Outside Read online

  Contents

  Production History

  Characters

  Notes

  Setting

  Outside

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  For Andrew Lamb and Roseneath Theatre:

  the fearless and tireless champions of this play.

  Production History

  Outside was developed through Roseneath Theatre’s TYA Playwrights Unit. It was originally produced by Roseneath Theatre in April 2015, and was remounted in March 2016 and January 2017 with the following cast and creative team:

  Daniel: G. Kyle Shields

  Krystina: Mina James

  Jeremy: Youness Aladdin (2015) / Giacomo Sellar (2016–2017)

  Directed by Andrew Lamb

  Dramatruged by Rosemary Rowe

  Stage managed by Maureen Callaghan (2015) / Meghan Speakman (2016) / Krista MacIsaac (2017)

  Set designed by Michael Greves

  Costumes designed by Lindsay C. Walker

  Sound designed by Verne Good

  Managing Director: Natalie Ackers / Annemieke Wade

  Production Manager: Heather Landon / Courtney Pyke

  Education and Marketing: Gretel Meyer Odell, Katya Kuznetsova, Victoria Augustynek, Nan Chen, and Brittany Kay

  Tour Manager: Niki Poirier / Nicole Myers

  Outside was developed through support from Roseneath Theatre, the Ontario Arts Council Theatre Creators’ Reserve and Theatre Direct.

  Characters

  Daniel — sweet, intelligent and poetic. Fifteen.

  Krystina — kick-ass and super smart. Fifteen.

  Jeremy — athletic, down-to-earth, funny and dry. Fifteen.

  Notes

  A forward slash ( / ) in the text indicates an overlap.

  When performing the play in a country other than Canada, the reference to Louis Riel (and the rap) may be changed to a suitable local historical figure, with the permission of and consultation with the playwright.

  Setting

  Outside takes place in two separate classrooms in two separate high schools during the course of a single lunch hour.

  Outside

  Two classrooms, each in a separate school. One classroom is in Salisbury Collegiate, where krystina and jeremy will be meeting, and the other is in an unnamed school, where daniel is speaking to us. Both classrooms exist simultaneously, and the focus shifts between the two.

  At Salisbury Collegiate, krystina is attempting to hang a large, hand-painted rainbow banner across the blackboard. It is proving to be tricky. Painted on the banner are the words “Salisbury Collegiate GSA.” Standing on a chair, she tapes the right side up, and then she gets down and moves the chair over to the left side. Just as she is managing to tape the left side up, the right side falls —

  krystina: No no no no crap not again!

  She slumps into the chair in frustration. A lunch bell. We hear the sounds of students moving through the halls, lockers opening and closing — shouts, laughter, etc. krystina goes to the classroom door, and with a deep breath opens it. She catches the eye of someone in the hall and tentatively waves.

  At the other school, daniel settles into his chair and addresses us, as if we are the other students at a lunchtime meeting with him.

  daniel: Hi, yeah. Um . . . hi. I’m Daniel. You guys know that. Or maybe some of you don’t. I’ve been at this school two months and I’ve barely said a word. Not ’cause I don’t like you guys or anything, I’m just . . . none of you know why I’m here, why I transferred here, I mean. Ms. Franjelica knows, ’cause she was part of getting me here so that I could be, um, “safe,” which is why she let me take over today’s meeting so that I could ask you guys if . . .

  krystina and daniel each take a deep breath, together. krystina turns back to the banner, approaching it with renewed resolve, as daniel braves on —

  I’m wondering if you could do me a favour. See, at my old school I still have two friends . . . Krystina and Jeremy. They are trying to start a club like this one. A Gay-Straight Alliance. They’re both, um, straight, but they’re all right, if you know what I mean. And I’m betting they don’t have a lot of support.

  jeremy bursts into the classroom krystina is in. He is in his soccer gear.

  krystina: Jeremy! You’re here!

  jeremy: I’m here.

  krystina: I thought you had practice.

  jeremy: Oh, we do, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking of you, here, trying to do this . . . and, and how Daniel’s gone. That was the best answer they could come up with. To transfer him. I’m out on the field trying to get better, as a, a . . . teammate for this school, and all I can think is . . . my school . . . blows. So I just walked off the field. Right in the middle of drills.

  krystina: Wow.

  jeremy: Coach is pissed. And when I told him where I was going, he called after me, “When I was a kid we didn’t need special clubs. We toughed it out.”

  Beat.

  krystina: Well. Welcome.

  jeremy: (looks around) Where’s everyone else, Krystina?

  krystina: This is it. You and me.

  jeremy: Huh.

  He sees the banner.

  Bit much, don’t you think?

  krystina: I spent hours painting that.

  jeremy: Okay then.

  They wait.

  daniel: Oh jeez . . . talking is hard. I would so much rather just listen to you guys. I remember my first meeting, when you were all complaining about your class schedules, just complaining about school, and it took half the meeting before the word “queer” even came up, and I was like . . . I was in heaven. And I know it’s not like . . . “Hey, this is the club where we sit around and talk about our gay pain,” ’cause who’d wanna go to that, really, but some of you have shared about stuff that’s been hard for you, and that has helped me more than you could know, and so . . . I would like to tell you my story. I’m ready. Right, Ms. F?

  Beat.

  She’s nodding, so, where to begin . . .

  daniel takes a deep breath.

  jeremy: We should’ve offered free pizza or something. To get people to come.

  krystina: Then people would just come for the pizza. We don’t want that.

  jeremy: Don’t we want people to come?

  krystina: Yes, but that’s not the point.

  jeremy: Oh-kaaay . . . Do people know what room we’re in?

  krystina: Miss Gibbons made an announcement.

  jeremy: When?

  krystina: This morning, before the bell.

  jeremy: Right, like anyone heard that.

  krystina: I put posters up, in the caf.

  jeremy: I didn’t see any.

  krystina: On the board.

  jeremy: There weren’t any, Krystina. I walked by there between first and second period. Maybe they got torn down.

  krystina: You know what, fine, this is stupid.

  jeremy: What?

  krystina: No one’s coming, that’s obvious.

  jeremy: No, hey, hey — just wait a minute. I didn’t mean . . . maybe people just don’t wanna, I don’t know . . . seem eager?

  Beat.

  Here, let’s . . . um . . .

  He goes to the banner and tries to fix it. krystina eventually joins him.

  daniel: Right. Got it. Middle school. Where dreams come true. Ha. I’m sitting on the school bus with these girls who were my friends, ’cause I’ve always had girls as friends. And we’re listening to that song, you know the one by that super trashy pop star who, like, won
that competition and then had that one song about, well, doing it? (sings) “I wanna do it, do it, do it, all niiiiight, with yoooooou” — and my friends are imitating her, kinda trying to sing like her and kinda making fun of her at the same time. We’re laughing so hard, and then Joni says, “Make Daniel sing it. He sings it the best.” Which was true. Joni’s begging me to do it, and her friends are now begging me to do it, and so I do it — I sing it and it is . . . awesome, and it fills the bus . . . and then . . . silence. And then Jared, who I’d just met that year, at the start of grade seven, who was way too tall for his age and looked like someone stretched him overnight, sitting at the back of the bus, he says, “Hey, Daniel, are you a faggot?” He asks it like he’s genuinely curious about it. Cutting through the silence of that bus, from way at the back, “Hey, Daniel, are you a faggot?”

  Beat.

  It becomes a game after that. Some kid stops me in the hall, asks me do I know the way to the music room, and I say, “Sure, that way,” and then he says oh yeah and can he ask me something else? And I say sure, and he says, “Are you a faggot?” And then I notice the group waiting, just down the hall, watching us and already laughing . . . or I’m in the cafeteria and some kid is sitting beside me and we start a conversation; we talk for five, ten minutes and I’m thinking, “This is nice,” and then she says, “Cool. And are you a faggot?” The game was to catch me off guard. They created a point system and kept score. New students would do it as a rite of passage. So I was like, fine, then I won’t talk to anyone, I swear. I’d walk to school repeating to myself, “Just keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut.” But I would fall for it, every time. Try not talking to anyone for a whole day, not once. Maybe some of you have? And now some of you are looking at me like, “This is the part where you told someone, right?” Nope. I felt that if I did I would be making it into a big deal; I would be making it real, what was happening, and I didn’t want it to be real. Who wants to be that guy? No. Forget it. I just did my best to . . . not think about it . . . I was like, okay, I’ve messed up junior high for myself, royally, but it’ll change in high school, because I’ll smarten up before then, and there’ll be lots of new kids from other middle schools there, and a lot of these kids will go to different high schools, right? I’ll get a clean start when I get to Salisbury Collegiate. You guys know that school? One district over . . .

  krystina: I always wanted to start a club, you know?

  jeremy: Yeah? Well now you have. A big gay club.

  They wait — their enthusiasm waning.

  Check us out.

  daniel: Compared to my middle school, Salisbury Collegiate is massive. It’s so big. Which might be scary if you’re another kid, but for me I was like, “All right, let’s blend in.” I was hoping to just disappear, you know? In the sea of new faces. “Daniel who?” That would suit me just fine. I didn’t know anyone in my grade nine homeroom. Sweet. I sit still. I keep my head down. I keep my mouth shut. Krystina and Jeremy were in my homeroom too, with Mr. Mercer, who taught us social studies.

  jeremy: I blame you.

  krystina: Why?

  daniel: We were thrown together for a project.

  jeremy: No way would I be sitting in this empty room at lunch if you hadn’t picked me for your stupid history group.

  daniel: One day, Mercer calls out “groups of three,” and before I know it, Krystina, who sits in front of me, whips around and says —

  A shift/flashback — daniel, krystina and jeremy are back in their homeroom.

  krystina: You and me.

  daniel: Me?

  krystina: Yeah, and . . . (points to jeremy) him.

  jeremy: What?

  krystina: You got a problem with that?

  jeremy: No, just . . . don’t you usually like to work with . . . um . . .

  daniel: Brianna and Carmen?

  jeremy: Yeah, them.

  krystina: Sure, I’d be happy to work with them if they were interested in, you know, learning. Apparently school’s too hard for Carmen now that she has boobs.

  jeremy: Yeah.

  krystina: You guys are friends, right?

  daniel & jeremy: No.

  jeremy: Umm . . .

  krystina: Oh.

  daniel: I don’t think we’ve ever really spoken. Hi.

  jeremy: Yeah, hi.

  krystina: But you sit right next to each other.

  The boys shrug.

  ’Kay, whatever, so what do you want to do?

  jeremy: What’s the assignment?

  krystina & daniel: Louis Riel.

  jeremy: Right.

  daniel: How about, I don’t know . . . like a music video.

  jeremy: That’s so gay.

  Beat.

  krystina: Are you a jerk, Jeremy?

  jeremy: What? No.

  krystina: Then don’t talk like one. A music video. That’s one idea, thank you, Daniel. Let’s continue to brainstorm.

  She pulls out a piece of paper from her binder, pen poised.

  We could write a play. Or like a comedy sketch.

  jeremy snorts.

  daniel: Yeah. I like that.

  krystina: You could contribute something, Jeremy, instead of knocking everything down.

  jeremy: Yeah, sure, I got ideas, whatever.

  daniel: Or a graphic novel thing. Louis Riel as like a superhero. Jeremy’s a really good drawer.

  jeremy: What?

  daniel: I’ve seen him. In art class.

  krystina: Great.

  She writes it down.

  jeremy: Or, like, a rap song.

  daniel: Yeah, that’s original.

  jeremy: What?

  daniel: Oh my god, a rap song? There will be, like, ten terrible rap songs. I’ll bet you anything.

  krystina: He’s right. That’s a really terrible idea, Jeremy.

  daniel: Yeah. Really terrible.

  jeremy: Shut up!

  daniel: (beat-boxing and rapping, badly) My name’s Louis Riel, and I’m here to say, Métis people are here to stay . . .

  krystina laughs. jeremy shakes his head, smiling.

  jeremy: ’Kay, whatever. I get it.

  Back to the two separate classrooms. daniel addresses us.

  daniel: And I’m like, what’s happening here, am I making . . . friends? Shut up. No way. ’Kay, Daniel, play it cool, don’t eff it up. Right? We never would have hung out otherwise, and it was a big project that we had to work on over weeks and weeks. I wasn’t expecting BFFs from those guys — I wasn’t expecting anything. But wow, it felt good.

  Beat.

  Jeremy wouldn’t talk to me, out there, outside, in the world beyond our project, but it wasn’t ’cause he was being a jerk, he just . . . he had his teammates and his own . . . whatever, but he would nod at me in the hallway, and Krystina began to pass me notes in class. She had us over to her house, to work. One time, Jeremy was late and so we spent an hour bitching about Carmen and Brianna. We hung out, even when we weren’t doing homework, we’d take the bus into the city, and see plays and movies at the rep cinema, and suddenly I’m like, yay! I have a life! I start to relax, to enjoy my time at Salisbury Collegiate, and then . . . And then.

  Beat.

  I’m standing in the cafeteria at lunch, and my phone, which I barely use, starts buzzing in my backpack. It’s a . . . text. “Are you still a faggot?”

  krystina: As I was painting that banner, the door was open to the hall, and these girls saw me and they shouted at me as they passed.

  jeremy: What’d they shout?

  krystina: I don’t want to say.

  jeremy: C’mon, what’d they call you?

  krystina: “Dyke!”

  jeremy: That’s original.

  daniel: “Are you still a faggot?” I look up and I can’t tell where it’s
coming from, who sent it. I’m standing there, sweating, spinning around, trying to see who’s watching me, who’s laughing, but the cafeteria is packed and I can’t tell.

  jeremy: Who was it?

  krystina: Niners. Mocked by niners. They’re the new kids and yet they’re calling me a name.

  jeremy: Report it.

  krystina: Mr. Williams was standing right there.

  jeremy: What?

  krystina: Yeah.

  jeremy: And he heard?

  krystina: He sort of called after them — they were already way down the hall — he was like, “Hey . . . hey girls . . . ” but they didn’t hear him, and so he turned and looked at me and sort of shrugged like, “Well, I tried, but you know, what do you expect?” And then he came over and closed the door. “Maybe just keep this closed for now, while there’s a lot of traffic in the hall,” and I said “thanks.” I can’t believe it, I said thanks . . .

  krystina moves to the door, peering out.

  daniel: (slowly, considering) “Are you still a faggot?” I started to get messages every day, sometimes many times a day. I don’t know how they got my number. My phone was new — my parents got it for me over the summer. Not even a smartphone, a . . . It was supposed to be for me to call if I ever got into trouble, or for them to reach me in an emergency. When the next bill came in, they freaked — they had only bought the most basic plan; they wanted to know who was texting me all day long, and I lied, I said . . . my friends. I was afraid of that look on my dad’s face. Sometimes he looks at me, and I can tell he’s . . . scared . . . for me. Like he wishes I was . . . I wanted them to think that I was doing well at school. That I was okay. I . . . I paid for the texts out of my allowance and I begged them to get an all-inclusive plan. Because. I was determined to sort it out, you know? I would lay low and . . . contain it and it would eventually stop and then I could start all over. Right?

  krystina: (almost whispering, to jeremy) She’s back.

  jeremy: Who?

  krystina: The girl.

  jeremy: What girl?

  krystina: No! Don’t look!

  jeremy: Okay.

  krystina: Short, with sorta spiky hair. She was out there before, hanging around, before you got here, like she wanted maybe to come in —