by Debbie L. Miller
Brigette, 12, is sitting on bleachers in a school gymnasium during a break in “Tweens” acting class.
I did NOT want to come here, but my mom made me. She thinks I ought to be in show business she has illusions of being a stage mom. I think they call that the Gypsie Rose Lee syndrome. She failed as a soccer mom, so I guess this is the next best thing.
I’m here against my will. I do not want to learn about acting. That’s for self-absorbed losers and insecure weanies.
This is the second day of “Acting Camp Week.” I don’t have to tell you there are some kids who, let’s face it, need psychotherapy, but who am I to judge? There’s this one kid, Brandon. Talks all the time. Yesterday, when we broke into small groups to do some stupid sharing activity, Leslie Beautrix told him to shut up. I swear, he looked like he was gonna cry. That was mean. Brandon isn’t bad; he’s just nervous. His parents are getting a divorce.
My best friend, Amanda, was supposed to be here, but she got sick. I was bummed at first. I don’t like to do new things alone. Safety in numbers, you know? But, I need to push myself. My mom says I don’t take enough initiative and that I need to try harder to come out of my shell.
