Dressing Room 7

Chapter Two : Anna/Sara

Anna

Okay, so, I'm not bothered by the fact that I'm in the ensemble. Maybe it'll finally get my mother off my back. See, she did theater when she was in school, so she thinks I should be in theater. I disagree.

I don't like theater. It's just not what I love. I'm more of - who am I kidding - a huge book person. Now, when I say books, I don't really mean fiction books. I don't hate fiction books, but my real passion is learning. It's knowledge. So that's why I don't mind being in the ensemble. I won't have to do much in rehearsals, and my mother will be off my back. That'll be nice.

This is what I think while I wait for my mother to pick me up. Why did I have to miss the bus to look at a dumb cast list? (I take the bus; there's no way I could afford a car.) And I have to waste whole afternoons rehearsing for a show I don't care about.

My mum pulls up in her fifteen year old minivan with the window rolled down. The first two things I notice about her is that she's wearing far too much lipstick, and her grin is far to hopeful.

"I'm in the ensemble, Mum," I tell her, "I am the background. The not good enough to be acknowledged, backing chorus." As I talk, I walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat.

My mum's smile falters for a second, then returns stronger and more lipstick coated than ever. "That's alright honey," she gushes, "You'll still have fun!"

The thing about my mum is, I know she loves me and I love her, but sometimes she's incredibly hard to put up with.

"No, I won't," I say matter-of-factly, "I don't have any interest in theater, it was your idea for me to do this."

"It was a very good idea," she counters as we begin the drive home, "It's good to get involved in your school."

I grimace. "You sound like those crappy videos they showed us in health class in the seventh grade about 'getting involved in your community and being the best you you can be.' You know, the ones that were made in the 70s?"

Another reason I am not at all thrilled about the play - my dressing room assignment. Marilyn McKean I've never heard of, but I do know Sara Halven. I like her even less than I like theater. Now, I don't strictly know Sara, I just know of her. I've seen her around school before. She's one of those material popular girls who only seems to care about makeup and herself. (I know, it makes me so cliche just saying that, but some people are like the type you see in movies.)

When we get home, I immediately kick off my flats and sit at the kitchen table. I'm intent on starting my homework, but now I've managed to stress myself out over my dressing room. What is Marilyn like? If she's decent, that'll help me deal with Sara? But I'm not at all popular, so what if Sara's mean to me? Of course she won't be mean, life isn't a movie, she just won't bother with me at all. But what if Marilyn's like her too? I don't think I could handle two vacuous lunatics.

Why am I even worrying about this at all? I really should be doing my homework. Well, I have all weekend to do my homework. Then again, I have all weekend to stress over something that isn't worth stressing over.

"Anna?" my mum's voice invades my thoughts.

"Yeah?" I bring myself back into reality.

"Nothing," my mum says, "You were just staring at the wall."

"Right," I respond quietly and begin to pull my history textbook out of my bag. I flip through the book, keeping my eyes on it, even though I feel my mum staring at me. I reach the page I need for my assignment, then abruptly look up, meeting my mother's gaze. "What is it?" I ask her.