Page 7 of Forget About Me

Later that afternoon, I pick up the dog from the vet and when I open the passenger door to the van, he hops right in like he’s done it a hundred times, which reminds me of Tony riding shotgun in this very vehicle—including the drive we took after we found out we’d have to audition for our first play.

It’s a perfect fall day. There’s a clear blue sky that goes on forever, and the air whipping through the open van windows is brisk but not cold. Tony and I are driving out Route 2, killing time till we have to go back to school. And to be honest, both of us need to calm down.

Tony smacks the dashboard. “This is bogus, man. Just because Coach is doin’ the nasty with Miss Barbetta, we gotta try out for the dipstick play.” He finishes his rant by stomping a foot against the glove compartment.

I’ve got a good grip on the wheel at ten and two, so when I flinch, the van only swerves slightly. You never know when Tony’ll yell or hit something. “Give him a break, Tony. She’s wicked hot. And like he said, there are a lot more girls in the drama club than on a football team. You’ll be scammin’ in no time.”

He puts his feet up on the dashboard. “Dude, they’re all Joanies. And the guys are fags. I don’t want people thinking I’m a fairy.”

“Chill out, man. Since Coach is making everyone try out, no one’s going to think that. And get your feet off the dashboard unless you’re gonna clean it off.”

“Your damn dad and this van. It isn’t even the good van. It’s his crappy, old one.” He’s grumbling, but he moves his feet and half-heartedly swipes at the footprints.

“Hey, at least I have something to drive.”

“Yeah, yeah. So you can drive us to practice with the drama geeks. We’re hosed.”

Just a few weeks later, it’s a different story. Tony can’t wait to get back to school for play practice. Of course, he spends most of it making out with his leading lady. The stage manager’s constantly having to hunt them down. They’re experts at scoping out every hidden corner.

I’m in love too, honestly. Not with a girl. A girl settled into that part of my heart a long time ago. Of course, no one knows about that. Not even her.

Nah, what I’ve fallen in love with is this whole thing of being in a play. My goofing around suddenly fits somewhere. Plus, I can spend time with a bunch of people and feel like I’m part of something without worrying about getting tackled or elbowed or having to slide home to gain approval. Instead, I just have to make people laugh. Which, as it turns out, I’m kinda good at.

Every day, we Mechanicals—that’s the name for the group of clowns in the show—go practice our parts with this student teacher—a hilarious guy—and then we go back to where the drama teacher rehearses with the rest of the cast and perform what we worked up. It’s killer. We get ’em falling off their seats laughing every time. I can’t wait to do it in front of a real audience.

Tony can’t wait till we get our costumes. Not because of his, but because Tory, the girl playing Titania to his Oberon, talked the director into letting her not wear a bra under her already skimpy outfit. Tony’s so stoked that he doesn’t seem to notice he’s playing the role of a fairy or be worried about the teasing that’ll follow. He even stopped calling the drama geeks posers. He’s so in love with Tory that she actually got him to memorize his lines—mostly in the right order.

When I pull up in front of his house, Tony’s already halfway down the front walk. He swings into the passenger seat, mouth running. “Let’s bounce. Time to get to rehearsal. You get to wear your dress, and Tory gets to leave her bra behind. My dick’s itchin’ just thinkin’ about what’s gonna happen at halftime.” We finally learned to call it rehearsal instead of practice, but Tony refuses to call the intermission anything but halftime.

“You’re such a horndog, Tony.”

“Yeah, but she loves me anyway. I kid you not, that girl wants me.”

I give him a look.

“She says if I get my lines perfect tonight, I can touch her boobs. And if I do the whole run perfect, we can get horizontal.”

“For real?”

“For real.” He laughs. “Dude, you’re lucky you’re funny. Otherwise, you’d be in deep shit for being caught on stage wearing a dress.”

“Cheeuh. Totally.” Even though I’m trying to be cool, I am a little worried about it.

“I’m so bad in this play that I’m fresh. I’m not a drama geek, I’m making being in the play cool so I’m a drama zeek.”

“You wish, you asshole.”

“Yeah. I know I suck.” He sighs. “But Tory loves me anyway.” He shoves my shoulder. Again, the ten and two save me. “You’re really good, though. I gotta tell you, it takes some serious gonads to do what you’re doing.”

“Thanks, man. I was kind of wiggin’ out about it at first, but now I’m stoked.”

“Listen, if anybody gives you shit, you let me know. I’ll have ’em eating their shorts.” He turns up the stereo, which is playing “You Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate, the third song on the mixtape his sister Lucy made for me this week. Then he turns it down again. “Hey, this reminds me. What about that Letitia? She’s choice. She’s got some perky little ta-tas.”

“Bite me, Tony. Letitia’s nice.” She’s the only girl in the Mechanicals. I like her, but not like that.

“I’m not sayin’ she’s a slut. But you’re with her every day. You should ask her out. We could have, like, a double date. I’ve been promising to take Tory out for dinner at Brigham’s.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

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