Tamsin Page 6

  The painting of the waterfall isn’t that great. The frame is kind of ugly. But at least a year after I talked to him about that quote, my minister remembered it and bought that picture for me.

  A small kindness. The kind of thing Father Warren does so often he probably doesn’t even think about it. But it means a lot to the people on the receiving end.

  There’s another quote by George MacDonald that I like.

  There are thousands willing to do great things for one willing to do a small thing.

  I like that one because it’s true. People are always willing to do the big stuff—the stuff that gets you attention. But people forget to do the little things. The day to day things. Just trying to be strong and honest and kind and brave when it doesn’t seem to matter or when no one’s looking.

  I go over to my bed and lie down, my arms folded behind my head. As I stare up at the ceiling I’m thinking, what small thing can I do right now to make things better?

  To be honest, I can’t think of anything that will make the Trace situation better. Not right now, anyway. Maybe I need to sleep on that one.

  But there’s something else I can do. I can tell Tamsin that the “Lisa” who’s been popping into her online discussions is a fake account.

  I don’t have her phone number. But when I pull up her profile on Twitter, I see that her DMs are open.

  There’s something I need to tell you. DM me back if you get this.

  Now I’m just here on my bed, waiting. Which is stupid, because it’s midnight and Tamsin’s probably asleep. Even if she’s awake, she hasn’t been on Twitter since last night. Why would she even notice I DMed her?

  Refresh. Refresh.

  Man, I’m an idiot.

  Refresh.

  And then…

  Ding.

  I sit straight up in bed, staring at my phone. It made the notification sound, and there’s also a little red number one on the envelope icon on the bottom right corner of my Twitter screen.

  I click on it.

  What?

  That’s all.

  I hesitate. There’s no character limit in DMs, so I can say whatever I want.

  You’ve been talking with someone named Lisa on Twitter. The golden retriever avatar. She’s actually my asshole housemate trolling pro-choice girls from Hart. Just block him. Tell your followers to block him too.

  Maybe a minute goes by. Then:

  Wow. Okay, I will. Thanks for telling me. But I gotta say, in case you haven’t noticed…you seem to be friends with a lot of assholes. It’s none of my business, but I thought I’d point it out.

  There’s Shane, who called her a skank. And Trace, who told her rape is just a girl changing her mind the next day.

  I type, I’ve got some friends who aren’t assholes, and erase it.

  Then I type, Yeah, maybe, and erase that, too.

  I stare down at my phone for a few seconds. Then I type,

  Sorry.

  Her reply comes a minute later.

  It’s none of my business, like I said. But YOU’RE not an asshole.

  My phone is cradled in my hand, and I move my thumb over Tamsin’s message on the screen. Then I type,

  Thanks.

  It’s a pretty lame reply, but sometimes a lame reply is all you’ve got.

  I just call em like I see em. So are you coming to class tomorrow? Or were all the liberals too much for you? Do you need a safe space, snowflake?

  I grin.

  I’ll be there. What about you?

  I wouldn’t miss it. I’m going to wipe up the floor with you, by the way.

  Doubtful. See you tomorrow, Tamsin.

  See you tomorrow, Daniel.

  It’s the first time she’s called me by my name. And even though she did it in a Twitter DM, I hear it in her voice. That low, sexy, smoky voice I heard for the first time freshman year, when the prettiest girl I ever saw came to my dorm to see her boyfriend.

  Chapter Nine

  Daniel

  After football practice and before Experiments in Drama, I go to church.

  I call ahead to see if the minister has any free time that afternoon. His secretary makes an appointment for me, and I show up at the rectory around five o’clock.

  I feel a lot better after I talk to Father Mark. I don’t know him as well as I know Father Warren back home, but he’s a good man. I tell him the story behind my visit—what we’re doing in Experiments in Drama, and my chance to do a sort of pro-life ministry.

  It’s a huge relief to hear pro-life arguments made by someone not an asshole. As I eat dinner later and head to class, I feel good. Father Mark’s words resonated with me, and I think I can make them resonate for other people, too.

  Father Mark warned me against using religion as a weapon, and I have no plans to do that. But I’m going to make my case, and there’s no way Tamsin—or anyone else—can make one that’s any stronger.

  When I walk into the theater, Tamsin is there already. She’s talking to her friend Izzy and a guy whose name I can’t remember.

  In the moments before she notices me in the doorway, I have a chance to look at her.

  Okay, stare at her.

  Damn, she’s beautiful.

  I’m glad the lights are dim in here, because I’m worried about what my face might be showing. The fact is, I’m really glad to see Tamsin again, and I’m pretty sure my expression isn’t hiding that fact.

  She used to dye her hair jet black freshman year. It’s lighter now, and I think the shade is her natural one. It’s still really dark, almost black, and it’s long and wavy and silky-looking. She’s wearing a red cotton shirt, and her hair looks amazing against it.

  Her makeup is dramatic. Maybe not as much as freshman year, but she still wears more than most of the girls I know.

  I used to think I didn’t like that. I used to think au naturel was the way to go. But I love the way Tamsin uses makeup. Not to hide flaws or anything, but almost like a painter would use a canvas—for sheer love of decoration.

  It’s dramatic around her eyes, especially. She does this kind of intense, smoky eye shadow thing, with either the best mascara money can buy or the longest natural eyelashes any girl ever had.

  It makes her gray eyes look huge.

  Her lips are less intense. Pale pink, full and soft. But whatever she does to them makes them so kissable I don’t know how any guy near her can think of anything else.

  God knows I can’t.

  But then Professor Washington comes in and Tamsin looks up, and I go to an empty seat in the front row.

  I expect the professor to go right into our scenes, and I’m ready. I’m armed with everything Father Mark and I talked about, and I’m going to change Tamsin’s mind if it’s the last thing I do.

  First, though, the professor tells us all to come up on stage and make a circle. After telling us to call her Joan, she has us all go around and give our names and the reasons we wanted to take this class.

  Tamsin starts us off. “My name is Tamsin Shay, and I’m a theater major. I know a lot of people who’ve taken Experiments in Drama, and they all rave about it. My friend Julie said it helped her remember why she wanted to act in the first place. She said you teach a strategy of radical honesty, and it helped her be more authentic in everything she was doing.” She hesitates. “A part of me was really drawn to that phrase—radical honesty. Another part of me was scared by it if I’m being…well, honest.” She’s wearing jeans with her red shirt, and now she sticks her hands in her pockets. “Anyway, I’m excited to take this class. And a little scared, too.”

  We’re going clockwise, which means they’ll get to me after five people. I look at Izzy when she’s talking, and then at Charlie (that’s the guy whose name I couldn’t remember), and at the three people who come after that. But I don’t really hear them. I’m thinking about Tamsin, and what she said.

  Radical honesty.

  When Professor Washington—Joan—nods at me, I start talking. But I don’t say w
hat I’d planned to say.

  “My name is Daniel Bowman. I’m an engineering major. I signed up for this class because I need one more arts credit before I graduate, and I wanted to get it over with before next year. There were five classes that fit into my schedule, and I thought this one would have the least amount of work.” I pause. “But that’s not the only reason, if I’m being honest.” I pause again. “I was in a play back in junior high. And I, uh, liked it. So here I am,” I finish awkwardly.

  There’s a short silence. My face feels hot. I’m not really looking at anyone in particular, because I don’t want to meet anyone’s eyes.

  Then Professor Wa—Joan, I mean—says,

  “Thanks, Daniel. No matter the reason you’re here, we’re glad that you are. All right, Kelly, you’re next.”

  Kelly starts to talk, and as she does, I glance across the circle at Tamsin.

  She’s looking right at me, and one corner of that soft pink mouth is lifted in a smile.

  I try to read her expression. Surprised? Friendly? Warm? Something like that.

  Anyway, I like it.

  “All right, everyone, let’s get started with our scenes. Tamsin and Daniel, stay on stage. The rest of us will sit in the audience.”

  A minute later, Tamsin and I are facing each other.

  “Are you ready for this?” I ask softly.

  “I was born ready.”

  She’s smiling, and so am I. I replay my conversation with Father Mark, marshaling my arguments in my head. I’m not going to be caught flat-footed no matter what Tamsin throws at me.

  Joan is sitting in the middle of the front row. “Okay, you two, here’s the set up. Tamsin, you’re a pro-life activist. Daniel, you’re a doctor who provides abortions. Okay, go.”

  I blink. Tamsin blinks. For a moment we just stare at each other.

  Then we both turn toward Joan and start talking at the same time.

  “How are we supposed to—”

  “I thought this scene was—”

  Joan holds up a hand. “This is improv, cats and kittens. You’re supposed to get out of your comfort zones. Remember?”

  Tamsin looks frustrated. “But I thought this class was about radical honesty, too. How am I supposed to be radically honest and pretend to be pro-life at the same time?”

  Joan grins at her. “This is an acting class. It’s all about pretending. Walking in someone else’s shoes, right? Can you find the radical honesty in another person’s reality? That’s the challenge here.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Joan holds up her hand again. “That’s enough complaining. Let me remind you that this is improv and you don’t get time to plan. Be in the moment. Your costume is the body and mind of another person. Ready, set, go!”

  I’ve been thinking about this moment for the last two days. I’ve been picturing standing here on stage just like this, facing Tamsin. I practiced all my arguments in favor of life. I was ready, damn it! And now all that preparation is out the window.

  I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

  Chapter Ten

  Tamsin

  I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

  What am I supposed to do now? After last night, I felt like I had a sword to carry into this battle that no one could stand against. I felt strong and centered in my beliefs and in myself.

  How can I feel centered in someone else’s beliefs?

  That’s literally what acting is.

  The voice inside my head sounds like Joan’s, and I resent it.

  But she’s not wrong. So, okay. It’s obvious when I look at Daniel that he’s just as flummoxed as I am. And he doesn’t have my experience in theater, so it’s up to me to make this scene work.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I know you probably want to get home to your family. But I also know what you spent your day doing, Doctor, and I want to talk to you about it.”

  Daniel looks groggy but game. Props to him for not giving up on the spot.

  “Are you planning to gun me down like George Tiller?”

  George Tiller was the doctor shot by an anti-abortion extremist in a Kansas church.

  Not bad, Daniel. Not bad at all.

  “I didn’t shoot George Tiller,” I say. “I would never do something like that. I believe every life is sacred. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I want to talk to you.”

  Daniel looks at his wrist as though at a watch.

  “It’s been a long day. I’ll give you two minutes.”

  I clear my throat. “Every life is sacred,” I say.

  I’m repeating myself. Bad theater.

  I try again. “As a doctor, didn’t you take an oath to do no harm? Isn’t it your job to protect life, not to take it?”

  Better.

  “If you think that’s somehow black and white, you don’t know anything about being a doctor.”

  Daniel actually seems to be settling into this role. His arms are folded, he’s frowning, and he looks like he’s working hard to stay patient. He also looks a little supercilious, which is exactly how most doctors I’ve met look.

  It suddenly occurs to me that he might do better in this scene than me.

  Except, no way. I will not let that happen. Of the two people on stage right now, only one of them is an acting major.

  “So you’re saying that in your opinion, it’s perfectly okay to kill babies?”

  “A fetus isn’t a baby.”

  “Oh, really? What about late term partial birth abortion? What about abortion after the fetus is viable? Isn’t that a baby?”

  Daniel is doing a really good job of looking down his nose at me. Of course it helps that his nose is like a foot above mine.

  “First of all, partial birth abortion is illegal, so that’s a straw man argument.”

  I didn’t realize Daniel actually knew that.

  “Second of all, do you know how many abortions are done late term, after the fetus is viable?”

  Of course I do. But would my character?

  “Too many,” I say.

  “1.2%. And by the way, I’m not one of the doctors who performs that type of procedure, so if you want to fight with me about that it’ll be theoretical.”

  Damn.

  “But,” he continues, “if we’re going to talk about the most extreme arguments in this debate, what about the other side?”

  “The other side?”

  “Rape, incest, and the life of the mother. Do you believe abortion should be illegal in those cases? Would you force a victim of rape to carry a pregnancy to term against her will? Would you rather see a woman die than have an abortion, if her life is in danger?”

  “Yes,” I say, thinking that my character would.

  But that sounds too extreme. It’s not believable. If I’m taking this seriously, I have to make it believable.

  “I mean, no. If the woman’s life is actively in danger, I think abortion is acceptable. It’s a terrible choice and a tragedy, but it should be legal.”

  “What about women who’ve been raped? Do you want to see them forced to give birth?”

  I remember Daniel’s DM last night, about his asshole housemate trolling me on Twitter. And it’s the asshole housemate I channel right now.

  “Rape is a terrible thing. But you don’t have the right to kill a baby just because its life began in a terrible way. And besides,” I say, “we all know the rape argument is just an excuse for abortion on demand. If we make abortion illegal except in cases of rape, incest, and the life of the mother, then any woman with an unwanted pregnancy could just claim she was raped.”

  I’m kind of on a roll now. A roll of horribleness.

  “If you spent any time on a college campus, you’d know how bogus all these rape charges are. The truth is, girls like to have sex. They just don’t always like the consequences. And all that consent garbage goes against human nature, anyway. The male sex drive is all about dominance and being alpha. If you try to get men to follow all these
consent rules you’ll kill their natural sexual urges, and then—”

  “Bullshit.”

  I stop, staring at Daniel with my mouth open. “What?”

  “I said, bullshit. Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power.”

  He said that like he believed it. Is this acting, or real life?

  “What are you—”

  “Rape is one person using their power to take away someone else’s. It’s not an act of sex. It’s an act of violence. So you’re saying that a woman who’s been the victim of violence, who’s had control of her own body taken away from her by force, should have that control taken away again. You’re saying she should be forced to give birth against her will, after she was forced to become pregnant against her will. You’re saying that what she wants doesn’t matter. You’re saying that she doesn’t matter.” Daniel takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m saying she does matter. And I’m going to fight like hell to make sure people like you don’t take away her rights.”

  I can’t think of a single thing to say after that.

  And then, like during last class, the room bursts into applause.

  “End scene,” Joan says. “Daniel, I wish I’d seen you in your junior high school play. Okay, who’s next? Charlie, who’s your partner?”

  I don’t hear a word of Charlie’s scene, or any of the scenes that come after. Daniel is all I can think about.

  He’s one hell of an actor. Or could that passion have been real?

  He’s sitting in the front row, a few seats over from Joan. He keeps his eyes dutifully on the action happening on stage. He doesn’t turn around once, even though I’m sitting just two rows behind him and a little to the left.

  I decide to talk to him after class. He stays behind to ask Joan something, and I leave with everyone else. But then, like Daniel did last time, I wait in the shadows under the stairwell.

  I count the students leaving. There are sixteen of us altogether. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Just Joan and Daniel left in there now. Then the door opens and they come out, still talking.

  I step in front of them. “Sorry to interrupt, but…could I talk to you for a second?” I ask Daniel.