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I always do fine when it’s just us lobbing words back and forth, but as soon as we get into rehearsal and I’m supposed to “be in character,” it’s a different story.
Last week’s rehearsal was the best so far. I only had to ask for line five times—something Jade insisted we celebrate by getting a post-rehearsal ice cream in the caf despite that not really seeming like something to celebrate. But Jade likes to celebrate small things, and that’s something I really like about her.
“Are you still going to the party?” I ask.
I’ve never been, but I know about the department party at The Row tonight. Every year, one of the frat houses lets the theater department use their house for a party—some tradition that started years ago, when a brother at the fraternity was a theater major. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard the stories. No one parties like a theater kid.
“Obviously,” Jade says. “We’ll be out of here by eight-thirty? Nine? It just means I have to be late. And not, like . . . fashionably late. Like annoyingly late.”
“What time does the party start?”
“Usually around nine or so.”
“Then you have plenty?—”
“Ian, I’m not going to the party looking like this.” She gestures to her outfit, which is a pair of light gray joggers, tennis shoes, and a lavender graphic tee that she’s cut into a crop top. As usual, her bright red hair is in two space buns on top of her head.
“Why not? I think you look cute,” I say.
I don’t realize what I’ve said until she sits up, propping herself up on her elbows.
“Say what now?” she asks, teasing.
I clear my throat and adjust in my seat. “What’s wrong with that outfit for the party?” I ask, avoiding what I said entirely.
She waits, letting me stew in my awkwardness, her mouth curved into an impish grin. “I want to go back to the part where you think I’m cute.”
“I said you look cute. In that outfit. Specifically.”
“Ohhh, I see, so maybe a different top and it wouldn’t be so cute?” She sits all the way up.
“Right, yeah, or maybe if your hair was just down or . . . or something.” I’m grasping at straws, because we both know she actually looks cute all the time, no matter what top she’s wearing or how her hair is. I fidget, gesturing then clasping my fingers together before wiping my hands on my jeans.
“Oh, if my hair was down. Like this?” She removes her hair ties and shakes out her hair. It’s unkempt and wild, falling just over her shoulders, and curled from where it’s been in the buns. And, of course, she’s even more gorgeous now, somehow.
“Yeah, absolutely hideous now.”
“What’s hideous?” Anastasia asks as she breezes onto the stage. Madison trails behind her clutching two gigantic binders to her chest like they’re precious artifacts instead of just two scripts for a college one-act. “Jade, do you need a brush?”
“The ending of theGame of ThronesTV series is hideous, that’s what,” Jade says, ignoring Anastasia’s jab about a brush, climbing up to her feet and dusting off the back of her legs. She slides her hair ties into her bag and shakes out her hair.
“Did you watch that show?” I ask, a little surprised.
“Of course I did. It was a cultural reset. As if I would miss that,” Jade says.
“That last season really was awful,” Madison says.
“Atrocious storytelling,” Anastasia adds, donning her accent for the evening. British.
“Right?” I say. “It’s like, don’t set the story up to go one way and then hard left without any explanation.” This is one of those topics that gets me fired up from zero to sixty in no time at all.
Anastasia and Madison are nodding enthusiastically, rolling their eyes in agreement and equal frustration. Jade, however, looks bored.
“Don’t even get me started. Every time I think about a certain character’s death, I get choked up,” Anastasia says and then claps her hands suddenly. We all startle. “Onthatnote, let’s get started then, shall we? Bring that emotion into the scene with you. The frustration, the sadness, the disappointment, the confusion . . . bring it to this moment. Let’s start from the top. Places, please.”
Jade walks off stage right, and I sit on the makeshift couch. I try to take Anastasia’s advice and channel my feelings aboutGame of Thronesinto my character. I tell myself that IamBen, and I feel the things I’m feeling because I’ve just experienced something horrific. I’m between a rock and a hard place, and I have to make the hardest decision of my life.
The scene starts, and at first, it feels the same. I feel like I’m playacting; like I’m just me, pretending, saying lines. I’ve always assumed this is how it feels to be an actor. That everyone just feels a little silly, being so fake.
