Chapter Nine
Daniel
After football practice and before Experiments in Drama, I go to church.
I call ahead to see if the minister has any free time that afternoon. His secretary makes an appointment for me, and I show up at the rectory around five o’clock.
I feel a lot better after I talk to Father Mark. I don’t know him as well as I know Father Warren back home, but he’s a good man. I tell him the story behind my visit—what we’re doing in Experiments in Drama, and my chance to do a sort of pro-life ministry.
It’s a huge relief to hear pro-life arguments made by someone not an asshole. As I eat dinner later and head to class, I feel good. Father Mark’s words resonated with me, and I think I can make them resonate for other people, too.
Father Mark warned me against using religion as a weapon, and I have no plans to do that. But I’m going to make my case, and there’s no way Tamsin—or anyone else—can make one that’s any stronger.
When I walk into the theater, Tamsin is there already. She’s talking to her friend Izzy and a guy whose name I can’t remember.
In the moments before she notices me in the doorway, I have a chance to look at her.
Okay, stare at her.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
I’m glad the lights are dim in here, because I’m worried about what my face might be showing. The fact is, I’m really glad to see Tamsin again, and I’m pretty sure my expression isn’t hiding that fact.
She used to dye her hair jet black freshman year. It’s lighter now, and I think the shade is her natural one. It’s still really dark, almost black, and it’s long and wavy and silky-looking. She’s wearing a red cotton shirt, and her hair looks amazing against it.
Her makeup is dramatic. Maybe not as much as freshman year, but she still wears more than most of the girls I know.
I used to think I didn’t like that. I used to think au naturel was the way to go. But I love the way Tamsin uses makeup. Not to hide flaws or anything, but almost like a painter would use a canvas—for sheer love of decoration.
It’s dramatic around her eyes, especially. She does this kind of intense, smoky eye shadow thing, with either the best mascara money can buy or the longest natural eyelashes any girl ever had.
It makes her gray eyes look huge.
Her lips are less intense. Pale pink, full and soft. But whatever she does to them makes them so kissable I don’t know how any guy near her can think of anything else.
God knows I can’t.
But then Professor Washington comes in and Tamsin looks up, and I go to an empty seat in the front row.
I expect the professor to go right into our scenes, and I’m ready. I’m armed with everything Father Mark and I talked about, and I’m going to change Tamsin’s mind if it’s the last thing I do.
First, though, the professor tells us all to come up on stage and make a circle. After telling us to call her Joan, she has us all go around and give our names and the reasons we wanted to take this class.
Tamsin starts us off. “My name is Tamsin Shay, and I’m a theater major. I know a lot of people who’ve taken Experiments in Drama, and they all rave about it. My friend Julie said it helped her remember why she wanted to act in the first place. She said you teach a strategy of radical honesty, and it helped her be more authentic in everything she was doing.” She hesitates. “A part of me was really drawn to that phrase—radical honesty. Another part of me was scared by it if I’m being…well, honest.” She’s wearing jeans with her red shirt, and now she sticks her hands in her pockets. “Anyway, I’m excited to take this class. And a little scared, too.”
We’re going clockwise, which means they’ll get to me after five people. I look at Izzy when she’s talking, and then at Charlie (that’s the guy whose name I couldn’t remember), and at the three people who come after that. But I don’t really hear them. I’m thinking about Tamsin, and what she said.
Radical honesty.
When Professor Washington—Joan—nods at me, I start talking. But I don’t say what I’d planned to say.
“My name is Daniel Bowman. I’m an engineering major. I signed up for this class because I need one more arts credit before I graduate, and I wanted to get it over with before next year. There were five classes that fit into my schedule, and I thought this one would have the least amount of work.” I pause. “But that’s not the only reason, if I’m being honest.” I pause again. “I was in a play back in junior high. And I, uh, liked it. So here I am,” I finish awkwardly.
There’s a short silence. My face feels hot. I’m not really looking at anyone in particular, because I don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes.
Then Professor Wa—Joan, I mean—says,
“Thanks, Daniel. No matter the reason you’re here, we’re glad that you are. All right, Kelly, you’re next.”
Kelly starts to talk, and as she does, I glance across the circle at Tamsin.
She’s looking right at me, and one corner of that soft pink mouth is lifted in a smile.
I try to read her expression. Surprised? Friendly? Warm? Something like that.
Anyway, I like it.
“All right, everyone, let’s get started with our scenes. Tamsin and Daniel, stay on stage. The rest of us will sit in the audience.”
A minute later, Tamsin and I are facing each other.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask softly.
“I was born ready.”
She’s smiling, and so am I. I replay my conversation with Father Mark, marshaling my arguments in my head. I’m not going to be caught flat-footed no matter what Tamsin throws at me.
Joan is sitting in the middle of the front row. “Okay, you two, here’s the set up. Tamsin, you’re a pro-life activist. Daniel, you’re a doctor who provides abortions. Okay, go.”
I blink. Tamsin blinks. For a moment we just stare at each other.
Then we both turn toward Joan and start talking at the same time.
“How are we supposed to—”
“I thought this scene was—”
Joan holds up a hand. “This is improv, cats and kittens. You’re supposed to get out of your comfort zones. Remember?”
Tamsin looks frustrated. “But I thought this class was about radical honesty, too. How am I supposed to be radically honest and pretend to be pro-life at the same time?”
Joan grins at her. “This is an acting class. It’s all about pretending. Walking in someone else’s shoes, right? Can you find the radical honesty in another person’s reality? That’s the challenge here.”
I open my mouth to speak, but Joan holds up her hand again. “That’s enough complaining. Let me remind you that this is improv and you don’t get time to plan. Be in the moment. Your costume is the body and mind of another person. Ready, set, go!”
I’ve been thinking about this moment for the last two days. I’ve been picturing standing here on stage just like this, facing Tamsin. I practiced all my arguments in favor of life. I was ready, damn it! And now all that preparation is out the window.
I have no idea what’s going to happen next.