Make statements and assumptions.
Raise the stakes!
Balance giving and taking.
Make active choices.
Be in the moment.
I loved the rules of improv for improv, but they were also really great rules for life. The one that best fit my current situation, I decided, was, “Trust yourself.”
You can do this. I scanned the exterior of the cabin. It was comprised of logs stacked horizontally and painted dark brown, windows with wooden crossbars, and a well-used screen door.
I pushed open the screen door with my free hand, my eyes sweeping around the cabin as I hauled my luggage over the threshold. There were eight metal-frame bunk beds, a single bed (presumably for our counselor), and a dresser. Along with the wide floorboards worn smooth with time, this place felt like a cabin from the old version of The Parent Trap.
A giggle alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t alone. Two sets of feet poked out from underneath a bunk bed: one clad in cheery-pink flats, the other in strappy leather sandals.
“Uh . . . need some help?” I called, abandoning my luggage just inside the screen door.
In quick succession, a thump, a yelp, and more giggles came from under the bunk bed as two people wormed their way back out.
The strappy leather sandals belonged to a tall, brown-skinned girl with long braids and glasses. She rubbed her head where she had hit it on the bottom of the bunk. “Hi,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m Sirena. And uh . . . We’re not always hiding under the bed when we meet new people.”
I chuckled. “Just sometimes?”
She laughed and thumbed in the direction of her much shorter, pink-shoed, pink-cheeked, blond friend. “Just when we’re pretty sure we brought this CD and neither of us can find it.”
“CD?” I asked, tilting my head. “Like a physical . . . disc? With music on it?”
Sirena’s pink friend swept her bangs out of her face. “A physical disc, yes. But not with music on it.”
“It’s fifty-seven minutes of Pacific Coast whale sounds,” Sirena said. “Emily thinks it’s equal parts calming and hilarious.”
“A whale sounds CD?” I couldn’t let it go.
Emily shook her head, smiling. “I know, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” Sirena and I said together.
“I’m just kind of surprised,” I said. “It . . . do you have a CD player?”
“One.” Emily picked it up off the bunk. It was a couple inches thick, a little bigger than a CD itself, and bright yellow. “My mom’s old Discman. But we don’t mind sharing.” She turned to Sirena, beaming.
Sirena plucked a dust bunny off Emily’s shoulder, showed it to her, and they shook their heads, laughing again.
“Maybe the CD’s in the van still?” Emily wondered, dropping the Discman on the bed and combing her fingers through her hair, searching for more dust. Then she stopped. “Is that same van coming back to get us all? In two weeks, I mean? Or is Pacific Coast Whale Sounds lost forever?”
Sirena started picking dust out of her braids. “It’s not in the van, because I was looking for it then, too. I totally needed it to distract me with Erick and Ty back there snoring away like a two-man lawnmower parade.”
Emily threw her head back, laughing.
I realized I hadn’t really introduced myself yet, but they didn’t seem to notice. Sirena abandoned her braids and lolled her head to one side, imitating their snoring. Emily laughed so hard she clutched her waist and moaned, “Side ache!”
I smiled. Physically, these two were opposites: Sirena was a whooping crane to Emily’s chickadee. But they belonged together.
“I’m Zelda . . . from Minneapolis.”
They both looked at me like they’d forgotten I was still there. Quickly, though, Emily flopped down on her bunk which, in addition to the Discman, sported her sleeping bag, pillow, and a stuffed owl that looked like she had been sleeping with it since she was a baby. “I’m Emily. Oh, wait. Sirena already said that.” She laughed a little and Sirena just smiled and shook her head, joining her on the bed. “We’re from Denver. We came here with our whole team.”
“Really?” I asked, plopping down on the bunk across from them. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah. It’s me and Sirena, and the guys are all in Eddie Murphy. Until after auditions.”
Sirena pulled a backpack into her lap and poked around in it. “Thank god we have each other,” Sirena said, pulling out some gum. Without asking, she tore a piece in half and handed it to Emily who wordlessly unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. “I mean, we love our team, but sometimes those guys are idiots.”
“Really?” I asked.
Sirena chuckled. “I don’t think they mean to stereotype us—they just don’t think. But I can only be Harriet Tubman so many times, you know? Emily’s taken to starting every scene as a pilot.”
Emily bumped her shoulder. “Not every scene . . . Sometimes I’m a cop.”
I laughed.
“Or a neurosurgeon,” she continued. “Otherwise, they make me somebody’s mother. Every time. The minute you’re kind of chubby and a girl, that’s all you’re good for, apparently.”
Sirena elbowed Emily. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
Emily smiled shyly.
Sirena looked at me over her glasses. “You know what the guys call it when the two of us are in a scene together?”
I shook my head.
“ ‘Chick-prov.’ ”
I frowned. “Then when guys do a scene together, do they call it ‘Dick-prov’?”
Emily gasped a little, choking on a laugh.
“That,” Sirena pointed at me, “is genius.”
I smiled and tucked one of my legs underneath me on the bunk. “I’m just here with two guys from my team—one of them’s my brother.”
“Oh, wow! How’s that? Performing with your brother?” Sirena asked as Emily combed her fingers through her own hair, still apparently on the search for rogue dust particles.
“It’s good. We get along really well . . . mostly.”
Emily smiled.
“Who’s older?” Sirena asked.
“He is, but just by four months.”
Their confused look is one I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. “It’s a second marriage for both of our parents,” I explained. “So we’re not twins, but we’re in the same grade.”
They nodded slowly.
“So . . . you two just picked a bunk?” I asked, eyeing the one by the window.
“Yeah,” Sirena said. “The Eddie Murphy counselor told our guys to sleep anywhere since everyone’s getting switched around after casting, but we haven’t seen the Gilda Radner counselor yet.” She shrugged. “We figured it probably wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Well, Sirena figured it wasn’t that big of a deal,” Emily amended. Apparently satisfied she’d picked out all the dust, she started braiding her hair over her shoulder. “I was sure we were going to get into super big trouble or whatever, but—”
“But I finally made you see reason.” Sirena smiled, handing Emily a hair binder for her braid.