I clear my throat in a sort of uvular reaction.

  “Let’s talk about what Jane’s been learning this year,” Mrs. Social Worker says.

  Vernon pulls out his folder, which is now very organized and neat. It’s also ten times bigger.

  The meeting is boring.

  The adults talk and I can’t figure out why I’m in my Tony acceptance dress on a random Thursday afternoon in January. I look past the school representatives at the table and out the double doors to the garden. Henry told me this morning that it’s supposed to snow today.

  While Vernon argues his case, which is that he has rights and he’s allowed to school me any way he wants, I daydream all of us are stuck here in a blizzard. I picture Dr. Love and Mrs. Constance eating Marta’s mashed potatoes. I see them moving in and leaving their families for those potatoes. I write the song in my head, “Marta’s Home-Wrecker Potatoes.” Fast tempo, grueling bassline.

  “Actually, Mr. Cook, Jane’s rights are what’s most important to us right now.”

  “She has a right to say something about this, doesn’t she?” Vernon says. His voice is in the pitch of balls-caught-in-zipper. “Tell them, Jane! Tell them how well we’re doing!”

  I keep looking out the double doors for effect at first. “I love learning from Vernon. He’s a really great teacher. I think if I had to pick a favorite teacher, it would be Vernon.” I look at them, then. “I will admit to being a bold student, though. I often argue with him about missing the social aspects of school. I miss friends and classes and, well, whatever else happens in a high school. But never would I ever want to leave this room. Vernon keeps us safe here.”

  “Us?” Mrs. Social Worker asks.

  “Me and Henry. My brother.”

  “Where’s Henry now?”

  “Out doing his science with Milorad, one of his tutors,” I lie. I look at Vernon for validation, but he’s too busy dabbing sweat from his forehead with a pink hanky.

  Marta brings a pot of tea and a plate of her famous shortbread biscuits.

  The school people decline and Finch insists. As she attempts to force a cup of tea on the principal, she wobbles on her high heels and spills tea down the front of her ridiculous yellow suit.

  “Shit!” she says. Then looks at the women and says, “Sorry. This suit cost me a fortune.” She makes her way out of the study and into the kitchen, where she can be heard snapping at Marta and then exiting through the side door. Clop-clop-clop. Her car starts. She disappears.

  “Jane?”

  “I’m sorry, I was daydreaming,” I say quickly. Only when I listen back in my mind do I notice I sound terrified. Fast. Nervous.

  “Mrs. Constance was asking if you’re interested in any clubs,” Dr. Love says.

  “You can join even if you’re homeschooled,” Mrs. Constance adds.

  I look at my hands. My brain answers in my head: I WANT TO BE IN ALL THE CLUBS. PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE.

  “Jane isn’t interested in public school clubs,” Vernon says. “She’s got hobbies here that keep her very busy.”

  “Oh! That’s great to hear! What hobbies do you have, Jane?”

  Lying to the Principal

  The only hobbies I have are my plan to free Mother and my punk opera, both of which are completely private. I try to think of things I like to do. I like to swim, and Gemma and I had back-dive contests last summer. Feels weird to mention because it’s January. I like to escape and try to take walks until Milorad is sent to fetch me—can’t use that.

  “Vernon gets me suitors” is all I can think of to say before the silence grows too awkward.

  I almost don’t want to look at Vernon now.

  “She loves music!” Vernon exclaims.

  “Do you play an instrument?” Mrs. Social Worker says.

  I nod. “I used to play the piano and I was to learn guitar but…that didn’t work out.”

  “We have a huge music department!” Mrs. Social Worker says. “Do you sing?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer.

  “She’s a talented singer like her mother,” Vernon says.

  “Where is Mrs. Cook?” Mrs. Social Worker asks.

  “Placenta,” I say. “Her name is Mina Placenta.”

  Both women look uncomfortable even though they know well my mother’s name is Mina Placenta.

  “Of course,” she says. “Is she here?”

  Vernon says, “She’s in Barcelona today, I think. Has a show tonight there and then she flies to Rome.”

  “Do you get to see her a lot? On videophone?” Dr. Principal asks.

  I open my mouth to say something honest.

  Vernon says, “Every day, right, Jane?”

  I stare at the tube in the corner. My staring at it makes them stare at it. Then they stare at me. And then back at the tube. Vernon keeps his eyes on us.

  “Have we done all we need to do? It’s time for school and I need to get to it,” Vernon says. All three of us are staring at the tube, now.

  Marta arrives through the swinging door. She sees us staring at the tube and grimaces. She collects the tray with the tea and shortbread—I grab the last one—and goes back to the kitchen without a word.

  The principal has a very concerned look on her face. The divots in her frown lines are deep. The two of them get up from the table, and she says, “We’ll review over the next few days and get back to you, Mr. Cook. Thank you for your time today.”

  “Of course,” he says. “Thank you so much for caring about Jane and her studies.”

  When they leave, Vernon closes the door, his fake smile fades, and he walks right past me and toward the kitchen. I follow him. When I get there, he’s mid-shot. Whiskey, I think. Marta is making him coffee and he pours a shot into that, too.

  “Hot chocolate?” Marta asks.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “Go change,” she says. “Get comfy and I’ll put this on your desk.”

  Vernon says, “No school today.” He’s deeply into his phone—from what I can see, he’s reading texts.

  “I have to start biology, remember?”

  “We’ve waited this long. One more day won’t matter.”

  “I can fill in,” Marta says.

  Vernon, still swimming in his phone messages, starts to walk out of the kitchen. “Whatever,” he says to Marta’s offer. “In two days, you’ll wish you were still back here with us.” And then he’s gone.

  Free Mother / Act Two

  ACT II, SCENE 4

  INT. VANDERMAKER HOUSE / HENRY’S GREENHOUSE / FINCH’S WINDOW

  MARTA and JANE sit in the study together with a biology textbook. HENRY is outside in his greenhouse, stage right. VERNON sits in the sitting room by the fire with his drink. He is texting. FINCH is in her apartment window, where she’s been watching since she got home from the meeting.

  Spotlight on Jane and Marta.

  MARTA (holding textbook)

  I think the best way to start is the book.

  JANE

  The idea of it is very daunting.

  MARTA

  I’m sorry you’re in this position.

  JANE

  The idea of high school is almost haunting.

  Spotlight on Vernon and Finch.

  Vernon is sitting in his chair in the sitting room, next to a roaring fire, typing furiously on his phone. Finch is in her apartment, facing the window up-lit in the drop.

  VERNON (drinking from crystal glass between texts)

  I need help! Can’t anyone see I need help?

  FINCH

  If you’d listened to me in the first place, you’d have everything now.

  Vernon slams his phone down and gets up and walks to the fireplace. He takes off his pinstripe waistcoat and throws it violently onto the couch. He returns to his chair and picks up his phone again.

  VERNON

  What you suggested was impossible.

  FINCH

  People do it all the time.

  VERNON

  Not me. I can’t do that.

  FINCH

  You can do anything.

  VERNON

  Not that!

  FINCH

  You’ve already put the tubes inside her head. What difference would it make if she was dead?

  Sudden blackout.

  Then lights fade up on

  INT. JANE’S ROOM

  Marta and Jane finish their studies. Jane walks to her bedroom. She sits on her en suite floor wrapped in a blanket, retrieves the tablet from its hiding place. “Waiting for Jane” starts slowly.

  JANE (sings)

  I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE

  WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING FOR.

  PROOF OF ALL THAT VERNON IS

  LIES IN EVERYTHING HE EVER DID.

  Vernon drinks heavily in the sitting room while texting. Finch is in her small apartment overlooking the house, and she texts when Vernon isn’t texting—filling in the conversation.

  Marta is in the kitchen, making dough. She sings in reply to Jane’s verse.

  MARTA

  THIS IS TOO MUCH AND HAS TO END.

  THESE CHILDREN NEED A REST.

  HOW CAN I CALL MYSELF A FRIEND

  AND KEEP ALL THESE SECRETS IN MY CHEST?

  BLACKOUT

  Song: “Waiting for Jane” (Ballad)

  Characters get in places for “Waiting for Jane”: Vernon in the study instructing Henry, sitting at his desk, Jane is also sitting at her desk.

  Lights slowly fade up once all are in place.

  Note for cast and crew:

  Prop: large Earth/globe disco ball, with a spotlight on one side representing the sun, slowly spins to represent days passing.

  Nighttime is represented by the lights dimming down, Jane and Henry lie their heads on their desks, then it repeats. Vernon teaches while the kids work, then the kids leave (Henry to the garden / Jane to her en suite) and Vernon pours himself a drink from the liquor cabinet.

  As the globe spins, they repeat these movements.

  Marta is in the kitchen making food. MILORAD is either chasing the escaped rat or tinkering with the car or doing something in the garden. Finch appears and disappears in her window overlooking the house, the light in her apartment going on and off.

  After three rotations, Jane splits away from this action and walks front stage.

  Henry, Vernon, Marta, and Milorad continue to rhythmically pass time, then Henry, Marta, and Vernon slowly make their way to the sitting room. Milorad stays near the car, stage left. Jane, center stage, sings:

  JANE

  THE DAYS ARE SHORT IN WINTER AND THE AIR IS CHILLY COLD.

  NOTHING SEEMS TO MAKE ME HAPPY; EVERYTHING FEELS OLD.

  MY BROTHER DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE BEING USED

  ON ACCOUNT OF HOW OUR FATHER’S MIND IS CLEARLY VERY BRUISED.

  THE NIGHTS ARE LONGER IN MY BED; LOVE SEEMS ALL BUT LOST.

  THE TIME I SPEND INSPECTING HAS QUITE A DREARY COST.

  I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M GOING TO DO.

  I NEVER THOUGHT I’D BE SAVING YOU.

  Jane dances toward sitting room.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—THAT’S ME.

  I’M WAITING FOR SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE.

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—SHE’S HERE.

  AND SHE’S FROZEN IN SUSPENSE.

  WHO WILL I BE?

  WHERE WILL I GO?

  MY DESTINY?

  HOW CAN I KNOW?

  All cast but Milorad in sitting room. Jane stands in front of the fire reading from a piece of paper. Milorad is in the driver’s seat of the car, stage left.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  WHEN THE LETTER COMES, IT’S ME WHO DOES THE READING.

  VERNON INVITES EVERYONE AND PROVIDES THE COZY SEATING.

  MOTHER JOINS US THROUGH THE SCREEN OF VERNON’S PHONE.

  IN HER EYES A MIX OF PRIDE AND SADNESS SHONE.

  I AM MADE TO STAND IN FRONT OF MARTA’S FIRE.

  I AM MADE TO MAKE MYSELF INTO A LIAR.

  WHEN I READ THE WORDS ABOUT HOW I’M EXPECTED BACK AT SCHOOL

  I THROW MYSELF IN MARTA’S ARMS; CRY EVERY MOLECULE…OF JANE!

  Jane holds that note of “Jane” and spins/dances toward the car at stage left.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—THAT’S ME.

  I’M WAITING FOR SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE.

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—SHE’S HERE.

  AND SHE’S FROZEN IN SUSPENSE.

  Jane sings the questions toward Milorad, who is holding the car door open for Jane.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  WHO WILL I BE?

  WHERE WILL I GO?

  MY DESTINY?

  HOW CAN I KNOW?

  Jane and Milorad in the car. Vernon still sits in his sitting room chair. Marta is in the kitchen. Henry is in the greenhouse.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  THE NEXT DAY MILORAD PUTS ME IN THE CAR.

  HE TELLS ME I DON’T NEED A COAT; WE AREN’T GOING VERY FAR.

  MY FATHER HAS GIVEN HIM DETAILED INSTRUCTION

  VERNON

  BUY CLOTHES FOR SCHOOL AND DON’T MAKE A BIG PRODUCTION.

  JANE

  MILO LETS ME BUY TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS’ WORTH OF SECONDHAND

  A PLACE THAT FATHER’D NEVER GO; I LOOK LIKE I’M IN MOTHER’S BAND

  Jane exits car and spins back to center stage. Vernon is in the sitting room with his fancy crystal liquor set, drinking to the beat. Henry is in his greenhouse, stage right, and is drinking liquor the same way Vernon drinks. Fast and in rhythm.

  JANE (CONT’D)

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—THAT’S ME.

  I’M WAITING FOR SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE.

  I’M WAITING FOR JANE—SHE’S HERE.

  AND SHE’S FROZEN IN SUSPENSE.

  WHO WILL I BE?

  WHERE WILL I GO?

  MY DESTINY?

  WHEN WILL I KNOW?

  Jane looks back and forth between Vernon sitting in his chair drinking, and the empty plastic tube.

  JANE (CONT’D) (quietly)

  IF I’M TO LEAVE

  TO FIND REPRIEVE

  IF I KNOW HOW,

  WHO AM I NOW?

  VERNON (angrily)

  Jane!

  JANE

  WHO AM I NOW?

  MARTA (sadly)

  Jane.

  JANE

  WHO AM I NOW?

  HENRY (shamefully, while he sips another drink)

  Jane!

  JANE

  WHO AM I NOW?

  Postmarked January 11, 2025

  A Painting of a Woman Standing Alone in a Field of Sunflowers

  Dear Vernon,

  Please let me know if these postcards are getting to you. I’ve sent so many and not even a text have I gotten in reply. I look forward to coming home in March and talking with you about our family. Love, Mina

  LESSON SEVEN: THE BIOLOGY OF HIGH SCHOOL

  Today is Monday, January 27, 2025

  I am surprisingly not nervous at all.

  Not nearly as nervous as I was eating breakfast this morning, dreading Vernon’s arrival. But of course, he never arrived. Milorad and I leave while it’s still dark—I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be up, dressed, and in the car at 6:50 a.m.

  “You have everything you need?” Milorad asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Seat heater is on for you,” he says.

  “Thanks!”

  “You can call me anytime and I will come get you. Okay? You can always just come home.”

  “Thanks, Milo.”

  “I am scared for you.”

  “There’s no reason to be scared,” I say.

  Silence drops between us as he chews on this. Then he says, “If anyone with gun starts to shoot, run. Don’t listen to people who tell you to not run. Just run. As fast as you can. Toward home, yes?”

  “Oh my God,” I say.

  “It is realistic fear.”

  “Let’s not, okay? I just want to have a normal life. Even if it means I have to get shot for going to school.”

  Milorad slowly shakes his head.

  I give my attention to the pleats in my plaid Britney skirt. I made sure it passes dress code by wearing it low, so it’s not technically a Britney skirt, more like a Christian school skirt, but it completes the look. It’s cold, so I have on my favorite cashmere, too-loose sweater and a big tee under it, the plaid skirt and a pair of ripped up leggings. Combat boots. Of course. Marta’s inner-zip Army-issue. Of course. Punk Rock Jane Goes to High School.

  In my backpack are three things: a spiral notebook; a school-requested specific type of calculator that I don’t fully understand; and my sketchbook, which contains my coded list of home movies, mixtapes, my opera, and my sketches, which are getting better despite my lack of art tuition.

  I’m still not scared when Milorad stops the car in front of Dutch Valley High School. He chooses the center of the bus circle as my drop-off spot and the other parents in the queue are not appreciating that at all. Punk Rock Jane and Your Angry Parents.

  Milorad hands me a phone. My eyebrows go through the stratosphere.

  “It is old phone,” he says, “and I have it connected just for your school days to my own account. It is not possible for you to have it at home, but it will be our secret, yes? You call me if you need help. I mean it.”

  I jump over the center console where Milorad’s coffee has been getting cold and hug him. I hope he comes to parent-teacher conferences, too.