always scratches his balls like no one will notice. Not that I’ve noticed. Well, okay, maybe I have, but he brings that attention on himself.”
Having to work with Tomas must be some sort of punishment for my recent negative energy. Now I have all the proof I need that my entire life is a sitcom designed by God for His personal enjoyment. Tomas and I sit in the midsection of the empty auditorium, watching Mr. Kessler get the actors organized in a circle for some stupid bonding activity. Saskia walks in at the last minute and glides over to the stage as though she isn’t late at all, smiling at everyone. As Mr. Kessler leads the group in activity, Tomas continues to whisper to me.
“I heard the new girl’s parents are loaded.”
“So what if they are?” I whisper back. “It’s none of our business.”
It’s the first sentence I’ve said in about half an hour of Tomas’s whining, and of course it’s in defense of Saskia.
Tomas is ready to move on anyway. “I was thinking there’s going to have to be one stage manager behind stage with props and things, and one in the tech booth. And since I am clearly more of a conversationalist, I think it’s only appropriate that I work with the actors and you work with the techies.”
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Why not? Chicken?”
“Yes. I am. You guessed it.”
“Leila, don’t be unreasonable. I mean, you know gay men and hard-core lesbians like the tech girls don’t get along.”
Tomas and I glance behind us where the tech girls are looking over plans for constructing the sets. Simone is knitting absurdly long stockings while Taryn goes over diagrams and Christina bares her fake set of vampire fangs. Christina glances in our direction and bites harshly into her apple. Tomas and I turn back around quickly and in sync.
“They’ll kill me, Leila! You’re a woman. They’ll take pity on you! Maybe even hit on you!”
“Shut up, Tomas.”
Saskia is making the other actors laugh. I wish I could hear what she’s saying.
“I so want to be friends with her!” Tomas is giddy to a stereotypical T.
“What happened to Ashley and all of them?”
“They’re boring. This new girl is so . . . exotic and traveled. Plus she dresses so cosmopolitan chic.” Saskia does a dramatic twirl for her part in the bonding exercise and everyone else in the group has to do the same motion. “What do you think of her?” asks Tomas.
What a loaded question. I think she’s gorgeous, enigmatic, and unlike anyone I will ever meet, unlike anyone I will inquire or dream about, unlike anyone worth mentioning in magazines and literature.
“She’s nice,” I murmur.
“Well, I’m going to be friends with her.” As irritating as I find Tomas, there is one thing that I really admire about him. He is sincerely sure about everything.
After rehearsal Tomas and I are left to clean up the stage and put the props back in their places, that sort of thing. The role we share is about as important as a calculator during a history exam. Though I will admit this: It’s better than soccer.
Tomas has wandered off and I’m onstage sweeping up when Saskia walks toward me. My breath quickens.
“Hi! You look like a Middle Eastern Cinderella!”
“Hi, Saskia.”
“I’m sorry we won’t get to act together.”
“It’s okay. I think I’m doing a good job at this sweeping thing, don’t you?” I smirk and she grins back. I could play this game for years.
“It’s too bad really. You did have a tremendous audition.”
“Please, I’m embarrassed enough as it is. There’s no reason for you to rub salt in the wound.”
“Oh please, everybody farts. The stuff before that was absolutely brilliant.”
“You think so?”
“Of course! I don’t say something unless I mean it.” That’s a philosophy I could stand to live by. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asks out of the blue.
“I have a family thing I have to do.” I really don’t want to go to the
Having to work with Tomas must be some sort of punishment for my recent negative energy. Now I have all the proof I need that my entire life is a sitcom designed by God for His personal enjoyment. Tomas and I sit in the midsection of the empty auditorium, watching Mr. Kessler get the actors organized in a circle for some stupid bonding activity. Saskia walks in at the last minute and glides over to the stage as though she isn’t late at all, smiling at everyone. As Mr. Kessler leads the group in activity, Tomas continues to whisper to me.
“I heard the new girl’s parents are loaded.”
“So what if they are?” I whisper back. “It’s none of our business.”
It’s the first sentence I’ve said in about half an hour of Tomas’s whining, and of course it’s in defense of Saskia.
Tomas is ready to move on anyway. “I was thinking there’s going to have to be one stage manager behind stage with props and things, and one in the tech booth. And since I am clearly more of a conversationalist, I think it’s only appropriate that I work with the actors and you work with the techies.”
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Why not? Chicken?”
“Yes. I am. You guessed it.”
“Leila, don’t be unreasonable. I mean, you know gay men and hard-core lesbians like the tech girls don’t get along.”
Tomas and I glance behind us where the tech girls are looking over plans for constructing the sets. Simone is knitting absurdly long stockings while Taryn goes over diagrams and Christina bares her fake set of vampire fangs. Christina glances in our direction and bites harshly into her apple. Tomas and I turn back around quickly and in sync.
“They’ll kill me, Leila! You’re a woman. They’ll take pity on you! Maybe even hit on you!”
“Shut up, Tomas.”
Saskia is making the other actors laugh. I wish I could hear what she’s saying.
“I so want to be friends with her!” Tomas is giddy to a stereotypical T.
“What happened to Ashley and all of them?”
“They’re boring. This new girl is so . . . exotic and traveled. Plus she dresses so cosmopolitan chic.” Saskia does a dramatic twirl for her part in the bonding exercise and everyone else in the group has to do the same motion. “What do you think of her?” asks Tomas.
What a loaded question. I think she’s gorgeous, enigmatic, and unlike anyone I will ever meet, unlike anyone I will inquire or dream about, unlike anyone worth mentioning in magazines and literature.
“She’s nice,” I murmur.
“Well, I’m going to be friends with her.” As irritating as I find Tomas, there is one thing that I really admire about him. He is sincerely sure about everything.
After rehearsal Tomas and I are left to clean up the stage and put the props back in their places, that sort of thing. The role we share is about as important as a calculator during a history exam. Though I will admit this: It’s better than soccer.
Tomas has wandered off and I’m onstage sweeping up when Saskia walks toward me. My breath quickens.
“Hi! You look like a Middle Eastern Cinderella!”
“Hi, Saskia.”
“I’m sorry we won’t get to act together.”
“It’s okay. I think I’m doing a good job at this sweeping thing, don’t you?” I smirk and she grins back. I could play this game for years.
“It’s too bad really. You did have a tremendous audition.”
“Please, I’m embarrassed enough as it is. There’s no reason for you to rub salt in the wound.”
“Oh please, everybody farts. The stuff before that was absolutely brilliant.”
“You think so?”
“Of course! I don’t say something unless I mean it.” That’s a philosophy I could stand to live by. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asks out of the blue.
“I have a family thing I have to do.” I really don’t want to go to the
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