Tornado

I was Jean Martha Mooney.

They say you're only safe in the eye of a tornado, when chaos surrounds you from every angle. I was right there in the eye.

As a freshman in high school, I joined theater to make friends and gain self-confidence, both of which I did. Onstage, I went from a nobody to a high school starlet, and everyone respected me as an actress. But offstage, I was still sort of a wallflower. I never danced very much at parties, and I did not have boyfriends. Many people were my friends, but by junior year, I still had not completely broken out of my shell.

I envied others socially. People like Therese Hannan, who drank and was loud, who always had someone to laugh with, and who always knew her lines. People like Frieda Scolpey. Especially Frieda Scolpey, who was always cast in the best roles (like the slinky mistress of the man whose murder was being investigated), and who always looked her best, and who had every guy in cast practically drooling over her while she still maintained a hard-to-get attitude.

Even by junior year, I paled in comparison to my own classmates and castmates.

But don't get the idea that I was completely shut out socially. I mean, I was included in all of the activities that everyone in theater had, I just wasn't exactly... cherished. I can see why, though; I was awkward. At 16, and in junior year, I was still awkward.

It was the last rehearsal before the fall play in junior year (We were doing The Phantom of the Opera, where I was stuck playing the dull role of Madame Giry.) when Therese Hannan came into the dressing room where I was changing out of costume. (She, of course, had received the much-desired role of Carlotta, whom we portrayed very sexily in our production.)

"Jean, is that you?" she asked, because my back was to her.

"Yes," I said, turning around. "Who else would wear this hideous frock but the great Madame?"

Therese laughed. "It's not all that bad. It actually makes you look younger in comparison and... less ugly."

I smirked, pulling on my jeans. "Are you calling me ugly, Resey?"

"N-n-n-no! I totally did not mean it that way! I-- Well, you get it," she responded quickly. It was all right, though. I knew I was ugly. "But, uh... the reason I came in here's that everyone's meeting up in the costume room. I think we're gonna just chill, maybe play a game or something."

"All right," I said. "I will be there."

"Awesome. See ya." And just like that, Therese was gone.

I was just finishing pulling my shirt on over my had when I heard a toilet flush and then the sink run. In a few seconds, Gia Bateman (who was a sophomore playing my daughter, Meg Giry) appeared in front of me, asking, "Was that Therese who went forth so quickly?"

Gia was a strange one. She often quoted Shakespeare and had once told me, in confidence, that she loved the way the backs of boys' knees looked when they walked. For some environmental reason that I can't remember, she wouldn't eat any chicken-based products and always, always, went commando. (For everyone else's sake, though, she changed in a bathroom stall and would wear underwear when in costume, since, you know, the costumes were used by everyone.)

"Yes," I told her. "Did you hear what she said?"

"Mmhmm," Gia vocalized. She waved goodbye to me and left the dressing room quickly. She wasn't exactly a fan of small talk.

After checking in the mirror to make sure my hair didn't look terrible (which it didn't, thank God), I, myself, stepped briskly out of the dressing room and into the costume room, followed by Dan Thele. (Playing our Raoul, Dan was a pretty-boy who looked like he shouldn't be here, but in a British prep school, wearing a sweater vest and playing cricket with friends whom he referred affectionately to as 'the old boys.' Aileen from crew thought he was an absolute doll; you should have seen her, but I honestly could not for the life of me see how.)

Everyone from cast and a few crew members (including Jeff and Aileen) had formed in a circle on the floor of the costume room. I started to sit down next to Aileen, but just as I did so, Frieda called out from the other side of the circle, "Ap-ap! Alternate genders." So I sat between Chris and Anthony. Chris was decent looking, but he always smelled like what cauliflower would do if you soaked it in warm water. And, between you and me, I thought Anthony was gay. There was something just a little bit too perfect about his hair.

I noticed that Frieda herself was sitting between Lou Manory on one side and Travis Raseta on the other. Lou was known mostly for being an onstage ham, but the hilarious life of every cast party. He was always the first to dance whenever music came on, and for good reason, too. He was a terrific dancer. Not even in a joking way, either; he was spectacular.

As for Travis... he could have easily been the best looking guy at our entire school, let alone the theater group. Pretty much every girl on cast thought he was hot, myself included. If given the chance, I am sure none of the girls would have turned him down, although not all of them would admit it because of pride (he was said to be a terrible boyfriend, but a great hookup). Not only that, but he was funny, too, and nice to everyone, even me. He knew how attractive he was, and yet he was still really nice to everybody. And not even that phony kind of nice that laughs at you when you walk away, either. He was genuine.

The funny thing, though, was that Travis was talking to Frieda and Frieda was just sort of staring off into space, listening to him. That was what I envied most about her; the cutest guy in the whole school could be talking to her, trying to impress her, and she would just be staring off into space like he was lecturing her on something boring.

When she realized everyone was there, Frieda called the group to attention. "Alright, can everyone just quiet down? We're gonna actually do something fun for a change." She said this to mildly poke fun at Georgia Penthrow, who usually arranged last-rehearsal activities like sharing our favorite memories or writing thank-you notes to everybody. Georgia sort of looked down at her feet when Frieda said this, but everyone tried not to look at her.

Travis pulled out an empty Mountain Dew bottle from his bag. "As the Spanish would say, 'Girar la Taza.'"

"Turn the cup?" I asked. It was evident that Travis was just starting Spanish I, whereas I had just finished Spanish III the previous year.

"Is that what I said?" he asked me. When I nodded, he said, "Well, how do you say Spin the Bottle in Spanish?"

"Well, that would be 'Hacer Girar la Botella,' which actually means rotate the bottle, but it's the closest equivalent the Spanish language has," I informed him.

"Oh, well, gracias, Jean." He pronounced my name like "Hay-ahn" in mockery of Spanish pronunciation. I laughed.

(Frieda was becoming visibly annoyed at the fact that Travis was having a conversation with anyone other than her, but I couldn't see why. It wasn't as though she had cherished her chance to speak with him.)

"But not the lame peck-on-the-cheek kind of Spin the Bottle. We are talking minimum of ten second make-out session, folks," Frieda added quickly, changing the conversation somewhat back to herself again.

Then, this real nerd of a freshman named Emmie Sinclair piped in. She was really greasy-haired and ugly, and I almost sort of felt bad for her, but everyone else made fun of her all the time, so I did, too. Most of the time I at least tried to tone down whenever she would embarrass herself. She asked, "What if we don't want to kiss anybody?"

See, this was why I almost was sorry for Emmie. She had probably never in her life kissed a boy, and she was afraid of being humiliated, and afraid of having her first kiss be in the basement of the school with someone she barely knew. And, I don't mean to sound cruel or anything, but I doubt any boy would want to kiss her, really, with her looking the way she did. It wasn't like she was hideous or anything; it was nothing a little makeup couldn't fix. She just didn't put in any effort. (I mean, even I had made out before, and I wasn't exactly a social butterfly.)

"Perfect timing, Em," Frieda said. "Therese, if you could please bring out our consolation prize for those that do not want to participate in the mouth-fest."

On command, Therese took out a large bottle from her purse. "Anyone who doesn't kiss on their spin has to take one gulp of tequila. It's your choice, man: kiss someone, or run the risk of having a hangover opening night."

Emmie tried to ask, "What's a hangover?" but only got to, "What's a--" because I stopped her.

"Em, please don't," I said quietly, so she'd know what I meant. I knew that poor girl like a book. She once asked us what an orgasm was, and we all just laughed, but I knew it really wasn't her fault. She just didn't know. Travis looked at me respectfully; he liked the fact that I'd rescued her from embarrassment. Like I said, he was genuinely nice.

So Frieda tied to ignore Emmie and asked the group, "Any inquiries?" When no one said anything, she continued, "Good. Gia, why don't you go first? Show 'em all how it's done."

Gia may have been weird, but she was weird in a cool way, so Frieda liked her, and so did everyone else. Gladly, Gia gave the bottle its first spin of the night, and it landed on Jeff from crew. Jeff was a regular guy, not too special in any respect, really. The two kissed for the allotted ten seconds (the rest of us counted down from ten) and then it was Jeff's turn to spin.

He landed on Emmie.

So Therese handed the bottle to her, but Emmie just said, "Isn't it against the rules to have alcohol? I can't. I'm a minor."

"So am I," Therese said, shoving the bottle into Emmie's arms. "If you rat on us, you better believe you won't get cast next year. Now take a swig, damn it." That was the only thing I didn't like about Therese; she was sort of harsh. As expected, Emmie did take a swig, though, and made a face before trying to hand the bottle back to Therese. But Therese just said, "You better hold onto that, hun," so Emmie did.

Then Emmie spun and it landed on Travis, who refused to let Emmie take another swig for not kissing him. He quickly spun, and it landed on (who else?) Frieda.

Frieda tried to act like she was rolling her eyes, but I saw right through it. She was excited and she knew it.

Travis almost immediately began kissing her. He got pretty into it, too, and so did apathetic Frieda, for that matter. Dan shouted, "Go for it, Trav!" because they had been going well over the required ten seconds.

That's what got me. How could Travis be so nice, but like such a bitch?

Anyway, when they were finally done, Travis said to Frieda, "That was good," and then to us, "She's good at that."

Frieda just smiled and pretended like she was shyly amused by him, but she was lying with that smile. She knew she was a bitch, and everyone else did, too. She wasn't hiding anything. I wanted to choke her and I wanted to be her at the same time.

The next few spins were nothing memorable, not by far. Thankfully, the bottle never landed on me, so I could just sit there and witness it all take place. However, it landed an awful lot on Emmie (almost like the boys were timing it to), and she ended up having to drink almost half the whole bottle of tequila. Everybody tried to ignore her, except Frieda, who just kept laughing and laughing at how drunk Emmie was getting.

I couldn't stand to watch it anymore. Finally, I stood up and walked over to Emmie, helping her stand and saying, "Come on, Em, I'm going to drive you home now."

Frieda sighed. "Aw, Jeannie, you ruined all our fun!"

"This isn't funny, Scolpey," I told her. Nobody ever called her by her last name unless they were serious; she hated her last name.

Much to my surprise (and likely the surprise of everyone else, too), Travis jumped up from his seat and said, "I'm going with."

"You are?" both Frieda and I asked at once. I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," Travis said, walking over to me. "I am."

"No, you're not," Frieda said quickly. She was really pissed off, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. As Travis helped me walk Emmie out of the room, Frieda shouted out childishly, "Someone's got a little crush on little Miss Sinclair, eh? I bet you have Mrs. Emmie Raseta written all over your little notebooks, eh, Trav?"

Travis turned around. For a second, it looked like he was going to walk back, so Frieda looked happy, but he just said, "Frieda. Shut the fuck up for once." Then he turned back around and continued helping me bring Emmie out to the parking lot.

There was only one actual obstacle we faced in getting out of the building. You see, usually I parked in the area of the school behind the stage, and the only way to get out this way was through a storage garage next to the auditorium. But that day, I guess they'd locked the garage door, so we couldn't get out right away.

Luckily, one of the custodian's sons, Pedro, was walking down the hall next to the storage room. Had Pedro been a legal American citizen and spoken English, he probably would have been a student at the school, but instead he helped his mother mop floors after hours. My fractured knowledge of the Spanish language allowed me to have interesting (but comical) conversations with him. I helped him learn some English a while back, too, but he wasn't that great at it. When he was trying to say, "How are you today?" he would say, "You are this day?"

Thanking God that I'd seen him, I shouted, "Oye, Jorge!" (I called him Jorge jokingly.)

He backed up so he was in the doorway of the storage room again and shouted, "Marta, mi nombre no es Jorge!" excitedly. (He called me Marta because my middle name was Martha, and it was easier for him to pronounce than Jean.)

"Mi nombre no es Marta, Jorge!"

He walked over to us and asked, "Que pasa?" When he saw Travis and Emmie, he said politely, "Hello."

"Necesito un favor, Pedro."

"Is you need me do?" (Which, in his broken English, meant, "What is it that you need me to do for you?")

"Um... la puerta." I said. "Abra por favor la puerta para nosotros."

Pedro sighed and took out his keys, looking for the one that would open the door we were standing next to. He joked, "I should give you my keys. You ask me use them so much."

When he finally opened the door, I breathed a sigh of release and must have said, "Gracias!" about twenty times, before we finally got out of the garage.

"De nada, de nada, de nada, Marta! Adios!"

When we finally got to the parking lot, Travis insisted we take his car. "I'd rather Em get sick in my piece of crap car than yours."

"Oh, thanks!" I said sarcastically.

Travis laughed and so did I while we tried to get Emmie to sit still in the back seat of the car and then get a seat belt on her. She kept moving around. She wouldn't stop singing, "The phaaaaaantom of the opera is heeeeeere..."

Travis got into the driver's seat and I the passenger's, and as he pulled out of the school parking lot, Travis asked me why I didn't talk much offstage.

"I guess I just don't have all that much to say." I asked him, "Why do you like Frieda one minute and then not the next?"

He breathed in deeply. "That's a loaded question." He paused. "I don't know. I mean, you know what they say about her."

"No. What?"

"Great hookup. Terrible girlfriend."

I just laughed. "That's surprising."

"Why's that?"

"That's exactly what they say about you, Travis."

"What? That I'm a terrible girlfriend?" He laughed. "I hate to tell you, but I've never been anyone's girlfriend before."

"You know what I mean!" I said through laughs. "But, I mean, you should know about Frieda's past anyway. Did you ever hear about that guy that was with her the summer after freshman year?"

"A bit too much, Jean. How many times have you heard her tell that story? Honestly, how many times?"

"Only once, back when we were going prop-shopping for the musical last year."

"Oh," he said. "Well, then, you wouldn't really know."

"Know what?" I asked.

"I've heard Frieda talk about her entire history with that guy dozens of times to dozens of different people. Every time she tells it, something changes. It's never the same story twice. The whole event never even took place. It's about as true as Paul Bunyan."

"Oh."

Finally, we got to Emmie's house, which it took a while to find, considering we couldn't exactly ask Emmie for directions in her state. Travis walked her to the door and told her parents that the reason she was acting that way was probably because of food poisoning from the catering we got; he said a few other people had it, too.

When he got back to the car, he checked his watch.

"Say, Jeannie, it's only about 8:00," he said, smiling. "Would you like to go out somewhere, maybe to eat or see a movie?"

I smiled. "Why, Travis, I would absolutely love to."

So Travis started driving again.

I am Jean Martha Mooney.

They say it's only peaceful in the eye of a tornado.

I rolled down the window and let my hair fly free in the wind.