Unthinkable

November***Part 1

Dear Jesse —

"The Crucible" is officially over. The set demolished. Hauled away today. It's crazy to think it almost didn't happen for me. Not playing volleyball turned out to be a blessing. Now that it's over, I'm not sure what I'm going to do without Drama Club.

Winter sports season is looming. I can't give up all my sports and just be a drama kid.

I just can't believe it's over. So much stuff happened. So much stuff. Hell, I deflowered a freshman. (Mom, if you are snooping, no, not really. Also, stop snooping.)

Stupid, meddling Allison. Doesn't have enough going on in her own life, she's got to make drama in everyone else's lives. Who does she think she's fooling? Fake letters. What the fuck? This is truly a new low, even for her.

I know this is about Jake. Ever since Alanis, he's paid a little extra attention to me. Always asking if I'm okay. I keep telling him I'm fine but he won't let it go. He won't admit it but I think it freaked him out.

It's not my fault he hugged me for so long. Okay it kinda was because I was hysterical, snot everywhere, but he was just being a nice guy.

Maybe try being a nice person for a change, hell try just being a decent human, instead of a crazy bitch, and maybe then Jake will want to hang out with you.

Thanks to Penny's deeply devious mind, we convinced everyone to play 'I Never' with a 1690s twist. Instead of admitting what you've done, make up a rumor and accuse someone who has. "Spread fake gossip around town" — point at Allison. "Make up rumors about people in this room" — point at Allison. "Conjure up fake letters" — point at Allison. For someone who craves attention, she sure doesn't like the hot seat. "Have a crush on Jake" — point at Allison.

Well, Penny and I pointed at Allison. The A-Team all pointed fingers at each other. Those idiots aren't even loyal to themselves.

Now, if only I can squash this crush on Rucci. Which I apparently don't have to worry about, because it'll 'never' happen. So there's that.

Xo
Samantha Andrews - the unthinkable wonder

***

Indoor track. Not so indoors.

Freshman year, after the most tragic basketball season on record, I decided I'd join track, as a way to stay in shape for volleyball. I'm terrible. But I enjoy running hurdles. It's a weird skill. Now, it's just kinda what I do.

But some days, Coach M is a sadist.

There is just something about doing the two-mile loop through town, in the snow, over the ice, while your nose is running, and you are developing icicles in your throat that makes you want to throw up your arms and proclaim "I love running and winter track season is the best."

Nope.

No, that's not it at all. It makes you seriously question your sanity. Who the fuck goes outside on purpose in this weather? And then runs? By the way, Coach M, all our meets are indoors? INDOOR TRACK SEASON. This is fucking crazy.

Somewhere around the half-mile mark, my mind drifts back to 1690s Salem and how much fun that show was.

AND JAKE. AND RUCCI. Crazy to think if I'd played volleyball I wouldn't be friends with either of them. Whatever would the A-Team have done for fun?

It is going to be weird to just be on the crew for Dramafest.

Fuck... tripped... damnit ripped my pants (again!)... why the fuck are we running outside!

***

Dear Jesse —

Auditions for Dramafest are underway. Even though I'll never get a part — "The Breakfast Club" only has a cast of seven — I figure I'll audition, check out the new director.

Ms. Levin is having some sort of surgery and can't be our advisor this semester, so we've got a grad student from Brandeis filling in. Rachael "Raye" Portman. She seems cool. Really smart. Drinks her coffee black — total badass.

It would be kinda cool to work with someone other than Miss Levin.

Better get some rest, callbacks tomorrow. Real callbacks. Not the bullshit ones Levin does where everyone comes back for a second day.

What am I worried about? No way I'm getting a part.

Xo
Sammy

***

Annie runs past me in the hall... "did you.... check..." and around the corner she went.

I keep making my way down the hall in the opposite direction, clutching my track bag. And, here she comes again... "the workout for today... " and she's gone?

That girl... always the first to get the workout done and then she wants to do extra. I guess that's why she's the top hurdler on the team. But for real, did she go to seventh period in her track suit? The bell just rang like two minutes ago.

"Indoors today! Hall sprints..." Not even a little out of breath. And she sounds almost excited about it.

"Excellent," I yell after her, "I'll be there after I do this callback for Drama. It should be quick."

She's gone. I don't know why I bothered yelling. Doubtful she even heard me.

And with that, I take a deep breath and push open the theater door. The pangs of missing out strike me. Not being in the cast is gonna be a real downer.

***

Stupid TI-82 needs to have its programming checked. I'm frantically trying to finish my algebra homework longhand, when Archer taps me on the back, "I think your adopt-a-freshman is trying to get your attention."

I look up to see Rucci dancing in the doorway, totally unaware he's doing a spot-on impression of Animal from "The Muppet Show," waving frantically, hair seeming to have a mind of its own. The only thing he's missing is Fozzie Bear. My entire homeroom is enjoying the show.

By the time I make it to the hallway, he's sweaty as hell and completely out of breath.

"Calm down, what's wrong with you?" I ask, since I can't imagine what all this is about.

"I'm boy." Ummm, okay. Thanks for clearing that up.

"Penny. Allison." He still hasn't caught his breath.

"Penny Allison, what? What did Allison do now?"

"No, Penny IS Allison." Penny is Allison? What the... oh, wait, got it... he's checked the cast list. Holy moly, he scared me.

Now that we're on the same page, I wonder out loud, "Boy?"

"Andrew Clarke." He points to himself. Still wheezing.

"Congrats! That's great." Wait, Andrew, wasn't that Emilio Estevez? "You mean Brian, right?"

Coach M cuts in between us, "Are you joining us for homeroom today, Miss Andrews?"

"No, Andrew." Clearly lack of oxygen has gotten to his brain.

As I turn and walk back into homeroom, he blurts out after me, "You're Claire."

I'm sorry. What now? I stop dead in my tracks.

"Miss Andrews, take your seat." Coach M commands from behind his desk.

"Yes, Coach." In a daze, I find my seat. Well, not exactly my seat.

There's no way...

***