“They can do that?” I’d never heard of such a thing.
“Since the team did so well last year, we had three times the number of people come out. So, they had tryouts. Made us go through old, weird case law that wasn’t even related to this year’s case! I usually have to spend way more time preparing my stuff, and they gave us no time to prepare. They picked a freshman whose dad went to Columbia to be the third lawyer. Who cares if he went to Columbia?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. God, the poor girl. If drama actually kicked me out, fucking Our Town or not, my head might explode.
“The Mock Trial president is such an ass. Jeffrey. His dad went to Columbia, too. He thinks he’s a sure thing for early decision. Dumped by that loser. I’m a huge reason the team made it as far as it did. I always made them do the extra research. It never hurts. But no. Some new person just swoops in. Brandon said I could be part of their research initiative. I’m not even an understudy.”
Millie and I were starting to have a lot in common. She seemed to realize that at the same time I did.
“Oh, I mean, um … sorry…” she said.
“No, it’s all right.” I sighed. “The Mock Trial vice president sucks, too.”
“Everyone who ran the group was boys. There were only three girls on the whole team. Two graduated last year, and I was the last one. Now it’s all boys, even with all the new people. The rest of us can be understudies or fake paralegals, but eff that, you know?”
“Eff that,” I agreed.
“This stinks. I love Mock Trial. I quit Model UN last year after it got weird because the secretary slept with the treasurer. Then Model Congress went downhill when they got gridlocked over the fake border-security bill, so I quit that, too. But I thought the mock judiciary branch was safe!” She hung her head and veered close to hyperventilating in under twenty seconds.
“Do you want a hug?” I said. It seemed the only logical thing to do with my sister-in-dumpedness, there in the middle of the girl’s bathroom.
She either loudly nodded or hiccupped violently. I gingerly wrapped my arms around her shoulders. The bell indicating the end of homeroom rang.
“Listen. I can’t be late to chem again. But I want you to know that I feel you on this. I feel you so hard it hurts. If you go rogue and form your own vigilante Mock Trial team, let me know. I could be a witness,” I said.
She straightened up in my arms. I stepped back.
“What?” she said.
“What?” I said back.
“What did you say?”
“Uh. Only, you know. If you decided to form your own team, I could act. On it. The team. Not that you would.” I had only been trying to make her feel better. I didn’t think she’d actually been listening.
“Form my own team,” she said, though it seemed mostly to herself.
“Well, I gotta go. Hang in there!” I called. I bumped out of the restroom and ran/walked to lab, which was blessedly close to the homeroom I’d just avoided. On my way there I saw Mr. Plaza and let him know it’d been another case of potential early morning waterworks. He, as expected, seemed relieved he hadn’t had to deal with me.
After lunch, I walked into drama ready to stare off into space, baffled at what my life had become. Or maybe ready to kick the wall. It could go either way with me in any second. Megan was right when she harassed me about my lack of participation in drama. Claire had become the de facto president, since I could barely get through club period without snapping a pencil I’d been doodling with and spent most of the time breathing deeply. I hadn’t even looked at lines. Mr. Cooper had even tried calling Mom (though she slept through his calls and I was able to delete them from her cell before she detected anything).
I had started theater because Brandon said he thought I’d be good at it, and tween Raina had wanted to impress him. Ha! I had kept at it because it kept impressing him. Did I ever love it for myself? Even if I did, I hated being here because of Brandon.
The sophomores whispered to themselves and the freshman scanned scripts. All the juniors and seniors circled around Claire. I couldn’t bring myself to even go over to them.
“All right, everyone,” said Mr. Cooper. “If you want to be onstage crew or tech, come over here. Otherwise, partner up and keep getting a feel for the roles you might like. Remember, there are no small parts!”
That was a lie. There were small parts. In theater and in life. Sometimes you were the leading lady, and sometimes you were a walk-on in someone’s life. One sucked and the other didn’t. What good did it do to pretend otherwise?
Three people took Mr. Cooper up on his offer for crew and tech. Usually we didn’t have enough people in drama to run the board, so the AV Club stepped in to help. I imagined Claire would have to persuade them to do it again.
No, I would. Since I’m the president. That was my job.
“Raina?” a voice said. A junior minion of Claire’s gestured me to the circle.
I noticed Mr. Cooper sneaking glances at me, so I heaved myself up and joined the group.
“Yup?” I said.
“Auditions are this Friday. As you know,” said Claire.
Shit, really? I tried to keep my cool, but Claire could sniff out weakness. My brain fog lifted a bit, and I remembered Mr. Cooper saying something about that last week.
“Yeah. And you are running them. As president and all.”
Brandon and I had only been broken up for two weeks. Two weeks of no arguing over what movie to watch, no hours-long text conversations, no Sundays. It felt like ten years.
“Raina, are you even here with us?” Claire said, scowling.
I thought about it. “Maybe not,” I said.
This answer surprised us both.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
What did it mean? Had the center of my existence been a lie? If I didn’t care about this, what did I have left? What about the future? Could I really just go from the star of Taming of the Shrew to theater dropout in days? Over a boy?
Yes, I realized.
I could 100 percent do that.
But it was more than just the boy. This was about me figuring out what I wanted and why.
“Claire,” I said weakly. I cleared my throat and projected with my well-worked diaphragm. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided. I am resigning my position as president of the Drama Club. As vice president, it is now yours to run. I’m going to study hall with all the nonclub affiliates. Mr. Cooper, I’m sorry,” I said.
Silence followed me to the doorway. I turned, because a small slice of who I thought I once was remained. “You could do a lot better than Our Town. God. It’s so overdone.”
* * *
I spent the rest of the period alone in the bathroom.
Megan had an away swim meet after school, so I didn’t see her until she picked me up for our first knitting venture.
“You told who what now?” she said.
“I quit drama, and I might have volunteered to be on a rival Mock Trial team,” I said. “Millie Goodwin was so upset. She got kicked off because a million boys joined up or something and she bombed her audition.”
“You quit drama? That can’t be for real. And too bad about Millie. Why didn’t you invite her to rows before bros or whatever thing you are making me go to? I still smell like chlorine because I barely had time to shower.”