Look Both Ways(7)

The dining hall is packed when we arrive. Half the people seem to be sitting on each other’s laps, touching each other’s hair, and kissing each other’s cheeks, and it kind of reminds me of the way my family acts. As I pass a table full of girls, one of them squeals, “OH EM GEE, we have the same shoes!” and the other replies, “OH EM GEE, besties!”

Zoe and I get in line for food behind a tall black girl with a poofy cloud of a ponytail and a tiny girl with a blond pixie cut. When we hear them mention Ramsey, we introduce ourselves, and it turns out their room is two doors down from ours. The blonde introduces herself as Livvy, and the other girl says her name is Jessa. When she shakes my hand, she squeezes so hard, it hurts.

Zoe and I each grab two slices of pizza and a side salad. I was kind of afraid nobody here would eat, but it seems like she’s as hungry as I am. When we head into the fray to find an empty table, Livvy and Jessa trail along behind us, and I realize Zoe’s the alpha dog here. I stay close to her, hoping some of her coolness will rub off.



The second we sit down, Zoe crams an enormous bite of pizza crust into her mouth, and I almost laugh—she seems like the kind of person who would eat in small, ladylike bites. “I’m so hungry,” she mumbles around the food. “Denver to New York is four hours, and I got to the airport too late to grab a sandwich.”

Jessa stares at her. “Girl, didn’t anyone ever show you how to eat pizza? You’re supposed to start with the end.”

“But that’s the best part. I like to save it for last.” Zoe shrugs. “My boyfriend always makes fun of me for it, too.”

“Do you eat pie that way?” I ask at the same time that Livvy says, “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“His name’s Carlos. And of course I eat pie like this. Who wants to eat pie crust last?”

“That is messed up,” Jessa says, but she’s smiling.

“So, what shows are you guys hoping for?” asks Livvy, stabbing at her salad. She has so many croutons piled on top that I can barely see the lettuce.

Jessa rolls her eyes. “I think it’s pretty clear where my black ass is going to end up.”

“Allerdale’s actually pretty good about color-blind casting,” Zoe says. “When my sister was here, they did—”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me there’s gonna be color-blind casting for Dreamgirls? Because that is not gonna happen.”

“All right, fair enough,” Zoe says.

“I’ll take anything as long as I don’t have to play someone’s little brother,” Livvy says. “I’m so sick of getting cast as a ten-year-old boy. Maybe I should get a boob job. How do you guys think I would look with a D-cup?”



“You’d look like someone’s little brother in drag,” Jessa says.

“Oliver Twisted,” I offer. Zoe snort-laughs into her Diet Coke, and Livvy throws a crouton at me. I love that I barely know these girls and we’re already comfortable enough to tease each other. They don’t seem catty and competitive like the girls at home—maybe they’re confident enough about their talent that they don’t need to cut each other down all the time. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but part of me can’t help wondering whether Zoe and Jessa and Livvy will be my old friends when I’m my parents’ age. In the charged atmosphere of this dining hall, it seems possible.

“How high can you guys belt?” Jessa asks, reminding me that this is still a competition.

“I can hit an E,” Livvy says.

“Damn. I can only hit a D on a really good day. What about you guys?”

“I’m not much of a belter,” Zoe says.

“She’s being modest,” I tell Jessa. “She’s going to Juilliard in the fall.”

Jessa’s eyes get big. “Holy shit, are you serious? And here I was thinking I was cool ’cause I got into Carnegie Mellon.”

“Oh, shut up. Carnegie Mellon’s got a fantastic program,” Zoe says, and Jessa puffs up with pride.

“I’m going to Syracuse,” Livvy offers. It reminds me of how cats stick their heads right under your hand to demand petting, and Zoe indulges her by making an impressed face. Livvy smiles and turns to me. “What about you, Brooklyn?”



“I’ve got one more year of high school,” I answer, and I wonder how many times I’m going to have to say that. Maybe I should write it in Sharpie on my shirt.

Livvy looks confused. “Wait, are you not eighteen?”

“Not till November.”

“Girl, you must be amazing,” Jessa says. “I tried to get in here last year, and all I got was a form letter telling me to apply again when I was old enough.”

I give her a modest shrug, but I hadn’t realized until this moment that there is an age restriction on the apprentice company. How did I miss that on the application? I’m only a few months under the limit, so it’s possible the administration decided to let it slide. But it’s also possible I’m here because my mom called in a favor with the artistic director. What if I didn’t earn my spot in the company at all? I start to feel a little dizzy.

Knock it off, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter why you’re here. You’ll get the same training either way. It’s not like anyone’s going to know. I take a few deep breaths and try to pull myself together before anyone notices I’m acting weird.