Carter's Big Break (7 page)

I ride up to school extra slow so I’m not sweating too bad for the audition, but my heart starts pounding when I see the Ferrari in the parking lot. I turn into a fountain of perspiration when Abby’s mom’s minivan pulls into the circle drive behind me. I look away because for some damn reason, I’m smiling! I guess I’m happy that Abby decided to show up, but I’m still pissed at her. How can I expect to cry on cue if I can’t stop myself from smiling? I lock up my bike and try to stroll into the school as if I didn’t notice her.

There’s a different vibe here than there was at the
Guys and Dolls
tryouts. Everyone is still nervous, but no one is running around singing or laughing for no reason. About ten kids are politely sitting in folding chairs outside the auditorium. I write my name on a list and look over at Abby’s College Carter Dumbass reading over the same scene I’m about to audition for. Dang it! He’s going to get the part for sure. He’s got all this experience and funny theater stories, and his hair is perfect. How am I supposed to compete with a college drama major? He looks up from his script and catches me staring at him.

I try to play it off by muttering, “I’m gonna go fix my hair,” and strut toward the bathroom. Abby walks by, and we pretend not to notice one another. Dang it! I slam the door and give myself a disappointed look in the mirror. My face is so jacked up, I’m sweating, my cheeks are all red, and my hair is so boring! Why am I even here? This is a waste of time. They’re going to cast a Wienus Brother, and if they can’t get one, they’ll give it to somebody with a better stylist and more experience. I couldn’t be confused for a pretty boy by a blind person since the bike wreck, and I’ve only done one play . . . which Abby said I was always screwing up, and you don’t go from wrecking the spring musical to starring in a movie—

“STOP IT!!!” I yell into the mirror.
Stop sabotaging me!

C. B. thinks I’m great; I just need to show them and spike my hair a little bit. But it looks ridiculous when I do, so I get it wet and try to slick it to the side. That looks retarded, so I stick my head under the hand dryer until I look like a scarecrow (hit by lightning).

“Seriously, STOP IT!!!” I shout again. This just didn’t feel real until now. Like I was dreaming that they’re shooting a real film in Merrian and I have a chance to be in it. . . . It’s probably hard for anyone to believe that dreams come true, but here I am. I take a few deep breaths and try to shake the nerves off.
Don’t be scared
. C. B. is just a guy from Merrian who drives a race car and thinks Ms. McDougle is cool. I thrash around for a second and scream, “Do it!”

When I rush out of the crapper, I almost run into Jeremy.

“Haaaa!” he cries. “Carter, what the hell happened?”

“Oh, I wrecked my bike.”

He clarifies, “No, I mean, what happened to your hair?”

I shake my head, like I don’t want to talk about it. He tries in vain to fix it as Ms. McDougle emerges from the auditorium and reads from her clipboard. “Carter and Sarah, you’re up.”

My heart starts to pound and a sweat bead runs into my eye. Luckily, College Carter Dumbass gets up like it’s his turn, and I’ve got a few more minutes to try and pull myself together. Unluckily, he bends down and kisses Abby on the cheek before going into the theater. Shock like a lightning bolt shoots down my spine. Abby catches me watching the exchange, turns red, and retreats to the girls’ bathroom. On top of my other issues, I’ve started to cry, so I dart for the safety of the boys’ bathroom again. I am such a bitch, and my hair is so jacked! This could be the biggest day of my life, and Abby is screwing me all up! I can’t let her do this. Please get it together, and breathe! I beat my head against the wall for a while and start to forget my troubles, but head trauma is a flawed way to deal with your problems, because I also start to forget who I am. I plop down on the toilet and squeeze my skull in between my hands and rock back and forth for a few minutes. I’m starting to regain my senses and feel a little better when McDougle knocks on the door and asks, “Carter?”

“Uhhh, yes?”

She tells me I’m up, so I blow my nose and run out into the hall. The other kids are staring at me as I jog into the auditorium. I’m looking down at my script when I enter the dark room. I’m not really reading; I’m just trying to look busy. I glance up and see Ms. McDougle smiling at me with C. B. Down and a group of guys wearing sport coats. They all have headsets blinking in their ears. It’s way too hot outside to be wearing any kind of coat, so these dudes must be important.

McDougle’s smile makes me feel better for a second, and then it all comes crashing down when I see Abby awkwardly standing off to the side of the stage, waiting. Dang it.

I step into the light, as far away from her as possible. She’s supposed to be wearing a prom getup, not a cute yellow dress that displays her cleavage. FOCUS! McDougle breaks the silence by saying, “Okay, you two? Abby and Carter, this is C. B. Down, Phil Coates, and the rest of the
Down Gets Out
production team.”

I give them a nod, and Abby mumbles, “Nice to meet you.”

Now I feel like I have to say something, so I do. “Nice sport coats.”

I didn’t even realize I’d said anything until I see the shock on McDougle’s face and C. B. laughing. The guy next to him clears his throat and says, “Phil . . . it’s Phil Coates. . . . Did you have a question?”

I’m still looking at Abby, who’s staring at the floor. “No, I’m good, let’s get this over with.”

McDougle cringes. “Carter?!”

Abby approaches and whispers in my ear, “Are you okay?” with real concern.

I reply softly into her ear, “Yeah, I think I’m just being ‘immature’ or something. . . . I’m sure I’ll get over it.” She pushes off me, and I tell the casting group, “We’re ready!”

C. B. smiles and says, “All right, you guys have read the script? Scene thirty-four, at Maggie’s house. Start with Chris yelling the line, ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me!’ Okay?”

I shrug and take a deep breath, looking at Abby with so much contempt and anger that I’m shaking. I don’t yell the line, in fact I barely open my mouth when I quietly seethe, “‘I cannot believe you’d do this to me.’”

She knows I’m talking directly to her, and she just stares at me for a second. As written, she’s supposed to be “embarrassed” before she gets “angry,” but she skips straight to the anger. Abby gives me another shove and barks, “‘WHAT?! What have I done to you, Chris? Other than love you?!’”

The only moment it wasn’t
Abby
yelling at
me
is when she called me “Chris.” Her words hang in the air, because for some reason I’ve decided that this would be a good time to cry again. This isn’t the crying part of the scene, so I’m fighting back tears as I try to say the next line. I’m supposed to call her a liar, but she doesn’t allow me to get it out.

She scolds, “‘I am the only person who cares about you, and you break my heart over and over again, because you’re so selfish that you can’t see how much I need!’”

I pull it together enough to say the next line. “‘What? What the hell do you need? You have EVERYTHING. . . . You’re popular and beautiful and rich—’”

She pushes me, hard, and knocks the pages out of my hand, so I start freestyling a bit. “Quit pushin’ me!”

Abby’s got mad improv skills, so she replies, “You need someone to push you, pussy,” and shoves me again.

That seemed a little out of character for Maggie to say, but I roll with it and say, “Dude?!”

She tries to get us back into the dialogue when she says, “‘Can’t you see that none of this matters to me?’”

I don’t need the script when I say the actual line, “‘All I can
see
is that you’re going on a date with someone other than me, and he’s taking you somewhere I can’t. You don’t care about me. All the rest is just details, because you can’t love something that you pity—’”

She’s supposed to tell me, “That’s not true!” but all I allow her to get out is “‘That’s—’” before I start going off on her. “‘Don’t deny it! It’s all over your face since you caught me in that Dumpster!’”

Tears well up in her eyes, and she struggles to get the words out. “‘I’m sorry.’”

I don’t let up on her. I yell, “‘I have to dig through trash to survive. I’m an animal, and you couldn’t pretend anymore that I’m not!’”

She just sadly nods her head. Man, she’s such a great actress and so beautiful, I hope more people can see her do this. Focus! I have to pick up the script and read, “‘I’m sorry, too, because I’m getting out, and you’re not.’”

She’s really crying when she nods and mutters, “‘Good . . . and you’re right.’”

I say, “‘I just can’t give you anything—’”

She cuts me off and is totally frustrated with me when she yells, “‘I don’t want anything, Chris! You’re just too much. I love to joke around and play make-believe, but you—’”

I feel a tear roll down my cheek as I say, “‘The greatest moments of my life have been pretending with you.’”

She shakes her head and softly cries, “‘I guess I need more than pretend.’”

I nod at her like I’ve got more to say, but the lines are over. The auditorium is dead silent. I knew I’d have to get mad during the scene, but that was intense. We look at each other, and I have to smile because I think that audition just went awesome! I love it when I have time to prepare. There just never seems to be enough time in regular life to be really prepared for anything.

I shield my eyes from the lights and peer out into the seats for a reaction. Maybe I was mumbling. That’s the first thing McDougle usually tells me when I finish a scene. But they all have their heads down like they’re asleep. Are they crying? Abby looks as confused as I am.

C. B. seems really upset and is shaking around. We may have done
too
good of a job. The lines just seemed to be written for Abby and me, but they were really about two other people, sitting ten feet away. That would be pretty intense to see some kids act out a scene from your life.

Phil Coates eventually stands and clears his throat before telling Ms. McDougle, “Okay, we’ve got to keep moving. Let’s get the next kids in here.”

C. B. jumps up and starts kicking the chair in front of him. McDougle hugs him to stop him from wrecking her new theater seats. They’re both still crying, but he’s cussing up a storm through his tears, and bellows, “It just throws it all up in my face! I have no control over this thing!”

McDougle responds, “No one has control.”

He sobs, “You do. You’ve taught these kids for a year, and they’re ten times better than anyone we saw in New York or LA, and it’s gonna drive me crazy because I can see how good this film could be with these nobodies in the roles. . . .”

Hold up: did he just call Abby and me “nobodies”?

He points at the sport coats, screaming, “I sold it to them! It’s theirs! I have to cast Hilary Idaho and that Wienus Brother . . . and once I do, they’re going to destroy my story.”

Phil is glaring at me like this is my fault.

Abby makes a face, points at the script, and mouths, “Hilary Idaho?”

I nod my head and cup some imaginary boobs on my chest to let Abby know what I think of that. She shakes her head in disgust, but I don’t care—I’m being myself from here on.

C. B. finally says to the sport coats, “So, that’s what I wanted you to see. We can stop this casting session right now. If you guys can’t see how great these kids are . . . how much more honest that performance was than anything else we’ve seen . . . then you shouldn’t be in the film industry.”

Sport Coat Phil tugs at the lapels of his jacket and corrects him. “Sorry, C. B., but we actually make movies—hit movies. This session was just a publicity stunt to win over the locals, and it failed. The media didn’t even show up, because without stars, no one cares. Yes, these kids were great, and maybe the story would come through in a more truthful way if we cast them, but who cares? This is a business, and my company has invested way too much time and money in Zac-Michael and Hilary not to give them great parts like these in a project that, frankly, would get completely ignored without bankable actors or great musical numbers.”

I think about mentioning the other Kidz Channel surefire ingredient: the talking dog! But I keep it to myself. Sport Coat Phil asks Ms. McDougle to show in the next group and explains, “I’m trying to find actors for the smaller roles, so we don’t have to fly anyone in, or pay people we don’t have to.”

C. B. yells, “You can’t do this, asshole!”

“Yeah, I can. We own the rights to your story, and we can get a new director if we want to! But we won’t, because you’re cheap, and we think you’ll do an interesting job. You could always return the money. . . . No, that’s right, you spent it all!”

I shoot C. B. a thumbs-up in approval of his decision to buy a Ferrari. He fights off a smile because this is no time for jokes. Ms. McDougle ushers Abby and me out the door. When it closes, Abby covers her mouth and starts giggling. “Wow.”

I offer up a high five and say, “No matter what happens, you should know that you were great.”

She slaps my hand and replies, “Me? You were the next Daniel Day-Lewis in there.”

That makes me smile because I know he’s her favorite actor.

She adds, “That producer is a dick.”

The entire waiting room is staring at us. College Carter Dumbass walks up, grabs Abby’s hand, and asks, “What happened?”

I attempt to set their hands on fire with my stare before I bark, “Yo, we’re havin’ a conversation here,” like a total dick. My mom says I’m “very impressionable,” so watching C. B. go off in there may have rubbed off on me. Or I’m just a hardcore badass now, and everybody needs to get used to it.

Abby tells him, “Just give us a minute, please.”

He looks pissed and replies, “Well, I have to go.”

I shoot him a snarky nod as she grabs my arm and whispers intensely, “He’s giving me a ride home, but it doesn’t mean anything, okay? I’ll call you later.”

“I can take you home.”

“No, my mom won’t let me ride on your pegs anymore. . . .”

“Look, I understand what I did wrong. I treated you like a skank, but you’re a quality girl, and there are different rules for getting girls of quality to put out—”