Kiss of Fire (Imdalind, #1)(18)
The drama room was a large sunken performance space, surrounded by tiers of carpeted risers that rose up from the center of the room where you entered. Ms. Flowers, the drama teacher, always kept the room dimmed during performance time with stage lights blaring; but during class time, we were treated to fluorescent lighting that made every soda stain on the carpet pop out. A large thrift-store couch sat right in the middle of the lowest tier, looking out on center stage. Most of the students lounged on the different levels as they prepared for class to start, leaving the couch for Ms. Flowers’s use. Wyn ran off to find Ms. Flowers while I went to my usual alcove.
“Well, if it isn’t Smelly MyHoodie,” Cynthia McFadden’s voice echoed around the large space, causing several heads to turn. I crinkled my nose at her poor attempt at name-calling, waiting for the deeper onslaught.
“We missed you on Friday, at rehearsal… Oh, wait, I forgot. You didn’t get a role.” If anyone had read a book on how to be the quintessential high school diva, it was Cynthia. She had mastered this role better than she would any other. From perfectly plucked eyebrows and hair—hours of preparation—to overpriced shoes and backpack, she looked like a snob. It was more than her looks though. How she spoke, how she talked, it was all done to be anyone’s high school nemesis or hero. If I had to pick, I would have to say she was my nemesis, although the term is a bit dramatic.
Even though Cynthia was a year older than me, she had been one of the first in elementary school to realize there was something wrong with me. I hadn’t always hidden behind hoodies, and in first grade, Cynthia had seen the same thing in me that had made my dad take off. Maybe it was the way I held myself, how I never talked too loudly, or the fact that I liked to climb to the top of the baseball fence. Something just bugged her, and she made it her business to get everyone else to see it, too.
I attempted to let her taunt roll off me, sealing my lips together to prevent a rebuttal. I growled to myself as I attempted to walk past her; I wasn’t one to create confrontation.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” She grabbed my arm hard, hindering my escape, and then jumped back as if I had shocked her.
I turned toward her, keeping my jaw shut tight, ready to take whatever cruel punishment she had ready for me.
“You stupid, little girl. I’m so glad my graduation is a month away and then I won’t have to smell you anymore. Too bad everyone else has to put up with you for another year.” She looked at me, expecting a reply, but I couldn’t think of what to say without my entire face turning red and a string of expletives pouring out.
“Why don’t you just go hide up by the stage lights, pretend you’re flying and casting magic, or whatever it is you do up there, you little freak.” She flipped her long, bleached-blonde hair and turned away from me, only to come face-to-face with Wyn.
Tiny, little Wyn had her hands balled up in fists at her side, her face flushed red. Even though Wyn’s full height only came to Cynthia’s chest, the look on Wyn’s face caused Cynthia to take a step back. I was concerned Wyn would say something stupid that would cause criticism for the both of us.
“At least she can get up there and keep her clothes on,” she said, “or is that too much of a challenge for you?” Laughter and whistling sounded throughout the large room; even my jaw fell in surprise at her forwardness.
Cynthia stood still as Wyn pushed past her, grabbed my hand and pulled me to sit front and center in the room.
“Thanks,” I whispered as we sat.
“No problem, anything for my friends.” Wyn flashed me a wide smile before turning to face Ms. Flowers who was now beginning her lecture on the senior showcase, in which Hamlet would be featured.
I was not sure how much I heard of what she said; I kept looking toward Cynthia who was still fuming. Ms. Flowers caught my attention as she began to prepare for the show by separating everyone into groups: the cast of the show, costumes, set and props. Each group sat together, the cast with their noses upturned. I rolled my eyes at them and moved to stand by Wyn in the “set” group.
We spent the rest of class reading through the script and making a list of set pieces. No one in our small group was excited about our task, and with five minutes to go, we had broken off into different conversations.
“Thank goodness school is almost over. I have about a season worth of Castle to catch up on,” Wyn moaned as she threw herself back onto the rough carpet we sat on.
“Castle?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrow at me as if I had committed some form of heresy by not knowing what she was talking about.
“Yes, Castle. The TV show. Crime drama, starring Nathan Fillion, only the yummiest man to grace the screens of the television.” She gasped at my obvious lack of understanding.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“At least tell me you know what ‘Firefly’ is?” she pleaded.
“I don’t watch TV, Wyn. I mean, I turn it on sometimes, but I never really watch it.”
“I’m going to educate you. You need a good dose of several of life’s necessities. Besides, Nathan Fillion is really nice to look at.”
I laughed, the bell drowning out the sound of it.
We left the room and retrieved our boards from the office. By the time we got outside, word of Wyn’s confrontation with Cynthia had spread, and students were giving her thumbs-ups and high-fives as they passed. All the attention went into Wyn like energy from a live wire, and soon she was bouncing up and down. I laughed as I watched her, her enthusiasm leaking over into me.