Читать книгу Be More Chill - Ned Vizzini - Страница 9

At the end of the day I walk Middle Borough’s elongated and well-painted hall—my school has one giant hallway that you enter in the middle of, so it looks like the Great Wall of Metuchen, NJ. At one end you get the echoes of the swim team; at the other you get the sound of the theatre door opening and closing as people file in for the first play rehearsal, where I’m going.

So far, in high school (I too have an extensive middle school career), I’ve been in The Tempest and You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown to rave reviews, both times, from my mom. I like everything about school plays—being at school after school, learning my lines in the bathroom, how the performance always seems totally screwed up a week before it goes on but then comes together at the last minute, how the second show always manages to be better than the first, how everyone takes their bow at the end and the parents are standing, showing off their digital camcorders and your costume is hot but you figure, OK, that’s the price of my art and then…Bam! Cast party! I love cast parties. I’ve never been to one, actually, truthfully, but I’m sure they’re great.

“Hey, you’re in this play?” I ask Mark Jackson from math as I sit down next to him. Mark’s my friend, sort of.

“Yeah, I’m in this dilly deal,” he says. He’s playing Game Boy SP. “What’s it called again?”

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I say. “You don’t even know the name of your own play?” Only I don’t say that.

“Midsummer Night’s Drizz-eem. Gotcha.”

I sit down two places from him in a seat that looks like it was stained with condom residue—not that I would know, except for that one time in my room when I was messing around with one to see what it would look like in the mirror—

“Hot. Hot to death,” Mark says.

“What?”

“I’m talking to the game, yo. Mind your beeswax.”

I look over at Mark’s game, or, uh, “beeswax”, as the case might be. It looks he’s driving an SUV on underground train tracks shooting a high-powered rifle at homeless people.

“No peeking, dorkus malorkus,” Mark says, snatching his Game Boy away, imperilling his driving and shooting. “I’m the only one in the school with KAP Three; you gotta pay me five bucks to look at it.”

“What’s KAP Three?”

“Kill All People. Three.”

“Uh…”

“You never heard of Kill All People? What’s wrong with you?” Mark eyes me. I sit silent, keeping my head and mouth steady, staring ahead. After a few seconds, Mark slides down a seat like I have herpes (or lupus, right? Lupus); then I move down a row.

“Fuck, Jeremy, you don’t have to be such a bitch,” he remarks as I take my seat. Just then Christine, uncharacteristically late for something, walks down the aisle past us. She rolls her eyes at Mark and while she’s doing it, it is possible that they land on my person for a millisecond or two. Wow. When’s the teacher getting here?

“Aaaaaaaaaaaa!” Mr Reyes shrieks from the entrance to the theatre. “Mwaaaaaaaa! Greetings all! I’m not sure you realise it, but I have a very powerful falsetto voice! Baaaaaaaaaaa!”

“Damn, this dude is fruitaliciously homorific,” Mark says behind me. Little digital homeless people groan as they die on his Game Boy SP.

“It is wonderful to see you here!” Mr Reyes gets on stage behind a mic, which he does not need. “I am glad to have such a captive audience for my voice. Laaaaaaaaa! I am also very glad to have such a wonderful cast; we are going to have a great time in the play.” Mr Reyes is tall and skinny with no facial hair; he wears a suit and tie. He teaches English for his day job.

“So let’s see who’s here, and I will give you all your parts. Jeremy Heere!”

“Yes,” I get up.

“There’s no need to stand. You simply must know that you have gotten the role of Lysander. This is a very demanding role that will take much of your time.”

“Thank you, Mr Reyes.”

“Jake?”

Jake Dillinger is in this play too? Guess it isn’t enough to be on the football team and nail a Czechoslovakian model and be a leader in the SU. Down in front, he shifts in his seat slightly to acknowledge Mr Reyes.

“You are going to be Demetrius, another tough role. Get ready to memorise muchly.”

“Cool,” Jake says.

“Puck? Where is my Puck? Christine Caniglia?”

Christine is now down in front, near Jake; all I see is her blonde hair.

“You’re kidding!” she squirts. “I’m Puck?”

“You, young lady, are Puck.”

“Yes!” Christine jumps out of her seat pumping her fist. Everyone eyes her with respect and swelled-up cutesy pride, or maybe that’s just me; when girls get happy and jump out of their seats, like on The Price Is Right, it’s sweet to watch.

“Don’t get too excited, Christine; it’s a disgusting number of lines. Maaaaaaah!” Mr Reyes moves on through Hermia, Helena, Titania, Bottom and about a dozen other people. Mark, behind me with his Game Boy, gets to be some kind of cross-dressing elf. That’s comforting.

“OK, those are the roles; now we must have the read-through. Ladies, fetch two metal chairs each and bring them on stage.”

“Wuh?” The girls down in front look confused. (It’s funny how they look confused from behind, with their shoulders bunched up.) Christine is the only one I hear: “How come we have to get the chairs?”

“Come come, it’s a trade-off each time,” Mr Reyes says. “The men will be on chair-fetching tomorrow. Speaking of which, men! Pick a representative to go to the Teachers’ Lounge and have them microwave my Hot Pocket!”

“For the whole play?” I ask. I don’t want to get stuck with that job.

“No, Jeremy, just for today. Next time the girls will pick someone to go.”

“I don’t understand,” Mark says behind me, actually pausing KAP Three. “Could you explain that again, please?”

“Hugggggh,” Mr Reyes says. “On day one the girls will set up the chairs and the guys will pick a representative to get my Hot Pocket; on day two the guys will set up the chairs and the girls will pick a representative to get my Hot Pocket; then it repeats…does anyone have a question about this?”

Yes, of course: someone up front has one, and another, and another. When we finally get it all sorted out, this kid Jonah with a lisp fetches the Hot Pocket as the girls lug furniture and then Mr Reyes brings us all on stage, where we sit in a circle of chairs (the girls made it a bit small) as if it were time for Duck-Duck-Goose, but really it’s a read-through of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and really I’m not a little kid; I’m in high school. I have to remember that.