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around the team, covering everything from favorite classes to boring teachers to which school projects we’re dreading.
    Asha starts rhyming off the assignments she has to complete this semester. “Ten pages—and on Shakespeare!” she says. “I can’t believe Mr. Dietrich won’t let me write about some other playwright, but he refuses to budge.”
    Ziggy shudders. “I hate writing essays.”
    “At least it’s not due until the end of April,” says Nigel.
    “You’d better get a head start then,” I say. “You’ll lose a whole week if we make it to nationals.”
    Mark looks at me. “Nationals? We haven’t even had zones yet.”
    “You’re thinking about nationals already?” asks Vern.
    “Yes,” says Nigel, nodding. “Yes, she is. She was pressuring me about it last week.”
    “Hey, we have to plan if we’re going to make it work, right?” I say. “Especially if we all have assignments that’ll be due.”
    “I can’t possibly think about April,” Asha groans. “I’m just trying to make it through this week.”
    “Good news!” cries Ziggy. “You’re only two classes away.”
    As we pack up to leave, Hanna says, “That tableau was fun. We should do it every lunchtime.”
    Now there’s a thought. Tableaus would be great practice for starting our Style scenes. “Good idea, Hanna,” I say, turning to the others. “Why don’t we do it every lunch? Or maybe after school or something, for fun.”
    “But after school, there’d be nobody here to see it,” says Nigel. “Where’s the fun in that?”
    “I’m sure there’d be at least a few people here,” I say. “And so what if there aren’t? It could still be fun. What’s everybody doing after classes today?”
    “Student council for Hanna and me,” says Vern.
    “I’ve got prom committee,” Asha says. “Nigel, you have to come too. Celeste is bullying everyone into voting for her horrible color scheme. Seriously, who puts orange with blue? Ever?”
    As he and Mark leave, Ziggy calls over his shoulder, “Be ready! Who knows when the tableau fairy will strike again?”
    I sigh and turn to Faith. She’s looking at me, one eyebrow raised.
    “These tableau practices,” she says, “and the stuff with Vern and higher stakes and everything—is all that about us getting to nationals?”
    “Yeah. Not that it seems to be doing much good.”
    “You must really want this,” she says.
    “I do! And games and warm-ups can make a big difference. Tableaus help us practice picking good characters. Even if there’s only two people doing it,” I say, turning my pleading puppy-dog eyes on her.
    She laughs. “Sorry, Chloe. Not a chance,” she says. “A two-person tableau is totally boring. Besides, I’ve only got a couple of chapters left in the novel I’m reading, and I can’t wait to finish it.”
    It was worth a try. And there’s always improv class. Maybe the five of us can squeeze in some practice there.
    ***
    It looks like Monday’s improv class is not going to be my chance for some practice after all. Over the weekend, I reviewed the improv book again, and I’m itching to try out the new details I’ve noticed, but Mr. J. has had us doing nothing but warm-ups for the first half of the class.
    At the moment, we’re standing in a circle. Mark makes eye contact with an athletic-looking boy across from him named Tom and starts walking toward him. Wordlessly, Tom meets my eyes and heads my way, as I, in turn, lock eyes with Gina from my math class, who’s opposite me, and start toward her spot. We look like zombies trudging silently toward one another.
    This is the switching warm-up, where we transfer the focus from one person to the next as we trade spots. Sure, it helps teammates recognize and watch for each other’s signals, but who cares? I don’t need to get to know the improv habits of this group. And I’m not learning anything that can make me or the team better either. I’d really hoped to spend at least part of this