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I roll my eyes at him. “You’re dismissed, Mackenzie.”
“Mmkay, but we’re going to revisit this sometime,” he says and backs slowly out into the hall. He winks at Jessie before disappearing from sight.
“You’re going to be a very good therapist one day, but you won’t be mine!” I yell after him, even though yelling is obviously not necessary because everyone in this apartment can hear everything. Which I didn’t really care about until the thing everyone was hearing about was my feelings.
“Hey, I think I’m going to call it an early night,” I say, and Jessie takes the cue, hopping off my bed.
She leans against the doorframe before leaving, pausing as if she’s going to say something, but she just blows me a kiss and closes my door.
Sinking back into my pillows, I scrub my hands over my face again, glad I didn’t bother with makeup tonight. I’d planned to come home and film a video for my social media, but on my way back to the dorm I saw a glimpse of Greg and Anna holding hands. I didn’t want them to see me, so I hid behind a bush.
Seeing them together was like being at the beach, feeling the waves just casually rolling against your ankles, when all of a sudden a wave comes out of nowhere and knocks you off your feet.
Greg, Anna, and I spent a lot of time on video and phone calls this summer. Every video call, I’d sit on my porch at home, wishing I was with either one of them. Even now, I can’tuntangle the taste of lemonade from my feeling of longing for them. They walked by, and it tasted like lemons, and I started to miss them so much that I sat behind that bush and cried for a few minutes. By the time I came out from hiding, I was feeling so low I couldn’t find it in me to film, much less to make the effort of doing up my puffy face. The only thing that sounded good was lying on the floor of my bedroom listening toMerrily We Roll Along.
And that’s where I was for two hours until Jessie and Mac came home.
But why should I spend my time being sad when there are so many other things I could be?
So I do what I do best: I push aside my negative feelings, sending them off to wherever they go so I won’t have to feel them anymore, and as I crawl into bed for the night, I resolve to be the old me again, or at least the version of me that doesn’t have romantic entanglements. Or maybe it’s the new me, because at least the new me knows better.
If there’s evera time and place to be your weirdest self, it’s in the theater.
I’m sitting on one of the benches in the lobby, waiting for my audition partner, Dallas, to arrive, and all around me, other theater majors are doing vocal warm-ups, reenacting scenes from last year’s one-acts, practicing auditions for other plays coming up this year, or moving their bodies in odd ways to “wake up their muses.” Not one person in this lobby is self-conscious, and there’s so much ego in here that I can practically taste it.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t That Bitch Jade McKinney,” says a voice I’d recognize anywhere.
“That’sMrs.That Bitch to you, Dallas,” I say and swipe my leg at my friend. When my foot makes contact with their leg, they fake a dramatic fall to the ground, dropping like we were taught in movement class: leg, hip, side, then arm outstretched to cradle their head.
“Michael Flowers would give you an A-plus for that fall,” I say, leaning forward with a big grin on my face.
One of our three theater professors, Michael Flowers—known for being stingy with high scores—always teaches the movement class—a popular one among students since that’s where we learn the basics of stage combat.
“Michael Flowers wouldn’t give me an A-plus if I slipped him a hundred-dollar bill,” Dallas says, getting up and sitting next to me on the bench. They wrap their arms around my shoulders and plant a big kiss on my cheek. “How are you, gorgeous lady?”
“Ready to audition for these one-acts,” I say. “I’m surprised you agreed to audition with me, though. I thought you’d be prepping forA Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
The Shakespeare play is our main show this year, performed on the big stage in the theater building we call Main Stage. Dallas has had their eye on the role of Puck since it was announced. They love Shakespeare because as they will tell anyone who’ll listen that “Shakespeare is gender-bendy as fuck.” Which is probably exactly how the playwright wanted to be described after he died.
“I can do both, because what is senior year if you’re not trying to break your own spirit by doing everything? Are you just doing this?” They gesture to the lobby, where we’re all waiting to audition for the student-directed one-act plays.
While shows likeMidsummerare full-length plays, the one-acts are just one act of a play: snippets between ten and thirty minutes long, directed by senior theater majors. I could havedirected, but I don’t really have an interest in it. There’s only one thing I love more than being on stage.
“I’ll do makeup and costume design forMidsummer. Shakespeare isn’t really my thing.”
“That’s perfect for you,” Dallas says.
“And Puck is perfect for you,” I say.
Dallas beams. Their obsession with Shakespeare is well-known in our theater cohort. In Beginning Acting, when we all had to choose a monologue to perform, Dallas was the only soul brave enough to pick Shakespeare. They’re also probably the only one in the department who could have pulled it off. Even our Beginning Acting professor was impressed.
“I’m so glad we’re auditioning together,” I say.
“I’m hoping we get cast together,” they say.
“Ooh, Jade and Dallas back together again!” I practically squeal.
Dallas and I were paired up for a one-act calledPancakesour freshman year. The play ended with my character choking on pancakes, murdered at the hand of my roommate. Our student director, Nikki, had her hands full with me and Dallas, but to this day, it’s one of my fondest memories in the theater. It’s probably why I keep coming back to the one-acts year after year.
