Essay Drama Club For Good Use

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Eva 's directions take me across town, halfway up the twisty roads of Kaumana Drive and onto a side road. I park in the front yard of an elevated single-story house, its wooden exterior painted with a fresh-looking coat of grey-blue.

My boots clunk against the front steps. I untie them and leave them on the landing, listening to the music blasting from inside the house. It sounds like The Smashing Pumpkins, but I’m not sure. I doubt Kay will hear me over the sound of electric guitars slicing through the air, but I knock on the door anyway. “Hello?” I call, finally putting the projection I learned in drama club to good use.

The music’s volume lowers until it’s nothing more than a buzz, and the door opens. “You must be Chloe,” says Kay, smiling and tucking her long chestnut hair behind one ear. “Come on in.”

My socks slide onto the polished wood floor. The place is a far cry from the peeling paint, flimsy particle-board, and boxes of junk I expected. The furniture looks like real ebony, the half-decorated Christmas tree in the far corner smells of real pine, and the upholstery on the sectional couch feels like real black leather. There’s even a glass vase on the dining room table, white orchids spilling over the rim like a wedding gown’s train. The only things out of place are the fur-covered wool blanket spread over the couch cushions, a Craftsman tool chest behind the couch, and stray dart holes in the wall dividing the kitchen and living room, partially hidden by a…

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