Elliot had rolled his eyes at that. “She probably just wants someone to brag to about her ‘starring role’ in Les Mis or whatever play they’re doing.”
“West Side Story,” I corrected him. Megan had posted on Facebook earlier that day all about how she was going to play Maria in the school’s first big show of the year at Halloween.
“Rehearsals are intense,” she wrote to me, “but if you come up on a Saturday after eleven we all just chill out in the common room and I can introduce you to everyone.”
OK—I’ll do it
Elliot tutted, but I could see even he was glad I was getting out and doing something different and a little more out of my comfort zone.
Eeek! See you on Saturday!
Now it’s Saturday, and it’s one of those bright, beautiful September days that makes London sparkle as if someone’s given all the buildings a good wash. As I step off the train, I can’t help but think about how far I’ve come in only the past few months. There’s no way that I would’ve taken a train on my own into London before this summer, let alone a train and a Tube journey, but I now have the little strategies in my back pocket that help me to keep my anxiety under control. Not completely—I know it will be something that stays with me in some way for the rest of my life, and it can rear its ugly head at any moment. But as long as I rule, challenge, and accept my anxiety—and not the other way around—I know I’ll be OK.
The Madame Laplage School is on the banks of the River Thames, and Megan meets me at Embankment Tube station so that we can walk down together.
“Penny!” She waves at me from outside Starbucks, a coffee in her other hand. I never knew her to drink anything other than milkshakes or Coke, but then this is now “grown-up” Megan. “I hope you don’t mind I got myself a drink,” she says. “You don’t like coffee, do you?”
I shake my head. “I’m all good.”
“Great.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me across the bridge by the station. I can see St. Paul’s Cathedral as the river sneaks round the bend, and I stop to take a picture. Megan sidles into the frame and drapes herself across the railing.
“Wait, take a picture of me in front of the National Theatre,” she says, gesturing to the big concrete building that is near her school. “Maybe one day when I have my lead role in a fabulous play at the National you can sell this picture for millions.” She cackles in a way that makes me reel with slight embarrassment, and I snap the picture. “Lemme see?”
I turn the camera round to show her the photograph in the little screen. She squeals. “Oh my god, that is so great, Penny! Maybe you should do my headshots.”
I smile back, matching her wide grin, but something feels off. Even Megan isn’t normally this bubbly and excited. I would put it down to too much coffee, but I don’t think that explains it all.
“How’s everything going at school?” I ask, once we’ve crossed the bridge.
“Oh, the school is just amazing. Did you know that a big Hollywood couple are going to send their kids here? It’s all hush-hush according to Celeb Watch, but Madame Laplage is the only place for proper Shakespearean actor training. And the professors are just unbelievable. Did you know that they even have a monologue specialist? You should see the dancers too . . . I have never seen so many hot guys in one place.” She winks at me.
As she continues to walk and talk, I notice that she still hasn’t answered my question. I know all about the school already. I just don’t know how things are going for her.
• • •
The Madame Laplage School is in a huge old Edwardian terraced building, the kind that was probably divided into several tall and skinny houses once upon a time. But a lot of the walls have been knocked through and are now painted with bold, bright murals by the art students. I look through the glass pane of one door and I can see the polished wood floor and mirrored walls of a dance studio.
Megan continues to talk a million words a minute as we climb a set of stairs. We stop on the third floor outside a door that says DRAMA COMMON ROOM on the outside.
“Now, don’t freak out, Penny, but some of the girls in here know about you and Noah and they’re all mega jealous, OK? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure they stay cool, but, like, don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
“Uh . . . I won’t,” I say, frowning. “Trust me, the last thing I want to talk about is Noah.”
“Good. All right . . .” She takes a deep breath, as if to ready herself. Then she opens the door.
The first thing the common room reminds me of is the green rooms I’ve been in backstage at concerts. There’s certainly a lot more going on than in our sixth-form common room back at school. There’s that same chilled-out vibe: guys lounging on worn-down sofas, girls slouched with their legs over the arms of their chairs. One of the guys even has a guitar, which he’s tuning in the corner. And everyone is really attractive. I wonder if I’ve somehow stumbled onto the television set of Glee.
In fact, it’s almost exactly how Megan has described it—I’ll have to go back and tell Elliot that she wasn’t bragging at all. It actually is as creative and crazy and free-spirited as she made out.
Megan waits until I’ve taken everything in, then she grabs my hand. We walk over to a group of girls who are sitting at a table, reciting lines to each other. It takes a moment before they register that we’ve been standing there. I look questioningly at Megan, wondering why she isn’t just saying hello, but she’s focused on one of the girls.