Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

6. Blocking

"Okay," I whisper. "What's next?"

"Shake your feet," he says, and not even a second later, Mrs. Permala says, "Now shake your feet, my thespians. Left first."

"See?" Thatcher mouths. Everyone stands on one foot to shake the other one loose. Then we do the same on the other side.

We finish the warm-up off with some head and neck exercises and one strange vocal warm-up they all seem to love.

"Repeat after me and do what I do," Mrs. Permala instructs.

"I like this part," Thatcher whispers to me.

"I'm going to watch you," I tell him, since I still can't see Mrs. Permala over everyone else.

He turns to face me, so I do the same. Now everyone is facing forward but us.

"Hello, my subjects," Mrs. Permala starts.

We all repeat, and I follow Thatcher's movements, opening my arms as if to welcome someone in for a hug.

"I am your ruler."

"I am your ruler," everyone says, making fists in the air. I smile, holding in laughter. Thatcher is absolutely serious, though, and he mouths, "Repeat."

"You do what I say."

"You do what I say," I say along with everyone else and follow Thatcher's lead by raising my fists in the air before pounding them against our hearts.

"Or it will be off with your heads."

"Or it will be off with your heads." We take our fingers across our necks as if to slice them. Why do they all love this? It's super creepy.

"I am all powerful."

"I am all powerful," we say, shaking our fists to the sky.

"You shall not defeat me."

We repeat, wagging our fingers. Thatcher and I stare each other down as we do this, wagging our fingers angrily at each other and making faces. I nearly laugh at his angry face. His nostrils are flared, his dark, sort of bushy brows are furrowed in a funny V shape.

"If you want my kingdom, come and take it."

We repeat, pushing back the sleeves of our shirts, but since I don't have any, I just mime it. Thatcher glares at me, and I glare in return, though my smile betrays me.

"But prepare to lose it all."

We repeat, pausing between the last three words to really make our message sound angry.

"I own you," Mrs. Permala yells at the top of her lungs.

I take a deep breath, and Thatcher and I square up for a yell-off. "I own you," we repeat, pointing at each other.

"You will never rule me," Mrs. Permala yells again.

We shake our fingers at each other now as we yell again: "You will never rule me."

Silence falls over the stage, and Mrs. Permala gently says, "Thank you. Let's review the parts of the stage now before we get to work on our ten minute plays."

Thatcher and I release our stiff poses from the warm-up and laugh quietly as everyone comes back together from their spaced out places around the stage. I exhale deeply and feel a weight lifted. It definitely was a weird warm-up, but it did its job to push away the extra nerves I carried with me to class.

Thatcher extends his arm to shake my hand. "Good work," he tells me. "You really had me convinced you were a ruler for a second there."

I shake his hand. Still clammy like yesterday, but warm now. "You too," I say and we smile at each other.