Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac(31)

As I was at the top of Alice’s list, I was the first to read. I guess because I didn’t much care whether I was cast or not, it was pretty painless. I even got a few laughs. Whether they were a result of my incompetence or my comedic skills, I couldn’t have told you.

I rushed up to the yearbook room. By that time, I was about twenty-five minutes late, and yearbook was in full swing. Without even talking to Will or anyone else, I set down my bag and went immediately to work going through the foreign language clubs’ group photos.

“I like that one,” Will said, pointing to a picture of the Spanish Honor Society in sombreros. “Better than just a bunch of kids standing around.”

I nodded. I had already selected that one myself.

“Maybe all the foreign language club group photos could have themes? Like French in berets?”

“Oui. Eating French toast.”

“And French fries. Very culturally sensitive and subtle.”

“Or how about the sign-language club dressed up like Helen Keller?” I joked.

“Or the Latin club in a graveyard. You know, ’cause it’s a dead language?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, that last one’s too gimmicky. I like Helen Keller, though. Why don’t you get on that, Chief? How exactly does one dress up like Helen Keller anyway?”

“Blindfolds? Ear muffs?” I shrugged and went back to going over the pictures.

“Why were you late?” Will asked.

I was about to tell him the story, pass it off like a big joke, but at the last second I didn’t. Even though he hadn’t been anything but nice, I wanted it to be my own secret, something Will didn’t know about me. I doubted I would even get cast in the play anyway, but I wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet either. “Mr. Weir kept me after class,” I lied.

“Still haven’t come up with your project?”

I shook my head.

Sunday night around nine, a girl called me on my cell. Her voice was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Cookie,” she said, “what’s the story? Are you in or are you out?”

“In, I guess?” In my opinion, it is always better to be in if someone gives you the choice. But actually I had no idea what the girl was talking about.

“Cookie, do you even know who this is?”

“No,” I admitted, but that had been happening to me pretty much all the time. I was learning to go with whatever.

“It’s Alice Leeds, the director of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, and I need to know if you’re my pretty girl Hamlet,” she said.

“But, Alice, I don’t really know the first thing about acting.”

Alice didn’t care. “These drama kids have so many bad habits, which I need to break them of anyway. You’re a virgin, and that’s what I like about you. So come be in the play, dolly, it’ll be divine, I swear.”

Even though I knew Will would probably murder me, I found myself saying yes.

Play rehearsals started the following Monday, which gave me many opportunities to confess to Will. I didn’t. Instead, I told him that Dad was now making me see a therapist every Monday and Wednesday after school (I was already wasting my time with that every other Tuesday night), and that he shouldn’t expect me until around five on either of those days.

Rehearsals began with everyone in the cast saying their name and the part they would be playing. Next, Alice introduced the crew, which included her assistant, a wardrobe girl (Yvette Schumacher, Estragon from English), the lighting and scenic designers, and others. The very last person Alice introduced was James Larkin, who was designing the video installation to accompany the play and who took no notice of me at all. I wasn’t completely sure what “designing the video installation” meant, but I had no intention of asking him either. James had made it perfectly clear that whatever had happened between us in the hospital was just about him being a Good Samaritan, nothing more.

We read through the play. I had more lines than I had been expecting.

After that, Yvette measured me for my costume. While she worked, I watched Alice and James having a discussion across the theater. “That new guy is scorching,” Yvette said. “Totally Alice’s type. I should be jealous.”

“Jealous of James?” I asked.

“No, silly, Alice,” she said. “She’s my”—she lowered her voice—“girlfriend, but she likes boys, too. I don’t know why I’m whispering. It’s not exactly a secret.”

Of course, everything was a secret to me.

“How long have you and Alice been together?” I asked.

“Just since the beginning of last summer. She’s been my best friend since third grade, but it was extremely tortured for a while. It took us forever to admit anything to each other.”

Rehearsal was over just before six. As I was walking out, Alice called me over. “Naomi, cookie, come and meet James!”

James said, “We’ve met before.” He studied me. “Her hair was different then.”

At his mention of my hair, I felt self-conscious and reached up to play with it.

“Don’t listen to him. It’s brilliant,” Alice said. “I never would have thought of you for the part if you hadn’t done it. She looks just like that actress from the French movie, I can’t remember her name.”