Today Thatcher and I are scheduled to perform our ten-minute play for the class. We've been rehearsing and we're ready--I know all my lines by heart--so now I just have to get over my nervousness about performing, especially now that Gina and I are fighting. Knowing that someone in the audience is waiting for me to fail is definitely intimidating. But I have to get it together.

I'm sitting in the audience between Patti and Thatcher, waiting for our turn to perform. We clap for the last scene—I honestly can't even tell you what it was about, because I was too busy running through my lines in my head—when Mrs. Permala calls, "Thatcher Gorsky and Janie Myers."

Just like everyone else who has gone before us, Thatcher and I step out from the audience and onto the stage. Patti pats me on the back as I pass her and whispers, "Break a leg," a theater phrase that means "good luck." Moth is seated on the other side of her and he gives me a thumbs up. I smile and reciprocate the gesture. He's a weird one.

I'm so nervous, I feel like I could shake right out of my skin, and I'm just sort of floating over myself. My hair gelled back in a tight pony tail, my black sweater, and my black church pants. Thatcher wears all black too. That's the requirement for performing these scenes since it's a "black box theater." But Thatcher's outfit is much more casual than mine, and I remember the story Thatcher told me about the mess his mom left their family in. I wonder if Thatcher has fancy clothes for stuff like this.

I don't see him as a casual guy in a black zip up hoodie and baggy black pants type, yet that's what he's wearing. I see him as maybe a guy who doesn't have black pants that fit him, because he doesn't go to church or anywhere nice, really. He's a guy who maybe didn't have a black shirt that was clean this morning, because seeing how his dad spends his time, Thatcher probably does the laundry himself, when he isn't studying or helping take care of his brothers, that is.

Thatcher and I take our props from the wings. I grab the chairs and he grabs the table, none of which are heavy. They're made of plastic, like the ones in Thatcher's attic.

I sit down in my chair for the scene to start and take a deep breath. You can do this, Janie, I tell myself.

"Scene," Mrs. Permala calls from her control booth and the lights dim over the audience. Now the only lights are on me and Thatcher.

He walks on stage with a forced smile on his face. I do my best not to laugh, like some of the people in the audience are. He's funny, and it's so effortless for him. Comedy is in his bones, and I suddenly feel super guilty for possibly compromising his ability to act in the funny one act Patti wants.

I have to stay focused.

"Hi there, are you Clarice?" he asks in character.

That's my cue.

"That's me. Which would make you George?"

He sits across from me. "That's right. Wow, you're a stunner. I knew that site matched us together for a reason."

"Thanks. It's nice to finally talk to you face to face, instead of between a screen."

"Agreed. Thank you for meeting me. I was afraid I would be stood up."

I check my watch, which I actually have on today. I borrowed it from my mom since no one my age actually has a watch anymore. "You're the one who is fifteen minutes late," I say with a hint of the actual bitterness I feel toward Gina still. Good, I think. Now people will think I'm a good actress.

He opens his eyes in fake surprise. "Oh, so this is how it's going to be."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Now it's that I'm tardy, then it will be that I left my socks on the floor, then that there are dishes in the sink, and then that the kids are crying for Daddy to come play."

I hold my palms up for him to slow down. "Woah, woah, woah. Who said anything about all that? You're jumping way ahead."

"What do you mean?" he asks dumbly. It's perfect for his character, and I hear giggles from the audience.

"You don't talk about living together and having kids on the first date. It scares people off."

"I see."

I sigh loud enough for the audience to hear. "What?"

"So now you're bossing me around? Now it's don't say this, don't say that. What will it be tomorrow? Don't invite your secretary to our Christmas party? Or don't wear that shirt now that you've gained all the sympathy baby weight?"

I sigh loudly again. "Let's just order our coffee."

"Fine, whatever you say your majesty."

I pretend to look over a menu above my head, and then I order a venti iced mocha from the invisible barista.

"Wow, high maintenance."

I hear someone whisper from the audience, a little too loudly, and I know it's on purpose. It's Gina's voice, and she says, "Wow, she's, like, not even acting. She is high maintenance." Then I hear Layla and that other girl in their group, Taylor, laugh.

This ten-minute play suddenly feels too real, like whatever is going on with me and Gina is now up front instead of the scene between George and Clarice. Thatcher breaks character long enough to give me a knowing look, like he's trying to tell me to keep going and to ignore her.

From the corner of my eye, I see Moth lift himself up in his chair. He hushes Gina loudly. Maybe he does have morals, I think. I take a deep breath and regain my character.

"Thank you. Anyway, George, what will you order?"

"Quad venti soy caramel macchiato."

Laughter sounds from the dark audience, so I wait a second before saying, "Yeah, that's much less high maintenance than my order."

The scene continues, and while I can't break away from what I've memorized, I also can't get Gina's cruelty out of my head. All I can do is just focus on the lines I've practiced and keep going until finally, we are nearing the end of it.

"You know what? I forget that I have, um... I have a thing... it's really important." The audience laughs. I hate that Gina said what she did earlier, because now I'm second guessing whether they are laughing at my character or at me. This scene just needs to end.

"Are you leaving?" he asks as I stand.

"Yeah, you know what? I really enjoyed this, but... um... yeah, I'm out of here." I mime swinging a purse around my shoulder and march off the stage, like Gina did yesterday at the mall.

I'm in the wings, safe from Gina, when I hear Thatcher deliver the last line: "I had a great time too. Hey barista, I'll take an iced mocha."

The audience laughs and claps, and I return to the stage to clear the chairs back into the wings. As I walk back out, Thatcher holds out his hand to me. At first, I'm confused, but then I remember, it's our time to bow. I smile at him in case he is ready for that, and maybe it's because he's on stage and performing for these people who don't know him as well as I do, but he smiles back at me. It's a crooked, closed mouth smile, but I can tell by the way his brown eyes narrow with the motion that it's genuine.

I take his hand, which is as balmy as ever, and feel the connection between us, however awkward it is. We raise our clasped hands into the air and take a bow as our class claps. I hear Moth cheer for us and then Patti's voice chimes in, "Bravo!"

Then I hear Gina coo at us, and Layla says, "What an... interesting couple."

My cheeks burn, my chest feels like it's caving in. I drop Thatcher's hand and my smile, and quickly leave the stage. I'm more than embarrassed—I'm mortified.

"Thank you, thespians," Mrs. Permala says from the control booth, her voice projected over the space. "You may take your seats again." I've already taken mine, but Thatcher follows me back to where we were sitting earlier. I don't dare make eye contact with him or respond to him when he tells me I did a good job. Gina, I know, is watching and sharing my secrets with Layla and Taylor, so I can't provide any evidence to prove there are any feelings between me and Thatcher. We are just friends who did a scene together. That's it.

***

End of Part 1

Chapter 13 "Break a Leg" will continue in the next part...