Over the next few weeks, as we rehearsed for the play, I got used to being around Katie and could actually remember things that I said and did while my brain was on automatic pilot. Speaking to her became less awkward too.

We were both in the Chorus. There were a lot of lines to memorize, but it wasn’t as insurmountable as I first thought it would be. Mr. Thomas had us make gestures as we were speaking the Chorus lines. He said something about how our body language also told the story, like mime. Each monologue that the Chorus spoke had a series of gestures that went along with the words. “Lo, the sun pierces the sky,” the Chorus said in unison. We stood in a circle on the stage, raising our hands as if symbolizing a rose blooming. “Uel, king of the gods, looked down upon Arresta, his daughter and his bride, and smiled down upon her.” With our left hands open, we all pointed towards the actress playing Arresta, who was lying center stage in the fetal position. Okay, it was goofy, but fun. It was a way to be around Katie anyway.

There was a lot of waiting during rehearsal while the director was talking to the producer or one of the leads. These moments were good times to talk to Katie, but we were always in a group. I suppose it was easier that way. It wasn’t as hard as trying to make conversation with one person.

“Yeah, my parents are divorced too,” Katie said to one person. “I have an older brother and a kid sister. They’re okay.

“I love purple,” she said to someone else, “anything purple.”

“I’m not much of a cat person,” she told another person. “I prefer dogs. Big, golden retriever types. When I was younger, we had a husky/Labrador puppy. He looked like a husky, but had black hair. We had to give him away when my sister was born, though.”

“I love old movies,” she revealed to me. “You know, the old black and white ones, the kind where the guy just grabs the woman and kisses her! You don’t see that anymore.”

I didn’t want to sound like a geek, so I didn’t tell her about my extensive comic book collection (Jeff’s was way bigger, by the way). She liked old movies, so I mentioned that I went to see a few when a local movie theater had Classic Movie Week last year. Then, Mr. Thomas interrupted us, and we continued rehearsing. During the night, though, we shared a few stolen glances, I thought, but, I wasn’t totally sure.

Mr. Thomas gave everyone in the Chorus a death mask to carry. Basically, the mask was a foam wig head on a stick that had been painted and adorned with jewels and yarn. He encouraged us to take the masks home and to bond with them or something, so that we could use the mask to express emotions, like the body language stuff. I thought it was crazy, but I did it anyway. So, I took my mask home. I put mouse ears on it and called him Morty. I tried to bond with Morty, like Mr. Thomas wanted.

Jeff and I had planned to do something one Friday night. That day, after school, though, he told me that he was going away for the weekend. “Dude, my dad wants me to go with him on some fishing trip,” he said with an intense lack of enthusiasm.

“Well, that could be fun.”

“But, fishing, Dude. It’s not really my thing. Sure, the worms are slimy and gross. The rest of it is pretty boring, though. Just sitting and waiting for the fish to bite. Snore.”

“Okay, so it’s not a carnival ride,” I said. “But, at least your dad wants to spend time with you. My dad and I don’t do anything together anymore.” It was true, to an extent. Since he moved to the city, I’d only see my father a couple of times a year, when I went to visit him. There was that one time a couple of years ago when we went up north and did some hang gliding. That was awesome! We didn’t tell my mom, though. She would have freaked if she’d known.

Since Jeff was going to be away, I decided that maybe that weekend would be my opportunity to “bond” with Morty. I tried to include Morty in all the monotony of my daily existence. We sat together at the breakfast table, I showed him some old pictures of Jeff and me recovering from various accidents, I tried to play a video game with him (but he wasn’t into it). That night, we sat in my bedroom and listened to the radio. When a good song started playing, we would sing a duet. That particular night, the song was “Leave My Chick Alone” by Black as Knight.

“Morty,” I said, “I’m going to sing lead. You want to sing harmony?”

Morty, being the quiet type, didn’t respond, which I took to mean yes. I picked up my baseball bat/guitar and we rocked the night away. It was a Friday night-no school tomorrow-so we were up late. As I was getting into bed, I turned to him.

“Morty, I love you, man. You never argue with me.”

In my mind, Morty nodded.

“You think I have a chance with Katie, don’t you?”

He nodded and gave me two thumbs up, even though he had no arms.

“You’re the greatest, Morty! Good night.”

When it came to reality, it was Jeff, actually, who tried to be the voice of reason. At the end of the weekend, when he got back, we had a rare heart-to-heart talk that didn’t involve comic books or old monster movies at all.

“Does she even know you’re alive?” he asked.

“Of course she knows I’m alive. We talk all the time.”

“Yeah, but does she know you’re harboring this unrelenting loooove for her.”

“Well,” I said, “probably not. I’ve never actually had that conversation with her.”

Jeff sighed. Actually, it was more like a guffaw. “What are you waiting for, man?”

“These things take time,” I whined. “I don’t want to move too fast. It’s all part of my plan,” I said, trying to sound like I had a clue what I was doing.

“Your plan,” Jeff mocked. “You know she’s going to get snatched up by some jock while you’re formulating your plan.”

“So what? If she’s so easily swayed, then she’s not right for me. I want someone who wants to be with me.” It was true to an extent. To be totally honest, I wanted Katie to want to be with me.

Then Jeff got all big brother on me (even though I was two months older). “Scott, let me explain women to you,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Women are only interested in the immature, pretty boys.” He raised a finger, “No, I take that back; they want the immature, pretty boy, but they’re not satisfied with him as he is. Instead, they try to mold (by which I mean "manipulate") him so that he will be pretty, but act like... well, you. They want someone who is pretty and sweet. It’s easier to do it that way. It’d be harder to take you, the sweet guy, and make you prettier. You see what I’m saying?”

“And, you’re basing this on your extensive experience with women?” I said sarcastically.

“I’m just trying to help you out,” he said. “A hottie like her and a guy like you? I love you, man, but I just don’t see it happening with her. Those kinds of stories only happen in the movies; not in real life.”

I tried not to let Jeff’s doubts get to me and just kept doing what I was doing.

Next Chapter: Chapter Five