NaNoWriMo Day Seven
January 21st, 107 total days till graduation, 84 days left of school
Last night I had the craziest (and most unsettling) dream I’ve had in a long time. Jenna was crying in the girl’s locker room over what had happened. I could hear her but couldn’t figure out where I was going in the maze of hallways at the dream school. Suddenly Laura stepped around the corner and warned me that if I try to talk to Coach about what’s going on with the girls swim team she’d kill me.
After that I kept wandering around looking for Jenna. I’d call her name every now and then but she never responded. Then I found Kevin. He was crying too. He hugged me and told me he’d left Laura for me. Then he kissed me…
And I woke up hard.
Fuck. I thought that I’d done a decent job of shoving that to the back of my mind over the last week. I thought I had basically forgotten about this I mean, I know it’s not uncommon to wake up hard, it happens all the time but not when I’m dreaming about kissing a guy.
Maybe this is how God has chosen to speak to me. Maybe he’s using dreams. Only if he were using dreams I don’t know why Jenna would be crying the entire time. This is so fucking random and it’s not making any sense. I try to put it from my mind but now I can’t seem to think about anything other than this dream.
I can’t seem to think of how to deal with this so I subconsciously decide to get really pissed off at Kevin. It’s not really his fault but he is the one that started me thinking about these things in the first place so it makes sense (granted in a really twisted view of reality) to sort of hate him for this.
I get to school and pretty much coast through classes on auto pilot. When the bell finally rings after sixth hour I race to the drama room. By the time I get there there’s already a group of kids standing around the list scanning for their names. I join the crowd. Mercutio is the third part listed and my name isn’t next to it. What the fuck? I know I was better than nayone lese trying for that part specifically. And I was bumped for a Romeo wanna be…
I start at the top of the list this time looking for my name and there I am. Romeo. Are you fucking with me? This has got to be some sick joke. I specifically said that I didn’t want this part so why the fuck is my name on the list next to Romeo’s?
Mr. Peters has already fled the building of course. Part of the reason he posts the list on a Friday is so that he can escape and everyone has the weekend to cool down if they’re upset. But I am not about to calm down. After swim practice I’ll write him an email asking exactly why he did this. And I expect an answer. If not by email then in person.
The fucker.
“Dude,” some kid that I recognize from the musical but can’t come up with his name taps me on the shoulder, “you didn’t get the part you wanted?”
“No,” I answer bitterly.
“But you were fucking awesome!”
“Thanks,” I say shaking my head. I cannot believe that this is happening. I push my way back through the crowd of kids and then take off running to the pool anxious to work off this frustration.
January 24th, 104 total days till graduation, 83 days left of school
Art chick slides the magazine across the table. “Stanley Milgram,”
“I’m sorry, what?” Christopher asks.
The six of us are sitting at our desks in a circle. Art chick has been squirming the entire four minutes we’ve been sitting here, clearly anxious to share what she found.
“Stanley Milgram,” she repeats. “he did this wicked experiment back in the sixties inspired by the Nuremberg Trials.”
We all look at each other wondering what the hell she’s talking about.
“Oh come ON guys. You do know what the Nuremberg Trials are, right?”
Silence. I remember hearing about them at some point in history but I can’t place the name so I’m not opening my mouth and looking like an idiot.
“Okay I guess we’ll start with a basic history lesson for you idiots.” She pulls the magazine back towards herself. “The Nuremberg Trials were the trials that allies used to prosecute Nazi officers for their war crimes during the Holocaust.”
“And that relates to our psychology experiment how?” Melissa snaps obviously upset that she was just called an idiot.
“Stanley Milgram came up with this genius idea to see how far people will follow directions since that’s what all the SS officers were saying during the trials, ‘I was just following directions.’ Turns out that most people follow directions.”
“So what’s your idea exactly?”
“Let me finish please,” she says. “So what this Milgram guy did is he told people that they were being the administrator in a learning experiment and whenever a person in the next room got an answer wrong they had to zap them with increasing amounts of electricity. Since they can’t see the person in the other room they assume that the shocks they deliver are real but they’re not. There’s simply a paid actor in the next room who screams or cries or whatever when the light bulb attached to the switches.
“Something like 2/3 of the people that participated went all the way to 660 volts. So my idea is we replicate the study. Only on a much smaller schedule since lots of people got pissed and called the experiment unethical,” she’s grinning like a madman.
“Only we’re not allowed to replicate someone else’s experiment,” Bethany says. “So stop wasting our time.”
“Well we need to at least come up with a decent idea for the experiment today. Remember we gotta write our first letter today,” Christopher chimes in.
“What about something simpler?” Justin asks.
“Like what?” Melissa shoots back.
“What if we did something involving heart rate in response to certain stimuli?” Christopher suggests.
“Heart rate isn’t a psychological response dumbass,” Art Chick spits.
“Technically you can’t measure a psychological response. So instead of asking ‘does this make you anxious,’ you decide that a sped up heart rate is an anxiety response. Didn’t you learn about that in any of your reading dip shit?”
“Hey, lay off. We’re not gonna get anything done if we keep insulting each other,” Justin says. All five of us turn and look at him.
“Seriously?” Bethany asks.
“Look, I just need to pass this damn class okay? So we need a solid idea so that we can write the letter.”
“So, if that’s the best we have right now…” I start.
No one offers anything different.
“Alright, so what are we changing when we take heart rates?” Melissa asks.
“We could do something really simple and just put different sheets of colored paper. We would measure people’s reactions to different colors.”
“It’s not really technical,” ventured Bethany.
“We could take blood pressures too just to give us more data to work with,” Christopher suggests.
“And we could read up on what those numbers mean beforehand so that we’ll actually be able to make a decent hypothesis before setting up the experiment,” Melissa finishes.
“Great, so we’ve got our experiment. Let’s write this stupid letter,” Art Chick says. “But if this doesn’t work I vote we try to rework Milgram. That’d be way more interesting than blood pressure changes due to color.”
Everyone ignores her. Melissa pulls out a piece of paper and starts writing.
January 25th, 103 total days till graduation, 82 days left of school
“What the fuck Peters?”
“Calm down Grayson,” he warns. I’m pacing on the other side of his desk. I’m still pissed off about getting the part of Romeo.
“I told you I didn’t want this part. Romeo’s not a challenge. I want to fucking act. Romeo isn’t a character worth putting any energy into.”
“Romeo is going to be more of a challenge for you than Mercutio. Besides, I thought it’s about time you get a lead. You always get overlooked by the choir director for the musical.”
“But I specifically said that I didn’t want this character.”
“No, you said you wanted a specific character. I’m the director and I feel that the play will be better with you as the lead. How can you take that as an insult?”
“I don’t want this part. It’s insulting.”
“Are you planning on quitting?”
“No.”
“Then you’re Romeo.”
“What if I’d said yes?”
Mr. Peters smiles, “I would have called your bluff. You’re too dedicated to actually quit the play.” He watches me, still pacing. “Grayson, this is a compliment. It means I think you’re the best.”
“But you didn’t give me the best role!” I protested. “What the hell do you have against me?”
“Nothing Grayson. Now, can we start practice or do you want to keep bitching?” He pushes himself up out of his chair and opens the door motioning for me to leave. I do, but I’m still bitter about the situation.
“This is bull shit,” I hiss as I walk by.
“This is theatre,” he responds. “You don’t put your best actor in a supporting role when he’ll work just as well as the lead.”
Then we walk silently together into the auditorium.
Practice flies by. We sit in a circle and simply read our lines working on pacing and pronunciation since all the newbie freshman with minor roles have never actually performed a Shakespeare piece. As soon as Mr. Peters dismisses practice I jog to the girl’s locker room to pick up Jenna.
“Practice any better?” I ask as soon as she walks out of the locker room her duffel bag swung over right shoulder.
“Hardly. At least I’m still allowed to practice for the 800 breast on my own. I’m gonna kick everyone’s butt’s at Nationals.”
I smile at her and hug her close slipping the bag off her shoulder and onto mine in one quick move.
“How was practice for you?” she asks.
“Still stuck with the part of Romeo. Peters refuses to budge,” I tell her.
She hugs me. “You’ll make a great Romeo.”
“I’m not worried about that. I just don’t like the part.”
We walk out to the car and drive home. I’m mostly quiet thinking about my dream from the night before last. It’s still really bothering me. She jabbers the entire way about God only knows what. When we get there I sit idle in the driveway idle for a moment. “Mind if I come in?” I finally ask.
She shrugs, her big toothy smile taking up half her face, “sure!”
She bounces out of the car grabbing her back pack and duffel bag in one fell swoop. “C’mon, we can do our homework and eat ice cream.”
She would bring up ice cream. I climb out of the car slower, grabbing my back pack. On my way to the door I debate what I’ve been throwing around in my head ever since I had the dream. It’s the one definite way I figure I can find out if I’m gay or straight. We enter the house and Ernie immediately pounces on us first licking Jenna all over and then tackling me against the wall to give me sloppy puppy dog kisses.
Jenna settles Ernie down and then we head into the kitchen so that Jenna can have her bowl of ice cream.
“So what’s up?” she asks me. “You’ve been really quiet today.”
It’s true. Not only was I quiet on the way home but I was at lunch today, and yesterday, too. “Just stuff,” I tell her. “There’s been a lot on my mind.”
“Other than playing Romeo you mean?”
I nod. I’m having difficulty thinking all of the sudden. “Jenna, can I ask for a favor?”
She looks up from scooping ice cream. “Of course, what do you need.”
“A kiss?” My voice cracks just as I say it and I feel like a freaky little middle schooler.
She drops the ice cream scoop in surprise. “A what?
“Never mind, it was stupid anyway.” I walk back into the living room to grab my things. I’ll just bury my nose in homework and forget this ever happened. Besides it’s stupid to drag her into this. I just have to figure out some other way to know for sure. I know I’m not going to dedicate my attention to nationals for swim or to the part of Romeo until I figure this out but this isn’t the way to figure it out.
I pull out my anatomy homework and walk back into the kitchen. Jenna has put the ice cream back and is sitting at the table separating the chocolate chips from the ice cream, probably just for the fun of it. She looks up when I walk in. I sit down at the table and spread my notebook open and start flipping through the book looking for the questions I need to answer.
“Okay,” she says suddenly startling me out of my thoughts.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I’ll kiss you.”
13,436 words