Much Ado About Pudding

Act I Scene III

Cafe bathroom. 

Enter ROBYN and SERENA.

ROBYN: I need to get my shit together. (Holds sides of bathroom sink)

SERENA: It's a shame I couldn't remember her face.

ROBYN: I'm dying. You know what, Serena? I'm dying a slow, painful death. And now you tell me you lost the image of the – of the thing that gains any semblance of my... (Retches)

A person enters adjacent stall. 

Robyn and Serena exit outside bathroom. Robyn curls up beside vending machine.

You know, I'm not particularly cute. Nor am I particularly charismatic, or confident, or shoot, even talented in drama. I'm self-aware. I'm okay. I'm the average hick-chick in a stupid hick town getting my tuition paid for.

But when I saw two strikingly different couples – the way they looked at each other – that sent me over the edge. How does a girl who comprises all of my inner muses compare to her boyfriend? Her boyfriend, Serena! He looks like a cross between anorexic Jonah Hill and a white mumble rapper. Is it hope that I'm feeling? Or maybe, say, disgust that she chose someone like him? Wait – but if I'm projecting myself into him, am I being disgusted at myself? I must really hate myself.

Beauty kills. Tadzio killed Gustav. Indirectly. So if I die, I'll take comfort knowing that I died a very meaningful, Venician death. So be it. So be it!

SERENA: Yeah, man. That's dope. I just have a question. What does this have to do with dying?

Phone vibrates.

ROBYN: (meekly) Zee-Zee?

ISABEL: Hi, Robyn, please return the skin cream that I sent to you in the mail. Robyn, it's really not that hard, it's skin cream. My best one. I'm breaking out really, really bad. Hey. All you all there?

ROBYN: I'm here.

ISABEL: How are you?

ROBYN: I'm great. It's Friday now. I got a bad grade for the first time since sophomore year, and I think I'm having a mental breakdown. Life is good! (Sobs hysterically)

ISABEL: What. Happened.

ROBYN: I don't even know.

ISABEL: Then I can't help you. Gimme back my skin scream, Robyn.

ROBYN: Okay, I'll tell you. I saw a very beautiful girl, and it scares me.

ISABEL: That's...cool. And you're crying about this?

ROBYN: HOW DO YOU LIKE IT WHEN YOUR MUSE IS SO GORGEOUS YOU'LL HAVE TO SACRIFICE YOUR SLEEP, FOOD, SOUL, AND SANITY KNOWING SHE'S GOING TO POP UP OUTTA NOWHERE ON THIS CAMPUS.

ISABEL: That's hysterical. Never heard of that one before. You should come to my office sometime.

ROBYN: Don't laugh! And I'm broke, idiot!

ISABEL: I am being ironic. I'll charge you at half price.

ROBYN: What am I, charity work to you?

ISABEL: No, no, you're more of a case study to me-! Okay, but really, if mom knows about this, she'll send me over to you anyways. Don't tell Mom.

ROBYN: But why not?

ISABEL: Don't tell her!! She won't get off my ass about it. And besides, you just transferred into college. Let's help you so that you don't come crying to me, and so that I can report to mom so that you don't have to. I'll give you a discount.

ROBYN: Over my dead body.

ISABEL: Fine, then. For free. And no, I won't treat you like a charity project. You're my sister. I'm your friend. Assume good intent.

(ROBYN laughs bitterly)

ROBYN: I don't have much choice, do I? Fine. I'll come.

ISABEL: I'm sorry you're having these symptoms.

(ROBYN snorts)

ISABEL: Is Cody bothering your conscience again? No, no, don't interrupt – we're not gonna talk about that. What I see sometimes, Robyn, is that you're projecting onto another person. Make friends and see where this goes!

ROBYN: Eh.

ISABEL: C'mon, you'll find her eventually, and then you can reevaluate your fears. See? Not that hard.

ROBYN: I wanna throw my pencils at her and ask her what prompted her to have such a terrible, terrible taste in men. 

ISABEL: Just try to act normal around her, dammit. Or come to my office.

ROBYN: Give me a five minute free trial, at least!

ISABEL: Just did. Come to my office if you're having worse symptoms. But for now, just ride it out, Robyn. This isn't the first time. Remember what I told you about your breathing techniques?

ROBYN: I was thirteen, and that was after stepdaddy kicked Biscuit. I'm still traumatized.

ISABEL: I wasn't licensed, then. Now, thanks to yours truly's hard work, I'm seeing success in clients far worse off than you. You lil' spoiled brat. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Alright, gimme a call and let me know what you decide. (Hang up)

ROBYN stares at phone.

SERENA: "God, I'll never become like Mom." And yet here she is, and here we are.

Enter HELEN.

HELEN: I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... You okay, sweetie?

ROBYN: Today's a great day to tell you that I'm not.

HELEN: Aww, honey, what's wrong?

ROBYN: My goldfish died.

HELEN: Really?

ROBYN: No, worse. I think...I think I'm in love. 

Blackout.