Babe in Boyland by Jody Gehrman

singsong voice calls out, “Where are my people? I need my people!”
    I turn and watch as Mr. Pratt, the drama teacher, struts down the center aisle. His wild bleach blond hair looks even messier than it did this morning in class. He wears designer jeans, a cashmere sweater, and an impeccably cut sports coat—very chic. Behind him a host of others stream in: a harried-looking man toting lights, a fat twenty-ish guy with an enormous plastic soda cup, Ms. Honaker, Tyler, Earl, and Max. Finally, bringing up the rear I spot Josh and Chloe, followed by Darcy. My people! I want to clamber down the catwalk and hug my two best girls, but of course I stay where I am.
    “Ms. Honaker,” the blond man says in an imperious tone. “I trust we’ll be in costume tomorrow night? You ladies will need time to adjust to those elaborate hats, you know.”
    “I’m used to them, Mr. Pratt,” Summer calls from the stage. “I’ve done the show be—”
    “Yes, we all know, darling. You’ve done the show before.” His tone is catty. I like him! Anyone who talks to Summer like that is a friend of mine.
    “I’m just saying . . .” Summer grumbles.
    “Yes, you’re ‘just saying,’ aren’t you?” He folds his arms and squints at Summer and Emilio, who are still onstage. “What are you two doing up there? I hope you’re not rehearsing behind my back!”
    “No!” Emilio says. “We’re just hanging out.”
    “Ah, the dreaded ‘hanging out.’ You’re not flirting, I hope! Or God forbid anything else. It completely destroys onstage chemistry if you’re groping each other in the wings.”
    I swear Emilio turns so red he looks like he might require medical attention.
    Mr. Pratt gets down to business then, ordering everyone around. He spends lots of time talking to the fat guy with the mega-soda, the tired guy, and Earl—his crew. It’s the first night of tech week, which means a lot of boring standing around for the actors. They gather onstage but don’t get to run scenes all the way through the way they would at a normal rehearsal; instead they go from cue to cue, saying a line and then waiting endlessly while people run around changing gels and spiking set pieces. It’s a total drag.
    I have to say, though, observing it from this angle is kind of fascinating. Since there’s so much downtime in between cues, I get to eavesdrop on the conversations that inevitably bubble up in the long pauses, even though Mr. Pratt keeps telling them in no uncertain terms to shut up.
    Chloe’s really working it with Josh. Of course I’ve seen her in action before, but this is different. Usually I’m—well, there. As another girl, I mean. When you’re part of a scene, it’s a lot harder to observe it. Now I get to sit back and analyze her flirting style with perfect objectivity. Every single time Josh tries to engage her in conversation, she either ignores him or responds with the snarkiest retort possible. It’s sort of shocking, actually. I can’t believe I never noticed it before! She’s incredibly bitchy. And yeah, okay, so bitchyness is sort of her style, even around Darcy and me. Here’s the difference, though: With us, there’s always an underlying affection and loyalty. With Josh, it’s just . . . bitchy. Yet it has an almost magical effect on him. The more she abuses him, the more determined he becomes to win her over. Either he gets off on the thrill of the hunt or he’s a masochist.
    “You coming to my party Friday night?” Josh asks her as they wait for the lighting guy to adjust the upstage Fresnel.
    “A party on opening night?” she sneers. “Isn’t that bad luck or something?”
    “Not if you’re there,” he says.
    Now he’s Prince Charmalot. I think of what a jerk he was to me today—well, Nat, anyway—and roll my eyes.
    “I don’t know.” She examines her nails. “I might be busy.”
    “Come on! You’ve never been to my house before.” He puts a hand on her elbow. “I can take you up to my