Babe in Boyland (9 page)

“I’m used to them, Mr. Pratt,” Summer calls from the stage. “I’ve done the show be—”

“Yes, we all know, darling. You’ve done the show before.” His tone is catty. I like him! Anyone who talks to Summer like that is a friend of mine.

“I’m just saying . . .” Summer grumbles.

“Yes, you’re ‘just saying,’ aren’t you?” He folds his arms and squints at Summer and Emilio, who are still onstage. “What are you two doing up there? I hope you’re not rehearsing behind my back!”

“No!” Emilio says. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Ah, the dreaded ‘hanging out.’ You’re not flirting, I hope! Or God forbid anything else. It completely destroys onstage chemistry if you’re groping each other in the wings.”

I swear Emilio turns so red he looks like he might require medical attention.

Mr. Pratt gets down to business then, ordering everyone around. He spends lots of time talking to the fat guy with the mega-soda, the tired guy, and Earl—his crew. It’s the first night of tech week, which means a lot of boring standing around for the actors. They gather onstage but don’t get to run scenes all the way through the way they would at a normal rehearsal; instead they go from cue to cue, saying a line and then waiting endlessly while people run around changing gels and spiking set pieces. It’s a total drag.

I have to say, though, observing it from this angle is kind of fascinating. Since there’s so much downtime in between cues, I get to eavesdrop on the conversations that inevitably bubble up in the long pauses, even though Mr. Pratt keeps telling them in no uncertain terms to shut up.

Chloe’s really working it with Josh. Of course I’ve seen her in action before, but this is different. Usually I’m—well, there. As another girl, I mean. When you’re part of a scene, it’s a lot harder to observe it. Now I get to sit back and analyze her flirting style with perfect objectivity. Every single time Josh tries to engage her in conversation, she either ignores him or responds with the snarkiest retort possible. It’s sort of shocking, actually. I can’t believe I never noticed it before! She’s incredibly bitchy. And yeah, okay, so bitchyness is sort of her style, even around Darcy and me. Here’s the difference, though: With us, there’s always an underlying affection and loyalty. With Josh, it’s just . . . bitchy. Yet it has an almost magical effect on him. The more she abuses him, the more determined he becomes to win her over. Either he gets off on the thrill of the hunt or he’s a masochist.

“You coming to my party Friday night?” Josh asks her as they wait for the lighting guy to adjust the upstage Fresnel.

“A party on opening night?” she sneers. “Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“Not if you’re there,” he says.

Now he’s Prince Charmalot. I think of what a jerk he was to me today—well, Nat, anyway—and roll my eyes.

“I don’t know.” She examines her nails. “I might be busy.”

“Come on! You’ve never been to my house before.” He puts a hand on her elbow. “I can take you up to my room and show you my etchings.”

Chloe makes a sound in her throat. “Cheesy!”

“See what you do to me? I’m forced to use really bad pickup lines.”

She ignores this and studies her split ends with intense concentration. If I didn’t know better, I’d seriously think she was giving him the brush-off. How does she manage that? Not to be unkind, but of the three of us, I always considered Chloe the least promising at acting. Now I see she’s really quite convincing when she’s writing her own script.

Tyler comes over and hands Chloe a shawl. “Ms. Honaker thought you might want this.”

Chloe shoots him a withering glare. “Why?”

“Uh, because your costume has a—you know—”

“A
shawl
,” she says, like she’s addressing child, “it’s called a shawl.”

“Yeah. So she wants you to get used to it. As a prop.”

She looks utterly disgusted. “It’s a costume element, not a prop.”

“I just meant—”

“Whatever,
manservant
! Here, I’ll drape it over me. Does that make you happy?”

Josh laughs.

“It’s n-not me,” Tyler stammers, “Ms. Honaker. She wants—”

“Yeah. I got that,” Chloe says in a tone that clearly says
You’re dismissed.

Okay, can I just say? My friend Chloe? Nowhere in sight. Her evil twin? Very much present. I mean really, what was that? When she’s Cruella with Josh it doesn’t bother me—the guy’s been nothing but rude to me all day. But Tyler? He’s smart and kind and obviously just trying to help. He’s even cute if you really look at him! Those pretty gray eyes? The expressive eyebrows? And Chloe, my friend since the second grade, who deep down has a very big, very generous heart, has sweet little Tyler so freaked out he’s stammering. Articulate, funny Tyler develops an instant speech impediment—that’s how intimidating she is.

How’s Chloe ever going to get with anyone but assholes like Josh if she behaves so bitchily? And if she gets screwed over by him, who can she possibly blame except herself?

Darcy’s way on the other side of the spectrum. While Chloe treats every guy like something disgusting she’s just scraped off the bottom of her shoe, Darcy treats them like the strangers her mom warned her about. Josh doesn’t pay any attention to her, and she doesn’t dare attempt to engage him in conversation. Tyler, though, seems kind of interested. He keeps making lame jokes and checking out her reaction with sideways glances.

“Hey, what if Lady Bracknell had pink hair?” Tyler suggests.

“We’re getting Darcy a wig,” snaps Ms. Honaker impatiently. “It should be here tomorrow.”

Darcy’s eyes dart from one face to another, but she says nothing.

“I know, but I’m just saying, it would be cool. This proper old lady with hot pink hair? Maybe we should set the whole thing in the eighties. Jack could be like a hair band dude, and Algernon could be a break-dancer.”

This gets a tiny smile from Darcy. I totally expect her to join in with casting and costume ideas—she loves bad eighties everything—but she looks at the floor and stays silent.

Frankly, I’m mystified. I know for a fact that Chloe and Darcy are two of the coolest girls in existence. Yet who are they around guys—at least these ones? Chloe’s PMS personified and Darcy . . . well, Darcy’s not saying a word. She’s been silent all night, except when Mr. Pratt orders her to say a line. My colorful, fearless friend has displayed the personality of a potato.

Why have I never really noticed this before? Sure, I know Chloe can be harsh and her flirting style’s a bit acerbic. I know Darcy often gets shy around guys she doesn’t know. That’s part of why she’s wasted so much time clinging to Rob, I guess; he’s one of the few guys she feels comfortable around. But watching Chloe and Darcy tonight is so eye-opening. It’s like seeing them for the first time.

This leads me to the scariest question of all: What am
I
like around guys? Both Chloe and Darcy have more relationship experience than I do. You’d think that would make them more comfortable, less likely to play head games. If they seem this unnatural—this unlike themselves—how must I seem?

Weird. I’m going to have to talk to them about this. Our rendezvous in the prop closet is suddenly more urgent than ever.

It seems like I’ve been waiting in this stuffy little room for hours. It’s pitch-black, but I’m afraid to turn on the light because someone might notice. I’m sure being discovered in here all alone for no apparent reason will do wonders for my already firmly established reputation as freak of the month. Luckily there’s a beanbag in the far corner, so I’m sitting here, cross-legged, reflecting on my very strange day.

Finally, at ten twenty, I get a text from Darcy:
Are you in the prop closet?

I write back:
Yeah! Where are you?

Coming in a minute. Trying to get C away from J. Arg!

Shaking my head, I write back:
No kidding . . .

Shaking my head, I write back:
No kidding
. . .

Five minutes later Darcy bursts in, followed by Chloe. The room explodes with light.

“What are you doing in the dark?” Chloe demands.

“I didn’t want to get caught.”

“Since when are you so paranoid?” she asks, picking her way around a plaster statue in her heels.

“Um, since I decided to go undercover at an all-boys prep school, maybe?”

Darcy comes right over and plops down beside me on the beanbag. I’m not usually super-demonstrative, but it’s so great to see her again that I give her a hug.

“I missed you guys,” I say. “Being a dude is weird.”

Darcy’s eyes go wide. “Is it incredible? It must be so fun!”

“Not at all!” I hang my head. “I’m a complete dweeb. It’s embarrassing.”

Chloe sits down on a nearby stool and brushes lint from her pants. “So you’re finally getting in touch with your inner loser.”

“Seriously!” I whine. “I’m like the social equivalent of herpes.”

“Attractive metaphor.” Chloe leans forward. “Honestly, though, what did Josh say about me?”

I pull a face. “Are you kidding? He won’t even talk to me! He treats me like dirt.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Really? We’ll have to change that. What did you do to make everyone hate you so much?”

“It’s not what I did or didn’t
do
. . . it’s who I am. As a guy, I’m a loser.”

Darcy puts an arm around me. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Trust me, it is. I don’t fit in. Around here, that’s the kiss of death.”

Chloe squints at me and tilts her head. “Maybe we haven’t got the right look for you just yet. You need a stronger jawline.”

“I’m afraid plastic surgery is out of my price range.”

“I’m thinking a little shading through here.” She leans closer and touches my jaw.

“Great! That’s an excellent idea. I’m sure
makeup
will help with my credibility immensely.”

Chloe leans back in surprise. “Why so snarky?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . kind of like information overload.”

Darcy twists toward me. “Yeah? So what did you learn? Did you get any answers for your article? Dish!”

Sweet Darcy. She looks so eager. I want to give a full report, I really do, but somehow my brain won’t cooperate. I want to talk about the rehearsal I just spied on—the stuff I saw and thought about—but all at once I have no idea how to formulate any of that into words. Here are my friends, turning to me with expectant faces, ready to listen, and I’m just sitting here with my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

Just then Darcy’s ringtone goes off, distracting us from the report I can’t seem to spit out. She reads the screen, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “It’s Rob, isn’t it? God, why doesn’t he just leave you in peace?!”

Darcy flashes me an impish look. “He’s been texting me all day.”

“He senses she’s moving on, so what’s he do? Tries to lure her back. Dude’s a little control freak.”

I put my hand over Darcy’s. “You’re not going back with him, are you?”

She shakes her head, but I can see it’s hard for her. “I’m resisting.”

“Good. He’s messed with you for too long—time to be strong.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “And he’s not even cute!”

I look at my watch. “It’s getting late. There might be a curfew in the dorms. I don’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions.”

Darcy looks disappointed. “But you haven’t dished yet.”

“There’s not much to tell yet.” I feel suddenly exhausted, and the prospect of trying to recount the whole day is overwhelming.

“You okay?” Darcy studies my face carefully. She’s always been attentive to my subtle shifts in mood; it’s part of what makes her such a good friend. Right now, though, I just want to crawl under the covers and give in to sweet oblivion.

“Yeah. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“I guess this won’t cheer you up.” Darcy pulls a folder out of her bag and hands it to me. “But here’s your homework from today.”