If It Wasn't For Sarah

  Chapter 3.

  I was secretly pleased to be entrusted with writing the production but I was still annoyed at what Sarah had let me in for. We climbed onto the bus and sat together at the back. There weren’t many kids on it at that time and there were plenty of seats spare.

  ‘I can’t write about princesses and stuff this time,’ I argued. ‘It’s too babyish. And anyway, stories are nothing like a Dance/Drama. How on earth do I write one of those? I don’t know anything about drama.’

  ‘Yes you do. You’ve always been in the productions we’ve done and you were really good at being the witch in that play last year.’

  ‘Yeah right. Thank you for reminding me. I was trying not to remember that.’ I glared at her but Sarah just laughed at me.

  ‘You were a great witch. ‘

  ‘That’s all very well for you to say. How would you like it if everyone said that you were perfect for the witch? I know I’m going to have a blighted childhood because I was chosen to be the witch. I’ll probably have to have therapy about it when I’m older. I’m sure they only chose me because I’d just had braces put on my teeth.’

  ‘Lots of other girls have braces,’ protested Sarah. ‘Well, some of them, anyway.’

  ‘I know, but they didn’t look like mine did,’ I replied gloomily. The orthodontist had said I could choose what colour I wanted for those little plastic things that the wires go through. I chose navy blue as I thought that would be really cool. Mum went completely out of it when she saw me and said it looked as if all my teeth were rotten. She had a point. I had quite a shock myself when I looked in the mirror when I got home.

  ‘If you didn’t like them, why didn’t you change them?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I couldn’t, it was too late,’ I explained. ‘Mum rang the orthodontist to get him to change them but his receptionist said I couldn’t go back for six weeks and that next time I would 'choose more carefully.' Mum said a really rude word when she put the phone down but Dad just laughed when he saw me and said it didn't matter. The boys acted stupid as usual and screamed and ran away when they saw me.’

  ‘Well, they did look fairly fearsome,’ Sarah grinned.

  ‘I know,’ I said with grim satisfaction. ‘ I got my own back on them by waiting until they were in bed then creeping in and shining a torch under my chin and shouting ‘boo’ at them. Mum took the torch off me after the second time I did it, because Billy wet the bed that night.’

  The braces didn’t matter too much in the play as a witch is supposed to look ugly. I really threw everything into the part when I cursed the prince, but Sarah floated through the play in her fairy dress and didn’t have to say anything, just smile a lot and look dreamy.

  ‘I guess if I write the production I could give myself a good part for once,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘And it definitely won’t be a witch this time.’

  ‘You always get good parts,’ said Sarah in surprise. ‘I remember one Christmas when we were six and you said you had the most important part in the whole play.’

  ‘That’s because I was little and didn’t know any better,’ I pointed out.

  That year Sarah was an angel and so were most of the other girls. My Mum was talking to Sarah’s Mum, and she asked me if I was an angel. All the other Mum’s were frantically making angel costumes for their daughters and Mum was sure I would only tell her I needed one the night before. I told her I had a much more important part than that. It was true. Our teacher had told me she was giving me an important part and she would even provide the costume. I was pretty excited, as if I couldn’t be an angel, then I wanted to be something better. Janice was Mary, and she brought along her baby doll that really wet but the teacher took the bottle away and wouldn’t let her feed it. She wouldn’t let her pretend to breast feed it either.

  All the parents came to watch and clapped like anything when their own kid came on stage. I made my big important entrance as the back legs of the donkey. I couldn’t see through the blanket to tell if Mum was clapping or not. Lots of people laughed though. I think that’s because the donkey head fell over Aaron’s eyes. He was the front legs, and he couldn’t see where he was going so we walked into the piano. It was very hot under the blanket but I felt really important doing it.

  ‘The production will be easy to write,’ Sarah assured me. ‘We’ll use the suggestions the other kids made, only absolutely not Gemma’s suggestion of the puppets, and I’m sure your mother will help.’

  That was a point in her favour. My mother adored Sarah and if she asked her then she would do anything for her. Well, almost anything.

  We went straight to my place when we got off the school bus and Sarah and I told Mum what we had to do. Fortunately, Mum loved the idea of a Dance/Drama. She used to do a lot of dancing when she was younger and was disappointed to have produced a daughter with two left feet when it came to anything involving co-ordination.

  So Mum said,

  ‘Oh yes, Sarah. I’d love to help,’ and before you know it she had cleared the kitchen table and was jotting down ideas.

  ‘How about starting with Romeo and Juliet with the balcony scene then doing a Minuet? That’s a really easy dance, it’s mainly walking.’

  ‘The boys want a fight scene,’ I said rebelliously.

  ‘Fine,’ Mum said, still scribbling. ‘There’s a wonderful street fight between the Montagues and the Capulets. We can have Juliet standing on the balcony and narrating her famous ‘Romeo’ speech to start with before the fight. It’s not the way the play goes but we’ll take a few liberties. Then there’s the Merchant of Venice with that great speech – the Quality of Mercy is not strained – and we have to have A Midsummer-Night’s Dream with the fairies dancing.’

  I had to admit Mum was good. Even I was starting to get excited about it after a while. I went into Dad’s study carrying Mum’s rough notes and a copy of Shakespeare’s Complete Works to start typing up a good copy of the outline for Ms Cutter. Sarah and Mum talked about the dances and the sort of music they would need. It looked like it was going to be one of those shows that would please everyone. After the fairy dance there was to be a ghost bit from Hamlet and naturally the witch scene from MacBeth, which I was determined not to be in. The whole thing would finish with breakdancing and lip synching to Hip Hop music while Sarah did the epilogue from As You Like it, ending with a curtsey as the music faded out.

  The next day, Sarah and Janice had a brief meeting with Brian during English and worked out who was going to do what, and added a few more ideas. I think Janice felt that if she hung around Sarah she might get a better part in the production. I had to finish my English homework that I hadn’t had time to do the night before, because of writing the outline. Ms Cutter glanced at the outline, which had taken me ages to do, and said it was fine.

  ‘Now you had better write it out fully, Chelsea,’ she said. ‘Not now,’ as I started to get my pen out. ‘Do it in your spare time. ‘

  As if I get any! That’s the trouble with living on a farm. Well, it’s not really a farm, it’s more what’s known as a ‘lifestyle block’ which as far as I can tell means you get to experience the lifestyle of poor, starving peasants. Mum and Dad thought it would be a great idea for us kids to experience country life and animals and all that stuff so they have spent years yelling at us to go outside and enjoy the country air just as we are comfortably settled in front of the television. Consequently we have grown up resenting being sent outside and look for every opportunity to get inside again.

  We get half a dozen calves every year, and when they’ve learned to drink from a bucket and eat Moosli, then they eat the grass until it’s time to go off to the sales. Mum doesn’t want great big animals on the place so they always go while they’re still fairly easy to handle. If you take a bucket out they’ll follow you anywhere, breathing hotly down your neck and sucking your fingers or your clothes with a horrible, wet, slobbery mess. We usually give them names like Buttercup or Daisy. One year Dad was a bit stressed as M
um had put her back out and he had to help us kids do the feeding before he went to work each day. That year the calves got names like Nuisance and Horrible but they didn’t seem to care.

  Ms Cutter said she had a special treat for us. We all looked a bit wary at this. Teachers’ ideas of special treats invariably involve essays afterwards, but it seemed like this time it would be different.

  ‘I have arranged for Mrs Whyte to come in after school and take you for a drama lesson. She used to be an actress and I know she will have a lot of valuable tips to pass onto you.’

  We were impressed.

  ‘What shows has she been on?’ Violet wanted to know.

  ‘Has she acted with Mel Gibson?’ Brian asked.

  ‘How come we’ve never heard of her? She can’t be much good if we haven’t heard of her,’ Rangi muttered.

  ‘She was a stage actress,’ Ms Cutter told us. ‘She was commended for her performance in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.’ We looked at her blankly.

  ‘Doesn’t she mean Cats?’ Theodora whispered loudly to Charmaine.

  Ms Cutter told her to be quiet and we waited impatiently for lunchtime to arrive so we would have a chance to talk about it. The ‘ballet girls’ always eat their lunch on the steps of the Art Room - probably because they think they are artistically gifted. As if! Sarah and Janice and me and sometimes Stacey and Angela, sit on the seat by the netball courts. Bethany and Grace and Sally always go to the library where they help old Mrs Jenkins the librarian every lunchtime. Melanie and Jody Jackson hang around in different places; usually where the boys are. That day we all sat together for a change and talked about having a drama lesson from a real actress.

  We were still talking about it after school as we walked to the Media Suite where the lesson was to be.

  ‘I wonder what she’ll look like?’ Charmaine said.

  ‘I’ll bet she’s really glamorous, with false eyelashes and everything,’ Janice said confidently.

  ‘Maybe she’ll have silicone tits,’ sniggered Hamish. Honestly, boys can be so childish.

  We were all wrong. Mrs Whyte turned out to be about a hundred and ten years old. She had masses of wrinkles with a lot of makeup plastered over them and red dyed hair with grey roots. We were all horribly disappointed.

  ‘I thought she’d at least look like an actress,’ I hissed at Sarah.

  ‘Never mind. She might know some really good stuff,’ she whispered back.

  Mrs Whyte told us to find a space by ourselves and sit down. We managed this with a few minor territorial disputes and Eric only got thumped a couple of times.

  Then she said, ‘I am going to explain to you how to act.’ She went on to tell us how instead of just choosing a play and reading it straight out of a School Journal like we usually did, we had to learn things like ‘expressing emotions,’ and ‘characterization’ and all that sort of thing. Some of it sounded quite fun, like when she told us to have a conversation with a partner using numbers instead of words, and the rest of the class had to guess what emotion we were expressing. She made a few of us take partners and demonstrate. I had Brian Appleby.

  I decided I would be a sorrowful princess, mourning for my lost lover.

  ‘Seven,’ I sighed. Nine, two, three.’

  Brian looked at me blankly then spat ‘four’ at me and gave me the fingers, so that emotion was pretty easy to pick. The class exploded into laughter and Mrs Whyte decided that was enough of that.

  ‘I want you to take another partner and we will try mirror imaging,’ she said sternly. ‘One person is to move slowly while the other copies them so it looks like a mirror image. Try and keep your movements flowing steadily.’

  We thought that sounded okay so I quickly grabbed Sarah and we started to copy each other’s movements. It was actually harder than it sounded. You had to watch closely and try to anticipate what they would do next. Mrs Whyte told us to mime simple things like brushing hair or eating. Of course the boys went and spoilt it by picking their noses and pulling faces at each other so Mrs Whyte gave up on that pretty quickly, as well.

  ‘The next thing I would like you to do is to be a rock. Think like a rock. Imagine yourselves as part of a mountain. Ages old. Tumbled and overgrown with moss.’ Mrs Whyte half closed her eyes as she spoke and clasped her hands to her skinny chest.

  ‘She’s a bit cracked,’ Mike said to Gemma, who normally wouldn’t deign to talk to him. She looked like she agreed, and the rest of us did too.

  So we all made like rocks, mainly by curling up or crouching on the ground and not moving. That apparently wasn’t the right thing to do.

  ‘Show the spirit of the rock,’ intoned Mrs Whyte, stretching one hand in front of her and waving it round. ‘Demonstrate the energy within.’ That was a big mistake, because the boys all rolled around and made rude noises and said they were exploding volcanic rocks releasing their energy from within, and us girls all got the giggles and couldn’t do anything.

  Mrs Whyte tried to stop the boys but they were having so much fun they just got louder and louder and more and more excited. Finally she muttered ‘ignorant ingrates,’ and walked out. We figured we probably wouldn’t be getting any more drama lessons after that.