Shuffling a stack of papers in her hand, Mrs. Shankle says, “Last semester our classes concentrated on set design and costumes, but this spring our focus is on performance! We’ll explore what it truly means to be an actor. How to prepare for an audition, how to block a scene, and how to improvise as well as the various methods you can use to get into character. And what characters will those be, you may ask?” Expressive eyes land on each of us as she extends the anticipation. “Our play this semester will be…Back To The 80s: The Totally Awesome Musical! by Neil Gooding!”
The room erupts in enthusiastic chatter, and Hayley jots down the words bubble skirt and parachute pants.
“This is a high-energy play that is fresh and unique, and I know you are all up to the challenge. Eighteen speaking roles will be open for audition, with the two main stars being Corey Palmer and Tiffany Houston. I have copies of the script here for everyone’s perusal. Take the rest of this class to look it over and begin thinking about which part speaks to you.”
With a flourish, she sets the papers on the edge of the stage, sends the class a maniacal grin, and then ambles off into the darkened space beyond the curtain.
Hayley and I look at each other and burst into laughter.
As we walk to get our own copies of the script, Hayley addresses the rest of the class. “Guys, I’ve heard about this play. Imagine every awesome cliché that exists in high school, set against retro music, big hair, and slouch socks. It’s supposed to be hilarious.” Jabbing an elbow into my side, she grins, lowering her voice to say, “And from what Cat says about your acting skills, the part of Tiffany is yours if you audition.”
Sensing her suggestion has more to do with dethroning a certain teacher’s pet than it does with me, I smile and say, “I believe—”
“Now, Hayley,” a voice dripping with false sweetness interrupts. The murmurings of fellow students cease. “Are you trying to get the poor dear’s hopes up? A starring role? From what I hear, the girl can barely speak English.”
A sensation as though I have been struck steals my breath. Kendal strolls in front of me, pinning me in place with an expression that is at once innocent and cruel. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable with a role closer to home. I don’t know, one of the outcasts, perhaps?”
I blink once, twice, then look at the papers in my hand. The roles for the musical are divided into groups—the regular kids, the popular girls, the cool guys, and finally, the nerds and outcasts. Nerd is a new word for me, one that Cat left off her list last night, but I am well familiar with the other term—and Kendal’s intent.
Tingles crawl up my skin, gathering at the base of my skull where cold hits my veins. The weight of my classmates’ stares crushes me. I am like one of Michelangelo’s sculptures, frozen and powerless.
I have never been so embarrassed in my life.
Under my lowered gaze, a tattered brown boot appears. I raise my head and collide with Austin’s intense stare, wordlessly daring me to stand up for myself. A glance at Hayley proves she wants me to do the same. But I am not Cat. As much as I wish it were in my nature to be bold, to say what is on my mind without worry over decorum or propriety, that is not who I am.
I lift a shoulder in silent apology and compress my lips together.
Hayley offers an understanding smile. Austin shakes his head in disappointment.
Grabbing his copy of the script, he stops in front of Kendal and stares at her. After a tense moment, she looks away.
Austin hops down from the stage and returns to his seat in the front row, closing his eyes and effectively shutting me out. The rest of the class seem to act as one, breaking off into groups and pairs, discussing the various roles and, if I were to guess from the blatant glances in my direction, me. And as for Kendal, there is no guessing required. Her singular focus remains on me.
Hayley hooks her elbow around mine and tugs me toward our seats with an apologetic smile. “Remember what I said about you making a first day interesting?” I nod, and she tilts her head in Kendal’s direction. “My dear, I do believe you just became Enemy Number One.”
Chapter Nine
“Remember what I said before,” Cat tells me. “The name of the game is confidence.”
A huge gulp of air fills my lungs. On the other side of the clear glass, a packed room of aspiring actresses—otherwise known as my competition for the afternoon—wait restlessly. I reflect back to Reyna’s tent and my claim that I was no longer the timid girl she once knew…and wonder if perhaps it is not too late to change my mind.
The second I stepped out of French—a subject I thankfully did not share with Austin or Kendal but did share with the much-discussed Lucas—Cat grabbed my arm, squealing over a text she received from her father. That should have been sign enough, for my cousin never squeals. But when she shoved her cell phone into my hand and I glimpsed the reason, I could not help but scream as well.
Twenty-first century nepotism is apparently a force equaled only by gypsy magic, because Mr. Crawford did not merely get me an audition for the Shakespeare Winter Workshop—he got me one for this very afternoon!
Through the wide window, I assess the other actresses, girls with much more experience than my sole performance as a wicked queen before a whopping audience of three.
“Confidence,” I repeat, squaring my shoulders, my spine, and even my teeth.
I can do this.
Cat moves to open the door, but I quickly beat her to the task. It may seem silly, but performing this small action gives me a much-needed sense of control. She steps back with a wink, waving me on, and I push into the room before I can change my mind.
Almost every head lifts to scrutinize the latest adversary/auditionee, but at least this time the blatant appraisal is not personal. Under the collective weight of their stares, perspiration beads, then trickles down my spine.
Cat takes my hand and pulls me away from the relative safety of the exit and into the interior of the tension-filled room. “Welcome to Hollywood,” she whispers under her breath, and if I were not so terrified, I would laugh.
Welcome, indeed.
We take a seat in a pair of unoccupied chairs near the door, and I complete my own inventory of the room from beneath my lowered lashes. There are so many young girls and women here, and though I have thought of nothing else for the last two years, it still amazes me that they are openly free to audition, to act, and to pursue their dream of the stage. It is truly wonderful, though in the shameful, secret part of me I cannot help hoping that in just this one instance, they all fail miserably.
Along with a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a Shakespeare play Cat declared the perfect choice for my audition, I withdraw the yellow tablet of contractions and teenspeak. According to my cousin, if I am to succeed today, I must find a way to blend them together.
On the ride over from school, she informed me that some directors—her father included—dislike actors who never seem able to separate themselves from the role they are given. “Your background is already gonna add authenticity to your lines,” she told me with a wink, “which, believe me, Marilyn’s gonna totally eat up. So since you have that going for you, I think it’s important that you show a different side when you’re not reading your part. That way, in their eyes, you appear to be an even more accomplished actress.”