Sight (Scomiche)

Humming

The rest of the week was incredibly long, just waiting for it to be Saturday. In practice we got a lot of blocking done, and slowly Drew and Katherine began to update lines for the other actors.
Finally, it was Saturday. I was jittery so I tried to calm my nerves with keeping busy. Trying to avoid an annoying Psychology essay on the effects of withdrawal on minors compared to adults, I picked up the apartment, cleaned the bathroom mirror, swept the floors, and scrubbed every last dish in my sink until they shined. After about an hour, however, dread of the impending deadline overruled my urge to procrastinate. The next two hours (clouded with a caffeine-induced haze) started with carefully thought out sentences and eloquent (if frequently misspelled, but that's what auto correct is for) vocabulary, but spiraled into a mess of uncompleted thoughts and slightly less than average opinions. The burning desire to do something else was just so overwhelmingly clear as I re-read the last couple paragraphs, and I just saved what I had and gave up, desperate to just finish it later. I busied myself with cartoons until the clock eventually reached an appropriate time to leave. I got in my car and drove to Scott's, a bag with my script loaded in the back.
I almost got lost, but thankfully I realized and made a u-turn, landing me right at Scott's apartment building. I was few minutes early, so I sat in my car, collecting my thoughts. At 11:57 I decided it was good enough, so I snatched my bag and went to find his apartment. I knocked at the door labeled 2C with confidence. Well, fake confidence.
Scott, dressed in jeans and a casual t-shirt with a design of the Kool-Aid man on it, answered the door. I was in similar clothing, but the only difference was he probably threw on the first thing he saw, but I spent forever deciding on every detail. Does this shade of red compliment the jean color? What if this is too casual? What if he laughs at me? What if I wore a hoodie? Would that look too sloppy? I had finally settled on a black t-shirt with some logo and light jeans.
He wiped his hand on his jeans. "Sorry, come in. I was just wiping off the counter."
I nodded. "Nice place."
What a cliche comment, I criticized myself, cringing.
"Oh, thanks. Isaac found it." He closed the door as he spoke, after I was inside. "He picked it out, agreed to rent it, THEN called me to say he decided where we'd be living. I was pissed till I saw the place. And then I was like," he shrugged. "'Alright'."
I set my bag on the couch and laughed a little. "Well at least you liked it."
He nodded, throwing the wet wash rag into the sink, which had been pinched between his thumb and forefinger. "Thankfully."
I leaned against the back of the sofa. Scott walked up to me. He seemed to be studying me, so I stayed silent. I didn't want to interrupt whatever he was thinking so intently about. He snapped out of it on his own.
"Shall we?" He asked, gesturing to the couch.
"Mm, sure." We walked opposite directions to the front and plopped down on each end, leaving space in the middle. It wasn't too big of a couch, more of a loveseat if anything. A thought crossed my mind then. Why would him and Isaac need a loveseat? I mean... there's an armchair in here... is the loveseat for when Tyyyyler comes over? Digusted by the thought, I shuddered just enough so I could feel it, but Scott couldn't see.
Scott began flipping through the script. "Where should we begin?"
"Doesn't matter to me," I stated, pulling my script out.
He turned to a random page. "How 'bout here?"
I peered over to see what page he was on. "Uh, sure." I found the page in my own script and we started reciting our lines.

An hour or two later (I wasn't really keeping track of time), Scott stopped suddenly in the middle of a long line.
"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"
"Uhh," I started, confused. "I guess so, yeah."
"Cool, want a sandwich?"
"Sure."
I set down my script as he stood and walked just a little ways to the kitchen.
"What do you want? I have peanut butter and jelly, turkey, and uhmm a few slices of roast beef."
"I'll take some turkey. Want any help?"
"No, no I got it."
"You sure?"
"I'm positive. You're the guest. Let me serve you."
Relaxing against the cushion, I hummed quietly to myself. I didn't pay much attention to what I was humming because I was staring at a picture hung up on Scott's wall. Just as I was about to ask about it, Scott handed me a plate with a sandwich on it.
"What are you humming?" He questioned, smiling. "You sound nice."
I blushed. "Oh, um, thank you." I thought about what I had just been humming. "It's, um, West Side Story."
"Oh," he said, going back to the kitchen to assemble his sandwich. "I've never seen it."
My eyes widened. "What?"
"I said I've never seen it. Why? Is it good?"
"It's only my all time favorite movie!" I exclaimed, becoming overcome with persistence and excitement.
He laughed. "I just haven't heard many good things about it, so I thought 'why bother?'"
"I was RAISED on it. If you're raised on something, you automatically love it. It's fantastic. End of story," I finalized, suddenly full of passion.
"Well maybe I have seen it. Sing something from it?" He came and sat back where he was, sandwich in hand.
"Uhm, sure. 'Tonight, tonight, the world is full of light
With suns and moons all over the place
Tonight, tonight the world is wild and bright
Going mad, shooting sparks into space'," I sang with my all. West Side Story made me feel very passionate.
A slow smile creeped onto his face.
"What?" I asked. "Do you recognize it?"
He shook his head. "Nope. But I did get you to sing for me. Mitch, that was absolutely amazing."
I glared at him. "You knew you'd never seen it, but you wanted me to sing something from it?"
"Yup," he laughed. "And it worked. You sounded so good humming, I had to hear everything."
I wanted so badly to be mad at him, but he was smiling so much, it was nearly impossible.
"That song doesn't really do much for my voice, it probably sucked."
"It didn't! Don't worry, I'll hear you sing again soon enough."
"Will you now? What makes you think that?" "Because, if I have to, I'll beg and beg and beg until I get so annoying that you just give up and sing."
I shook my head while giving a tiny laugh. "Whenever I watch West Side Story, I sing along. No. Matter. What."
"Maybe we should watch West Side Story then," he suggested.
"Well I was going to make you watch it anyway. How about tomorrow at my place? I own it," I said as casually as I could. My heart was racing. It was like asking him out.
Except it wasnt. Because I don't like Scott. Right?
"I'd love to. Here, just take my number and text me whenever you want me over. I'm free all day tomorrow." He reached over and scribbled his number on my script with his name above it.
I held my breath as he wrote it. All I could do was try to convince myself it wasn't a date. Try to convince myself I didnt like him. But it wasn't really working.