Page 11 of Dungeons and Drama

I moan. Don’t get me wrong, I love the originalWest Side Storymovie. Mom let me watch it when I was eleven and fanatical about love stories, but unfortunately I didn’t get the memo that it was a retelling ofRomeo and Juliet,so the ending felt like someone was cutting out my heart with a dull spoon. After it finished, I distinctly remember walking out on our patio so I could cry alone in the rain. A small part of me loved how dramatic I was being, even then.

“I don’t think I’m up for the emotional turmoil today. How about a comfort watch?”

“My Fair Lady?”

“Perfect.”

Mom picks up the remote to pull it up. “So, you haven’t said much about working at the store. How’s it going?”

I shrug. “Fine, I guess.”

“Is it pretty nice inside? It’s been forever since I’ve been there.”

“It looks like Dad designed it and runs it.”

She laughs lightly. “Riley.”

“It’s okay. He seems to get pretty steady business. But it’s not as nice inside as it would be if you’d done the interior.”

“Well, thank you.” She fiddles with the remote. “I’m sure it’s great for your dad to have so much extra time with you now. He gets to see you right after school and hear about your day….”

Mom’s tone is weird, her eyes downcast, and it takes me a second to figure out what’s going on. I think she’s a little jealous of my new arrangement with Dad, which ishighlyironic since she’s the one who insisted on the grounding. I guess it makes sense, though. Mom and I have always gotten along so easily, and her interior design business is much more up my alley compared to gaming. It’s not exactly theater set design, but she does have to think about the aesthetics of color and lighting in spaces and I’ve learned a lot by tagging along to job sites with her. And it’s not just that—we genuinely like to hang out. She loves to get dressed up and play around with her makeup and hair color. It’s not unusual for me to come home and find that she’s suddenly a redheadinstead of a blonde. We’ve had a lot of fun evenings, watching old musicals and trying out winged eyeliner.

“Mom, you know I’d be so much happier if I was working with you. And it’s not like Dad and I are sitting around having heart-to-heart conversations while we check out customers. It’s just a job.”

She gives me a small smile. “I just hate to think that I’m missing anything from your life. But it’s a busy season for me, so I’m bouncing all over to meet with contractors. Having you work at your dad’s store makes more sense. Itissupposed to be a punishment, after all.”

I snort. “Oof, nice one. I won’t repeat that to Dad.”

“Please don’t.” She closes her eyes and rolls her shoulders back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. That was petty. This whole situation feels so strange, though—I’ve never hadto punish you before. And I want you to have a good relationship with your father, of course I do, but…”

She trails off and I reach out to squeeze her hand, unsure what to say, even though I know what she means. Particularly since the divorce, Mom and I have been more like friends than a parent and child. It’s messed up, but the idea of being happy around Dad feels disloyal to her. Not that I’m expecting to have a lot of fun these next weeks at the store.

“Let’s not talk about Dad or the store anymore.” I grab a blanket and lay it over both our legs. “Thanks for not canceling tonight.”

She clicks the play button and takes a handful of popcorn. “I need these nights as much as you do.”

We sing “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” along with Audrey Hepburn and then fall back into the couch laughing at ourhorrible accents. Once the scene continues, I pull out my phone and make a few notes about the musical. Maybe this would be a good choice to propose to Miss Sahni. It’s not modern, but it is beloved, which could help with ticket sales. We should have some usable costumes from previous years that would cut down on costs. I’m not certain if—

“What’s going on? You’re never bored when we watch musicals.”

I startle and put my phone down. With everything else that’s been going on, I realize that I never told her about what happened in choir this week.

“Mom, the school wants to get rid of our spring musical! I know they’ve threatened it for years, but Mrs. Bordenkircher was always able to make it happen. But now we have Miss Sahni, and she’s really nice and it sounds like she really wants to do it, but it might be too late, and everyone is so upset—”

“Whoa, hold on, you’re talking so fast I can barely understand you. It’s official, then, they’re definitely cutting the musical?”

“Miss Sahni made it seem pretty official.”

Mom sinks back into the couch. “That’s horrible. What a loss for the school. Have you been holding this in all day so you wouldn’t ruin our evening? I’m surprised you weren’t screaming about it as soon as you got into the car.”

A tinge of guilt pricks me as I realize that I haven’t said anything about it to her, even though she’s always been my fiercest theater supporter. Now that I spend most nights with Dad, things are starting to fall through the cracks. But after the conversation we just had, I’m not about to tell her that.

“I’m not giving up hope, though,” I say, ignoring her question about when I got the news. “I’m going to talk to Miss Sahni about it more. I think if she and I work together, we could come up with a plan to convince the administration that—”

“Riley.” Mom’s voice has lost the soft, sad tone it had a moment before. “Despite all this”—she waves at the movie and popcorn—“you’re still in trouble. Have you forgotten you’re still grounded for your last theater-related choices?”

“No…”

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