The City of Dreams -- Part 32

[I have successfully put off writing the play for one more section! I am teh uberz!

[Problem is, now they're at the barn, almost on the stage, curtain's about to go up. I've run out of delaying tactics. It is time for my true genius to shine! It is time for the glorious revelations of this marvelous play! It is time for me to break down into tears and run away from the computer!

[Ahhh. Help. I'm the victim of my own plotting.

[Help.]

            "Are you coming tonight?" I asked.

            Brie stopped, five feet in front of the door to English. She turned and looked at me. Her hair looked really good. I don't know why I noticed it that day, but I did. Some of it was falling kind of over the side of her face, and the rest looked like it just happened to fall in stylish waves when she rolled out of bed that morning. I wondered how long it took to get that kind of accident.

            She shrugged. "What if I can't get to sleep?"

            I tried to look hopeful.

            "I might not even dream," she said.

            I tried to look hopeful and friendly.

            "It's not like I end up in the City every night."

            I tried to look hopeful, friendly, and sincere.

            "I'll try," she said, and went into the classroom.

            "What was that about?" asked Mike, walking up behind me.

            "Trying to make amends," I said.

            "What are those, anyway?" asked my friend. "Amends. Sounds like some medication for old people and muscle aches."

            "Medicine for getting rid of muscle aches and old people?"

            "Hey, I didn't make up the name. So is it working? Is Brie accepting your amends?"

            "We'll find out--" I almost said 'tonight,' but I caught myself. No need for Mike to get the wrong idea. "Later. We'll find out later."

            "Any news on the plan?" asked Dad.

            "I wrote her something," I said, looking down at the pile of papers in my lap. It was my daytime play, and after careful editing, extensive rewriting, blood, sweat and tears, I had decided that it was a massive, stinking pile of crap.

            "You don't look too excited about it," said Dad, dropping onto the couch next to me.

            "I don't know if it will work at all. I don't even know if she'll look at it. Also, it's terrible."

            Dad leaned over and looked at my papers. "A play, huh? Well, take heart. Even Shakespeare wrote TITUS ANDRONICUS. Assuming that Shakespeare really was Shakespeare."

            "Am I supposed to know what TITUS ANDRONICUS was about?"

            "Goodness, I hope not. Thoroughly disgusting play, your mother and I would never take you to see it. Also, not a date play. Also, not a play for anyone with a weak stomach. Why are we even talking about this?"

            "Because my play stinks."

            "Oh, right. And I went off about Shakespeare. You're worried Brie won't look at it?"

            "Yeah."

            "Look at it this way," said Dad. "If it stinks, and she doesn't look at it, then you're saved. If it stinks, and she DOES look at it, she'll still know you tried. And it DOESN'T stink, and she DOES look at it, then your mother and I will start looking for someplace to hold the wedding breakfast. Thank heaven the bride's family pays for the wedding."

            "Dad?"

            "Yes, Perry?"

            "I'm going to hit you with my play."

            "And," said my father wisely, "I will deserve it."

            "Do you think she'll come?" asked Not. We'd just arrived at the market and Big Ben was looking down at us.

            "Why don't I ask Big Ben?" I said. "Mr. Ben! Will Brie come to my play?"

            The minute hand clicked over one notch.

            "I still can't tell if that's a yes or a no," said Not.

            "That was probably a yes," said Brie.

            "Hi," I said, feeling my heart thumping in the back of my throat. I couldn't tell if she'd heard Not or not. She wasn't looking at him. It didn't matter, I decided.

            "Hi," said Brie, smiling. "You going to pick up those papers?"

            "Eventually," I said.

            "Because that was quite impressive," she said.

            "Which was?"

            "The way they scattered all over when you jumped."

            "Did it look cool? I was trying for cool. You know, add some flare to the way I say 'hi.'"

            "Uh-huh," said Brie. "Want me to help you pick them up?"

            "NO! I mean, no, thank you. They're part of the surprise. Don't...I want...just give me a second and then we can go." I bent down and started scrambling around, gathering the loose sheets, pulling them into a pile in whatever order I grabbed them. I muttered thanks under my breath to Mrs. Humphrey for insisting I put page numbers on every sheet.

            "There," I said. "Shall we?"

            "What is all this, Perry?" asked Brie. "A play?"

            "Right," I said. "You heard that."

            "You did say it kind of loudly."

            "I don't know how well Big Ben hears. He doesn't have any obvious ears, and the Market IS busy, so I wanted to be sure he...would...hear me. That sounds idiotic, asking a clock a question."

            "Why?" asked Brie. "I do it all the time."

            "You do?"

            "Sure."

            "Does he answer?"

            "He did last night."

            "What did he say?"

            "He said 'yes.'"

            I nodded. Brie looked at me. I nodded a bit more.

            "Aren't you going to ask me what the question was?"

            "Did it involve coming to my play?"

            "Maybe. Though I didn't know it was going to be a play."

            "And you're here. So he must have said 'yes.'"

            "I did already mention that," said Brie.

            "Right. Of course you did."

            "Perry?"

            "Yes?"

            "Are you nervous?"

            "A little. A lot. Really, really nervous. I--" I stopped talking. I remembered something Mrs. Humphrey had told me, with Mr. Punctilious' hearty agreement: don't apologize for your play. It is what it is, and apologies are like digging the foundation out from under your own house. "I hope you like it," I said. "It's the best play I've ever written."

            Brie's face was serious around the eyes but smiley around her mouth. Smerious. "Perry, you are annoyingly charming. This better be a good play."

            "It is! I mean, I hope it is. It is. Why does it need to be good?"

            "Because I'm tired of being mad at you."

            Then she walked away toward Mr. Punctilious' barn.

            "I think that went well," said Not.

            I looked down at the pages of my manuscript. Then I looked at them again. I flipped through the pages quickly, first to last. Somehow they were all in the right order.