really just wanted to know.”
Sam makes a face at me and I make one back. I’m glad she’s here, and Merry too. I can be more relaxed around Regan, more like myself, when they’re here.
“Dark roast,” I tell the counter girl when it’s my turn.
“Has anyone ever told you about decaf?” Regan asks.
Sam snorts. “Nothing!” she says when I give her Mom’s raisin face.
Merry gets chai. Regan gets rooibos. The four of us get the table with the cushy chairs under the blue glass chandelier, by the fireplace. Suddenly, for a moment, sitting in the best seats with my three friends, I feel like a rock star. Sam asks Regan what she’ll do for spring break, which is next week, and she says she might be seeing her mom. I get that night-skyfeeling I get sometimes with Regan, of an enormous black universe, all cold and empty, with just one or two stars glittering through. Then Regan asks Sam back, and Sam says going to Seattle with her family.
“How about you, Merry?” Regan says.
“We go skiing in Whistler,” she says.
“Oh, Merry, you are not,” I say.
“Yuh! We ski in Quebec. We brought our own skis from home. Daniel come with us.”
“You know how to ski?” I say.
She giggles and claps her hands.
“How about you, Edie?” Regan asks.
I know Dex has already signed up for a week-long intensive ballet camp, so our family will definitely be staying home. Nothing comes between Dexter and her ballet. “I’ll be working on the musical, I guess,” I say. “Now that our Fool won’t act funny, I’d better do some rewriting.”
“It’ll be okay,” Regan says. “I think it’s better to let Raj do it his way. You don’t know what it feels like to be a character until you’ve had to live with it for a while. You can’t make people conform if they don’t want to.”
“I guess,” I say. Regan is wearing a strapless pink satin prom dress with a line of iron-on peace signs on the bodice, her army jacket, and steel-toed boots. Her hair is currently purple. I’m going to argue with her about doing what people expect of you?
“Let’s talk about costumes,” Regan says. “I want to goto the fabric store over the break and draw up a budget. I want to start sewing soon, too. I can’t do ten costumes overnight.” She pulls a folder from her satchel. “I’ve made some sketches.”
Sam scootches closer so she can see. “You drew these yourself?” she says. “They’re amazing.”
Colour comes into Regan’s cheeks, like Auntie Ellie when she talks about Daniel. “Thanks,” she says. She actually smiles shyly at Sam. “This is my thing. I love fashion and, like, fashion history. Sketching, making designs.”
“Do you design your own clothes too?”
Regan’s smile fades. Uh-oh—she thinks Sam is making fun of her. She stands up and grabs her jacket and bag. “You can keep those,” she says. “They’re copies. I have to go.”
“What happened?” Sam says, panicked, as Regan clomps out of the shop in her big boots, her dress swishing. “What’d I say?”
“She does that.” I pick up the drawing on the top of the pile. As it happens, it’s the Fool.
Merry looks over my shoulder. “Raj!” she says, clapping her hands again.
It is Raj, but it’s also not Raj, somehow. Regan knows how to do those long, lean, sketchy fashion drawings, all specific in the clothes and vague in the face. It’s Raj in jeans and a hoodie, hands jammed in his pockets, slouching, his face in deep shadow.
“That’s it?” I say. “That’s his costume? That’s the Fool?”
“You have to see the others,” Sam says, passing them to me. I look at Goneril and Regan, and Cordelia, and then Lear.
“Oh my god,” I say. “These are amazing.”
Sam hands me back the Fool. “Now do you get it?” she asks.
“The one has the wings,” Merry says. “Like a fairy, the one I love.”
“Cordelia,” I say automatically, sheafing through the pages again.
Merry takes the sketch of the Fool. “No
Sam makes a face at me and I make one back. I’m glad she’s here, and Merry too. I can be more relaxed around Regan, more like myself, when they’re here.
“Dark roast,” I tell the counter girl when it’s my turn.
“Has anyone ever told you about decaf?” Regan asks.
Sam snorts. “Nothing!” she says when I give her Mom’s raisin face.
Merry gets chai. Regan gets rooibos. The four of us get the table with the cushy chairs under the blue glass chandelier, by the fireplace. Suddenly, for a moment, sitting in the best seats with my three friends, I feel like a rock star. Sam asks Regan what she’ll do for spring break, which is next week, and she says she might be seeing her mom. I get that night-skyfeeling I get sometimes with Regan, of an enormous black universe, all cold and empty, with just one or two stars glittering through. Then Regan asks Sam back, and Sam says going to Seattle with her family.
“How about you, Merry?” Regan says.
“We go skiing in Whistler,” she says.
“Oh, Merry, you are not,” I say.
“Yuh! We ski in Quebec. We brought our own skis from home. Daniel come with us.”
“You know how to ski?” I say.
She giggles and claps her hands.
“How about you, Edie?” Regan asks.
I know Dex has already signed up for a week-long intensive ballet camp, so our family will definitely be staying home. Nothing comes between Dexter and her ballet. “I’ll be working on the musical, I guess,” I say. “Now that our Fool won’t act funny, I’d better do some rewriting.”
“It’ll be okay,” Regan says. “I think it’s better to let Raj do it his way. You don’t know what it feels like to be a character until you’ve had to live with it for a while. You can’t make people conform if they don’t want to.”
“I guess,” I say. Regan is wearing a strapless pink satin prom dress with a line of iron-on peace signs on the bodice, her army jacket, and steel-toed boots. Her hair is currently purple. I’m going to argue with her about doing what people expect of you?
“Let’s talk about costumes,” Regan says. “I want to goto the fabric store over the break and draw up a budget. I want to start sewing soon, too. I can’t do ten costumes overnight.” She pulls a folder from her satchel. “I’ve made some sketches.”
Sam scootches closer so she can see. “You drew these yourself?” she says. “They’re amazing.”
Colour comes into Regan’s cheeks, like Auntie Ellie when she talks about Daniel. “Thanks,” she says. She actually smiles shyly at Sam. “This is my thing. I love fashion and, like, fashion history. Sketching, making designs.”
“Do you design your own clothes too?”
Regan’s smile fades. Uh-oh—she thinks Sam is making fun of her. She stands up and grabs her jacket and bag. “You can keep those,” she says. “They’re copies. I have to go.”
“What happened?” Sam says, panicked, as Regan clomps out of the shop in her big boots, her dress swishing. “What’d I say?”
“She does that.” I pick up the drawing on the top of the pile. As it happens, it’s the Fool.
Merry looks over my shoulder. “Raj!” she says, clapping her hands again.
It is Raj, but it’s also not Raj, somehow. Regan knows how to do those long, lean, sketchy fashion drawings, all specific in the clothes and vague in the face. It’s Raj in jeans and a hoodie, hands jammed in his pockets, slouching, his face in deep shadow.
“That’s it?” I say. “That’s his costume? That’s the Fool?”
“You have to see the others,” Sam says, passing them to me. I look at Goneril and Regan, and Cordelia, and then Lear.
“Oh my god,” I say. “These are amazing.”
Sam hands me back the Fool. “Now do you get it?” she asks.
“The one has the wings,” Merry says. “Like a fairy, the one I love.”
“Cordelia,” I say automatically, sheafing through the pages again.
Merry takes the sketch of the Fool. “No
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