13

Nikki

Twelve students sat around the paint-splattered tables, waiting for Jim the art teacher, as apposed to Jim the middle school science teacher, to freakin' open his mouth. I could have stood up and cheered when he did. "Now that you all know how to draw bodies and faces and stuff, and Chris Pfeiffer, don't you dare contradict me because you have been on a roll," Chris was a wannabe class clown but that was actually Colin, who comprehended time and place. "You're gonna draw people. Portraits, scenes, cartoons, screw it, I don't care. Just draw a person. No My Little Ponies, Brony Brian." Everybody called Brian, who I identify as an art kid, Brony Brian because he was the most in-your-face brony anyone could know personally. He pouted. He must have legitimately hoped he could draw a real character as a damn pony. "Draw!" Jim commanded.

I opened my school-issued sketchbook to the first blank page and thought of a face. The first face I thought of belonged to the familiar stranger that had been haunting my dreams for days. The masked man. I drowned out the conversations going around me, the faint sound of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young in the background, even thoughts about the show until I was finished. I realized as I looked over my masterpiece I had written something in the upper right corner. Mister Y=MYSTERY.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a legendary Brooklyn accent spoke from behind me. I jumped a little and turned to Jim, who loved sneaking up on people, even if they were drawing or painting. "What have we here? A masked Lothario?"

Lotharios enjoy many lovers. I prayed that wasn't the case. I don't pray, not even when Auntie Tonya coerces me into going to her old Harlem church on Christmas and Easter. But I actually asked God to confirm he was monogamous because I…was really into him. Love wasn't a word I professed to understand. "Of sorts," I murmured.

"Mr. Y…who's Mr. Y?" he asked.

"Christ, Jim, you've lived in Brooklyn all your life and you've never seen Phantasma?" Max, who had a supporting role in the play, scoffed.

"No," he replied obtusely. I would have cracked up but I only chortled. I was so weirdly focused. "What the hell's that?"

"Leave him be, Max," said Chloe, a full-on art kid whose twin sister Zoey, a full-on theater kid, was playing Nicole Bronwyn. She was also in this class, sitting next to Chloe. "He invented the term art kid. That's why we art kids worship like a god. He doesn't know the first thing about theater."

"He painted some props for A Chorus Line," Max noted.

"Set design isn't theater. Just an important part," Zoey said.

"Wow, that makes me feel terrific," Jim whined, but he couldn't keep a straight face with that statement. Nothing could get past that dude. "So you know this guy?"

"Uh…kinda seems like I'm very lucky to have as much as a somewhat casual conversation with him because he's the lord of anonymity," I breathed. "He wrote Learning Lunacy, so he's Barry's hero."

"Lemme see that," Chloe said. I showed her. She tilted her glasses lower on her nose and said, "Not bad. He really that hot?"

"Yeah," I chortled. "I mean, this is as hot as I could portray him, considering it's from memory and I've dreamt of him more than I've actually seen him."

I had gotten the attention of the not-exclusively art kids, who were Max, Zoey, Blair who was a music kid and played five instruments, and Clark, who was the least stuck-up athlete kid in the school, which was also the world. Even Jim seemed interested. "Nikki…I think we need to have a girl talk," Blair said.

"How old is this dude?" Clark asked.

"Erm, I dunno," I replied. "I mean, Phantasma has been around for, like, more than a hundred years so he can't be the first Mr. Y." But he was something more than human.

Max said, "Like…like Jim's age, or Daryn's age?" Daryn was the 28-year-old gym teacher.

Jim slapped Max's back a little angrily. "I'm ten years older than that guy. Someday you're gonna be that age."

"I don't know, man. He doesn't look old, but he is. Apparently my mom performed in Phantasma between her NYU days and when I was born and he knew her really well," I said.

"Oh my god, what if he's your father?" Zoey exclaimed.

"Drama queen," Chloe, who was so much of an art kid that she could focus on art and surrounding conversations, scoffed.

"Shut up, we all know who my father is," I muttered. "I mean, look at me, I'm a spitting image of him. I almost wish I look like my mom."

"Almost?" Blair repeated.

"Imani Lasalle was the hottest chick at NYU, mind you," Jim said He went there, too. "But individuality is good. Yeah?" He patted my back.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I think I want you to Xerox that so I can hang it up," Jim said with a grin.

Chloe looked up. "Ooh, Nikki, moving up in the world." That was actually a compliment. I was half-theater and half-art kid. I was invited into music because I knew how to use a saxophone and drums but wasn't really into it. It wasn't very common to be a partial anything, and you had to lean to one side. I was leaning towards theater, therefore it was a big deal for the slightly biased Jim (who loved me anyway) to hang up one of my things. "Go make Xerox. Go make four." He patted my back.

"Sir, yes, sir," I said with a smile.

I walked down two halls to the office by the main entrance to the building. I was greeted by Doreen the secretary, who was good friends with my dad's mother. I would have still been living with Grandma if she was emotionally stable after my dad was arrested. I was twelve and a half and already independent because neither of my parents spent a lot of time with me. I almost wanted to live by myself but then met Ezra and Doris and tasted Auntie Tonya's coconut cake. Anyway, she said to me, "Well, hey there, Nikki. What brings you?"

"Jim fell in love with my drawing and told me to make four copies," I said. "But I know how to do them this time, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Nuh-uh, an opportunity to get my ass off this ol' chair knocks, I reach out 'n grab it." She got up and took my sketchbook from me before I could even offer it to her. I followed her through the arch that led to the room that housed the great big copier, teacher mailboxes, student files and other stuff. She put my sketchbook somewhat carefully in the copier and as she pressed a few buttons said, "How's your auntie Tonya?"

"She's good. Working a lot."

"Working? Home alone a lot?"

"Her pugs make it impossible to be lonely. They're love dogs."

She smiled. "That's nice." Four papers came out. She didn't give them to me right away. She examined the one at the top first. "My, my, Nikki, this is really something. Who is it?"

My muscles tightened and I shrugged. "Dunno. Just the reason I've been losing sleep."

She looked at me sympathetically. "Sorry to hear that." She handed me the papers. "Feel better. Say hello to Tonya for me."

"Sure thing," I replied with a friendly smile. "Thanks."

The moment Jim saw the copies and me, he grabbed one and hung it up on the wall within twenty seconds. I didn't move a damn muscle. Once he was done, he said to me, "Now you're gonna paint it."

I hate painting. "I hate painting, Jim. I always screw up the shades and stuff," I said. "Plus, how much time do we have?

"Half an hour," he replied. He patted my shoulder with his big calloused hand. It hurt for the moment. "You did this, you shaded it beautifully, you can paint it."

"I needeth thine assistance," I whimpered.

He took me to his desk and snatched one of the copies. He drew some lines on the face of my drawing where I shaded it in and in other places it needed to be shaded. "Paint over this right now. We'll work from there."

I put the two remaining drawings carefully in my bag so not to crumple them. Jim had hung up the original copy and probably wouldn't take it down because he was overly excited about it. I paid no attention to the hilarious conversation going around with the not exclusively art kids who didn't feel the need to focus intently. I just sat on the stool, hunched over a little, and hummed one of the strangely beautiful songs I heard in my dream the night before. I finished within twenty-five minutes, and then we needed to clean up. "Hey, Jim, check it out."

Jim swept his way towards me and took a long good look at my painting. "That's beautiful," he said blankly. That was a super nice compliment.

"Thanks," I replied.

"Clean up now," he commanded. "You can put that on my desk to dry." He walked away. I washed out the paint on the platter and put my painting onto his desk. The second I put it down, the end-of-the-day bell rang. "Leave," Jim commanded. I went straight to Carol the middle school math teacher's really big room where most rehearsals were held.

I entered the room to find only three students and one Barry waiting. The students were sitting in the corner on their phones and Barry was tapping a riding crop on Carol's desk that he propped his feet onto. "Barry, why do you have a riding crop?" I asked.

"Intimidation purposes," he replied apathetically. He stuck the leather flap under my chin, making me lift my head a little. "Have you been a good girl, Nicole?"

"Yes," I replied.

He tapped it gently against my face. "Good, good." He went back to tapping it against the desk. "It's a good thing you're a good girl."

The rest of the cast came in within three minutes—I counted. "We starting?" I asked Barry.

"Yeah, I guess," he moaned. He stood up and clapped his hands loudly three times, which got everyone's attention immediately. Tapping the crop against his other hand, he said, "Welcome to the second rehearsal, my children."

"Why do you have a riding crop?" Max asked.

He dropped the arm but not the hand that held the crop and put the back of his hand against his forehead and sighed. I rolled my eyes. "For intimidation purposes," I breathed. I pressed my hands together and said, "Who has memorized the opening number that everyone is in?"

Most people raised their hands, everyone else said mostly. "Well, let's do it."

I stood by Barry at the upright piano and took out my phone to record the song and dance. Mr. Y was supposed to call tonight and I thought I might like to show it to him and ask him for notes because he wanted a part in directing, just from a distance. Barry made up the choreography as he went along and I agreed to it because I don't really know how to choreograph, just to do as I'm told, which is how I survived A Chorus Line. Barry shouted directions as he played over the people singing so I didn't get a very good video. Once they finished, I said, "Okay, now that our memories are refreshed, shall we do that again without the screaming homosexual in the background?" If I didn't go to an alternative school, even if I were as tight with a teacher as I am with Barry, I would have gotten in so much trouble. Everyone laughed, even Barry. They did it one more time without Barry screaming and they did it fine. The second I tapped the record button to end the recording, I got a text from Tonya and it made a loud sound that made everyone stare at me. "Sorry, my aunt texted me."

Barry stood up and gave everyone the lowdown on the plans for today, which was to work on the first scene, as I read the text. Babe don't pick me up. Deshawn showed up for the first time in a month. Deshawn was an ambulance driver/her romantic interest that danced in and out of her life. Now he was in.

"For you all not on this or when you're done, just sit in the back and do your homework," Barry said. He then opened his script and said, "Okay, Nicole Bronwyn center stage, shopkeepers perimeter, go."

Really, it was a good second rehearsal and Barry, although he never got out of his riding crop-toting drama queen attitude, ended right on time. The second I got into my car, my phone rang. A blocked number was calling. Right on time.