Friday Night Players: Big Fish by DiCeglio Michelle

Author:DiCeglio, Michelle [DiCeglio, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-11-27T22:00:00+00:00

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Chicago was less than a six hour drive from Lyons. We decided to leave by eleven that morning in case there was traffic. Neither of us had been to Chicago before, but from what we’d been told from troupe members who had been there, we should be prepared for unnecessary traffic jams. We didn’t have to be at the venue until eight o’clock that evening, so that left us with enough time to get through a traffic jam and still be able to shower at the hotel before we had to report to the venue.

“Do you have the directions?” Siren asked.

“Yeah, the hotel address is in the GPS,” I answered.

“Keep track of how much you spend on gas, and I’ll give it to Cranium so you can be reimbursed,” she said. “I put the room on my credit card, and Cranium will pay me back for that too.”

“The troupe pays for this even though not everyone’s going?” I just assumed we would be responsible for gas, hotel, and food.

“We’re representing the troupe,” she answered. “We have to pay for our own food and drinks, but gas and hotel are covered. No mini bar, though,” she joked.

Once the trunk was packed with our overnight bags, makeup kits, and costumes, I opened my car door and got in. Siren offered to drive but I declined. There’s something about driving on the open road that makes me feel invincible. And if I was going to be performing in front of a new crowd in a few hours, I needed all the encouragement I could get.

Once we got onto the highway, I turned on the radio and let it fill the silence between us. We had the next six hours to talk about love and life, and I didn’t want to use up all of our topics within the first half an hour. As each song played, Siren or I would comment on the potential that particular song had at being a great group number or solo. We would say things like, “I could see Vero doing that song,” or, “Spence would make this a showstopper.”

“I like being the first person to perform a song,” Siren said. “Otherwise, it feels used. If someone else does the song first, it’s hard to come up with your own storyline.”

“Powder fever,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Powder fever,” I repeated louder. “My best friend in high school skied, and he said he liked to be the first person to ski on the fresh snow—when there were no previous track marks. He called it ‘powder fever.’”

“Were you popular in high school?” She adjusted herself in the passenger seat so that she was facing more toward my direction.

“Yeah,” I shyly answered.

“With the ladies?” she teased.

“I was.” I could feel my face grow redder as I felt her look at me.

“I’ll bet you were adorable in high school.” She reached over the gap between the seats to tussle my hair.

“What about now? Don’t you think I’m still adorable?” I decided to play along.

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