Misfit Theater Company (Wattys Winner 2018)

6. Blocking

Mrs. Permala gets our attention again and plays a review game with us. For me, it's all new, so I stay close to Patti, Moth, and Thatcher to make sure I'm not making a fool out of myself. The game works like this: Mrs. Permala says a part of the stage--stage right, stage left, center stage, upstage, downstage, or any combination of those--and we have to run to that part of the stage. At first I can't keep up, but then, between upstage right and downstage left, Thatcher grabs my hand in his warm, slightly sweaty hand, and pulls me with him. "Keep up," he says.

"Thanks," I say, though it's a little weird. I've never held a boy's hand before--like, ever--and it seems weird to be holding this giant, awkward boy's sweaty hand. But we're friends now, right? And this is theater, where everyone can yell at each other and pretend to be animals, and then go about the rest of their day as normal. Besides, our ten-minute play is about people who are attempting to be on a date after all, so a little helpful hand holding wouldn't kill me.

"Upstage center," Mrs. Permala calls, and Thatcher yanks me to the back of the stage.

"Downstage right." He pulls me toward where the audience sits on our right.

Mrs. Permala smiles. "My thespians are so brilliant. Looks like you all remember your staging. Please keep these in mind when blocking your scenes. I want them to be expertly blocked." She shifts her eyes between all of our faces, then says, "Break into your troupes and get to work."

Thatcher immediately drops my hand, but I still follow him to the backpacks where everyone else is retrieving their scripts. Today is all about blending in for me, so I do the same. Then our troupe of misfits meets up again upstage center.

I like this new vocabulary. It's different than learning English or some other language. It's like a secret code only some people know. Only those who walk down the fine arts wing, and only those who walk into the pit of the theater know these words. Like, if I said these words to Gina, she would have no idea what I meant, and it would be the first time since we met I could stump her.

Gina.

She's probably so mad at me right now, just sitting in sewing class angrily pulling the needle and thread through her fabric. She's probably stewing and thinking, "Janie doesn't care enough about me to be here." I know Gina well enough to be 99% certain that is exactly what's going on in her head right now. I wouldn't be surprised if she were working on sewing together a VooDoo doll of me right this very second.

Patti interrupts my thoughts by calling the four of us into a meeting upstage center. "Okay a few things," she starts. Her crazy, frizzy hair is controlled in a puffy braid and she wears a Catholic school girl-looking dress and black tights. The red lipstick--like, fire engine red--is back on her lips, and I wonder if that's her signature look, like how Gina always pencils long lines extending from the top lid of her eyes with her eyeliner, or like how I always just wear brown eye shadow and mascara. The only difference is that Gina and I apply our makeup at home like normal people, and Patti seems to only apply her red lipstick for second period.

"First, how is your scene going?" She asks Thatcher and I without giving us time to answer. "I think ours went well yesterday, what do you think Timothy?"

"Oh yeah, dude."

"What about the first date scene?" Patti asks.

"It's kind of crazy," I say.

Patti appears hurt by that comment and blinks a few times before asking, "Do you want to pick a new scene?"

"No, we're good," Thatcher says.

"I don't want a new scene," I clarify. "I was just saying it's funny. Like it's so weird, it's funny."

"Oh okay, good," Patti says, exhaling in relief. "Then we are all good with our scenes?" We all nod. "Okay, next topic of discussion: Layla approached Janie."

"Oh man," Moth says.

"Why? What does that mean?" I ask.

Thatcher responds, "Layla's troupe and our troupe have our eyes on the same script for the one acts."

"So?"

"So, before you came, neither of us could use it," he continues to explain, "because neither of us had the right number of people, both of our troupes only had three people in them. But now that you came and now that you're in our troupe, we have enough, so we can do the one act."

I shrug.

Thatcher gives me a slow nod. "So, Layla is probably going to try to steal you from us to get you into her troupe instead."

"Oh," I say.

"Don't go," Patti begs. She actually takes my hands and then gets down on her knees when she repeats, "Don't go. Please, don't leave our group." Patti is very dramatic. Makes sense why she's here.

"I don't want to leave your group," I say. "I don't even know Layla or anyone in her troupe."

I look over at their troupe over by the audience chairs downstage left. Layla flips her shiny hair over her shoulder and her two friends seem to hang on every word she says, staring at her intensely. The one friend is a girl I've seen around. She's also a cheerleader, I think, but I can't know for sure. She's pretty generic looking. Generic pretty, like you know she's attractive and you can't argue it, but there's nothing about her that stands out from the crowd. She's just sort of plain in her light-skinned, light-haired beauty. Then there's the other friend, a well-dressed boy in nice jeans and a nice crew neck sweater. He's very handsome in a traditional, movie star kind of way, with a sharp jawline and really bright, blue eyes. I've seen him at the lockers in the morning, so I know that his boyfriend, who he kisses passionately every morning while I'm trying to get past them to put my stuff away, thinks he's handsome too.

"Don't even think about it," Patti begs.

"They're just, like, real downers over there, you know?" Moth says.

I look away from the troupe of people I'm certain I would never be friends with. They would use me to get the one act and then forget about me. They wouldn't friend me on Facebook or teach me the warm-ups or take me by the hand and help me find my way around the stage. I don't need anyone else to think I'm stupid and worthless. I need friends.

"I'm not leaving you, I promise. I'm staying with your troupe," I tell them, and Patti leaps up from the ground to hug me.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she squeals right in my ear. "You have no idea how much this means to us."

I shrug as she pulls away. "You are all so nice to me. I wouldn't leave."

Patti smiles a huge grin. "Good," she says. "Now let's get to work on our ten-minute plays."

We split up, and Thatcher and I go back into the shadowy place even farther upstage center to rehearse.

"I think we should block the scene today," he says.

"Okay. And that means, what?"

"Blocking a scene is when you plan your movements in the scene. That's why we reviewed parts of the stage."

"Oh. Okay, well just tell me where to go, you're probably better at that stuff."

"Will do," he says, his hands on his hips. He scans the area, then runs off into the places backstage--he tells me they're called "the wings"--and returns with two wobbly wooden chairs. "These will work," he says. "Ready to go on a first date for the third time?"

I laugh. "Yes."