Comedy Girl by Ellen Schreiber Page A

furniture!”
    Chaplin’s stage didn’t swallow me, like Mason High’s stage had on Talent Night. There was barely enough room for the microphone stand. The audience sat almost on top of one another, and staring back at me were not teenagers but real ladies and gentlemen. Well, not all gentlemen.
    â€œYou look like you’re twelve years old!” a middle-aged quarterback shouted when the laughter subsided.
    â€œAre you talking to me or your date?” I shouted back.
    The audience roared, filling me with a rush of adrenaline. “I know I look young,” I said, smiling at the heckler. “But I’m actually a senior. I loathe high school! I’m afraid to speak up in class. I’m not the class clown. I’m the class mime.” And I pantomimed being locked in a box.
    The rest flowed naturally, like a comic waterfall. I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. I had a taste of being the Trixie Shapiro I had dreamed of.
    Suddenly I saw a flashing light, signaling my five minutes were up. “They’re waving a flashlight at me. Like at the movie theater when the usher catches you bringing in food from outside. I guess this is my sign to turn over the Doritos.”
    I thanked the audience for coming and lingered a moment onstage, riding the wave of applause.
    â€œShe’s really terrific!” Gary remarked to them as I left the stage. “What a funny girl!”
    â€œYou were great!” Joyce said, approaching my table. “We have an amateur contest next week, but unfortunately we’re all booked up. It would have been great exposure for you!”
    Strangers patted me—me—on the shoulder!
    â€œYou were funny!” a young couple said.
    â€œGirl, you were fab!” Ben exclaimed. “I wish Eddiecould have seen you. He’d have treated you to a free pizza!”
    I was buzzing from the sudden attention. People noticing me? Talking to me? Complimenting me?
    Suddenly Mr. Janson approached. I had forgotten all about him, and for a moment wondered why he was here.
    â€œYou were brilliant! Just brilliant,” he exclaimed, hugging me.
    â€œI passed?”
    â€œJust remember me when you’re on Comedy Central!” he exclaimed.
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    Gary closed the show after the final unbearable amateur, and the lights came up. I gathered my purse and jacket.
    â€œYou cracked me up!” the heckler said, shaking my hand.
    â€œThanks for coming!” I beamed.
    Several of the other amateurs came over to me and we exchanged compliments. Finally a very unfunny doctor shook my hand.
    â€œYou were great,” he said and shook my hand. His wife beamed and agreed. “You were delightful.”
    What could I say to him? I’m glad you have something to fall back on? Instead, I said, “Great job!” as Inoticed a hipster picking up a leather jacket from a table in the back. A knockout was leaving his side and walking toward the doctor. No, it couldn’t be. Stinkface?
    The familiar blonde stormed around me and said, “See ya, Uncle Stevie,” following the doctor and his wife out toward the lobby. I turned around. Now I could make out Gavin’s face.
    How could I have not noticed them before? They must have arrived when I was flooding the bathroom. I hoped Gavin wouldn’t storm around me, so I could get smile number eight to cap off my most magical evening. But he didn’t pass me; instead he walked right toward me.
    â€œI thought you were awesome!” he said with smile number eight.
    Despite years of my infatuation and seven prior smiles, Gavin Baldwin had never actually spoken to me.
    Now I had stage fright. I couldn’t even say thanks. I barely returned the smile.
    â€œI didn’t know you were so talented!”
    â€œYeah, I guess I can do more than walk and chew gum at the same time,” I blurted out as if I were still onstage.
    â€œGavin, are you going to take me home? Or am I