The Pretty One(54)

My sister and her friends begin to snicker. I step backward in horror as I raise my hands to my lips. What the hell was that? This was not the kiss of my dreams. No, no, NO!

“Very funny,” he says. “One more time.”

I don’t want to kiss Drew anymore. I want to get off this stage and find a quiet place to cry and blow a lung through my nose.

Lucy straightens in her chair and crosses her arms. She’s smiling and I can tell she’s enjoying this. I glance offstage, as if I’m hoping to see Simon waiting in the wings, cheering me on. I really wish he were here. I’m totally outnumbered.

Drew gives me a little nod as if encouraging me to continue.

I have no choice. I take a deep breath and lick my lips. Just as I’m going in for the kill, I hear my sister give a little snort that is masquerading as a giggle. I hit Drew smack on the kisser. With my eyes and mouth wide open and my arms straight down beside me, I slowly and robotically swipe my lips across his: up, down, right, left. There’s more snickering in the auditorium. “Okay,” Drew says afterward, silencing the audience. He looks like he’s just been attacked by a slobbering mastiff. “From the kiss I want you to move stage left…”

Afterward, Drew thanks everyone for coming and then takes me by the arm.

“Don’t worry,” he says, as he leads me offstage. “This was your first time onstage, right?”

First time on stage, obviously code for first kiss. Ugh. Just shoot me. Shoot me and put me out of my misery. I nod.

“By the time you get back onstage you’ll have this scene down pat. I promise.”

I feel a tiny bit of relief. This may have been the most humiliating experience of my life, but I take a small shred of comfort in the fact that Drew is not giving up on me.

At least not yet.





eighteen

mime (noun): the art or technique of portraying a character, mood, idea, or narration by gestures and bodily movements.

When I arrive at school the next morning, there’s a note from Drew taped on my locker. My hands start to shake as I open it. I was so terrible at practice the day before that in spite of his reassurance to the contrary, I’m pretty sure I’m getting canned. But the note doesn’t say that, at least not exactly. He wants me to meet him in the production studio at four-thirty. I read it over again just to make sure I’ve got it right. Yep. The production studio. Why would he want to meet me there? And why at four-thirty? Why not immediately after school? Whatever the reason is, I don’t think it’s good.

I’m so nervous that at three-thirty I walk to the Inner Harbor and back just to kill time before our meeting. I arrive a couple of minutes before we’re scheduled to meet. The production studio is empty with the exception of Drew, who’s sitting on a stool beside the table saw, reading his dictionary. In his faded Levis and a snug-fitting black T-shirt, he looks more like a teacher than a student. As I glance behind him at the paint cans and the background scenes stacked neatly against the wall, I feel an immediate sense of relief. We’re on my turf now, my territory. Whatever I look like, I can work a miter saw better than Bob the Builder. Whatever Drew’s about to tell me, I can handle.

“Hey, Drew,” I say cheerfully, as though there is nothing on my mind.

All he does is grin.

Weird.

“So,” I say, swallowing and forcing myself to plaster on a smile. I glance at the floor beside the table saw where someone has left a big pile of sawdust. Freshmen! This incoming class are a bunch of knuckleheads. Besides being incompetent, they’re slobs. “What’s the word?”

“Mea culpa,” Drew says. “An acknowledgment of error or guilt. As in I never should have had you block such a difficult scene in front of all those people, mea culpa. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” I walk over to the corner where the cleaning supplies are kept and grab the broom and dustbin.

“I put you in an awkward position.” Drew looks at me curiously as I begin to sweep around his feet. Then he jumps off the stool and grabs the dustbin, holding it on the floor for me. “I know it can be pretty intimidating to be on the stage. Especially having to perform a…well, difficult scene in front of your sister and her friends. I could see you were nervous. I should’ve called it quits.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but I was the one doing the stinky acting.” And now he’s helping me clean up. It’s almost too much sweetness for a girl to take.

“I just want to reassure you that by the time we get back onstage, kissing me will be as comfortable for you as shaking my hand, okay?” Drew hands the empty bin back to me.

“Thanks,” I reply, although I didn’t hear a word of what he just said.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes, fine.” I turn away and pretend to cough just so that I can catch my breath. “So why did you want to meet here?” I put away the broom and dustbin and turn back around to face him.

“Because the other day I could tell how comfortable you were in here. You seemed so relaxed. I thought it might be a good place to block a tough scene. I asked Lucheki if he would mind if I borrowed it this afternoon and he gave me permission.”

“Really?” We’re blocking the kissing scene in the production studio? Right next to the turpentine?