Over the course of several weeks since my recognition, we had begun our official theater rehearsals. For the next two weeks, I had been excused from classes through the letter Mrs. Bernardo authorized, and in your case, signed.

"I am dismayed!" Mrs. Bernardo gasped dramatically. "Luan Loud, known comedian and theater star, you're acting like a shell of your former self! Come on, where's the energy? The vivacity!?"

She fought the urge to shrug, or to at least snicker wryly. I'm looking for that too.

Luan crossed her ankle over her knee, ignoring the blunt insult Mrs. Bernardo threw her. The play had just wrapped up. They'd all finished their scenes, spoken their lines at least once, and were close to mastering the first half of the 7-minute drama. Yep, the thespians were fast learners.

She looked down, scanning her script blankly. Lately, all her mind consisted of were of what was, and why it couldn't be what is. A frustrated furrow came to her brows as she scanned through the same page over and over. The more she read it, the more it sucked. The more she heard it delivered, the worse it got. No offense to Amy; it wasn't her acting, it was the dialogue itself… The lines just… didn't click. Not like they usually would, had she written this a year ago. It sounded wrong but why? And this plot—the twist wasn't twisting well enough. Luan huffed. Why? Why wasn't all this clicking? They said it was smooth, but why did it still feel so unnatural!?

"Hey, Luan," Benny popped by her side, his voice unusually monotone. "How'sa going with life? Oh wait… we're alive?"

She snorted mirthlessly. "Who hurt you this time?"

He slumped and broke the facade. "Nah, I was just playing. I've noticed you've taken up a new schtick lately."

"I…I have?" Luan blinked. She hadn't done comedy in weeks. In what felt like forever.

Benny laughed amusedly. "Ha! There it is; I didn't mean schtick—I meant character. Let me guess, this is…disoriented, burnt-out academic student?"

What others didn't know (that ended up sleeping out anyway because Luan couldn't contain herself) is that their shared little inside joke—or challenge, whatever it counts to be. Benny and her would act in certain ways, while the other guessed what it was. It was random, and they did this as a way to—quote Benny, 'improve their improves.'

Luan looked up at him with a mischievous smirk. "Close, but not quite."

"Hm," He stared into the wall. "Hint?"

"This character just can't find spark in what she does anymore," She said, her tongue nearly slipping to spill. "No matter what she does, she doesn't find the good in anything. And… she also kinda just… floats through life now. Detached from herself."

"Oh, so it's a disoriented, depressed, burnt-out kid?" He chuckled naively, looking at her with admiration. "Because if it is, wow—you're really nailing the part."

Her smile faded. "D.S.Y.D."

Shot for 'Don't suspend your disbelief.' That was their code phrase for… I'm serious. Just in case they got too far and confused each other's acts for something real, or vice versa.

Benny's face shifted into resignation. "I knew."

Taking a deep breath, Luan scanned the rest of the stage. Some of the thespians were still in, scripts in hand, rehearsing their lines, the others were by the seats eating snacks. Mrs. Bernardo somehow vanished, again.

Nobody was near the backstage, barely behind the curtain. Near them.

"Sit down." She gestured to him, glancing at Mrs. Bernardo's empty seat across hers.

He did, still having a lingering sense of hope in his eyes. "I was really hoping you were just acting it out." He stammered before his look shifted into realization. "It's because of leading all the group projects, isn't it? And… And now this too. You're putting too much pressure on yourself."

A chill shuddered up her cheeks. With a grave glance at him, she nodded. Benny was one of the only few she could trust, she could really open up without a second thought of what he'd say or do, as they've both made it clear from the start. Like all lovesick teens out there; their hearts gushed out regardless of what they did, wore, looked like, and felt.

So, with bated breath, she started. "I'm fine with this one, though. What you love can't burn you out." First alibi in the story. She hadn't even begun. "But yeah… I wasn't faking this, Benny. None of it. And… I kind of lied."

"About what?"

Luan rested the script on her lap, fiddling with one of its corners. "Mr. Coconuts… he didn't get run over; I broke him myself."

He had contempt in his eyes but tried not to show. It was only just. She tangled her fingers together, playing with her thumbs, hating how apologetic she was gonna sound. "I know Mrs. Appleblossom was lonely lately and—"

"No, no, it's okay. That doesn't matter as much as you do." Benny interrupted her, unsure of what to say next. How else do you comfort your girlfriend when they confess that they're depressed? In the middle of a room with so many other people?

He still remembered when Luan pushed him away after that bad report with Mr. Fern. How angry she'd become. That wasn't like her to be so resentful at all, and yes, she apologized and so did he, that hatchet was buried already. Yet he couldn't help but… feel like he was a part of this madness she was spiraling into right now.

"This would be easier in private," He sighed in resignation. "Look, Luan, I know we haven't hung around a lot lately, with me being in the hospital and you with all the work but…"

"This is the part you tell me you're here for me, is it?" Luan cut him off, sending him a small, playful smirk. "You're so predictable, Benny."

He got a brief chuckle from that. "Hey, just because it's cliché, it doesn't mean any less." Benny smiled, before turning serious. Luan was headstrong, never one to let emotions eat her up if she even let them in. "Just send me a text. Even if I don't always reply, I'm always here to give you an ear."

A small smile tugged at Luan's lips. It wasn't flash news. She knew she had an entire support system behind her back, yet this battle was something only she could go solo for.

She pinched the bridge of her nose with a tired sigh. "The projects are getting way out of hand." She'd muttered the tagline again, the words coming out just as aggressively as before. Even now that she's surrendered. Even now her mind was on one track heading straight to the end goal: winning this play.

Though, the thought gnawed at the back of her mind. Second place would be better than first.

I eventually came back to class following the Festival of Talents event. The awarding wouldn't come until Tuesday.

That day, February 5, we had a report in physics that I was not informed of, nor was I exempted from. Thankfully, I had managed to pull out an improv and came out successful.

However, I was unfortunate with Miss Dublin the next day.

"Let me ask you again," Mss. Dublin growled. "Did you, or did you not receive a notebook to check?"

The class stared at this kid two seats behind her. It was something so simple.

Luan nonchalantly scanned the notebook in her hand. One single spark shouldn't be enough to backfire.

Wow, Brent's got some bad handwriting.

"I didn't receive anything, ma'am," She heard Shane's voice tremble in fear behind her. "So, me and Nathan just checked one notebook. Trixie's."

From what little she could pick up, they found a notebook from the desk behind hers, and it belonged to another Trixie, who sat in the column beside theirs. Luan covered her face with the notebook, fighting the upward twitch on the tips of her lips. Drama… she mentally hollered. Seeing Ms. Dublin throw out all sense of professionalism out the window over this, is ridiculous.

"Who was it then!?" All of them visibly flinched as Ms. Dublin snapped. Whoa, geez, someone's probably going through their cycle, huh? "I asked you if you received the notebook, and you said no! Why did you say no!?"

"I didn't receive anything, miss, I-I swear."

Luan snorted quietly. Lol. Lie detector's blaring sirens. Wee-woo, wee-woo! Call the po-po!

"Then you, the kid who sits behind Loud!" Luan's heart jumped through a hurdle; oh, thank goodness, it's not me. Ms. Dublin glared at her, she moved over sheepishly. "You're the kid who had the notebook, what's your name?"

"...Yorkensen. Brian Yorkensen." He mumbled timidly.

Now she's pointing names now? Luan but back the urge to groan, tracing outlines in her blank desk. What's the point?

"Uh-huh." Ms. Dublin scrolled through her laptop and the class record in it. "Why didn't you pass the notebook back, huh!?"

Luan bounced her knee rapidly. This was getting old. Get over it, woman. I wanna go home.

"I didn't… I didn't even notice it here…! I didn't know until Trixie pointed it out!" Yorkensen claimed frantically.

Then suddenly, all eyes were on her. What?

"Then you did this!" Ms. Dublin's roar rocked the closed room. All color drained from her face; me? I didn't do slack!

"What?" She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing at her classmates, either uncaring or skeptical. "I-I didn't do anything!"

"You were the last person to pass the notebooks back, and you left it on Yorkensen's seat without giving him a warning!" Ms. Dublin's voice shook the walls. She shrunk back into her seat, coming down from confusion as it settled in. Oh. Oh. "You were the one who acted irresponsibly! Talk about being a play director!"

She felt two inches tall, a light tingle in her cheeks creeping in. So…? What's the big deal? I made a mistake! She thought. And?

Her lack of response made Ms. Dublin growl, and she slammed her hand on the table, before clicking something on her document. "You're getting an automatic zero on this activity. No buts, no ifs."

And history repeats.

She couldn't ignore the sinking in her chest at that. But fine. Luan wanted to laugh bitterly. No, she wanted to cackle. The jokes on you, miss; I've seen this all before. This doesn't bother me anymore.

Even if that activity involved her copying ten pages of a test, then answer it, only for it to fall just because.

"You could've just told the truth!" She heard Brent murmur somewhere behind her, presumably to Shane. "Now, Loud's failing because of you!"

She turned around to find just that. Her gaze met Shane's before he turned away. "Guys, it's fine." She whispered to them, her heartbeat steadying. "It's not like I care."

Luan shifted back to the front as they started checking the activity, her pen tip unconsciously dipping against the notebook a little too hard. One slash for a check, rip. Ooh, she grimaced, relaxing a little. Gotta tone it down. I'm not even mad.

She unclenched her jaw and felt her heart slow. I'm not mad. Just a little bothered. Anyway, Ms. Dublin already hated her guts, what else was there left to lose?

Arts came by quickly. Same teacher. Still Mr. Fernandez. Luan was sat in a circle of desks siding hers; a bunch of groupmates for this project they had, apparently. Another one.

Their voices were fuzzy as her mind drifted. She wasn't a history geek, but she was sort of an activist. Hearing about society in this day and age, she found that just as good as comedy; convenient, even, when writing theater plays. And arts? Arts is cool too. Theater's part of it, after all.

"So, we had to make a play," Whitney handed her a script. They may have been rivals… technically, but with her in the group, Luan knew it was gonna be in good hands.

"Did you guys come up with anything?" Luan had to make sure.

Whitney paused and nodded, gesturing to the paper in Luan's hands. "Yeah. This was handed over two weeks ago. That's the script." Luan flipped through the stapled pages. Three of them. "We had to take an artist and make a play about what would happen if they lived in this day and age. Pretty cool, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the script, before letting up. Oh, thank goodness. It was at least decent. "Yeah… it is." Luan nodded slowly in approval, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. Then again, two weeks?

Your standards had to be so shallow if you're really glad they at least took the initiative.

Luan heard the ghost of Mr. Coconuts whisper.

Yeah, but what are the odds? Had Whitney not been around, it would've all been her all over again.

"So…" Whitney leaned in, and she could instantly sense something up. A favor tingling beneath the surface.

Luan hummed absently. "You said something?"

"I don't know how to lead these animals…" Whitney snickered, gesturing to their group mates. "And we barely got anything done because they just don't listen…you're an amazing director, so could you maybe…?"

Luan sighed in resignation. Eh, for the group. Last battle cry, maybe. "How far had you practiced?"

"Act 1?" Whitney grinned sheepishly.

There were five acts to this.

Luan felt her bones nearly give way and melt. "I'm on it."

And so she caught their attention in seconds. Practice with her didn't take long. It turns out they already memorized their lines, the sequence was the only problem.

Yeah. That shouldn't be a problem.

Skipping to a few minutes later, Luan cleared her throat and put her script down. "From the top."

Everything was already going smoothly. A few rough edges with the timing and all that's especially in Act 3 where Van Gogh realizes his art wouldn't sell—but nothing to worry about.

She turned back to Whitney. "When 's this gonna be performed again?"

"Tomorrow." She choked on her breath.

"Tomorrow?" Whitney gave her a sure nod.

She already had the costumes prepared, everything was set. Things were gonna be alright.

Besides… Mr. Fernandez was a long coach too. Cartooning and animation. A knowing smirk tugged at her lips. There was no way this would be performed tomorrow. All of them had to attend the awarding by then.

Amidst the murmuring of other groups practicing their own plays, Mr. Fernandez voice chimed in. "Loud!" He called her attention from the back where he stood. The whole room quieted down. "What's that your practicing?"

She held the paper up with a dismissive wave. "The script, sir, why?"

He approached their circle and took one copy from his hands. "I didn't approve of this." Mr. Fernandez scrutinized.

Wait, it had to get approved?

"Well, why don't you just approve it now?" A jock in their group, Darren dryly asked.

Luan flickered her eyes to Whitney, then to Mr. Fern. Why didn't they just do that sooner?

"I could," He scanned the pages, before clicking his tongue. "But this is not what I want. I specifically said it needs at least a hundred dialogues. This doesn't look beyond forty."

He returned the paper to a redhead groupmate as the rest of them eyed her. Why me? No, he's expecting me to do this again, is he? "It also has to follow the elements of theater. I'm sure you know about that already, Loud."

She looked through her script again. The acts were disorganized. The arcs were jumbled and confusing. Sure. Maybe I can work with this. "Okay."

"What else does this play need? Ah, yes more research." He remarked. "When did Van Gogh decide to cut his ear off? What year did it happen? How did it happen?"

They all looked at each other blankly, and somehow it felt like a personal attack on her knowledge. She wasn't supposed to know this, she wasn't in the discussion. "Uh…"

He shook his head, walking away in disapproval.

The whole group was silent.

Whitney cleared her throat. "I can always rewrite it tonight—"

"No, no, it's fine." She said without thinking. I'm the expert. Theater's my thing. This will be a piece of cake. "I'll do it. Just to be sure. I'll update you guys tomorrow."

They all eyed her with pity until Darren broke the ice. "So, you're saying we don't have to practice right now?"

And that's all they ever cared about. Avoiding the job. Not like they can offer much brainstorming anyway. Luan scoffed. "Go ahead. Slack off."