Hmm.. well, no I do not own HA.. no I do not own The Nutcracker.. on with the show. "Phoebe!" I yelled. "We have, like, thirty seconds before we have to be out there!"
"Yeah, I know," she yelled back, "Is it my fault that the zipper's stuck?"
"Whoa, whoa, too much information," someone yelled from the bathroom.
"Mind you're business," I yelled back. "Now what's this about a zipper?" I asked, walking to the other side of the lockers. I met a very determined face, and almost burst out laughing, except that probably wouldn't help matters with Phoebe.
"Could you help me with this please?" she sounded desperate, and I had to give in. She turned around and pulled her hair up. In case you haven't figured it out yet, the zipper was on the back of the shirt, dress, whatever.
"How many times do I have to tell you, Phoebe, everything is your fault," I joked, referring to her earlier comment.
"Shut up," she snapped back at me, laughing.
"Got it! Okay, let's go." We ran over to the stage and started stretching with everybody else.
So, I imagine this questionably queer guy with a beard saying "One, two, three, four and jump, six, seven, eight, and leap, (pause) and run, (pause) and spiiiin, stop." But that's just me.
Anyway, so I am the lead, because this is my story, and Phoebe's just sort of in there somewhere. This is sort of a, umm... okay, ya know what, it's the Nutcracker. And I'm the girl who goes into that whole little toy world or whatever, and Phoebe's the SugarPlum Fairy. So I don't know a whole lot about The Nutcracker. Moving right along.
So we had our practice, which just happens to be in the school gym, then we went back into the locker room to change into our regular clothes. I looked up at the clock and realized it was only two thirty, which meant we still had fifteen minutes before the bell rang (yes, this dance thing is a class. Sort of like how band is a class). Which also meant that we could go watch Arnold play basketball until we had to change again for Drill practice. Ah, we are social butterflies.
"Hey Pheebs, ya wanna, um, watch the basketball practice?" I asked, trying to sound casual. Which was something I really shouldn't have done, because Phoebe knows Arnold is my best friend, and probably has a pretty good idea that I like him. I like him, in case you haven't figured that out yet. So trying to sound casual only made me sound even more uncasual, if that makes any sense at all.
"No, not really," she answered.
"Wha-why not?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Eh, I'm just not really in the mood."
"Oh. Okay," I shrugged, trying not to look disappointed.
"Helga, I'm kidding," she laughed. "I know how much watching *makes air quotes* 'basketball' means to you."
I just rolled my eyes and shook my head, pretending to have no idea what she was talking about. I could have pulled it off it was someone other than Phoebe, but since it was Phoebe, she pretended she didn't know I liked him. Which was a nice thing for her to do, sort of something I would never do. I have to tease where teasing is due.
We went out to the basketball courts where they had basketball practice. They couldn't go in the gym because that's where our dance class practice was held, so they used the outside basketball courts until two forty-five, at which point they migrated into the gym for the rest of practice. Of course, Arnold is just so darn good that even though he's a sophomore, he's already a starter on the varsity team.
Arnold and I saw each other at the same time, and we waved to each other. He motioned for us to go play with them, but I shook my head. "You know we suck at basketball!" I told him.
"Hey!" Phoebe nudged me in the ribs with her elbow.
"Sorry. I suck at basketball," I corrected myself, then Phoebe and I both laughed again.
Arnold shook his head and sighed, obviously confused by us females and our darn humor. We leaned against the fence on the side of the court and watched them play. Or more specifically, I watched Arnold play. And I'm sure Phoebe had her eye on someone. But at that moment, it wasn't at the top of my list of things to think about.
The fifteen minutes passed quickly, and we heard the bell ring. Before I knew what was happening, Arnold had poured water on my head. Not really a lot, but enough to tick me off.
"Told you I'd get ya back!" he laughed.
"This is so different than that," I answered angrily. I looked to Phoebe for support, but found that she was laughing as well. I stormed off sort of angrily, but I think they knew I was joking. "You will pay for this!" I yelled a final threat as I walked to the locker room to change for drill practice.
Moments later, the locker room opened to reveal Phoebe, still smiling from earlier. "C'mon, you know you're glad that happened," she told me, pulling her clothes out of her bag.
I let out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, right," was the only comeback I could think of. I turned back to my own Adidas bag and took my kneepads out.
"Why don't you just admit it, already?" she asked me.
I was fully aware of what she was talking about, but I pretended I had no idea. "Admit what?" I asked innocently.
"That ya like Arnold," she replied, using a tone that told me she could see right through my front.
"Admit it to him?" I asked. That was something I was definitely not doing.
"Well... yeah," she answered.
"Uh-uh. No way am I doing that," I told her firmly.
"Why not?"
"Why do you think?"
"Because you're a big coward and you're afraid of rejection?"
"Precisely."
"Helga, ya gotta get over this," Phoebe tried to convince me. "I mean, you've known the guy since pre-school, you'd think you wouldn't be as shy around him as you are."
"You don't get it," I argued, "it's not that easy. There's so much more to it than that. If he didn't feel the same way, he'd probably avoid me for a while because he'd be uncomfortable. It'd screw up the friendship."
"And what if he did feel the same?"
"Then if we ever broke up, it'd screw up the friendship. So either way, the friendship's screwed, and what did it ever do to anyone?"
Phoebe laughed slightly and shook her head. "I still think it's worth going for. Seriously, it seems to me that you haven't ever liked anybody else but him in... five years."
"Technically, it's four and half," I retorted. Never mind that it was actually twelve and half.
"Whatever! That's not the point. The point is, you're never gonna get over him, so just tell him how you feel."
"Maybe," I said as I heard the door open again.
