A week later at lunchtime. A wobbly table that’s too uneven to set a drink on. Uncomfortable chairs designed to make you leave quickly. The scent of roasting coffee. Ratna and I sit near the front window, cupping our mugs and staring through the steamed-up windows at the spring rain. My glasses are perched on top of my head. After another week of challenging rehearsals crammed between mountains of homework, I want a break from thinking like a director. If only Ratna would stop ranting about Lorna’s terrific rehearsals. “And then Lorna says that she doesn’t want to tell me how to act—that I should bring my own ideas to the scene.” Ratna breaks off a chunk of cranberry muffin and pops it in her mouth, chewing happily. “She never gives advice?” I snort. Lorna loves to offer me “friendly advice” when she’s really telling me what to do. “Well...” Ratna finishes chewing. “She gives examples of how to act, and she reminds us what the script says.” She rips apart her muffin, tearing the tender inside into bite-sized pieces.
