SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda

THE NIGHTMARE CAFÉ

Today is Saturday. Matinee day. I tell Lin I'm going to the theater with him. I know, I know. Who's this girl, this ass-kisser who wants to do something other than ruin the lives of her foster family?

That, folks, is a girl who enjoys pissing people off and wants to get a rise out of the wealthy. I want to expose them to the monsters that hide beneath the poverty line.

I like to shock people, which is painful to admit. But it's true, and it's true with most people. I did some thinking after doing the laundry with Lin. I've decided to shovel away all this bullshit and start over with The Cast. And anyway, I think I could have some fun with this. I want to observe, like the undercover spies in the movies.

The Mirandas are doing things with my head.

We take the subway to Midtown after Breakfast. I am so ready. I drew a fresh layer of mehdni on both arms last night. Yes, I've trained myself to be ambidextrous. That way I can write twice as fast and mehdni more than one arm. Skills like that really come in handy. (Ha-ha, penmanship joke.) Lin is over the moon. He brings his earbuds on the subway and passes one to me when the train enters the tunnel. And surprise, surprise— 2pac '93. Keep Your Head Up.

We enter the theater a different way today, from the side. We have to go through the greenroom to get to Lin's dressing room. I open the door and grin. " 'Sup, losers!"

Heads turn with the sound of flashing paparazzi cameras. Everyone is eating lunch. The room: silent. Me: Grinning, arms outstretched, ready to brave the aristocrats.

The ghost of a smile flickers on Anthony's face. "Someone's in a good mood."

"You know it, Ramos." I plop down next to him on the futon.

Leslie, bald dude who kicked me out, leans forward and fake whispers to Lin. "What'd you do to her?"

Lin holds up an earbud. "The power of Tupac."

"You listen to Tupac?" Daveed bites his sandwich and shakes his head. "I expected her to be into Death Metal, or something."

I smirk. "Is that how I come off?"

The whole room, in unison: "Yes."

Lin goes downstairs to get ready. It's just me and the cast. What to say, what to say? Salutations? We come in peace? They should have seminars for this sort of thing. At one point I shuffle into a different position, and I see it: Anthony's flinch, for a split second. A frantic blink, like I'll swing at him without warning. Poor little guy. He has noticeable reflexes and a hairdresser on an indefinite hiatus.

After Lin emerges from the dressing rooms in civil war getup, Pippa leans forward and takes a chance. "What's that stuff on your arms?"

"It's about to be your guts, if you don't keep your mouth shut."

Her fingers slowly scratch against the fabric of her dress and enclose into her palm. Lin gives me a Jeremy look, a.k.a, the you shouldn't have said that. Damn. I forgot about the whole civility thing.

I exhale and run my finger along the pattern on the back of my hand. "It's Mehndi."

Renee peers over Pippa's shoulder at my arm. "That's an Indian thing, right?"

Even though I know she's just making small talk, I feel myself split open. "I'm from Pakistan."

"So what does it mean?" Asks Leslie.

How can I answer? What if I told then it means that my family is across the world? That it was my fault they had to go back? That it means that my family will never forgive me? I kept one speck of my culture after my world was torn out from beneath me. It means that Mehndi is all I have left.

"Nothing. It's just doodles."

"How do you do it?" Asks Jasmine.

"Do what?"

"I mean, I wish I could draw like that."

"I learned when I was a kid."

Pippa grins. "Art class?"

"No."

"Who taught you, then?" Asks Jonathan.

"I feel like I'm in an interview." I lean into the futon and cross my feet on the cushions. "How about I ask you guys some questions?"

Everyone shrugs. "Alright. Go for it,"says Daveed.

I choose wisely. "What's your day rate?"

The room goes quiet. Pippa laughs to mask her disbelief. "Vidya--!"

"What?"

"Are you serious, right now?"

"You said I could ask a question."

"That's a very personal question."

"I don't think so." I lean forward and cross my arms. "If I landed this job, I wouldn't be modest about my paychecks, girlfriend."

"Okay-y-y." Lin squeezes in next to me and unwraps his lunch. A peanut butter sandwich. "That's enough questions for today. She's joking. She's joking."

Leslie glances over at Pippa and shakes his head once.

Lin takes a bite out of his sandwich. "She is so funny, isn't she?"

The room: Silent.

My plan has backfired. There is no giggle-giggle, no yak-yak-yak, no fifty dollars I was going to force out of Leslie. He seemed the most negotiable. I should have known They'd hate me. God gave these people beauty, talent, and money. God gave me bruised knees and no empathy. (Is it any wonder I'm an atheist?)

"So." Pippa grins at me like nothing happened. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I yank Lin's sandwich from his hands and sink my teeth into the bread. "No."

"Why not?"

I shrug.

"Just date Anthony," says Jasmine. "He's up for grabs."

I swallow a chunk of sandwich. My glare burns holes in Jasmine's forehead. "I would rather die."

Anthony pretends to be offended. "Hey now, let's not get insulting."

The peanut butter cements onto the roof of my mouth. I will never have a boyfriend. I will never have a friend, period. Lin hooks his arm around my shoulder. "There will be no boyfriends, not on my watch; she doesn't need to be around any boys but me."

It feels like the king of nightmares has squeezed his claws around my neck. The peanut butter locks my mouth closed. He is too close. Too, too, close. I know he's just trying to act like a father— no boys, get home before curfew, don't forget to do the dishes— but knife hot memory burns acid in my throat and my body pushes the pause button on my breathing. Pippa's mouth moves. Jazzy leans into her and says something in Lin's direction. I feel the deep vibration in his chest that must be his words but I can't breathe and what is wrong with me and—

My alarms: BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

Lin traces the mehndi on my arm with his index finger and tightens his grip around my shoulders. No. No this does not feel good. Pippa's eyes narrow. I mumble something idiotic and sprint for the bathroom. I heave my peanut butter sandwich into the toilet, then scrub my face with the ice water surging from the faucet. The salt in my tears stings the irritated skin around my lips but I ignore it, cut it out, kick it all away.

Lin is calling my name from outside, but I lock eyes with myself in the mirror and listen to myself pant until I kick his voice away, too.