?”

“No, never heard of it.”

“Oh, my god. Edward Albee. Possibly the greatest play written in the last century. Besides Arcadia of course.” He was still speaking quietly, but much faster. “I saw it on Broadway this summer, with my—with some friends. Tracy Letts was playing George, if you can believe it. Saw a few things at the Booth while I was in New York, but we all agreed that was by far the winner.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. “Wow. So, what were you doing in New York?”

“Oh, I just went to a summer program. You know. Drama camp.”

Drama camp. I pictured a roomful of Zephyr-like guys, with twisted hair and leather jackets, sitting in a circle on stage and meditating. Reading through the best plays of the last century. Going to see shows on Broadway. And girls, too, of course. Girls wearing lipstick and big earrings and tight, low-cut dresses like Rina Crane and Tori Lopez, who were now sitting on either side of Sam Shotwell and giggling like parakeets. Not that parakeets giggle. But the noises they were making sounded that ridiculous.

Micayla and Heron came in and looked around for me, and I waved and called their names. They made their way to our row and slid in.

“They let us backstage!” Micayla reported, breathless. “We saw everything—the costume room, the props closet, the scenery.”