Posted:
here is the next part for Project 17. Thank you for all the comments. 😃
Chapter 6: Humaira
Ayaan just won't let up. He's sitting in Mrs. Duncan's director's chair, ordering me around like he's Don. It's the last class of the day, a free period for Ayaan and me, and, considering our drama-rat status, Mrs. Duncan doesn't mind that we hang out in the theater- since this is where we end up everyday after school anyways, rehearsal or not.
"It could really be a good opportunity for us," Ayaan says.
He's talking about this independent film project that Asad Ahmed Khan is trying to rope us into. In a nutshell, Asad wants to film a movie at the old abandoned mental hospital in Danvers.
In another nutshell, Ayaan is amazing, but he can be unbelievably relentless at times. When he gets his mind wrapped around something- like the time he wanted us to audition for American Idol even though neither of us can sing, just so one of us could meet Simon, since Simon's got all the connections- the boy just doesn't give up.
"Just think how this could jumpstart our careers." Ayaan says.
Like me, Ayaan is an actor. But, as the writing on his shirt says, what he really wants to directs. He's forever telling Mrs. Duncan just where to put his clipboard, his director's chair, and his spotlights. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already got visions of taking over Asad's project as well.
"If Asad wins," Ayaan says, "his film will be shown on national TV. Just picture it: us, on RTV with millions of people watching. We'll be getting auditions left and right."
I smile, somewhat taken by the image. I mean, this could be bigger than just another high school production, than just another stint with the community theater.
"Yeah, but what about the whole cheese factor," I say, snapping to my senses. "I'm a quality actress. Not some reality TV lady."
"Of course, baby cakes, you're the best. Nobody's arguing that for a second," Ayaan says, in an effort to soothe me. "But you also can't argue the merits of reality television. It's made a lot of careers."
"Ten seconds of fame, more like it."
"Well, that's ten more seconds than what we've got right now."
"Okay, fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "Let's say we agree to this gig. What do you think the chances are that Asad Ahmed Khan is actually going to win?"
"No matter, sweet cheeks," Ayaan says with a shrug. "Because even if he doesn't win'his film is going to be viewed by the real industry people- the same people we're trying to connect with. Even if the film's a flop, just think of that exposure. I mean, just think about it- maybe those industry people won't want Asad's film, but maybe they'll want us."
I pause a moment and look at his deep brown eyes, at his irresistible crooked mouth, and the three o'clock scruff on his chin. "Do you want me?"
Ayaan smiles, taking my hand and pulling me onto his lap. "Do you even have to ask?"
"Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you're trying to convince me?" I purr into his ear and then kiss him full on the mouth. He tastes like mint. "So what does one wear to a mental hospital?"
"What else but a naughty nurse's outfit."
"Oh, really." I laugh. "Wouldn't you love that?"
"I'm ready for my sponge bath."
"Well, don't forget your rubber ducky." I cup my hands around Ayaan's neck and kiss along the nape.
"We'll be walking red carpets before you can say Oscar," Ayaan whispers.
The clincher. I spit the gum from my mouth and go at him full force. We topple back in the director's chair, landing back against the stage floor.
But soon we're interrupted.
"Excuse me?" a female voice says from just behind us.
Ayaan and I pause from smooching to look up at her- Zoya Farooqi, Cleveland High's next valedictorian. She looks more prefect than usual. I mean, it's bad enough that she has supermodel silky, black hair, and that she stands five feet eight with the tiniest waist I've ever seen. But today there's a beautiful desperation about her, vulnerability in her eyes- the kind I try to capture whenever I'm doing a poignant scene.
"Sorry," she says. "I was just looking for Mrs. Duncan."
"He's in class." I say, climbing free of Ayaan.
"Oh." More disappointment; she purses her lips and looks downwards into her hands, making me want to file the gesture away in my improv box.
"Are you an actress?" I ask her. "I mean, I know you've never acted here, but'"
"No." Zoya shakes her head. "But I was hoping to get involved in some way."
"It's March," Ayaan says, getting up. "Drama's over for the year."
"Isn't there anything I can do?" she pushes. "How about for next year? Isn't there any design stuff I could get a head start on? Isn't there some crew that does that sort of thing?"
"Mrs. Duncan hasn't even decided what the production is for next year," Ayaan says.
Zoya picks at her fingernails, refusing to budge. It completely weirds me out. I mean, I don't even think I've heard the girl speak during my four full years here. She's too busy studying.
"Hey, you know, if you're interested in acting," Ayaan continues, "Asad Khan is looking for people to star in his film."
My moth drops open. I shoot Ayaan a menacing look- the one reserve for my most villainous scene. I mean, what is he thinking? I won't be upstaged by some bookworm actress wannabe.
"Asad Ahmed Khan?" she asks, piqued by the idea. He eyebrows arch in curiosity.
"He might not need anybody else." I sign.
"I don't know," Ayaan, says, oblivious to my evil eye. "You should definitely ask."
"Will there be a lot of rehearsals?" Zoya asks. "I'm pretty busy as it is with my studies and all, and I hear you guys practice a lot."
I open my mouth to tell her about all the hours required for just one measly production- all the weekends eaten up by memorizing lines, and all the weeknights we slave here getting each scene right- when I hear Ayaan say that this gig required no rehearsals whatsoever, that it'll only take up one night of her life- this Friday- and that it's a great opportunity for all involved.
"Ayaan!" I snap. "She said she wanted to do stage crew. Maybe this isn't the right thing for her."
"No," she says. "This sounds perfect."
"Yeah, I think you'd be great," Ayaan says, sucking up. "You have a great face." He makes a box with his fingers as though filming her face, and then pulls his pocket organizer from inside his coat pocket-Mr. Ever Reliable- to retrieve Asad's phone number. He jots it down on a slip of paper for her.
"Thanks so much," she says. "You saved my life." At that, she turns on her heels and leaves, stage right.
"What's with that look?" Ayaan says, just noticing my scowl.
"Drool much?" I ask him.
"Only drool for you." He pulls me close and plants a big fat juicy one on my cheek. "She's got nothing over you."
More like eight sexy inches in all the right places, not to mention shampoo model hair, flawless skin, and movie star looks. "I want to be alone," I say in my best Kareena Kapoor accent. Kareena is my hero- the most beautiful, most talented, and most powerful actress of the twentieth first century. It's true- and sad, if you ask me- that most people my age don't even know who she is. But that doesn't stop me from trying to clone myself into her.
"Well, I want you," Ayaan says. He snuggles into my neck, slightly at my hair, and then wraps his arms around my waist. "Nobody's as sexy as you," he whispers.
I'll have to admit, it does help to lift some of my stupid insecurities. After all, I'm the talented one, right? I'm the one who's been acting since she was a toddler, who got a part in a toilet paper commercial when she was only twenty-four months, who studied with Claude Leboeuf in Woodstalk this past summer. Plus, let's face it, not all A-list actresses are supermodel gorgeous, right? Right?
Yeah, Humaira, right.
Buddy me for pm for the story.😃
Please comment!!!! 😃
Debate Mansion
124