“Trust. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
His lips quiver into the slightest of smiles. “Did you justPrincess Brideme?”
He knowsThe Princess Bride? Color me surprised. Jocks aren’t usually known for their ability to quote chick flicks. Then again, I shouldn’t stereotype. And Adam is far from the typical jock.
“All right.” Professor Frost stops fiddling with the cell phone/speaker hookup and—you guessed it—claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Here’s how this game works. Adam and Kolby will improvise a scene. They’ll start by doing a normal, everyday activity like, say—”
“Folding laundry,” Ian shouts.
“Perfect. They’ll be folding laundry. Every so often, I’ll play music from my iPod. It might be dramatic, or sad, or funny, or romantic. When they hear it, they’ll have to change what’s happening in the scene to match the mood of the music.”
He moves between me and Adam, putting a hand on each of our shoulders. “Any questions?”
We both shake our heads, and Professor Frost goes back to the phone/speaker. “You can begin whenever you’re ready.”
Adam surprises me by jumping right in, doing a not-half-bad job of miming like he’s folding a shirt. I think. Or maybe it’s a towel. I pretend I’m carrying a laundry bag over my shoulder and clear my throat.
“Excuse me. Is this spot taken?”
He shrugs and continues to fake fold. “It’s all yours.”
I dump the invisible contents of my invisible bag on the invisible counter. “I haven’t seen you at this laundromat before.”
“That’s because I haven’t been here before.”
I start fake folding my fake laundry alongside him. “Do you live nearby or are you visiting?”
“I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago.” He flashes one of his trademark toothy grins. This one’s a little more tentative, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s still pretty darned potent.
Gah. His smiles always make me stupid. And stupid does not mix well with improv. It’s hard to think on your feet when your brain is short-circuiting.
I look down and try to concentrate on the pretend pair of pants I’m folding until my synapses start firing again. When they do, it’s like a lightbulb goes on over my head, like in a cartoon. He’s not the only one who can play mind games. I can give as good as I get. And if I get him to break, this will be over before it has a chance to get started.
I sneak a glance at him out of the corner of one eye. He’s still going through the motions of folding, waiting for me to keep the momentum of the scene going.
Poor guy. He has no clue what I’m about to hit him with.
“Nice boxers,” I say, smirking. “The unicorns farting rainbows are an interesting choice. Where did you get them? The children’s section at Target?”
I expect that to throw him off—he really does have a pair of boxer briefs with farting unicorns on them—but instead he smirks right back at me. The son of a biscuit eater actually has the gall to match me smirk for smirk.
“Why do you want to know?” he asks. “Interested in getting a pair for yourself?”
“No, but I’ve got a five-year-old nephew who would think they were hysterical.” I mime picking up a shirt and shaking it out. “I guess some guys never grow out of the flatulence-is-funny stage.”
My response violates the cardinal rule of improv: always say yes. You have to respect the reality your partner has created. So if he points his finger at you and says it’s a gun, you can’t say, “That’s not a gun, that’s your finger.” You have to accept that it’s a gun and go from there.
But I don’t care. I’m not giving Adam the satisfaction of agreeing with him. And I’ve crafted my answer in a way that still allows the scene to move forward. I mentally cross my fingers that Professor Frost won’t notice my faux pas, or if he does, he’ll let it slide.
I’m not sure if he picks up on my misstep or not, but the professor chooses that moment to hit play on his iPhone, and the theme song toMission Impossiblefills the classroom. Adam immediately drops to the floor, tugging me down with him.
“Don’t move. We can’t let them see us.”
“Who?”
“Circus clowns.” Someone giggles, but Adam ignores it. “If they see us, they’ll kill us.”
Circus clowns?I don’t know whether to smack him or shake his hand. The student has surpassed the master. Or if not surpassed, at least equaled. “Why do circus clowns want to kill us? What did I ever do to them? Besides think they’re creepy as all get-out.”
