Chapter One: New HobbiesCHAPTER ONE New Hobbies "?''AND ALL OUR YESTERDAYS HAVE lighted fools / the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief''--uuurrrgh!" As he paced my living room, my boyfriend Ned suddenly stopped mid-soliloquy to cringe and shake his head. "What''s wrong?" I asked, putting down the printout that I was using to follow along. "Ned! You were doing great!" He looked down at me, a hopeful glint in his eyes brightening his unsure expression. "You really think so?" "I really do." I nodded enthusiastically, picking up the paper again from my family''s coffee table and settling back on the couch, ready for him to start over. "You''re getting better and better. I mean it!" Ned sighed.
Actors, I was quickly learning, could be moody. "I''m glad you think so. It''s just, I feel like I don''t know what I''m doing. I want to sell it, right, but I don''t want to really overdo it. Like, what if I go in to audition and the director''s like, ''That guy was really hamming it up!''?" I had to stifle a laugh. I was thrilled that my sweet, straitlaced boyfriend Ned had decided to stretch his boundaries by trying out for any part in River Heights University''s production of Macbeth . Coincidentally, the production was being directed by Bear Larouche, visiting professor and director of some small but well-reviewed art films. Ned and I had watched them in preparation for his audition, and while I thought they were awfully cool-looking, I didn''t really get them.
But it was hilarious that Ned thought he could possibly be "hamming it up." He was giving a typically restrained performance, and it had taken a lot of encouragement from me to get him to move around a little while he spoke. Still, I was being honest when I said he was getting better and better; his eyes sold every word, and he was really thinking about how best to time the complicated dialogue. "Well, I think you''re doing a great job. But anyway, isn''t Bear Larouche known for his unexpected, in-your-face choices as a director?" I asked. Ned nodded like, You''re right, you''re right. "Maybe he would love it if you were really over the top," I went on. "Maybe that''s how he sees his production of Macbeth !" "Maybe," Ned agreed, looking thoughtful.
"I guess I''m just intimidated. This is all so new to me. Not just acting, but acting Shakespeare --getting the language just right is tricky." "I think you''re brave," I said. "It isn''t easy to try something new, especially when you''ve gotten good at your usual." Ned raised an eyebrow at me. I knew he was wondering if I was talking about myself. It''s true, I don''t mean to toot my own horn (what a weird expression, really, when you think about it), but I have gotten pretty darn good at my main extracurricular activity: solving mysteries.
I have a good record, and just saying, if you google "teenage detective," my name might come up. (Also this girl in California named Veronica Mars. I''ve tried to get in touch, but she never answers my DMs.) I love solving mysteries. I love figuring out puzzles. I love getting justice for the good guy, and making the bad guy pay. But every once in a while? I do wonder what it would be like to, say. play tennis instead.
Or sing opera. Or run a jewelry shop on Etsy. Mysteries are fun, but they take a lot out of you, both mentally and physically. I''ve been in more life-or-death situations than I care to count. Thank heavens I''m young, or my blood pressure would probably be through the roof. Anyway, lately, I''d been thinking about finding some other hobbies so I can mix it up. "I bet you could be brave too, Nance," Ned said, tilting his head. "Point taken," I replied, pulling the paper closer to my face and drawing my finger back to the beginning of Ned''s audition piece.
"Now, let''s try it once more, with feeling." "Where are you guys?" I called an hour later, wandering through my friend Bess''s house. "Ned gave me some of those peanut butter cookies you love from his dining hall!" "Ooh, ooh! We''re in here, Nancy!" Bess''s voice called from the family room. I hustled in from the kitchen to find Bess and George, cousins to each other and best friends to me, sitting at a card table and chatting. They were surrounded by a pile of simple glass vases, ribbon, and different kinds of flowers made from felt. Bess''s mom was holding a dinner to raise funds for the local animal shelter in a few weeks, and we''d all volunteered to help. Today we were putting together centerpieces. "How many of those peanut butter cookies did you bring?" George asked, holding up a hand and wiggling her fingers, like she was hoping I would place a cookie directly into it.
I dug in the paper bag I''d brought and did just that. "I brought six. If we can keep anyone else from smelling them, that''s two each. Let''s try to keep these under wraps, okay?" I put the bag on the table and Bess reached in to grab one. "Gotcha. What cookies? I don''t see any cookies." She shoved an entire cookie into her mouth. "How''s Ned?" George asked a few minutes later, once the cookies had been polished off.
"He''s good," I said. "He''s great, actually. He''s been working so hard preparing for his audition. I hope he gets it!" "Me too," Bess said, carefully arranging a few flowers in a vase. "What a surprise that he wants to be an actor!" "Oh, he doesn''t want to be an actor," I said. "I mean, not professionally. He still wants to be a lawyer. He just wants to try performing.
" George nodded. "Good for him," she said, winding ribbon around the neck of a filled vase. "I bet acting will help with public speaking when he gets to law school. I never would have pictured him onstage, and that''s what makes it great. We all have to keep ourselves from being put in these little boxes, you know?" "I know," I agreed, pulling over more felt flowers. "The truth is, I sort of wish I could find something new to try. What if I had a new hobby that was different from solving mysteries? Something nice and peaceful like. needlework.
" George coughed. "Didn''t you try knitting once?" Oh. I nodded. "Yeah." "And didn''t you end up throwing the project you were working on out a bus window?" I frowned. "It was a super-complicated pattern, George." "It was a scarf. That''s basically a big rectangle.
" "But there were stripes ." Bess cleared her throat. "Well, maybe crocheting is more your speed, Nancy. Anyway." She paused, then grinned at us both like she had a delicious secret. " I might have an exciting new hobby. There''s something I''ve been working on." "Really?" I asked.
"What?" asked George. Bess''s cheeks were flushed a joyful pink. "Do you remember the guitar I got for my birthday a couple years back?" "Sure," George replied. "Are you finally learning to play it?" Bess nodded rapidly and stood up. "Better than that," she said, and disappeared out of the room down the hallway toward her bedroom. After a few seconds of George and me making confused faces at each other, Bess returned, a blond wooden acoustic guitar slung over her shoulder via an embroidered strap. "Look at you!" George said, gesturing to the instrument. "You''re like Taylor Swift 2.
0." Bess sat down and began adjusting the tuning pegs of the guitar. "Oh, thanks, George. But I don''t know if I want to be, like, a pop star." George glanced at me skeptically. "Oh, what kind of singer do you want to be?" Bess strummed the strings a couple of times and then looked up over our heads, thoughtful. "I dunno. Kind of like Phoebe on Friends ?" "So a bad singer?" George asked, but her question was drowned out by Bess playing a few loud, slightly discordant opening notes.
"Did you write this song?" I asked, loudly enough to be heard over the noise. Bess smiled. "I did," she replied enthusiastically. "Anyway, here goes." She began strumming on the guitar. She was surprisingly good. "Walking down Main Street again, your letter in my pocket." Bess''s song was about a girl trying to get over a breakup that had happened years before.
She wanted to move on, she had happy times, but her thoughts kept drifting back to this one guy, the first guy she''d ever really loved. It was very Taylor Swift. But I wasn''t about to tell her that. All comparisons aside, it was a pretty good song. But the singing . I wanted to be supportive of Bess and her new hobby. But George and I had heard Bess sing before, and let''s just say ''melodic'' is not a word you would use to describe her voice. I met George''s eye after the third line or so and could see my cringe echoed on her face.
Bess was really trying hard, going up and down the scales, sometimes all in one syllable. But her lower register sort of bottomed out so you couldn''t hear her, and the high notes actually hurt. I soon realized I couldn''t look at George without giving away how I really felt. I pasted a glazed look on my face, wondering if it would be rude to block my ears when I saw a high note coming. Because ouch . I could feel a headache forming in the back of my skull. The song had four verses and a bridge. Finally the singing stopped, and a few seconds later, Bess stopped strumming the guita.