Confessions of a West High Drama Queen

Chapter Two – Close Encounters of the Wildcat Kind

And of course, since the world is a cruel, cruel place, the locker room invader is...

"Troy Bolton," Javier stutters out.

We stand there like deer in the headlights as the East High Wildcats' starter pauses by the entryway to the basketball team's lockers. He's still in his jersey and shorts, beads of sweat on his impossibly pretty face. He must have just come off the court. Stop looking at his biceps, Dee!

"Um, you're not supposed to be in here," he says hesitantly, probably deciding whether or not he should tattle on us.

Javier and I drop the pant legs and step away. Troy's eyebrows raise as he sees that we've been digging through his stuff. I shove my hands in my pockets and look at Troy's shoes, considering whether I should start begging his forgiveness or if I should just run away screaming.

"So...as I said, locker room's off limits..." Troy begins again, not moving from his place. Well, he's blocking my escape, so I guess I'll have to do the begging thing.

"Well, you see..."

Javier is quicker though, and he steps forward, his face serious. "Troy Bolton. Hi, Jim Morrison, West High Round Table."

Troy and Javier shake hands, and I stand there dumbly. "What's the Round Table?" Troy inquires, clearly thrown off by Javi's surprising recovery.

"It's our student paper. Uh, my partner..." Javi looks at me with a look that expects me to play along.

"Janis Joplin," I mutter weakly.

"Janis and I were actually hoping to interview you for our sports section."

Troy is confused. I can't blame him. I'd really just like to leave the poor guy alone, but Javi always likes an excuse to show off what he learned in that community college improv class he took this past summer. He sits down on the bench as Javier gently eases the guy's locker door shut. I press myself back against Danforth's locker, begging for this ordeal to end quickly – and without intervention from the East High security team. Not like they had one. There were never fights here.

Javier looks to me. "Janis, why don't you start?"

I could kill him. I could kill my best friend with my bare hands and a shoe from Troy Bolton's locker, so help me God. Troy's eyes meet mine, and oh crap, I know I'm blushing now. He has a girlfriend, I keep repeating in my head. A girlfriend who could probably beat me into a fine paste. Well, if Gabriella Montez didn't, I could guarantee that Sharpay Evans would end me.

"Um...hi."

"Hi," Troy parrots back, still confused why two reporters from the Round Table are creeping around in his locker room.

"Why aren't you on the court?" I blurt out, immediately regretting it.

But Troy smirks. "No offense, but we're kind of winning by a lot. My...uh, the Coach asked me to come get the Gatorade so that some of the other guys could play."

Ouch, Troy Bolton. Ouch.

"Oh," Javi interrupts, "Well, if you have to do that, Janis and I can interview you another time..."

We move to get away, but Troy's feet are blocking my escape route, and Javier pauses, spotting my trouble. I lick my lips, trying not to stare at the one little trickle of sweat moving down from under the edge of Troy's jersey and down his shoulder and...

"Don't you guys need a tape recorder or something for an interview anyway?"

"Yes!" I tell him, glaring at Javi briefly. "You're right, we left that in the car. Wow, can you believe that? Talk about a pair of morons, haha, no wonder you guys annihilate the Knights all the time..."

My mouth seems to be functioning at a quicker speed than my brain, and Javi gives me a "shut up, already" look. Troy stands, and he's taller than me, and oh, I feel short and when did it get so hot in this locker room?

Troy's smile is probably one cause of global warming. Someone better get on the phone to Al Gore. "Hey, it's no problem, really. I mean, I don't really get why your school paper is interviewing me, but I'll be back in here after the game if you really wanted to..."

Javier sees our opening and begins pulling me by the sleeve of my hoodie. "Great, thanks. You're the best, we'll look for you. Thanks again, thank you!"

My sneakers are squeaking on the floor as my mouth opens and closes like a fish instead of saying goodbye. Yeah, this is not one of my finer moments. I don't look back at Troy as Javier tugs me out the door we'd snuck in, and we just start running down the halls and back towards the parking lot where the Tercel is waiting to take us away from this horrible, horrible place.

We don't stop moving until we reach the car, and the pair of us collapse inside once Javi gets the doors unlocked. He's ready to smack his head against his steering wheel while I unzip my hoodie and fan my face with my hand.

"What the hell was that?" Javi screams at me.

I could strangle him. "Reporters for the Round Table? Seriously, Javi?"

He chuckles. "Dude, if anyone else had caught us. Luckily it was your golden boy."

I hold my face in my hands. "Oh God, I hate you so much." My first encounter with Troy Bolton, and I told him my name was Janis Joplin. And he found me fondling his jeans. I start smacking Javier, battering him as much as my weak little arms could do. "I am never listening to any of your stupid, half-assed plans again! Ever! Start the car!"

Javier is still grinning as he shoves me away and jams the key in the ignition. The Tercel roars to life, engine sputtering, begging to be taken out back and put down. He backs up, hoping that no one is behind us since there's no seeing around the Range Rovers. I stay as low in the seat as I can while the Tercel putters its way past the gym and off towards the main road away from the school.

I don't move to sit up fully until we're half a block from my house. Javier pulls over and starts laughing at me. "Oh, Dee. If you'd seen the look on your face when he first looked at you with those big pretty eyes..."

I grab my backpack from the back seat and try to keep myself from beating Javi with it. "If I'm not in school tomorrow, please send flowers to whichever funeral home my parents pick."

He shakes his head. "It wasn't that bad, come on." I open the door and slam it. He leans over to roll the window down, his bright smily face looking so much like it needed my fist in it. "You do love him. Just admit it."

A rude gesture is all I offer in response as I sling the backpack over my shoulder and trudge towards my house. The Toyota coughs like a dying old man and speeds away from the curb, leaving me about twenty feet of precious sidewalk before I have to deal with another human being. Believe me, I'm going to make those twenty feet count.

But Dad's got the TV on in the living room, and he hears me open the front door. "Game over already?"

"Yeah."

"Who won?"

"Who do you think?"

He laughs, turning back to Sportscenter as I stomp up the stairs, hoping to convince him that I'm upset about the game or something. Mom's depositing some clean clothes on my bed when I get up to my room, and she looks at me suspiciously.

"Game over already?"

I throw my backpack on the bed, upsetting the way she arranged my socks. "Please, spare me."

"If you cared half as much about your brother's team..."

I want to shake her. But I can't exactly tell her that humiliating myself in front of Troy Bolton is the actual cause of her daughter's present bitch mode. "I have homework."

She shakes her head at me, closing the door behind her. "Your dad's cooking tonight. The Little Caesar's number is on the fridge if you need it."

I grin at that as she leaves. Pulling my chemistry book from my bag, I crack it open and will the knowledge to embed itself in my mind. If only I could replace all the Troy Bolton with the periodic table, my life would be a lot less pathetic.

–

You know you're back at West High when you nearly yank your arm out of its socket to get your locker door open. I frown at the papers that come fluttering out, but I just shove them all back as I pull out my calc and history books. It had not been a good night.

I mean, really. I go to West High. Troy Bolton goes to East High. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so upset. I will finish out my senior year, go off to college and never think of him again. So long as I stay away from all the subsequent East vs. West basketball games, I should be good. That means Javi has to go check out Mr. Gabe the Center on his own time. I use the heel of my foot to shove the locker door shut, and I shuffle along behind all the other students taking their sweet time going through the hallways.

Thank God I have Drama Club after school. I'm not shy, but I'm not really that outgoing. Drama Club's just a good way to be a big dork with all the other socially inept members of the West High student body. It's an especially good time of the year to be in Drama Club. The state competition is coming up at the end of November, and this year there's a Shakespeare theme. I'll get the chance to stretch myself as an actor, try on an accent if Mrs. Randal lets me, and hopefully kick some ass at state.

Plus, this year it's in Santa Fe. We'll get to head out of town for a long weekend. A long weekend without Mom nagging me about the state of my college applications, without Dad's Saturday night card games, and a blissful three days without Luke's girlfriend Megan eating all my damn Oreos. Yes, if you can't tell – state competition is the promised land. They only have it every other year, and I had strep sophomore year and had to stay home. So yeah, this is a big deal to me, okay?

Anyhow, the rest of the school day went by at its usual glacial pace. Didn't bomb the calc test, got to go off about Daisy being unworthy of Gatsby's love in English, and it was nacho day in the cafeteria. Could have been far worse. Javi meets me at my locker, and he definitely knows what day it is.

"Hello, Mrs. Bolton," he teases, adding a few of his own books to my locker since his is on the opposite side of the building from where most of his classes are. I glare at him, but I decide that in honor of Drama Club day, I will be a better person than Javi deserves.

"So what play do you think it will be?"

Javi shrugs. "I don't care, really. So long as I get to wear tights."

I roll my eyes. "Gross. You just want people to be frightened of you."

He hugs me as we stumble along towards the auditorium. "As long as I have you, Dee. You and Gabe."

The other kids are all sitting at the front of the house, and Mrs. Randal is nowhere in sight. Javi and I find a seat behind everyone else, antisocial even with the antisocial weirdos that make up West High's Drama Club. I can hear whispers about what monologues people intend to audition with, and I know that I won't be doing any of those.

Whatever play we're doing, you audition with any Shakespearean monologue. As Javi and I listen in, I hear about half a dozen Ophelias from the goth girls, two Hamlets, a smattering of Romeos, Juliets, and a lone Henry V. Javier's already got something of Iago's memorized, and I couldn't think of a better part for him. Of course, I'm a snob (at least where Drama Club is concerned) and I've got my heart set on Portia's "quality of mercy" bit from The Merchant of Venice. I know I'll be the only one.

Finally, Mrs. Randal emerges, a bunch of papers in her hands as she stands at the edge of the stage looking down at us. "Sorry, I'm sorry everyone."

Something's wrong.

She fusses with the papers in her arms, her face twitching in the same way it twitches when someone misses a line during a dress rehearsal. "I just got off the phone with my colleague at East High. Due to budget cuts district-wide..."

Budget cuts? I think of the scoreboard at the game yesterday, the larger than life Wildcat banners in the halls...

"We'll all be doing one play and sending one district team to state..."

The grumblings and moans are noisy. One district team? Maybe 15-18 speaking roles split amongst the whole district? I mean, sure, there's always crew work, but this is my only chance...

Mrs. Randal clears her throat. "One play, and since Ms. Darbus at East has been kind enough to offer her facilities for rehearsals, the other district drama coaches and I have let her select the play..."

"Oh crap," Javier mutters, his Othello dreams flying out the window.

"Auditions for Romeo and Juliet will be held this Friday in the East High Auditorium. 4:00 PM sharp so that students from around the district may attend and audition. That's all I have for you today. If you need help selecting a monologue for auditions, see me in my office." Mrs. Randal looks ready to cry, and no wonder. I'd seen the copies of Titus Andronicus hidden under the Nora Roberts books on her desk for weeks now. She'd really wanted to be different.

But no. I cross my arms, and Javier does the same as the other students start complaining to each other once Mrs. Randal leaves to lock herself in her office and throw things. "Are you kidding me?" he asks. "Shakespeare had more plays than Romeo and Juliet!"

"It's not so bad," I say, not believing it. "Mercutio's not a far cry from Iago."

That seems to pacify him for the time being, but I'm not so lucky. Juliet? I don't want to be Juliet. Besides, I'm going to lose that part to Sharpay Evans, so it isn't even worth trying. A district team. It's already leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

"At this rate, I'm going to be the damn Apothecary or something," Javi snits. "Darbus will cast all her kids in the big parts and let us and North and South be set decorations. You'll be Capulet sword bearer number two, Dee."

No, she wouldn't. Would she? Darbus was probably already losing sleep over using existing source material. The batty woman had been letting her students write and perform original pieces for years, using the money that would have gone to pay for securing rights to actual plays to buy Sharpay Evans new costumes instead. It's going to be a disaster. I really AM going to be Capulet sword bearer number two.

But Javi's next words are what really get me nervous.

"Wait, you don't think...you don't think Troy Bolton's going to audition, do you?"