| A.J. Langer as Rayanne Graff (SDTS) | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 10 2008, 07:30 AM (8 Views) | |
| Rick | Jul 10 2008, 07:30 AM Post #1 |
|
Administrator
|
Show Title: Staring Down The Sun Character/Actor: Rayanne Graff (AJ Langer) Scene: End of Chapter 3 "I mean, the thing is... I'm, like, so obsessed with him and he doesn't even know I exist. He actually said that I meant nothing to him. You know, to clear up that stupid rumour Brian Krakow started? And I just wanted to strangle him or something." "Yeah, that's tough. Catalano deserves to die and all. But can you like, change? Now?" My eyes darted around the girls' locker room as Angela blathered on. I'd always had sort of a love-hate relationship with the changing room. On one hand, I got to see girls change; but on the other, I couldn't avoid seeing girls change. My pal continued without bothering to even put her gym shorts on. "I mean, he... how could he say he wanted sex and, like, a minute later say he didn't have any interest in me. It just doesn't--I mean, argh!" There wasn't a trace of Cherski, and I started to hope she'd cut class. I turned back to Angela and her woes. "Well, you know, it could be worse. He at least wanted sex with you, right?" "Right! But I mean, there's things that like, go hand in hand with sex." "Like?" "Like... I don't know. Love. Affection. Empathy." As I held back my snickers, guess who chose that exact moment to walk through the door. Metaphorical tail tucked between her legs and all. I wondered if Cherski had been crying, and hated how that thought seemed to kick me in the gut. She didn't glance my way, but seemed to sense my presence (like, what was I, The Phantom Of The Opera?) because she conveniently took the bench farthest away from us. For a second or two, Angela looked in the direction of the showers and Cherski looked in the direction of the door and their eyes like, met, only not in a star-crossed-lovers kinda way. At least I hoped not, because my migraine had grown way too big as it was. But of course they turned away before things got too awkward, and sighed broodingly in unison, only Shar--Cherski clearly found herself in more meaningless high school pain. Not only did she have to deal with "my best friend for ten years hates me" angst, there was also "I made out with the school slut and I really belong on Jerry Springer" angst. Mind you, Angelika was dealt "The-Really-Dumb-But-Perfectly-Leaning Guy Of My Dreams doesn't want me" angst, so I guess she had a right to sit there and brood and not get dressed half as much as Cherski did. While I pondered this, of course, she did manage to change into her gym clothes and call out for me to stop staring into space and get to class. Of course, I couldn't comply, because I found myself burdened with the extremely pointless quest of apologizing to Sharon Cherski for, you know, ruining her life or whatever. Perhaps because, oh my freaking Lord, she was changing. "I'll be there in a sec, don't wait up," I told her quickly, darting my eyes back and forth between her frown and Sharon's near-nakedness. My friend's pout deepened as she thought about this, but finally she nodded. "Okay. But I can't survive gym without you." "Yeah, duly noted." It came out as a mumble, because it was really hard to convince someone you were gonna be cool and stay in school when a hot girl in her underwear sat not ten feet away from you. But anyway, I waited until Angela had fully sulked out of the changing room before I crossed those ten feet over to Sharon. By this time she was fully dressed, but it didn't matter--half-nude Cherski was ingrained in my mind and probably always would be. My head felt hot and my--well, actually, everything felt hot. But I figured that was probably just the stupid, useless air conditioner not working yet again. And stupid Cherski, cold and calculating bitch of the year (never mind my knocking her down more than a few pegs less than ten minutes ago) found it in her best interest to not even freaking notice me. So of course I used the subtle, totally alluring way to get someone's attention: I coughed. D'oh. Shar--dammit, I mean, Cherski--only frowned to acknowledge my nearness to her, still not looking up. I could tell, seeing that I wasn't mentally retarded, that she wanted to freeze me out. But I'd be damned if this nuclear winter would last for long. "Hem, hem," I coughed again--for no other reason, apparently, than to make myself look like a complete idiot. I heard her sigh; it sounded like half-tiredness and half-hostility, or maybe forty-sixty. "Listen..." and my voice lowered itself out of habit, even though we were almost completely alone, "I didn't really mean all that shit I said. I mean, I did, but I, like, didn't. You know?" God. Just shut up already! And why was I even apologizing in the first place? I never said sorry. For anything. As, like, code. Sharon raised her eyes, those absorbing brown ones from my dream, and caught mine. Her face didn't betray her thoughts, or feelings, or anything at all. It just, like, existed. Unlike mine, which was probably screaming how much I wanted her to be unclothed again. And so I stood, and she sat, and we looked at each other. Nothing besides it. Everything besides it. She wasn't naked. Why wasn't she naked? I thought for half a second we would do it right there in the girl's change room, and pictured Angela walking in on us. 'I'm telling Rickie you skipped gym to have sex on the locker room floor with Sharon Cherski,' the imaginary Angelfood sighed in my head, as if this were a common occurrence. 'No, please don't, I'll do anything! I, I'll buy you ice cream,' the imaginary me replied with a pout. As we fought, the theoretical Cherski gathered her clothes and tried to make a hasty exit, but we turned to her before she passed the sinks. 'Don't ask me.' She shrugged, stopping to put on her DD-sized bra, 'I just work here.' But, even while pondering the nuttiness of fantasizing a whole soap opera about Cherski and I having sex rather than fantasizing about actually doing the deed, I was still looking intently at her. And she at me. So when she spoke, it startled me so much I backtracked a few steps, my moth-eaten sneakers a squeaky echo against the hardwood floor where our naked bodies should have been by now. "I don't care what you said, or why you said it." Her eyes lost contact as she laughed bitterly, a strange and hollow sound that curdled in my stomach. "Did you think I actually cared? I don't." Her voice barely a whisper: "I... don't." Then she picked up her belongings and left--for real this time, in the flesh and fully clothed. She faltered at the door, mimicking my actions in the boiler room, but this time it wasn't devious. Her normally perfect posture gave way to slouching on the frame and, with her mouth in limbo between speech and deathly silence, she seemed frozen in her thoughts. Didn't Angela realize her ex-best friend leaned better than Jordan Catalano ever could? Finally, Sharon wrapped things up, her voice quivering just a bit: "And by the way, whatever you think I am, at least I'm not, like, sick and depraved. At least I don't try to hurt people for fun. At least I don't make a joke out of my life. At least--" "Rayanne, are you coming? I need a badminton part--" Angela walked into the room, carrying her slightly annoyed voice, and stopped short at the heat between us. "Oh," she said, almost too innocently, almost too void of emotion. "Hi." She did that tiny nod, the one she'd always had. I could count on it. But Sharon ignored her. She just kept staring at me for an uncomfortable period of time, as if exterior forces were willing her, and when she finally went she looked back a couple of times. Seeing straight through me, right to my guts and hunger and heart collapsing underneath the weight of my lungs, which were working overtime. Maybe I'd been wrong, for once. Maybe she didn't want me. Maybe no one could ever want me. This useless cretin who couldn't stay sober, couldn't stay mad, couldn't stay full, couldn't stay anything or anywhere. But hey, I couldn't care either, so it all evened out. Right? After another long, stupid silence, Angela leaned into me. "What was that abou--" "Let's go to gym. C'mon." Now it was me dragging her along, holding onto her like a life preserver, like I was treading water above Mariana's Trench and all I had in the world was this little pale arm. And, weirdly, it was her words that popped into my head: Love. Affection. Empathy. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Outstanding Younger Female Character · Next Topic » |







1:02 AM Jul 11