out.”
Sapphire is at her desk munching on a Greek sandwich, two braids coiled into buns over her ears. I leave the door open like she tells me to. “What’s up?”
“We’ll see. Carmen requested a meeting.”
Just then Ms. Strumpet herself strolls in wearing a skintight top zipped low to reveal cleavage, a miracle of Wonderbra enhancement. I run my palm across my hair spikes.
Sapphire throws her gyro wrapper into the waste bin. “Sit down, girls,” she says with unfamiliar gravity.
“I came to rectify an iniquitous injustice,” Carmen huffs.
“Come again?” Sapphire says.
“The audition wasn’t fair because
someone
,” Carmen rolls her eyes in my direction when she says this, “messed with my script. I demand a second chance to read for Rosalind.”
So. Despite their fight, Eva told Carmen about Sapphire’s phone call. The room fades to gray and breaks into dots. I’m hyperventilating again. I hold my breath until the world bursts into color.
“You’re right, Carmen,” Sapphire says. “And though Roz read beautifully, I have no choice but to give you the role. You’re prettier than her. Petite, too.”
Welcome to Roz Nightmare Land
.
Fortunately, nothing of the kind happens. Sapphire lets Carmen finish her screed on fairness—which goes on far too long, if you ask me—before saying a word.
“You read well, Carmen,” she says at last. “Very well. But Roz has blossomed this year. I want to give her a chance this time.”
Carmen jumps out of her seat. “This is my last opportunity to be the lead. I’m a senior. Roz can try again next year.” She’s annoying, and not just because she can French-braid her own hair.
“You can try again in college,” I say.
“It wouldn’t be the same without Sapphire’s superb directing.”
Unchin-snouted foot-licker
. Sadly, Sapphire doesn’t approve of epithets. So although this one is brilliant, I keep it to myself.
“Girls.” Sapphire stretches her arms wide. “You both have long and successful lives ahead of you. This is just one play out of many.”
She is so wrong.
Crocodile tears slide down Carmen’s cheeks. That girl will stop at nothing to win. Still, I can’t help but admire her skill.
“It’s my mom,” she says. “She believes that cheerleading and drama are interfering with my schoolwork. She said that if I don’t get the lead, I have to drop out of the play.”
Ouch. Poor Carmen. I mean it sincerely. I’d rather die a painful death than quit drama. If Mom made demands like that, I’d be forced to sneak around behind her back. More than I usually do.
Sapphire hands Carmen a tissue. “You’ll get a good role in the play. I can talk to your mom, if you like. Tell her the play will be a flop without you.”
“She’s not stupid. Just because she didn’t graduate from high school.”
That’s weird. Carmen often brags about her mom’s meteoric rise in high tech. She emigrated from Mexico as a teenager and now works as a software engineer for a major computer company. She must be a poster child for night school.
“We’ll think of something,” Sapphire says.
When Eva the Diva comes home after cheerleading practice, I drag her into my room before she can lock herself in hers. I close the door behind us. She refuses to sit down even after I’ve dumped the stuff from my chair onto the floor. Instead she stands in the middle of my rug with her arms crossed. I feel like a fisherman that’s just reeled in a moray eel by mistake. But it’s too late to throw her back.
“Are you trying to piss me off? Is that why you’re pulling this stunt?”
Not exactly. I’m doing it because you dumped me. Because Bryan chose you. Because you dared me to
.
“I’m just having fun,” I say.
“The great activist and champion of causes,” she says, “trivializing gays. For fun.”
I need a cogent response. “Am not,” I say.
Logical arguments are not my forte, especially when I do something I can’t explain. She
Sapphire is at her desk munching on a Greek sandwich, two braids coiled into buns over her ears. I leave the door open like she tells me to. “What’s up?”
“We’ll see. Carmen requested a meeting.”
Just then Ms. Strumpet herself strolls in wearing a skintight top zipped low to reveal cleavage, a miracle of Wonderbra enhancement. I run my palm across my hair spikes.
Sapphire throws her gyro wrapper into the waste bin. “Sit down, girls,” she says with unfamiliar gravity.
“I came to rectify an iniquitous injustice,” Carmen huffs.
“Come again?” Sapphire says.
“The audition wasn’t fair because
someone
,” Carmen rolls her eyes in my direction when she says this, “messed with my script. I demand a second chance to read for Rosalind.”
So. Despite their fight, Eva told Carmen about Sapphire’s phone call. The room fades to gray and breaks into dots. I’m hyperventilating again. I hold my breath until the world bursts into color.
“You’re right, Carmen,” Sapphire says. “And though Roz read beautifully, I have no choice but to give you the role. You’re prettier than her. Petite, too.”
Welcome to Roz Nightmare Land
.
Fortunately, nothing of the kind happens. Sapphire lets Carmen finish her screed on fairness—which goes on far too long, if you ask me—before saying a word.
“You read well, Carmen,” she says at last. “Very well. But Roz has blossomed this year. I want to give her a chance this time.”
Carmen jumps out of her seat. “This is my last opportunity to be the lead. I’m a senior. Roz can try again next year.” She’s annoying, and not just because she can French-braid her own hair.
“You can try again in college,” I say.
“It wouldn’t be the same without Sapphire’s superb directing.”
Unchin-snouted foot-licker
. Sadly, Sapphire doesn’t approve of epithets. So although this one is brilliant, I keep it to myself.
“Girls.” Sapphire stretches her arms wide. “You both have long and successful lives ahead of you. This is just one play out of many.”
She is so wrong.
Crocodile tears slide down Carmen’s cheeks. That girl will stop at nothing to win. Still, I can’t help but admire her skill.
“It’s my mom,” she says. “She believes that cheerleading and drama are interfering with my schoolwork. She said that if I don’t get the lead, I have to drop out of the play.”
Ouch. Poor Carmen. I mean it sincerely. I’d rather die a painful death than quit drama. If Mom made demands like that, I’d be forced to sneak around behind her back. More than I usually do.
Sapphire hands Carmen a tissue. “You’ll get a good role in the play. I can talk to your mom, if you like. Tell her the play will be a flop without you.”
“She’s not stupid. Just because she didn’t graduate from high school.”
That’s weird. Carmen often brags about her mom’s meteoric rise in high tech. She emigrated from Mexico as a teenager and now works as a software engineer for a major computer company. She must be a poster child for night school.
“We’ll think of something,” Sapphire says.
When Eva the Diva comes home after cheerleading practice, I drag her into my room before she can lock herself in hers. I close the door behind us. She refuses to sit down even after I’ve dumped the stuff from my chair onto the floor. Instead she stands in the middle of my rug with her arms crossed. I feel like a fisherman that’s just reeled in a moray eel by mistake. But it’s too late to throw her back.
“Are you trying to piss me off? Is that why you’re pulling this stunt?”
Not exactly. I’m doing it because you dumped me. Because Bryan chose you. Because you dared me to
.
“I’m just having fun,” I say.
“The great activist and champion of causes,” she says, “trivializing gays. For fun.”
I need a cogent response. “Am not,” I say.
Logical arguments are not my forte, especially when I do something I can’t explain. She
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