"Okay, everyone, stick to the script this time." Robertson stood behind a camera to check the angle, moving other 'prisoners' around the room, moving us to slightly different positions to easily get close-ups.
"Um, Roxie, move your glasses down your nose, and Pete, smooth your hair down a bit." They complied, and Robertson walked around to get a different angle. "Penn, would you mind not wearing your hat inside? This isn't winter anymore."
I hesitated. "Actually, Rob, I think it would be better if I left it on."
He gestured impatiently. "Off with it, Penn."
Shrugged resignedly, I pulled off the red white and blue knit toque and immediately heard gasps from the collected party. "Penn! How could you do this?" Robertson approached me almost reverently, as if he were reluctant to believe my hair was now indeed bright fire engine red, with purple streaks. They were hard to miss.
"Well, I was bored, and since I usually have to wear a hat anyway to cover up girly hair, I figured it wouldn't hurt anything." I really didn't see a problem with it. Of course, it could just be a sign of rebellion.
Robertson sighed, holding out one purple section straight from my head. I pulled away, and it fell on top of the other chin length strands. "Leave off, Rob, it's not that bad. I'll just keep the bloody hat on, and no one's the wiser."
Retreating off the set, he gave up as I pulled my hat back on. "I suppose so, Penn. Just keep in mind you're supposed to be Scottish, not English."
"Same island, isn't it?" I smiled over my shoulder at him. At least he hadn't noticed the black fingernail polish.
"Not the same accent, though." He walked back through the set into the officers' quarters. I laughed good-naturedly at him as we reset ourselves to do the scene. I'd known Robertson since I was fourteen and he first began recruiting people his own age to join his 'Drama Class,' an acting company that did all their own stuff on their own.
It's been nearly ten years now, and Drama Class has finally taken off. I think it was so attractive because of the various nationalities of the actors. It was just like a secondary school fine arts production, with many different kinds of people. We all played a variety of roles as well, since there were only about twenty-one of us available, not including crew and Robertson. So that meant with a script like Prisoner of War, the girls played men's roles, just like drama class. Robertson was smart. None of us could decide to quit the current project, or the Class unless he said we could. We signed a contract, and we were responsible for its upkeep.
I was one of the first to sign, so I got certain privileges that others didn't. I got first pick of roles, and, like the episode with my hair, I could get away with more than someone like Peter.
"You're awfully quiet, Penn," Roxie said, peering carefully over her glasses at her cards.
"Aye, I'm concentratin'," I said, checking my cards carefully. I had to. I wasn't allowed to win. Tough acting, this was.
Pete nudged me. "Your turn, Penn. Take it before the war ends." I jumped as he did so, spilling my cards all over the table.
"I fold!" I announced, just as Benny came running 'into' the cabin.
"That's good!" Robertson said, cutting the scene there. James emerged from his room, looking like he was over his display of childishness. Robertson came over to me. "Be nice, Penn. This should be the last take, understand?"
"Jawhol, Herr kommandant." I mock saluted him, slipping off the bench and returning to my bed.
Robertson paused on his way back to the officers' quarters. "Very funny, Penn. Enough with the German already or I'll recast you as a guard."
I smiled to myself as I pulled my book out of its hiding spot. I let it fall open to page seventy-two and settled in to read. Despite the fact I loved to read continually getting me into trouble, I couldn't help it. The Three Musketeers was one of my favourite books.
"Penn," Roxie whispered as she sat down beside my bunk, "we came to a vote. Stop flirting with Michael; you're making us all sick. Besides, none of us girls can get a chance with you around."
I just looked at her. "Flirting? You think?"
She nodded. "Yeah. We all do." She looked over as Buddy and James began arguing for the seventh time that day, over the same thing. Lowering her voice, she continued. "I mean, it's obvious you two have something. We just want to know whether you're going to carry through, or make all of us hang around."
Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I tugged my boots off, using the end of the bunk as a pry bar. "Whatever, Roxie. So we flirt. Get over it. It's all in good fun, and if he wants something, he'll do something. I won't. Live with it."
I realized I wouldn't get any reading time with an answer like that; I pulled the book over my face and ignored the sound of her voice.
While I was thinking about how uncomfortable this uniform was and wondering why people couldn't just wear pyjamas all the time, I heard the sound of wood splintering. I should know, I helped build the set.
Pulling the book off my face, I stared in shock as James clobbered Buddy across the head with a board. James pulled the now-unconscious sergeant onto his bunk. I frowned as I noticed James' uniform was different. He turned around, and I nearly freaked. What do you know, it wasn't James after all. Okay, I was doing a bit of freaking. Just not out loud, more of a what-the-heck-is-happening, I'm-sorry-for-whatever-I-did-to-deserve-this-even-for-putting-gum-in-Jenny's-hair-in-grade-one begging on your knees type stuff.
"Noch, planend auf dem Erklären jeder, bin ich ein Spion? Unwahrscheinlich," the man who wasn't James after all said in German, then with a cautious look around, stalked out of the cabin.
As soon as I heard his footsteps retreating, I moved over to the unconscious man. He wasn't Buddy, but at this point, I'd be more surprised if he was. I peeled back one of his eyelids, thinking about what the homicidal one had said—in German, no less. 'Still planning on telling everyone I am a spy? Unlikely.' If I was still in a POW camp, that probably meant he was a spy.
