PART V - HELEN

On my way to the rehearsal, I met Jenny and Maria in the hallway. I put on a smile.

"How was your queer club meeting?" I asked, remembering that the first date had been today.

"Somewhat disillusioning," said Jenny.

"Not true," Maria objected, "there were 8 people –"

"– us included," Jenny chimed in.

"– and we introduced ourselves, Martha from 10th grade had brought cookies. It was really nice. And once word gets out, it's gonna be even nicer."

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"It doesn't sound that bad," I agreed. "If you want, I can hand out more flyers over the next two weeks."

"You're an angel, Helen." She reached into her bag and handed me a couple of flyers.

Staring at the papers in my hand she said, "Maybe we should've taken Maria's font."

Maria laughed, took her hand, and then they were gone.

When I got to the auditorium, Francis and Sofia sat onstage and painted a piece of cardboard.

"Can I help?"

"Sure," Sofia patted the stage next to her. Then she looked up at me and gestured me to stop. "Don't sit down with your light clothes, there's paint everywhere. Come with me, we'll get you a coat."

I followed her behind the stage, out through the back door, and over to the art studio.

"You okay?" She asked at some point.

"No."

"Oh."

That had obviously not been the answer she'd expected. She should've expected it.

"That was a stupid question."

"Yes."

She smiled at me, and I tried smiling back. It was easier than expected.

Sofia knew her way around in the art building. I had known that she painted and drew in her free time but seeing her move so confidently in this room was something else. At that moment I realized that she wasn't always like that. I had perceived her as outgoing and self-assured, but it seemed staged now. She showed me her workplace where sketches of building and stage sceneries piled up.

"And this is what I'm working on for my art class." She held up a canvas that showed an outline of Bonnie Cartwright's face on a patterned background.

I was in awe. "You're truly gifted."

"Thanks. My middle school art teacher used to say that I had no artistic talent at all and that I should stick with science."

"But you didn't."

"Yeah, I did, for some years. Then I decided I wanted to do architecture and thought: Fuck it. I'm learning how to draw. Did you know, that to perfect something, you need to do it for at least 10'000 hours?"

"10'000? That is a lot."

"Hmh," she agreed. While going into a storage room, she muttered to herself. I was unsure whether to follow her, so I stayed in the main room and looked through her artwork. Then her voice came from inside the storage room, "It's eight hours every day for three and a half years. There you go," she handed me a formerly white coat that was now covered with colorful paint splatters and brush strokes.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

As we made our way back to the auditorium, she was chattering away, and I was glad for the distraction. Of course, I knew what she was doing; she was creating a distraction for me.

"When I was younger," she told me, "my mom wanted me to become a marine biologist – a famous one to boot. But I always hated biology. I love science, physics and maths are just great, you know. Everything is logical, everything has a reason. But biology is just so random."

"Don't ever tell this to Jonathan, he wants to be a biologist."

"Funny story, now that you mention it; I did in fact tell him and he went on for about an hour as to why I'm wrong."

Again, a little smile appeared on my face. Jonathan was the incarnation of the mad scientist movie trope. I could vividly imagine him standing on a table and defending his favorite subject.