Working Title:

Red.

CHAPTER ONE

"She tried to walk through me again." I mumbled, leaning against the open doorframe of my dorm room. Mabel, my room mate, closed her book and sat up. She was sitting on my bed, as hers was currently littered with flashcards and hand drawn biology diagrams, in a beginning of the year effort at appearing studious.

"Tragic; To go unnoticed by the gleaming beacon of high school popularity. Ashley Chamberlain, I assume?"

"Obviously." Commiserating over our shared status as the social outcasts of the Saint Agnes Academy for Girls always improved my mood.

"Forget it. Visualize her alone on her 40th birthday swallowing vicodin with white wine. It's what I do."

I smiled, closing my eyes as I stretched out on the worn, wooden floor of the room we shared. Summer had progressed into autumn enough so that the light coming in through the open window was already dim, even though the bell for dinner hadn't rung yet. Agnes was an old, prestigious boarding school. Covered in ivy, intricate architecture, and crawling with girls in traditional private school uniforms, it was ideally set in the New England countryside. For most of my peers, it was a family tradition to send their daughters here; I was on an academic scholarship. Success in a respected, private, high school would improve college prospects. I hadn't figured out much from there.

Such was my lack of motivation towards my future that I was almost relieved when the dinner bell tolled, interrupting my train of thought. Mabel groaned, and I sat up, retrieving her tie from the bed post, I tossed it on top of her head.

"Uniform. On." I commanded, pulling her to her feet.

"So bossy, with the rules. Why can't invisibility apply to the dress code?"

We entered the courtyard separating the dormitory and the dining hall, to find Ms. Chamberlain herself waiting for us. She looked like an actress playing the part high school girl on TV; not real. As she walked toward us, I expected a director to call cut so a crew member could adjust the fan blowing her hair. Our uniforms, which looked frumpy on everyone else, managed to look sexy on her.

"Hey Mulan" she called to Mabel. "Can I borrow your calc homework for tonight? I just wanna check my answers."

I could barely hear her over how clever she thought she was.

"That's so fucking racist. Assuming I'm good at calculous, just because I'm Asian." I snorted in response; Mabel always knew what to say.

"My mistake. But you'll have plenty of time to study when you're not burdened with the lead in the play." Ashley taunted, looking incredibly pleased with herself.

"What are you talking about?" Mabel's eyes were glowing, she'd taken the bait. The lead in every school play had been Mabel's for the past three years, not that she'd had much competition. Sports were more popular at St. Agnes than arts.

"Callahan retired. Real sudden. They've replaced him. With John Fairgreene." Ashley breathed the name with a reverence and awe I'd only seen her exhibit when gloating over a new designer bag. "And I just wanted you to be the first to know about my theatrical debut. So unless you want to hand over the calculous, I'll see you at auditions." She paused for a moment, as though she was genuinely expecting Mable or I to present her with a copy of the calculous homework we'd been carrying around just for her. Our blank stares assured her we weren't, and she turned on one heel, tossing her blonde locks in my face as she walked into the dining hall, where her friends were waiting.

Sitting at back corner of the long, wooden table in the dining hall assigned to 4th year students, sandwiched between members of the junior varsity field hockey team and an orchestra quartet, Mabel and I had enough privacy to discuss Ashley's news.

"Well. I mean, how the fuck did she know that before us? He was in class yesterday. Callahan lovesus. There's no way he'd just up and leave for Florida or something without telling us." Mabel reasoned. It was true; as the best actress and his favorite student, Mabel and I considered Callahan a friend.

"Of course not. He was like, our Giles. I'm sure he'll send a note explaining what's up." I found myself unsure of own words. It was so unlike Callahan to do anything unexpected; he'd started the school year just a few weeks ago with no mention of not intending to continue. I couldn't imagine his sense of professionalism allowing him to just not come back.

"We better. Hey, do you think this means his paper isn't due Monday?"

I groaned, lowering my forehead to the table; I'd forgotten all about it.

I stayed up late, rereading the plays on which I planned to base my paper, and it wasn't until 2am that I finally made my way to the bathroom to wash up. I walked up to one of the far sinks, and leaning my palms on the sides of the ceramic sink, I looked at my reflection.

My light hazel eyes looked back, looking particularly sunken thanks to my pale skin, and the pink imprints of my reading glasses. My face was at least interesting, if not pretty; full of juxtaposition. I had a full mouth and large eyes, but had very thin features and all the curves of a pencil. My thin, light red hair had gone almost blonde in the summer, and I was spotted with freckles. I spread my lips, and stuck my tongue out through the gap in between my front teeth. Interesting indeed.

The lights over the sinks flickered, and I jumped. I hurried to wash my face; as strange as it was to admit, the time I spent with my eyes closed, alone in the dim bathroom at night always made me nervous. St. Agnes, though beautiful, could be eerie in the dark. It was a shadowy place.

Early the next morning found me already set up in my favorite corner of the library. Light poured in between the stacks through the large, arched windows, and I felt at ease in my solitude. I had a job of sorts as the assistant to the librarian, Mrs. March, which came with the privilege of my own key and virtually no responsibility. She'd made up the job to justify the key, as it made it easier for me to come in on my own time and return books to their shelves. March was absolutely ancient, and I couldn't stand watching her on a ladder.

I curled up in a window seat, casually sketching out a plan for my essay discussing Aeschylus' Iphigenia, a character who represented the classical female victim, sacrificed by her father Agamemnon in The Oresteia. Even though the ancient Greek gods supposedly saved her, it was only by transforming her into a doe, simply another prey animal. My essay grew more tangled, and the sentences in my head kept twisting away from an intellectual argument and towards "because Agamemnon was an asshole." I'd begun considering abandoning Aeschylus all together and simply cranking out another paper about Hamlet when I heard a door open; the library wasn't supposed to open for another hour.

I stood and walked toward the sound, hearing footsteps approaching. My heart was pounding, more than the traditional dread of awkwardly asking another student to come back later. This felt different.

I hadn't been mistaken. A young man stood confidently, hands on his hips, taking in the view of the library. He was painfully handsome, and I was reminded of Ashley's movie star effect. He would be the brooding and mysterious bad boy. New in town with a dark past, but he'd prove to be emotionally sensitive once the leading lady managed to get under his skin. His height, sharp cheek bones, and the muscles that were subtly defined through his wool jacket and dark jeans were a new sight in St. Agnes.

The man turned, noticing me. He smiled easily, revealing gleaming, straight teeth. I stretched my face into a toothless smile, as my tongue pushed self consciously against my gap; I always noticed people's teeth. He turned toward me and extended a hand.

"John Fairgreene. I'm your new english professor, just taking myself on a tour before I start on Monday. Hope I'm not causing too much trouble already." I burned red at his teasing, pushing my glasses up with one hand while I shook his hand with my other. I had to push my thick, black glasses up frequently due to their heaviness; I'd tried to get ironically sexy book worm glasses and had wound up with something that looked a bit more military issue. His bright, blue eyes bored into mine; he'd gone past eye contact and into staring. My cheeks burned redder when I realized how embarrassed I was to be seen by him, this handsome, young, professor, in my glasses, raggy jeans, and big sweater.

"Oh, uh, no, not at all. I'm just in early working on a paper, for you, I guess, actually." It was impossible that this man could be a professor. He couldn't have been 40, and everyone else on faculty at St. Agnes was at least 60.

"Lucky me. Well, Miss?..."

Oh crap. "Everyone calls me Indi. Indi Davis."

"That's what they call you, Miss Davis?" He slid both hands through his black hair slowly as he spoke. What in others would seem like a sign of nervousness, in John Fairgreene it looked luxurious; he seemed to enjoy it. I could tell he was amused by my attempt to hide my name from someone who would see it on an attendance sheet in a matter of days. I didn't care; if he had a name like mine, he would do the same. All of the professors referred to to the students by Miss Whatever anyway, so I was safe.

"I was the under the impression that the library was closed to students at this hour, Miss Davis. I apologize for interrupting." Again with the amusement. He seemed to think he'd caught me at something, which made sense, given that fact that the library was indeed closed, and the guilty expression on my face. Which wasn't so much a guilty expression, but rather how my face looked.

"Oh, no, it is." I was determined that he shouldn't leave with the upper hand, thinking he'd let me off. "I work here, helping Mrs. Marsh. I have a key."

"You didn't quite look a common criminal, Miss Davis. I'll make sure to come to you, then, if I need any help around." He smiled, breaking his flawlessly casual pose, and strolled out of the library.

My first encounter with Professor John Fairgreene. And that was what it had felt like; an encounter, the way an explorer would encounter a big cat in a jungle. John Fairgreene and I were opposites in all things, it seemed, and he had left me feeling on edge.

I stood still, in the exact place he'd left me, and tried to sort out what about him had struck me so. The most superficial possibility was that he was an incredibly attractive and fairly young man. In my world, which was filled with other girls, dusty professors, and the occasional acne ridden adolescent male, he'd made quite a contrast. While I admitted to myself that I'd probably start making the effort of wearing mascara, a little crush alone did not account for the edginess.

It was his... smoothness. The way his smile seemed to slide across his face, his slow, decided movements. Nothing jerky, or anxious. He'd come into the library and had given it nothing more than a casual glance. He hadn't asked about the paper I'd mentioned, and given the quickness of his coming to St. Agnes, I doubted anyone had brought it up to him. I was shaken when my mind brought to surface a phrase used often in books I'd read. I view my life in two parts; before, and after I met John Fairgreene.

CHAPTER TWO

I spent the remainder of the day with Mable, an expert in procrastination and distraction, hoping to get my mind off my strange meeting with the handsome new professor. We hiked through the woods, which abutted the various athletic fields and tennis courts. She was avoiding the english paper, and I pretended to do the same.

We finally came to the clearing which held the clear lake which we often visited on weekends. A dock, which became a type of small cabin of only three walls, open to the lake, housed a pair of canoes which we were fairly certain had been forgotten by the rest of the student body. Mabel ran ahead, reaching the dock, and the immediately stopped and stooped down to look at the dock. The only things out of place we'd ever discovered here had been some large animal tracks (which we pretended were wolves, and not just dogs) and a used condom (which we had pretended not to have seen at all).

When I reached Mabel, I realized she was looking at a different type of track. Boot prints. Large ones; definitely a man. I had no doubt, somehow, that these were left by Fairgreene, out on his tour of St. Agnes.

"That's weird, yea?" Mabel asked, turning to face me.

"It's the new professor, I think. I saw him this morning, he said he was looking around." I tried to sound unsure and uncaring. Mable saw through me; I was not the actress of the pair. I watched her face as she considered confronting me about whatever I was hiding.

"Looks like it's about to storm, don't you think?" she diverted, managing to sound casual. Mabel knew I'd come to her myself in time. I followed her gaze up to the sky, visible from the clearing created by the lake. She was right. The sky had gone from a still, grey morning to a tumultuous mix of clouds, moving fast, surrounding us in the sky and their reflection in the lake.

She caught my eye, and we began to laugh. It was obvious we didn't have much time before the sky opened up, and we'd only make it if we ran.

"Race you!" Mabel called, already tearing towards back towards the trail. I followed after,the wind picking up and shaking the trees as we ran. The wind began to howl around us, but it wasn't long before we reached the athletic fields. We dropped to the grass, out of breath but laughing, as the rain finally began to pour down on us. Mabel cried out, running for the dormitories. I followed her, jumping in the puddles that had already begun to form, and enjoying the wild storm.

I made it to our room, dripping along the maroon carpets than lined the hallway the entire way. "Well, if we must stay in tonight, I have an idea how we can spend it." Mabel announced, tossing me a towel. "Ta-da!" she called, pulling aside the quilt on her bed to reveal a bottle of whiskey hidden under her bed. "Got it just for you. Now, I vote we have a TV marathon drinking game. You pick the show- but Scifi. Obviously."

I laughed, excited by the prospect. Mabel always came up with the funniest rules; Drink every time one of the Winchesters actually gets laid. Do a shot every time Joss Whedon makes you cry. "Bel, the english paper..."

"Shut up. You need to drink, while you're safe here with me. What happens if you don't, and then you don't know your limits, and you get taken advantage of at a frat party in college? You need to drink this whiskey. For feminism!" Mable cheered, holding the bottle aloft.

"Well, if it's for feminism... then I suppose it's really for the best. But if we're going to do this right... we need to order the food of your people." I teased. Though Mabel and I rarely drank, when we did, bad, greasy, Chinese take out was a must.

"Oh my god, yes. But you order; they know my cell number and they keep trying to speak Chinese to me. It's like, dude, I'm adopted."

"Always a lady, Bel."

"Shut up and get me food, woman."

Getting off the phone with Panda Garden, one of the few restaurants in the adjoining town, I found that they would not be sending out anyone to deliver food in the storm. I was determined to pick it up.

"It'll be fine. It's like a 20 minute walk, and I love the rain." I reasoned to a thoroughly distressed Mabel. I was into my tall, black rain boots and out the door before she could argue.

I found the rain to be less pleasant than I'd hoped. It was bitterly cold, and the wind was biting. My clothes were drenched through in minutes, and my umbrella was useless. The route to the main street was a familiar one, and in a town as small as Middlebury, there wasn't any way to get lost; the main street was the only commercial one. I was ducking through the cheap bamboo curtain in record time, as I'd practically ran the whole way.

After running hot water over my hands in their bathroom and emotionally preparing myself to venture back into the cold, I pulled the plastic bag of hot food to my chest and walked out onto the street. I'd just stepped onto the side walk, when I noticed a dark car driving towards me. I moved to the other side of the side walk, from both a sense of stranger danger and a desire not to get splashed with mud. The car slowed, and pulled over next to me. I began to walk as quickly as I could, head down, eyeing the door of Panda Garden. I heard the car door open over the roar of the wind and rain, but before I could run, I heard the voice that had been haunting me all day.

"Get in!" John Fairgreene. Obviously.

I quickly climbed into his car and slammed the door behind me, shaking from the cold.

"Hope they have some amazing takeout. You could've drowned." He said, turning the car towards the center of the lane and beginning to cautiously drive away.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled, startled by the strange turn of events. Of course I'm soaking wet in John Fairgreene's car, because this is my life, I live for embarrassment and social awkwardness.

"No need to be sorry, Miss... Davis, right? People call you Indi?"

"Yes. I'm getting you car wet, I'm really sorry. But thank you, for picking me up. The storm was worse than I'd thought." The only time I'd been in a faculty member's car before was when Callahan's wife invited Mabel and I over for dinner. That had been scheduled, polite, comfortable. This was anything but.

"Happens to the best of us. You're young, it's the time to make mistakes. I thought you were going to run away, to be honest." He laughed. I couldn't help but think that he found my nervousness hilarious. He ought to get used to nervous; I knew that girls would be tripping over themselves in front of him come Monday.

"Stranger danger. You know."

In what seemed to be a pattern with John Fairgreene, he grinned and I burned red, despite the cold. I held my hands up to the heating vents in his car, trying to do anything to stop wringing my hands.

"Stranger danger. That's great. So. Can I guess?"

"Guess what?" I was intrigued. When confronted with a mystery like Fairgreene, the fact that he would have anything he'd want to guess at seemed strange.

"Indi. It isn't your name, it's just what people call you. So your name must be something you'd rather not be called. I'm curious. Can I guess?"

Of course. The stupid name. People always wanted to guess. I nodded sternly, and my seriousness seemed to add to his enjoyment. I really needed to learn to not play into the fun he apparently got out of my social incompetence.

"Indiana. Like Indiana Jones."

"Nope."

"Indigo. Do you have hippie parents?"

"No, and definitely no."

"Indiana, not like Indiana Jones?"

"Nice try. You won't get it. It isn't a good name, like John Fairgreene. The whole thing sounds like my parents have their GED's framed in our trailer." His face beamed, and I realized with horror that he'd gotten it.

"You were born on the fourth of July, weren't you?" He sounded truly amazed.

"You shouldn't have been out driving in this weather. It's dangerous." I attempted to move the conversation to him, for once.

He snorted. "Like you can talk. I was out for a pizza." He cocked his head to the back seat, where there was, indeed, an Angellino's pizza box. "My new house is still full of boxes from the move."

Oh. I was surprised by how normal his answer sounded. I'd forgotten that, to himself, he wasn't mysterious and sexy; just a man who'd recently moved for his new job. I couldn't visualize him in a house full of boxes, eating shitty pizza.

"Oh. I hate to tell you, but you picked the wrong pizza. Angellino's tastes like a paper towel covered in ketchup. Get Vinnie's next time."

He lifted one hand off the steering wheel and sighed, a gesture that said Of course. Perfect.

"I just came from Chicago. I wasn't expecting much in comparison, but paper towel? Really? Do I get Bounty, at least?"

"Store brand. Sorry. It's why I go with the Chinese. We only have a few places in such a small town. Why did you come here, if I can ask? If I got to a big city, I'd never leave." I wasn't sure if the last part was necessarily true, but I felt that if he had to correct me he'd be more likely to answer at length. So far I hadn't gotten much out of him other than what I'd heard from Ashley, and in my ordinary life, I was eager to find intrigue in the littlest things.

"Oh, you know." John sighed again, and I felt with dismay that he was launching into a prepared answer. It sounded like me, when people asked what I planned to do after high school; vague and noncontroversial. "I was teaching at a another private school in the city, actually, and I just got tired of the pace. I wanted something simpler, maybe find time for a family. You know."

Hmm. I had a difficult time visualizing Fairgreene meeting women at the town's lone pub, Thirty-Two, much less raising children. I hadn't thought about him being single before, which seemed odd given my slight crush. Professors had previously been conveniently old, married, and uninteresting; I wondered at what difficulties he would bring the girls of St. Agnes. Ashley certainly had seemed enamored. Fairgreene had realized I was considering his response, so I quickly replied, terrified he'd realize my interest.

"Um, no. I don't know. I haven't really looked too hard for a wife myself; I'm not quite ready to settle down." A combination of sarcasm and dead pan delivery, I had discovered, was my reaction to being presented with any guy I liked. Though going to a private girl's school certainly helped, I was a virgin for a reason.

A wide smile spread across Fairgreene's face, and he seemed to have forgotten the unpacked boxes in his new house and the soggy pizza in his backseat. For a moment he reminded me of Callahan, in his enjoyment of my humor.

I realized, however odd it seemed given his new-ness and good looks, that Fairgreene would probably be old news in a few weeks. The girls in class would eventually give up trying to sex up their uniforms, and start complaining about he papers he'd assign. Even in St. Agnes, new-ness only lasted so long.

"So. If you're not out looking for the future Mrs. Davis, what do you do? St. Agnes' website assured me you all take part in a wide variety of extracurriculars." I could tell by the inane quality of his question that he was determined to maintain a polite facade.

"Um. Well, I work at the library, I'm in drama club, if it even still exists, and I do archery. We all have to do a sport, so I picked the one with no team involvement."

"There's no 'I' in team, Miss Davis."

"Exactly. And 'I' was really sick of having field hockey balls launched at my face."

"Ouch. Are you not drafting your prom queen acceptance speech quite yet?"

I exhaled quickly, and smiled. The types of high school kids were just the same in Chicago as New England. Fairgreene was trying to bond with me over what seemed to be our shared view of the trivialities of high school. It was working. I could already see Mabel and I debating the importance of attendance at St. Agnes' several seasonal dances with him.

"I figure I'll just wing it, with my usual wit and charisma. So. Callahan taught drama club. Did they try to get you to sign on to as well?" Not only was drama club the primary source of my enjoyment each semester, but it significantly impacted what I'd be able to put on the extracurriculars in college applications, an unfortunate reality which was only drawing nearer.

"Oh, yea. I figure I'd give it a shot. I don't actually know how to direct or anything, but I can learn. Did you really do "A Vagina Monologue" last semester?"

"Uh. Yes. It was a good monologue..." Mabel had demanded that Callahan sign off on the production, but when no other girls could say vagina without giggling, I'd been forced to rewrite the script with significant edits, down from "The Vagina Monologues" to simply a monologue. Which had been more than enough for the few who attended it.

"I'm sure it was ground breaking. I was thinking of doing something more classic, this semester, if you think that'd work. A fairy tale, maybe like Hansel and Gretel or Snow White or something."

This surprised me. I'd assumed he'd pick a very high school drama club show, like The Little Women or Peter Pan, but I almost appreciated Fairgreene pretending to ask my opinion. Faculty at St. Agnes tended towards stodginess. "Um. That's nice" I lied. "But maybe something a bit less female princess victim-y?"

"Ah. Feminism, in keeping with the vagina monologue, I assume?"

"No." I said boldly, twisting in my seat to face him. "In keeping with basic human equality." Despite being soaking wet and shivering, I set my jaw and glared at him openly until he reacted.

Fairgreene's face shifted from his superficially playful expression to serious. He began to pull over the car, which startled me until I realized we were at the dormitory. He locked his blue eyes into mine, which unnerved me more than I cared to admit to myself.

"You are absolutely right. I apologize, Miss Davis." His voice was slow and even, and I could tell that as he spoke each word he was reevaluating his opinion of me; that he was now seeing a full person and not just a stereotype he'd seen elsewhere. "What show would you suggest, then?"

My mind blanked. "Little Red Riding Hood" I heard myself say. "It's still a fairy tale, but the girl kills the wolf and saves herself."

A wide grin spread across Fairgreene's face, he laughed, tilting his head to the roof of the car and running his hands through his hair. I shuddered at the obvious sensuality of the motion, my face reddening despite the cold at how his most casual movements affected me. "I thought the hunter killed the wolf." He asked, incredibly amused by my choice.

"Not today." I said dramatically, as I grabbed the Chinese food and opened the door. I had planned to stride off into the rain and look really cool, but I tripped on the curb and wound up mumbling thanks and apologizes to him as I stumbled away. John Fairgreene might look like a movie star, but I apparently hadn't been cast.

CHAPTER THREE

News about John Fairgreene had spread like mono throughout St. Agnes, and I had been inundated with questions from shyer girls about how to join drama club all weekend. Bolder girls had waited to ask him in person, and were lined up outside of my first period literature Monday morning.

"What is this, a line for free STD testing?" Mabel cheerfully asked the small cue that had formed in the hallway.

"Shut up, virgin!" one of my more promiscuous peers groaned at me. Mabel and I were generally viewed as a unit, and of the pair, I was the easier target.

"Try to refrain from antagonizing one another, please, Miss?" The voice behind me could not be there right now. The face burned red as I slowly turned to face Mabel. She made an awkwardly apologetic smile, confirming what I'd hoped wasn't happening. John Fairgreene was reprimanding another student for calling me a virgin.

"Miss Johnson" she smugly replied.

"Miss Johnson, I'll ask you to endeavor to speak more respectfully to your peers, please." John Fairgreene said noncommittally, almost bored, as he wove his way through the crowded hall to the door.

Courtney Johnson smirked at me. "I didn't mean it like that." she said, in a sickening, mockingly sweet tone. "You should be proud of your chastity. I'm sure you're making Jesus, like, really happy."

My brain immediately went to work thinking of a comeback, but nothing more clever than 'You'll have sex with anyone who pays any attention to you, and that's indicative of low self esteem, which is unfortunate.' came to mind. Not exactly a zinger, but I didn't care to condescend the levels of slut shaming generally enjoyed by my fellow students.

Courtney eyed Mabel, waiting for a response. "You're kind of ugly, which is a bummer." Mabel yawned, leaning on the wall of the hallway. The quickness of her wit was generally reached by her third cup of coffee, around 10:30 AM, and as it wasn't yet 8, Mabel was a bit blunt.

Courtney scoffed and stalked off. "Enjoy remedial english!" Mabel called after her. I sighed, leaning my forehead against the wood paneling of the hallway.

"Don't sweat it. You're a virgin by choice. You're just... selective, anyone would be happy to swipe your V card." Mabel playfully assured me.

It had become a familiar exchange, ever since last year at the spring formal. St. Agnes hosted the event for a local boy's private school, St. Andrews, and I'd somehow wound up making out with a guy in the middle of the field hockey field after the dance. He'd tried to get me out of my dress, and when I assured him I wasn't losing my virginity to some dude in the middle of a field, he'd started yelling that he wasn't "going to fuck a fucking virgin" and then preceded to tell everyone. I neglected to mention that A) No shit he wasn't going to fuck me, and B) "fucking virgin" is an oxymoron. Yet the entirety of St. Agnes had found found new material to classify me as weird, which they viewed as gold.

"Oh, yea." I said, putting on a smile for Mabel. "I will meet Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome, and I will be all like 'Oh, we are so sexy, you want to have sex with my sexiness.' And he'll be like 'Ooh, yes I do."

Mabel pulled her lips into a look that said "Shut up, please." and I knew, because my life revolves around social humiliation, that John Fairgreene was once again behind me, listening to me make an ass of myself.

"Laughing about Tall-Dark-And-Handsome already? I don't like being teased." Fairgreene joked. Mabel and I smiled politely, though we found his attempt at self deprecating humor quite off. "Come on, Indi, I need you to tell these poor girls whatever it is that drama club does, I haven't the faintest idea."