Misfit Theater Company 2

2. First Day (Part 1)

I can't say I'm surprised that I have first day of school jitters, even after eleven years. To be fair though, my jitters from ten out of eleven or those years were because I knew I'd be called on and I'd struggle. But this year feels different. This year I'm genuinely excited to be back.

    My day begins with Mr. Taylor's English 11 class, which I'm happy about, since he already knows how to help me with my dyslexia. Then second period is theater again, only now that we are juniors, it is called "Ensemble Theater" instead of "Theater 4" like last year. This is the year when the Ensemble Theater class gets to perform for the public and put on full length plays, one each quarter. Patti has been trying to guess what the first quarter play could be. Every day it's a new guess in our group chat. This morning we all woke up to this text from her:

    Patti:  Ooooo maybe it's going to be *Death of a Salesman!* Wouldn't that be sooo awesome and classic? Well, classic for us. Also, happy first day of school! See you 2nd period! ENSEMBLE, YES! (6:03am)

    After we all have theater together, we all also have lunch together, thank goodness! There are three lunch periods at our school, so it's always a draw to see if you'll have lunch with your friends. Luck was on our side for this year's random computer shuffle of names. We don't all have any other classes together as a group, but the last period of the day, I have science with Moth. We are already plotting how we can convince the teacher to let us be lab partners, although I'm not sure how much I trust either of us around chemicals.

    Still, I actually can't wait to get to school, which has never, ever been the case on the first day of school, and my mom definitely notices.

    "Wow, you're down here early. Usually I have to drag you out of your room for breakfast on the first day," she says as she sets down a plate of vegan pancakes in front of me.

    I put my phone down and smile. "Well, I'm not starting off as the quiet girl with literally only one friend and a case of undiagnosed dyslexia, so that helps."

    She scoffs. "Yeah, that'd do it. Are you excited for Ensemble Theater?"

    She's really been throwing her support of my theater pursuits in my face since the whole incident last school year, like she's hoping one day I'll wake up and be so flooded with support I forget she once forbid me from participating or seeing my friends.

    "Very," I reply, taking a bite of the pancakes now that I've drenched them in syrup.

    She takes a sip of her morning coffee. "That class is going to be different than the other one though, right? You won't necessarily be with your friends the whole time?"

    "Right, but I'm not sure exactly how it all works. All I know is what Patti and Thatcher have told me, which is that we do a play each quarter and that we take turns being cast in the plays and doing the stage crew stuff and all that so that it's fair."

    "So you might not even be in the same play as your friends?"

    I take a moment to swallow my bite of pancake as well as the idea that the misfits might not all be together for a play. Mrs. Permala wouldn't do that, would she? Or maybe that's the exact reason why she put up with us last year, aside from the getting cast in the TV show thing: She knew she could split us up in our next theater class.

    No, stop thinking about that, I tell myself. There are four shows in a school year, so we're all bound to be together at least once, right? I should have paid attention during the statistics unit in math last year.

    I try not to let the thought concern me too much and spoil the day's excitement, so I shrug and reply, "Maybe not, but we have four opportunities to act together, so... we are bound to be together for at least one of them."

    Mom sets her mug on the table and says, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you anxious about it--"

    "--You didn't--"

    "--I was just trying to make conversation."

    "No, I know. It's OK, really. Even if we can't act together, one of us would be in the wings or something cheering whoever is on stage on, you know? It will all be fine. I'm genuinely not worried this year, so don't worry about me."

    My mom smiles. "I'm working on it."

    "I should get going," I say, standing up from the table.

    Mom checks her watch. "And you're leaving for school early? Wow, you must really be excited."

    "Thatcher and I are walking together, so I'm stopping by his house first and then we are meeting up with Patti and Moth before homeroom."

    "OK," she says with a sigh before cutting a slice off my unfinished pancake. "Are you and Thatcher still not... do we need to have the talk yet?"

    Thank goodness no one else is here to hear her or see how red my face must be right now. "God, Mom, no, stop," I say, hurrying to grab my lunch and backpack for school.

    "OK, you just let me know when it's time."

    "I'm leaving now," I shout into the house as I close the front door behind me.

I hear Mom shout back, "bye," as I make my way down the front steps.

The walk to Thatcher's house is so short that usually I just let my mind wander a bit instead of putting in my earbuds, but today, I need to listen to music to sort of cleanse my auditory palate of my mom's questions.

For the past couple of months my mom has asked me, in a number of awkward and indirect ways, if Thatcher and I are having sex yet, you know, because my mom is super embarrassing. The answer is no, and yet she keeps asking. Maybe it's because she was "active" around my age, so it's hard for her to believe I'm not?

I'm not waiting for marriage or anything like that, I'm waiting until I know it's right. I'd kind of like to wait until I feel like the person I'm with could be the person I'm going to marry, so it's serious and special. I love Thatcher and he loves me, we say it all the time, but we haven't talked at all about that stuff. Even after six months together, I'm still sort of afraid it would change our dynamic too much, so I ignore it, like I'm trying to ignore thinking about it by listening to music now.

Mr. Gorsky still isn't a huge fan of mine, so I text Thatcher when I'm outside instead of actually going up to the door. "Here," I write, and within a few moments, Thatcher opens the door with a big smile.

It's still pretty warm out, but Thatcher wears a dull blue sweater with a tan stripe across the front and tan patches on the elbows. Blue always makes his brown eyes seem vibrant, and in the sunlight, his eyes almost glow when he smiles. He is so darn cute in such a strange way that sometimes I wonder how someone as unique as him could like someone so relatively ordinary as me.

"Hey," he says, "you look amazing."

I'm just wearing jeans and a yellow top, granted it does have frilly cap sleeves so it's a little more special than a regular tee, but still. I guess to him, I'm anything but ordinary. At least, that's how he makes me feel.

"Good morning, professor," I reply.

He does a little spin for me. "Right? I thought I looked pretty sophisticated. My grandma got this sweater for me after I told her I had helped tutor you last year. She said I'd better dress the part."

I laugh. "She is too funny." I met her once over the fourth of July weekend when she came to Riverside to visit. She brought an entire photo album of baby pictures of Thatcher and sat me down to show me every single one. Then she brushed her fingers through my hair and told me that I'd better take care of him. It was sort of a bizarre moment, like what you'd expect fathers to do to their daughter's new boyfriends, but with a distinct grandma twist.

"She is. Shall we to school?" Thatcher asks, extending his bent arm for me to take.

"We shall."

The two of us talk and laugh the entire way to school, about the show, about what the play could be, about Patti's excitement, about our classes. We talk about everything except what my mom tried to talk to me about this morning... I'll wait until Thatcher brings that up before I even go near it.

Continued in the next part...