“That’s what my old one was like. Uniboob.”
She laughs like she’s never heard anyone call it that before.
We are the last ones into the gym. Just by accident, I am a step ahead of Jessa. Coach Reinhold says, “Take a lap, Timms!”
Before I can object, Jessa is off running, like she was planning on enjoying a trip around the perimeter anyway. From ten yards off, she turns, points to her chest, and yells back at me, “Hey, Walsh! Watch out for the Uniboober!” She laughs at herself the whole rest of the way around.
CHAPTER 25
The tryout is better than I could have possibly imagined. I play better than I ever have. I just feel good. I’m comfortable and smooth, and when I play hard it doesn’t feel like any part of me is about to tear off.
Because I’m not messing with my shirt between every play or limiting my moves to keep my boobs in place, I start to notice things I hadn’t noticed before. How the ball spins differently when Kate serves than when Nasrah serves. How Sylvie Suprenant and Khloe Vang-Ellis do a fingers-only handshake every time one of them hits the ball. How Kaia Beaumont apologizes all the time. How if you watch the way other people move, you can start to anticipate what comes next.
It’s like I’ve been looking either at the ball or at myself the whole time, and when I finally look up, there’s a whole different game going on.
I’m still in the middle of the group, but maybe the high middle. When Coach Reinhold yells at me, she’s not yelling, “Where were you? You shoulda had that!” or “Come on! FOCUS!” or “Stand the hell up, Walsh!”
Instead she’s saying stuff like “BIG hands on those. Thumbs should be UP” or “Left-right-left-jump, Walsh” or once in a while, “Yes! That’s it!”
Coach will post rosters before school Monday, but there is a lot of guessing and assuming as soon as she heads back to her office. Girls are taking turns saying things like, “Are you serious? You did great.” “You’ll definitely make the team.” “I was terrible. Did you see me block that shot with my FACE?”
“Walsh!”
I turn to Jessa, who gives me a hard high five and a fierce nod that is Jessa sign for “Nailed it!” I’m weirdly proud to have made Jessa Timms proud.
I grab my stuff without changing and head to the auditorium to see if I can still catch a ride with the Cleaves. It will save me trying to untie myself from the Stabilizer in front of anybody. I’m pretty sweaty, but it’s a short ride, and since I’m completely invisible to Max Cleave, he won’t even know where the smell is coming from.
Mr. Coles is at the piano in the auditorium. He retired before we started at Kennedy, but he comes back to help with the musical every year. He looks happy behind the piano, like high school students singing show tunes is the sweetest sound in the world. They aren’t working on choreography yet, just singing. A half dozen students are in this number, trading back and forth between solos and choruses.
They sound good, even if it’s not my kind of music. Maggie is in the middle of the girls, scowling. I’d be afraid of that face, but they keep singing, and when her parts come up, she puts on a moony musical-theater smile like the rest of them. Maybe as long as she is singing, she’s not thinking, and if she’s not thinking, she can enjoy this crap.
Then Aidan Neal takes his solo, which includes a line about pursing lips, taking aim, and “bagging the sweetest kind of game.”
No one else is watching Maggie’s face like I am, so when she slams her palm on the piano and says, “Oh my god! Is no one else hearing this?” they all jump. The kids who know her well roll their eyes; the kids who don’t look at her like they are genuinely confused; and Mr. Coles beams because all drama is good drama. “How are we still doing this play?” Maggie yells.
“Tell us what you object to, Ms. Cleave,” says Mr. Coles.
“Yeah, what NOW?” snarls the senior who is playing Milly, the lead girl.
Maggie is incredulous. “Are you kidding? ‘Take good aim’? ‘Bag the sweetest kind of game’? GAME? BAG? They are advocating treating women like animals. Is a hunting metaphor really the kind of message you want to be sending?”
Aidan Neal looks down at his music. He looks guilty, like he made up the words instead of just singing them.
“If you hate the play, why did you even go out for it?” says the Milly.
Mr. Coles smiles brightly. “It’s rather old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
“Uh, yeah,” says Maggie.
Mr. Coles nods his head. “I agree with you. Showbiz can be quite traditional and even misogynistic. That is the frustration of Broadway.”
“There are other plays, you know, that aren’t so offensive.”
“Anything you want to recommend for the future?”
“Urinetown? Avenue Q?”
Mr. Coles laughs. “Those are excellent! Loved them both! Book of Mormon, too, if you haven’t seen it. But many people find them offensive for other reasons.”
“How about Wicked? I’ve seen that and it’s very empowering and feministical,” chimes another cast member. Maggie looks skeptically at this uninvited ally.
“That music is complicated, even for professionals, though I’d be willing to try it. The licensing is terribly expensive, too. Beyond our budget!”
Mr. Coles calls it quits for the day. He suggests that people spend some time really diving into the script. “Think about it in the context of the times, not that I’m excusing it. What would your characters want and need? What are their opportunities and limitations compared to yours today?”
It’s a classic teacher trick. Put extra work on the complainers, and pretty soon the complaints die down. But Mr. Coles is underestimating Maggie Cleave.
CHAPTER 26
“You sounded great, except I think that girl who’s playing Milly wants to kill you now.”
“Lizzie Barnes. She already wanted to kill me. Mr. Coles took a bunch of Milly’s solos and gave them to my character because Lizzie straight up sucks.”
“There’s a lot of drama with the drama kids,” I say. We are wandering through the student lot to find Max.
“SO MUCH DRAMA,” Maggie says, even though she is contributing at least a quarter of it. “I should have done volleyball with you. How’d it go?”
“Pretty good. We find out Monday.” When we finally spot Max’s car, there are already several people in it. “Um, does Max know you’re taking me home?”
“He won’t mind.”