“No, ma’am. It’s not that. I’ve just got a headache.” I point to the concussion bump, still yellow and purple on my temple.

“Ahhh.” She leans forward. “A bit ghoulish.” She studies my head and then my skinned knee. “I’d like to see the other guy.” She comes closer, earrings and silver bracelets jangling. I back up until I feel the paper towel dispenser poke into my spine. She cocks her head at me.

“Listen, Lou, I’m going to be straight with you. Theater’s not for the faint of heart.”

She’s giving me an out. She can see I’m not like everybody else. I’m weird in a way that isn’t theater-kid cool. I’m not eccentric. She’s right. I’m “faint of heart.”

I picture everyone dancing and laughing while I stand in this bathroom with a stupid paper towel on my leg. It’s not fair. I don’t want to be this way. Ten minutes ago I would have taken Mrs. Nicky’s chance to drop the class in a heartbeat. But now, I’m… What am I? I’m angry.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

For a split second she looks pleased, like this is what she’d been after all along. But then it’s gone, so I can’t be sure. “All right, then. Let’s do this.” She throws open the door but turns back to say, “I’ll give you a hint. Dance number two is a bluesy number. Think of all your heart’s aches, those bumps and bruises of the soul, and let them propel you across the dance floor.” Then she’s gone.

So, after apologizing to Well for “needing some air,” which he doesn’t even question because he’s too busy dancing, I slide my feet from side to side in the corner of the dance studio. For exactly two minutes and thirteen seconds, I shuffle to the tune of a very sad trumpet. I am, at least for now, a theater kid.

9 Everything’s Okay

I’m sitting on top of Ginger and Dan’s dryer listening to Patsy Cline sing about how she’s crazy for feeling so lonely, and I’m thinking about Mom, again. I’ve called Joe’s a hundred times to check up on her since Monday, but I always hang up. I shouldn’t have to be the one who checks in. That’s her job.