Between You & Me

  To the incomparable B. Bowen

  And the divine M. Miller

  Content

  My Bedroom. September. Evening.

  School Hallway. Monday Morning. First Day.

  Sunny Classroom. That Afternoon.

  Playing Fields. Soon After.

  Peele’s. Late Afternoon.

  The Street. Soon After.

  The Bookstore. Moments Later.

  The Street. Early Evening.

  My Bedroom. Soon After.

  School Theater. Tuesday Afternoon.

  Hallway. Later That Afternoon.

  School Steps. After School. The Next Day.

  My Bedroom. Almost Midnight.

  Front Door. Soon After.

  My Bedroom. Minutes Later.

  Cut To: An Hour Later.

  School Courtyard. Thursday Morning. The Next Week.

  Theater. Soon After.

  My Bedroom. That Evening.

  Peele’s. After School. The Next Monday.

  Homeroom. The Next Morning.

  Front Gate. School. The Next Morning.

  Theater. Tuesday Lunch. The Next Week.

  Study Hall. Next Period.

  School Gate. The Next Morning.

  Courtyard. Soon After.

  Reading Room. Lunch.

  Theater. Monday Afternoon. The Next Week.

  Empty Theater. After Class.

  Peele’s. Thursday. After School. A Few Weeks Later.

  Cut To: Later.

  Theater Trip. School Steps. 7 P.M.

  The Bus. Soon After.

  Theater Foyer. Moments Later.

  Theater Auditorium. Five Minutes Later.

  Theater Foyer. Intermission.

  Theater Foyer. After The Play.

  My Kitchen. Friday Morning.

  School Courtyard. Nearly “After School.”

  School Library. Moments Later.

  School Hallway. Soon After.

  My Bedroom. That Evening.

  My Bedroom. Soon After.

  School Theater Dressing Room. Monday Afternoon.

  Theater. Moments Later.

  School Hallway. The Next Day.

  Peele’s. After School.

  My Bedroom. That Night.

  Theater. First Day of Rehearsal. After School.

  School Lawn. Lunch.

  Hallway. Soon After.

  Homeroom. The Next Week.

  Theater. After School. The Next Day.

  School Gym. Minutes Later.

  Hallway. Morning Break. The Next Week.

  Theater. After School. The Next Day.

  Outside Peele’s. Early Evening.

  My Bedroom. Midnight. That Night.

  Rehearsal. School Theater. Two Days Later.

  My Bedroom. That Evening.

  Movie Theater. Soon After.

  The Street. Later That Night.

  Theater. The Next Day.

  My Bedroom. Saturday.

  The Kitchen. Moments Later.

  The Street. Seconds Later.

  Mia’s Classroom. Monday. After School.

  My Garden. Tuesday Evening. 7 P.M.

  Theater. After School. Two Weeks Later.

  Theater Courtyard. Afternoon. The Next Day.

  Main School Hallway. Soon After.

  The Road. Late Afternoon.

  School Gate. The Next Morning.

  School Hallway. Ten Minutes Later.

  Homeroom. Soon After.

  Mia’s Classroom. Second Period.

  Lunch.

  Front Steps. After School.

  My Kitchen. Later.

  The Next Day. (Three Hours of Sleep Later.)

  School Swimming Pool. First Break.

  Poolside. Soon After.

  School Library. Break. The Next Day.

  School Courtyard. Minutes Later.

  Neighbors’ Swimming Pool. Saturday Afternoon.

  Your Bedroom. Soon After.

  Theater. Afternoon of Dress Rehearsal. The Next Thursday, Before First Night.

  First Night. Hair And Makeup. Curtain Up: Fifty Minutes.

  Dressing Room. Curtain Up: Thirty-Five Minutes.

  Backstage. Curtain Up: Thirty Minutes.

  Dressing Room. Curtain Up: Ten Minutes.

  Backstage. Curtain Up: Three Minutes.

  The Curtain Rises.

  Dressing Room. Five Minutes Later.

  Theater Courtyard. Soon After.

  My Kitchen. The Next Week. Morniing.

  My Front Doorstep. Soon After.

  My Bedroom. Soon After.

  The Street. Evening.

  Acknowledgments

  FADE IN

  MY BEDROOM. SEPTEMBER. EVENING.

  CLOSE-UP. HEART-SHAPED PINK SUNGLASSES. HIDING A FACE. MUSIC PLAYS. THE SUN FALLS ACROSS THE BEDROOM IN A BRIGHT SHAFT OF LIGHT. CUT TO: WIDE SHOT. GIRL LIES ON HER BED, PROPPED ON HER ELBOWS, CHIN IN HER HANDS.

  Phyre, sixteen, that’s me! And this is my life. Or how I picture it. The door swings open and I smile up at you.

  ME

  Come in. Close the door behind you.

  We painted my name on it when we were seven. Phyre, still there because we used oil paint and nothing covers it. Put regular paint on top and it beads and wipes right off, like watercolor on wax crayon. Purple, because it’s my favorite color, the color of this bedroom! Depending on the light. See how everything burns pink in the sun?

  ME

  Sit down!

  I swing a hand toward your usual spot.

  YOU

  Stylish sunnies, Phy!

  The sunglasses were a present from you, a joke, but I wear them anyway. I slide them down my nose, then fling them at you, shielding my eyes from the sun as you catch them and sink into my beanbag. I laugh at your serious face as you put them on. Nice new jeans, I see, watching you jam your hands into your pockets and cross your ankles out in front of you. They look good on you. We’re not the kids that started in first grade together, I think, smiling at the ridiculous pink heart reflections cast across your cheek.

  I roll onto my back, resting my head on my hands, and gaze out the window. The trees are already turning to a fiery gold, the sun dipping behind them as I watch. A gust of wind sends yellow leaves falling like rain. I look at you over the top of my head, a shadow dividing your upside-down face in two. You push the sunglasses up into your fair hair so I can see every shade of your green eyes.

  YOU

  Can you believe it’s the first day of school tomorrow?

  I shake my head, catching sight of the outfit I’ve laid out. I squeeze my eyes shut and spread my arms across the bed. I haven’t been nervous for a first day since we were five and I saw you sitting in the classroom refusing to take off your backpack. I’m lucky to start every new year with you.

  SCHOOL HALLWAY. MONDAY MORNING. FIRST DAY.

  We ride the wave of the hallway, returning familiar smiles. Everyone has the glow of summer about them. I tuck a rogue strand of brown hair behind my ear, the fire-engine red growing out of my bangs so it looks like just the tips are on fire. I wave at Cara. She looks very Vogue in stripes and skinny black jeans, her dark hair cropped to her chin this year.

  CARA

  Phyre Power!

  Cara wants to make movies too, and smiles at me with the casual scrutiny she looks at the world with, like someone watching a story piece itself together in pictures.

  CARA

  Good summer?

  The question ripples between people down the hall as she gives me a salute and we roll on.

  Kate heads toward us and asks you if you’re signed up for swimming. You’ve been on the team for the last couple of years. A few more greetings are sent your way and I spare you a sideways glance. You’re getting more and more att
ention every year—growing into your good looks, my mom called it. I elbow you fondly, wondering whether I’ll have to remind you who was there for you when you were awkward looking.

  SUNNY CLASSROOM. THAT AFTERNOON.

  Curled forward in my chair, I’m filling in my timetable on the inside cover of my notebook. My mouth has slid into its pout—my concentrating face, you call it. We get to take a theater and film class this year, so I’m excited, and there’s a student teacher for the first semester, which is theater studies. We’re sitting in haphazard rows; class hasn’t started. Ryan is sitting on Bella’s desk, knees wide apart like boys do, inviting her to a party that will probably end up as a party of two. He’s an attention seeker. He can make you feel special one on one, but in front of people he has something to prove. Trust me, we went out for a few weeks last year. Sitting on the windowsill, I can see you frowning from here. He’s not your favorite person—you’ve never been the kind to fool around.

  Tony, Ryan’s sidekick, taps me on the shoulder and rocks forward.

  TONY

  Hey.

  He rests his forearm across the back of my chair.

  So.

  I raise an encouraging eyebrow.

  How’s it going?

  And it’s thanks to this firecracker opener that when the door opens I’m slow to look around.

  She stands in the square of sun from the window, and a rainbow of colors from the prism hanging on the latch dance across her face. She steps forward so that they flicker against her shoulder instead. I sit, watching her, forgetting Tony hovering behind me. There’s something about her, something fascinating. You can’t cast someone to be fascinating, they just are. She’s young, warm. All eyes are on her as she unwinds a cream scarf and drapes it over the back of her chair. She looks up:

  MIA

  My name is Miss Quin.

  She smiles.

  You can call me Mia.

  She smooths her hand over the base of her chestnut bob to tame the static from her scarf, wisps of hair still flaring away from her neck. She steps out from behind her desk, perching against it, not separating herself from us like most teachers. I sit up straighter. Her voice is rich, engaging.

  MIA

  The moment you step out onstage, people start forming an impression of you. Just as you’re already forming an impression of me.

  She looks at each of us with crystal-cool blue eyes, the warmest cool you’ve ever seen, like water in the sun.

  MIA

  And you’re already telling me something about yourselves.

  Self-conscious, I swallow and ease back in my chair so as not to seem too keen. She sees me, and asks my name. “Phyre” sounds louder than I expected, embarrassingly so, like flames are leaping and I’m the first to notice. She smiles.

  MIA

  Phyre here seems ready to learn something new.

  She looks at Ryan, rocked back on his chair, his arms folded across his chest. She gestures for his name, which he volunteers with emphasis.

  MIA

  Ryan, it seems, thinks he might have better things to do!

  People laugh. She crosses her arms like him and, embarrassed, he tips back farther, then flails with that falling sensation and comes back onto four legs with a bump. He blushes and looks at the floor. He clearly thinks she’s hot, which is probably why he’s trying to play it cool. She lightens up.

  MIA

  Maybe he just wants us to think he has better things to do. Either way, physical life is a key element when creating a character onstage.

  Mia walks between the desks, crisp and perfect, her white shirt tucked seamlessly into a high-waisted navy skirt. My shirt is lily pink with white pinstripes that flutter as I look at them. Compared to her, I look like I slept in my shirt, then rolled to school. She adjusts her collar as she passes me. I smell something sweet like lavender.

  MIA

  So! Let’s get to know each other.

  She slides back onto her desk, crossing slim ankles that swing gently as she picks up the class list, pressing her pen tip to the first name. I glance quickly around the room. Everyone else seems the same as ever. Elle, in the first row, pouting under blond bangs, is arranging the ribbon at the waist of her yellow top. She always looks glazed but usually turns out to have been listening, and—case in point—her hand goes up when Mia calls her name. Eva, beside her, the picture of concentration, perfects her hair clips for her turn. She has a prissy expression but I think it’s the natural arrangement for her face. Mia is looking up brightly to memorize each of us. Kate meets her gaze attentively. Good at everything and intimidating in the chameleon-like way she fits into every group, Kate somehow manages to seem equally interested in everything.

  Mia calls my name. She already knows who I am but for some reason my heart picks up pace when she looks at me.

  MIA

  Phyre. Great name!

  —Rhetorical maybe but here’s my chance to shine graciously. Still thinking … something clever on the tip of my tongue … and she’s moved on! I turn to see you smiling at me. I can’t hide much from you, which is a mixed blessing, but I’m usually never tongue-tied, so I guess you’ve noticed. I glare at you halfheartedly as Mia calls your name. You return her nod warmly and for the second time today I see how comfortable you’re getting with everyone.

  Bella, amid a circle of boys behind me, raises a hand for her name. She’s “hot,” honey-hued curly hair loosely pinned up, looking casually perfect with no apparent effort, as if she spent no time achieving perfectness. To make matters worse: she’s nice. Ryan, next to her, has regained his confidence and is whipping Tony with his ruler. Most people think Ryan’s good-looking, which makes him even less bearable—and, worse still, he is, so there are grounds to be cocky. I see glimmers in his eyes of the true him, someone real and scared, and then I like him for a second, until he speaks. Tony catches my eye again. At first glance he veers toward scruffy but I think he’s effortfully disheveled. I’ve seen him look quite neat until he sees his reflection and tugs his shirt out of his pants. He’d be better off if he didn’t traipse around after Ryan, so that’s probably his greatest flaw, but then high school compromises people’s abilities to think for themselves.

  Cara brings me back with her cheerful greeting when Mia calls her name. Her greatest talent is to seem impervious to peer pressure, which means she is—she’s on her own raft of cool. Reaching the end of the list, Mia sets it down beside her.

  MIA

  First things first! To be real, you have to know yourself and your reactions. We’re looking for truth, and to find truth we need trust. That’s where we’ll start. Trust.

  She looks around the room and smiles conspiratorially.

  We need space. Follow me!

  And as she hops off the desk, I glimpse someone who’s not just an adult suspended in circumstance but a person, with a childhood, a life, her own reality. She isn’t hiding. We can see her figure, the way she moves.

  PLAYING FIELDS. SOON AFTER.

  The sun is warm, bathing the playing fields in golden light. There is grass beneath our feet, and the smell of wet leaves. We felt rebellious stealing through the deserted halls during class. Mia claps her hands together, more with excitement than authority. Her shirt still has the perfect unrumpled tuck even when she pushes up her sleeves, the white fabric luminescent in the light.

  MIA

  Okay. Pair up and spread out in two lines facing each other.

  We pair up with a glance and you head to one side of the field as I go to the other. Squinting in the glow of sun, I can see the fuzzy haze of my own eyelashes. Mia gestures to my row, calling across the grass.

  MIA

  This side, close your eyes, and run toward your partner.

  I hear some laughs ring out but she’s serious, so I close my eyes tentatively, my eyelids flickering. It’s hard to close your eyes when you’re so awake. I’m in a world of her voice.

  MIA

  Give yourself to the moment. F
eel the ground under your feet. You can’t think about falling. Just think about running.

  With just the pinkish black of my eyelids to look at, everything moves slower. I take a step. My mind puts bars around me that root me to the spot. There’s nothing near, I tell myself, not even a shadow, and I can hear your voice calling. So with my eyes squeezed tight shut, I run. Really run! My other senses feel stronger. I hear my name alone on the sound waves. Sometimes the ground falls away, and I stumble but stay on my feet and keep running. I must look like a crazed three-year-old, my steps short and knees so high. Your voice gets closer and closer until I feel the jarring of your hands on my shoulders and open my eyes to see you and, beside you, Mia.

  MIA

  Good, Phyre. Excellent!

  This is where it starts, the very beginning.

  PEELE’S. LATE AFTERNOON.

  We’re in town, in Peele’s, The coffee shop on the corner, as it says in reverse lettering on the glass beside us. School ended a few hours ago but I didn’t feel like going home. We’re at our favorite window table, peering out into the street. It’s warm and cozy in here; outside, the street looks steeped in blue. I can smell autumn in the air and I’m wearing a scarf for the first time this fall. I tug my pink cuffs over my hands and wrap my palms around my mug, sliding an elbow across the copper tabletop so I can get a better view, beneath corner, of Elle and Jen crossing the street. You take a sip of hot chocolate and run your fingers through your sun-lightened hair, a gesture I’d know a mile away.