The Drama Club

Chapter Two

By the time I get home from work, there's juice in my hair. I smell like a fruit basket. My sister, Evette, snickers as I walk through the door of the house into the living room. 'What are you looking at?' I mumble grouchily.

Eve is clutching a pillow in her hands, one knee pulled up to her chest and the other leg stretched out on the couch. 'I see that you had a wonderful first day.'

I roll my eyes. 'Ha-ha, very funny you dork.'

'I'm twelve,' Eve notes, 'I'm allowed to be a dork. You're seventeen. You should have a life by now, or I don't know, some friends besides Georgina.'

'Beth's my friend.'

Eve snorts. 'No she isn't, she's your boss. And she hates you.'

Does Beth hate me? Probably, and I have no idea why, but I'm not about to let Eve see that. I return her comment with an eye-roll and trudge up to my bedroom. Chucking my backpack onto my bed, I pull off my apron with a huff. It's soaked through with juice, to the point of no return. This is what it's going to be like every shift, I guess. I have a boss who thinks I'm scum, and an apron full of juice, and ink smudges on my arm.

I groan, falling back onto my bed. I mimic Beth's voice, 'Are you going to make the smoothie, or just stand there and look pretty?'

I really don't know what happened to our friendship. I have no idea if it's something I said to her, something I did... I don't remember doing anything to hurt her, but then again, how much can I remember from four years ago? All I know is that one day we were sitting under the stars, talking about giant space-bugs and boys we liked – well, normally I would talk and Beth would listen – and the next she was gone. I wish we could have stayed friends, but I guess she doesn't want to be friends with me.

But hey, I know somebody who does. I met Hugo. He was nice to me, he said I should take Georgina's advice. He even flirted with me, I think. Maybe I'm just overthinking this. But who knows? Maybe I should audition. It would be a new experience, and Mum and Dad would totally approve. Yeah, I'll sign up for the musical. Done and dusted.

There's a knock at my bedroom door. It's Dad, still wearing his Big Accounting Man suit. I smile and sit up, dusting off my jeans. 'Hey kid,' he says in his booming voice, 'how was work?'

I shrug. 'I juiced, I collected orders. Nothing much to it really.'

Dad laughs and comes further into my room. 'That bad, huh? You'll be fine. My first job sucked too – but by god, when I got that first pay-cheque...' He clapped his hands together, making me jump. He's got this big goofy smile on his face that he only reserves for his kids.

I nod, pausing. 'Hey um, Dad, I think I'm going to sign up for the school musical.'

'Huh... that seems a bit out of your comfort zone honey,' Dad retorts, frowning. Not what I was expecting, but that's fine. I pick at my jeans self-consciously.

'Yeah, I know, I just thought I could make friends better if I tried out for more school things.'

Dad raises an eyebrow. 'Like the musical?'

'Yes, Dad, like the musical. So, can I sign up?'

Dad runs a hand through his hair, which has turned grey from many years of work and stress. Sometimes I wonder what keeps him here with Mum. We don't have much; most of Dad's money goes toward my school fees, or Mum's newest fad. Last year he bought her what was virtually a commercial kitchen if you combined all the gadgets and appliances.

Finally, dad glances over at me, throwing his hands up. 'I don't see why not. Just don't forget to ask your mother, she's the boss of these things.'

I beam like a doofus. 'Yeah, of course, thanks so much.'

'No worries, kid,' Dad says. He ruffles up my hair and I squirm away from him. After all, I am still seventeen. 'Now.' Dad claps his hands. 'What's for dinner?'

I thump Dad on the back, chuckling to myself. We leave my room and go downstairs – me, taking the stairs two-at-a-time, and my dad taking them far slower. The smell of lamb roast fills my nose, and I hear the sound of Mum chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Eve is in the living room watching TV, and she doesn't even hear Dad and I sneak past her.

I kiss Mum on the forehead and she smiles, not looking up from where she's chopping up carrots. 'Hi honey,' she sighs, 'You need a shower, you know. You smell like a bottle of essential oil.'

I fold my arms, taking a seat on a stool in front of the kitchen counter. 'Mum...' I begin, and Dad gives me a thumbs up, 'I was wondering if I could audition for the musical.'

Mum stops chopping, placing the knife onto the chopping board. She's got a big smile all across her face. 'Oh, they're doing West Side Story, right? That's lovely. I remember doing a rudimentary "The King and I" at my high-school.'

'It's Wicked, actually, Mum.'

Mum sighs contentedly, glancing up at me. Her eyes have the glassy sheen of sentimentality. 'Can you imagine if you got the lead? Honey, this is great. Really great, and you can make new friends too!'

I look down at the benchtop, trying to hide my smile. 'I kind of already made one. I met someone today; he encouraged me to sign up. His name's Hugo.'

Mum taps her fingernails on the counter. 'Hugo... I think I know his mum. He's Hugo Priestley, right?'

'That Priestley boy?' Dad chimes in. 'He's the one with the fan-club of girls, right?'

'Dad.' My face flushes tomato red.

I've never really been comfortable talking about boys or relationships with my family. One of them will always make it weird, which I find excruciatingly annoying. Maybe I'm just self-conscious talking about sex and stuff with my parents, but it's more than that. I'm not really as open with them about my romantic interests as I ought to be.

'What?' Dad stammers, 'Did I say something?'

Mum glares at him. 'Never mind your dad. But you should sign up. I think it would be good for you, you know?'

I do know. I know I make Mum stress an extra amount, on top of her work as an architect, on top of having to deal with Eve starting puberty soon – trust me, the mood swings get bad – only to protect me, who had such a hard time making friends that Georgina had to practically shove me into her grasp. I suddenly feel icky all over, like I've fallen into a vat of slime. Instead of answering, I focus on the pattern of the benchtop, the veins of black spreading through the white marble slab.

Mum comes around the bench and puts a hand on my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. 'I know things like this can be scary for you, so I'm really proud that you're putting yourself out there. Trying new things is a great start; then you can meet new people, and make new connections. You know I love you, hon', so much.' She kisses my forehead, and I don't squirm away like I did with dad.

This will be good for me, I tell myself. I can get out of my comfort zone, be less introverted, fight my anxiety... I got this.