Read Online Look Both Ways by Alison Cherry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Cherry
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now, and white-hot fury flares up in me. I came here to learn how to act, not to be humiliated. I know I’m supposed to trust the process, trust the man who made this festival great. Everyone thinks he’s a genius. But honestly, this is ridiculous.
I look over at Marcus—it’s no use trying to pretend he’s not there now—and try to judge the trajectory of his next egg so I can dodge it. But he’s shaking his head sadly, like I’ve failed him. “Sit down, Brooklyn,” he says. “You’re done.”
I sit back down with the other apprentices and try to pull myself together, but I’m so angry, my entire body is shaking. Zoe reaches out and squeezes my hand, and it makes me feel a tiny bit better, but not much. I send the universe visions of me smashing an entire carton of eggs over Marcus Spooner’s smug head and watching the yolk drip off his stupid beard.
He doesn’t throw eggs at everyone. While Todd does his monologue from Twelfth Night, Marcus lobs water balloons at him. He shoots rubber bands at a tiny girl named Natasha, and she shrieks like she’s having her nails ripped out. During Jessa’s performance, he sets off an air horn. He stands about two inches from Kenji’s face, blocking him from the audience. He holds Pandora’s ponytail like reins and turns her head back and forth at random intervals. During Zoe’s monologue, he blasts the “I love you, you love me” song from Barney on an eighties-style boom box while performing interpretive dance moves. I half hope she’ll crack up so it’ll feel like we’re even, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even raise her voice over the music; she just performs quietly for the people who are close enough to hear.
Maybe I could’ve done that, too, if I’d had more time to prepare. Probably not, though.
Only four people make it all the way through their monologues. When Marcus is done torturing everyone, he heaves a world-weary sigh and slowly packs up his canvas bag. Then he says, “You all know which of your colleagues are real actors now. Watch them and learn to be better.” I expect him to explain the next exercise, maybe one that’ll teach us about focus, but instead he picks up his bag and walks away.
For a second we all sit there in silence. Then Jessa says, “That’s it ?” and a few people laugh nervously, which breaks the tension. Nobody seems sure if we’re allowed to leave or not, but we all scoot toward our friends and start talking in low voices.
Zoe puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, c’mere. You’ve got shells in your hair.”
When I was eight, I got Silly Putty in my ponytail while Marisol was babysitting me. It took her nearly half an hour to pick it all out, but I sat there happily the whole time, pleased to have her undivided attention. That’s exactly how I feel now as Zoe combs her fingers through my sticky hair, careful not to pull as she picks out the fragments of shell. She’s so focused on me that I become hyperaware of how I’m sitting, how loudly I’m breathing, whether I smell like egg. I’m suddenly not positive I put on deodorant this morning. When Zoe finally says, “There, you’re done,” it’s kind of a relief, but I also feel weirdly let down.
It’s been more than five minutes now, and since Marcus still isn’t back, we decide it’s probably safe to leave. As I head toward the dining hall with Zoe, Livvy, Jessa, Kenji, and Todd, I say what I’m sure everyone’s thinking: “So…that was complete bullshit, right?”
I wait for everyone to laugh and say, Oh my God, seriously! But they’re all quiet, and then Zoe says, “Well, yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“His execution’s definitely over-the-top, but I think Marcus’s theories are actually pretty sound,” Zoe says. “I really liked what he said about how acting is creating, not recreating.”
“He’s one crazy-ass dude, but he’s kind of brilliant,” Jessa says.
“Really? You guys thought that was a good class?”
I look over at Marcus—it’s no use trying to pretend he’s not there now—and try to judge the trajectory of his next egg so I can dodge it. But he’s shaking his head sadly, like I’ve failed him. “Sit down, Brooklyn,” he says. “You’re done.”
I sit back down with the other apprentices and try to pull myself together, but I’m so angry, my entire body is shaking. Zoe reaches out and squeezes my hand, and it makes me feel a tiny bit better, but not much. I send the universe visions of me smashing an entire carton of eggs over Marcus Spooner’s smug head and watching the yolk drip off his stupid beard.
He doesn’t throw eggs at everyone. While Todd does his monologue from Twelfth Night, Marcus lobs water balloons at him. He shoots rubber bands at a tiny girl named Natasha, and she shrieks like she’s having her nails ripped out. During Jessa’s performance, he sets off an air horn. He stands about two inches from Kenji’s face, blocking him from the audience. He holds Pandora’s ponytail like reins and turns her head back and forth at random intervals. During Zoe’s monologue, he blasts the “I love you, you love me” song from Barney on an eighties-style boom box while performing interpretive dance moves. I half hope she’ll crack up so it’ll feel like we’re even, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t even raise her voice over the music; she just performs quietly for the people who are close enough to hear.
Maybe I could’ve done that, too, if I’d had more time to prepare. Probably not, though.
Only four people make it all the way through their monologues. When Marcus is done torturing everyone, he heaves a world-weary sigh and slowly packs up his canvas bag. Then he says, “You all know which of your colleagues are real actors now. Watch them and learn to be better.” I expect him to explain the next exercise, maybe one that’ll teach us about focus, but instead he picks up his bag and walks away.
For a second we all sit there in silence. Then Jessa says, “That’s it ?” and a few people laugh nervously, which breaks the tension. Nobody seems sure if we’re allowed to leave or not, but we all scoot toward our friends and start talking in low voices.
Zoe puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, c’mere. You’ve got shells in your hair.”
When I was eight, I got Silly Putty in my ponytail while Marisol was babysitting me. It took her nearly half an hour to pick it all out, but I sat there happily the whole time, pleased to have her undivided attention. That’s exactly how I feel now as Zoe combs her fingers through my sticky hair, careful not to pull as she picks out the fragments of shell. She’s so focused on me that I become hyperaware of how I’m sitting, how loudly I’m breathing, whether I smell like egg. I’m suddenly not positive I put on deodorant this morning. When Zoe finally says, “There, you’re done,” it’s kind of a relief, but I also feel weirdly let down.
It’s been more than five minutes now, and since Marcus still isn’t back, we decide it’s probably safe to leave. As I head toward the dining hall with Zoe, Livvy, Jessa, Kenji, and Todd, I say what I’m sure everyone’s thinking: “So…that was complete bullshit, right?”
I wait for everyone to laugh and say, Oh my God, seriously! But they’re all quiet, and then Zoe says, “Well, yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“His execution’s definitely over-the-top, but I think Marcus’s theories are actually pretty sound,” Zoe says. “I really liked what he said about how acting is creating, not recreating.”
“He’s one crazy-ass dude, but he’s kind of brilliant,” Jessa says.
“Really? You guys thought that was a good class?”
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