Joelle. She means everything she says. At least at the moment she says it.
A geeky little freshman with carroty hair glances back at us. "What are you looking at?" Joelle snaps. She pokes me in the arm. "I wonder which of these skinny children are here to try out for the play? I'm sure we're doing Antigone. Ms. Godwin does Antigone every four
75 years. I don't have to tell you that the part belongs to me. No one here can do a better Antigone, I don't care what color their hair is!"
"You're right about that," I say. I'm not here for the tryouts, I just want to know what play we're doing so that I can think about the set. I've worked on every set since I was thirteen years old and too shy to audition for a part. Sometimes I have a big job, and sometimes it's a small one. Today I'm hoping for an opera set in medieval Venice so that I'm forced to figure out how to build a bunch of working canals, so that I don't have a single brain cell free to think about anything else. Not one synapse firing off a teeny tiny replica of a blow job over and over again. Not one stray neuron pulsing about Luke DeSalvio and how he's a hero and I'm a whore.
Joelle reaches into her bag and pulls out a list. "Here are some more names I came up with." Joelle's last name is Lipshitz, which, she says, is unacceptable for a human being, let alone an actress. She's been trying to come up with something glam and different, something she will adopt when she gets out of high school and runs off to New York City to become famous (or when her dad drives her to and from the city to become famous).
I look at the paper. She's written:
Joelle Paris
Joelle Roma
Joelle Asia
76 Joelle Nepal
Joelle Geneva
Joelle St. Petersburg
Joelle Quebec
"What do you think?" she says.
"I'm sensing a theme," I tell her.
"Any favorites?"
"You forgot Joelle Boise. Or Joelle Long Island."
She whips the paper from my hand. "You are totally too traumatized to take me seriously right now. I swear I'm going to kill whoever did this to you. I'm going to shove this boot down their throats."
"You already said that."
"Then I'm going to run them over with my car."
"You mean your dad's car."
The carroty redhead in front of us risks another glance, and Joelle shrieks, "You, too, if you don't stop staring at my friend! She is not a zoo exhibit!"
Of course, everyone turns around and stares at me as if I were a zoo exhibit. Joelle tells them all to STOP STARING!! JUST STOP!! Just then the side door swings open and Ms. Godwin marches into the auditorium. Ms. Godwin is aptly named, tall as a goddess, with a low oboe voice that sounds as if she's talking through a tube of wrapping paper. She is wearing what she always wears, a long, flowing top and skirt and sharp-heeled character shoes that snap when she walks.
77 "What I would like," she says as she moves to stand in front of the stage, "is for you to stop shrieking, Ms. Lipshitz. They can hear you in Sri Lanka."
Everyone settles down--including Joelle--and waits for Ms. Godwin to tell us which play we'll be doing, and thus what our lives will be like for the next two months. But first we have to get through her customary "wel- come" speech. I mouth the words with her:
"Hello. I am Victoria Godwin, Ms. Godwin to you. Ms., not Miss, not Mrs., Godwin. For those of you who are new to the school or perhaps new to this program, I am the drama teacher. Which means that I am the queen of this auditorium. What I say goes. You don't have a vote and you don't have influence. When I select some- one for a part, it is that person's part. If I select you for the set design team, then the set design team is where you belong. Begging me will not change any of my deci- sions, nor will flattery, tantrums, gifts, or flowers. You will attend every rehearsal you need to attend. You will perform every task you need to perform. I will not police you, I will not scream at you, I will not call your parents, I will not ask for
A geeky little freshman with carroty hair glances back at us. "What are you looking at?" Joelle snaps. She pokes me in the arm. "I wonder which of these skinny children are here to try out for the play? I'm sure we're doing Antigone. Ms. Godwin does Antigone every four
75 years. I don't have to tell you that the part belongs to me. No one here can do a better Antigone, I don't care what color their hair is!"
"You're right about that," I say. I'm not here for the tryouts, I just want to know what play we're doing so that I can think about the set. I've worked on every set since I was thirteen years old and too shy to audition for a part. Sometimes I have a big job, and sometimes it's a small one. Today I'm hoping for an opera set in medieval Venice so that I'm forced to figure out how to build a bunch of working canals, so that I don't have a single brain cell free to think about anything else. Not one synapse firing off a teeny tiny replica of a blow job over and over again. Not one stray neuron pulsing about Luke DeSalvio and how he's a hero and I'm a whore.
Joelle reaches into her bag and pulls out a list. "Here are some more names I came up with." Joelle's last name is Lipshitz, which, she says, is unacceptable for a human being, let alone an actress. She's been trying to come up with something glam and different, something she will adopt when she gets out of high school and runs off to New York City to become famous (or when her dad drives her to and from the city to become famous).
I look at the paper. She's written:
Joelle Paris
Joelle Roma
Joelle Asia
76 Joelle Nepal
Joelle Geneva
Joelle St. Petersburg
Joelle Quebec
"What do you think?" she says.
"I'm sensing a theme," I tell her.
"Any favorites?"
"You forgot Joelle Boise. Or Joelle Long Island."
She whips the paper from my hand. "You are totally too traumatized to take me seriously right now. I swear I'm going to kill whoever did this to you. I'm going to shove this boot down their throats."
"You already said that."
"Then I'm going to run them over with my car."
"You mean your dad's car."
The carroty redhead in front of us risks another glance, and Joelle shrieks, "You, too, if you don't stop staring at my friend! She is not a zoo exhibit!"
Of course, everyone turns around and stares at me as if I were a zoo exhibit. Joelle tells them all to STOP STARING!! JUST STOP!! Just then the side door swings open and Ms. Godwin marches into the auditorium. Ms. Godwin is aptly named, tall as a goddess, with a low oboe voice that sounds as if she's talking through a tube of wrapping paper. She is wearing what she always wears, a long, flowing top and skirt and sharp-heeled character shoes that snap when she walks.
77 "What I would like," she says as she moves to stand in front of the stage, "is for you to stop shrieking, Ms. Lipshitz. They can hear you in Sri Lanka."
Everyone settles down--including Joelle--and waits for Ms. Godwin to tell us which play we'll be doing, and thus what our lives will be like for the next two months. But first we have to get through her customary "wel- come" speech. I mouth the words with her:
"Hello. I am Victoria Godwin, Ms. Godwin to you. Ms., not Miss, not Mrs., Godwin. For those of you who are new to the school or perhaps new to this program, I am the drama teacher. Which means that I am the queen of this auditorium. What I say goes. You don't have a vote and you don't have influence. When I select some- one for a part, it is that person's part. If I select you for the set design team, then the set design team is where you belong. Begging me will not change any of my deci- sions, nor will flattery, tantrums, gifts, or flowers. You will attend every rehearsal you need to attend. You will perform every task you need to perform. I will not police you, I will not scream at you, I will not call your parents, I will not ask for
Similar Books
