Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

20. Bring It

The next day, math class lasts forever. Why? Because, of course, I'm stuck next to Layla for Mr. Buford's latest partner project to solve, like, a page full of proofs, which would suck no matter what, but with Layla it is basically unbearable.

"Our first read through of our one act went amazing," she says, mid-proof. She's doing all the work, so I'm not complaining. But I wish I had ear plugs. "We could not stop laughing. It was like, okay, c'mon guys, let's get to work. But I guess that means we're lucky, because work is just so much fun. Oh my gosh, and when Grant O'Reilly comes and he sees how much fun we're having on stage, so effortlessly and with the talent we have in our group, he'll be crazy not to pick me and Greg."

Layla's not wrong. Grant could very well pick her and Greg Sussek. He did a good job in the one acts--a little stiff, but good--and Layla definitely has the upper hand for the girl choice. But the constant bragging and stuck-up-ness is starting to get to me. How I feel about Layla isn't anywhere near the hatred Patti feels toward her, but it is definitely building up to something like that. Especially when she drags Gina into it.

"Thank goodness your friend Gina is in our group. It was like a sign from God that she came. A sign in bright neon lights saying, Layla, the part on A Call from Midnight is yours. Now that we have that play, which will definitely shine, because, let's face it, it's way funnier than anything else. And then we get Gina in our group, who," she stops talking to laugh to herself, "who is just horrible. I mean, she cannot read a line to save her life. We're giving her all the parts without punchlines, and she will just make my talent look even more impressive in comparison."

I bite the inside of my cheeks—Gina pretty much burned her bridges with me, but we were still best friends for years, even if it was a toxic friendship. I can't help but ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

She smiles and lightly tosses her golden hair over her shoulder. "Because even if you tell her, it won't matter. The parts are chosen, the plays are set, and Grant O'Reilly will come and choose me and Greg. What will happen if you tell her? She'll be mad and then more motivated to do well. So actually, go ahead. Tell her. Maybe then she will work on her lines. Isn't that what you would do if you knew you sucked?"

I don't answer, but I'm pretty my gaze falling back to my nearly empty paper gives me away. No, I think. At least I wouldn't have before when I thought I was just an idiot. I would have given up, because I wouldn't want to embarrass myself anymore. But with theater, it's different. I want to be good. I want to do my best. I think a lot of that is the knowledge that Thatcher is watching me, but a lot of it is for me too. I want to have a relationship with words beyond hating them.

Layla giggles this stupid, fake little laugh. "Not to worry, though. You don't suck, you're perfect. No need to practice at all," she says sarcastically. I can tell by the way her voice gets nasally by the end. Now I hate her.

I pull out my phone and text Patti under the desk so Layla can't see. Not like she cares--she's back to solving proofs while planning her Emmy Award outfit, because "this part is bound to lead to more roles."

"Lets practice tonite. We cant let Layla get that part," I text Patti under the desk.

"Good idea. My house. 5. 237 West River Drive," she responds within the minute. Then I get a group text from her to everyone in our group. "Rehearsal tonight at 5. Mandatory. 237 West River Drive. My parents will cook us dinner."

"Janie, put the phone away," Mr. Buford says, so I slip it back in my pocket, mumbling a faint sorry.

Then I get back to pretending how to solve proofs and half-listening to Layla bragging.

Theater is straight business, no time even for exchanged smiles between me and Thatcher, so I'm actually looking forward to hanging out tonight for an extra rehearsal, when Gina sits down across from me at lunch.

Patti immediately gets up to "get dessert," and as she walks away, Gina shoots me the most smug expression I've ever seen cross her face, which is actually a big accomplishment. Smugness is part of Gina's regular repertoire.

"How're you doing?" Gina asks like I'm sick or something. Like she's visiting me in a hospital room with a fistful of flowers.

"Great," I say. "Shouldn't you go back to wherever your lunch is?"

"I'm sitting with Layla, Greg, and Taylor. We're getting pretty close. I hope you're not too jealous about that."

"I'm not jealous at all actually. Gina, you really hurt my feelings during my ten-minute scene and you were way out of line at the mall."

She pinches her face in an even more exaggerated look of smugness. "You really hurt me too, Janie. I guess this makes us even."

"Nope, no it doesn't," I mumble. I'm not surprised that she turned it back around to me, and at the same time, I'm still disappointed that that was her response. "But whatever, Gina," I say more to myself than anyone.

She sighs. "Look, I just came over to tell you that I'm sorry my group stole the script you all wanted. But now that Grant O'Reilly is coming... Janie, remember all the sleepovers we've had just sitting around watching A Call from Midnight? We both know how awesome this opportunity is, and if I even have a little bit of a chance of meeting him or working with him, I'm going to take it. Sorry, not sorry. I gotta look out for myself, girl."

I don't want to say anything, but as angry as I am with Gina, we still spent all those years together. "Layla doesn't even like you. She thinks you're a bad actress."

Gina shrugs. "We'll see who Grant O'Reilly picks to go back to Hollywood with him. I just know with my group, I have a better chance than you do. Sorry, Janie."

I'm not sure why, but tears start to build behind my eyes. Is it the coldness of this conversation? The heartlessness of Gina's words? The way she's rubbing it all in my face? The fact that she still hasn't owned up to any of her cruelty? I want to scream, but all I can do is brush away the stray tear that's fallen down my cheek. Gina sees it--she has to--but she doesn't say a word. Instead she pushes herself off the table top to stand, brushes her hand across my shoulder, and walks back to wherever her table must be.

Patti passes Gina on her way back to sit with me, two fudgsicles in her hand. When she's close enough to see that I've been crying, her expression changes to horrified anger. "What did that girl say to you?"

"Nothing. She just came over to brag about their scene," I tell Patti. I leave out all my disappointment and frustration.

"Don't worry," she says. "They've declared war, and now we're going to bring it."

I want to laugh at Patti for the dramatic nature of her words, but she's right: We've got to bring it.