Exit Stage Left (3 page)

Gabby doesn’t have a cold. Instead, she has gorgeous highlighted hair, big blue eyes, and a voice to rival Kristin Chenoweth’s. I sink into my plush red theater seat.

“Look,” Amanda says. “Gabby’s good. But who cares? You’re the one who scored the lead last year.”

“Until I got mono and had to quit.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been all over Jackson Neal,” she says with a smirk.

“I wasn’t!” Okay, maybe I was. Once. Or twice. I liked the way he moved the set pieces around onstage. Trevor and I were in one of our Between phases then. But anyway, that’s
not
how I ended up with mono. And I know Amanda’s just trying to distract me from freaking out about the auditions.

Amanda turns in her seat and pulls a leg up under her. “Look, you know you can go up there and sing even better than that. So, forget about Gabby. Just get on that stage and kick ass like you were meant
to.”

I laugh. Amanda would make a great football coach, if we weren’t so afraid of sports that involve balls. Ms. Sharp twists around in her front-row seat next to Hannah Goldman—who has the unfortunate role of student director—and glares at us before calling Amanda to the stage.

Amanda stands up, sheet music for “Think of Me” from
The Phantom of the Opera
rustling in her just-slightly-shaking hand.

“Break a leg.” I draw an X over my heart and do jazz hands. It’s super corny, but we’ve been doing it since our first audition in middle school. And if something works, why change it? Even if you are juniors and shouldn’t really need ultimate-best-friend hand signals anymore.

Amanda gives me a stronger smile and then moves toward the stage.

I lean forward in my seat to watch her. She takes her place at center stage behind the microphone, clasps her hands in front of her, and waits for the piano. Amanda’s voice is high and clear, and she hits every note perfectly. As she moves through the song, she loosens up. And when she ends, she looks as if she were born on the stage.

Hannah hands Amanda a script, and Ms. Sharp has her read for four different parts. I try to be fair, which is hard since I’m obviously biased toward my best friend. But playing If I Were the Director is one of my favorite audition games. So, if
I
were the director, I’d cast Amanda as Liesl or the Baroness. I’m sure she’ll get a part. At least, she’d better get one. I can’t imagine being in the play without her. The
cast becomes its own little community during a show, and not having Amanda there would be . . . awful.

“I was so nervous I nearly threw up onstage,” she says as she slips back into her seat. “How’d I do?”

“Perfect.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re getting a real role this year, or I’m going to have words with Ms. Sharp.”

Together, we watch as Kelly sings “Send in the Clowns,” her curls swaying as she moves her head back and forth looking all sad and nostalgic.

“Casey Fitzgerald!” Ms. Sharp’s voice booms through the theater.

I wipe my sweaty hands on the Maria-like gray wool skirt Amanda lent me as Kelly squishes past us to get back to her seat. At the front of the house, I hand my music to the pianist. Somehow, I walk up the wooden steps to the stage without tripping over my feet. For someone who’s clearly meant for the stage, I get embarrassingly nervous for auditions. I read a technique book once that said nerves keep the actor humble. I’ll go with that, I suppose.

When I reach the microphone, I focus on the fire exit sign, way over everyone’s heads, but not before catching Amanda’s reassuring nod from the audience, Harrison’s thumbs-up, and Trevor’s smirk—whatever that means. I take a deep breath and inhale the dusty wood and fabric scent of the stage. It smells like home, years spent in theaters all over the place with my dad before he left. And like my future.

I can do this. I want to do this. I want—no,
need
—to be Maria. I
am
Maria. The piano starts. I take another deep breath.

“The hills are alive . . .” I sing. I picked this song from
The Sound
of Music
on purpose. I ran it all summer in my voice lessons. I can do this piece in my sleep. My voice comes out strong and confident as I serenade the fire exit sign.

“To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls . . .” I move around the stage with grace and poise. This is going even better than I thought it would. Amanda was right. I shouldn’t have doubted myself.

I’m almost finished with the song. A few more lines and I’m home free. That part is so mine I can almost taste it. “My heart will be bless—”
CRACK
.

I cough. Oh my God. That did
not
just happen.

“. . . With the sound of music . . .” I force myself to finish the song. Then I smile. What problem? There’s no problem at all. My voice didn’t crack in the middle of the most important part of the whole freaking song. I silently dare Ms. Sharp to say something. She doesn’t. Instead, she hands me a copy of the script before Hannah even has a chance to get up, and asks me to turn to page forty-seven.

I force the song disaster out of my head. Time to concentrate on reading. I don’t even have to look at the script as I rattle off lines for three different parts.

“Thank you, Casey.” Ms. Sharp smiles at me.

I numbly pass the script back to her and climb down from the stage. Gabby didn’t get “thank you” after she read. Gabby got “excellent,” and Amanda got “great work.”

It takes all my willpower not to go flying out the door and running all the way home in the September heat, wool skirt or not. Instead, I plunk down in a seat next to my friends.

“You read great,” Kelly says.

I can’t even look at her. She’s just being nice.

“Case, it wasn’t
that
bad,” Amanda says. “The song sounded perfect up until your voice cracked. I’m sure Ms. Sharp knows that was a one-time thing. I’ve never heard you do that before. Plus, Kelly’s right. You read really well. Much better than Gabby.”

“Are you serious? It was awful!” I bite my lip to keep from crying. No way am I crying here. Not when Trevor’s sitting just two rows ahead with Gabby. And—ugh—why do I even
care
what he thinks?

“You’ll get the part,” Harrison says, leaning over Amanda.

“And Harrison will be the Captain, and it’ll be so romantic. Just think of that kiss!” Amanda adds.

I almost choke on my tongue. Harrison’s face goes bright red. I’ve had my suspicions about Harrison for a while now. That boy is so far in the closet, he’s turning into last year’s Christmas sweater.

“See?” Amanda says. “It’s not that bad. It could be much worse!”

Harrison mumbles something, but I’ve already turned back to watch the rest of the auditions. When Harrison’s called, he does fine, but nowhere near the level of Trevor, who follows him.

I fight it, but I think I sigh a little when Trevor finishes. Amanda gives me a look.

“Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I can’t objectively acknowledge his talent.”

“Uh-huh,” Amanda says, as if she doesn’t believe me.

Trevor pushes his hair out of his face as Ms. Sharp passes him a copy of the script. He reads for the lead first. After the last line where
he begs Maria to stay, he looks up with pleading in his deep brown eyes.

I remind myself that he’s been “talking” to Gabby—and probably more—and if we were together, that’s exactly what we’d be fighting about right now. “So . . . he was perfect,” I say in the most measured tone possible.

“I don’t know,” Amanda says. “I think Harrison did just as well. And Trevor’s so full of himself.” She glances at me. “Sorry, Case, but you know that’s true.”

There’s a fine line between self-centeredness and confidence—and I’m never sure exactly where that line is. “Maybe it is, but he’s still the best singer in this school. Harrison is really good, but he doesn’t scream Captain von Trapp.”

“Hey!” Harrison complains. “Your friend Harrison. I’m sitting right here. You know, the guy who let you copy his chem homework all last year? The one you spilled Mountain Dew on at the zoo in fifth grade and then all the goats kept trying to lick me?”

“Sorry, Harrison,” I say.

“Trevor’s hot” is all Kelly has to say. “Am I allowed to say that?” she asks me.

I shrug.

Harrison looks like he’s been hit in the face. “And I’m not?”

“Well . . .” Kelly says.

Harrison slumps back into his seat. “I need to find some new friends. Maybe I should go sit with the Grimaldi twins. At least Johnny and Steve-o might appreciate me.”

“We love you, Gunther Engelbert,” I say in my best Grimaldi-twin Jersey accent. “Besides, you’re too short and skinny to hang out with Johnny and Steve-o.” Also, after having been forced to spend time with them by virtue of being with Trevor, I’m pretty sure Steve-o’s after-school “job” is both illegal and very lucrative. And that’s not exactly Harrison’s scene. I don’t even know why they’re in the theater right now—it’s not like they’d be caught dead trying out for the musical. But there they are, stretched out like two oily shadows next to Trevor and Gabby.

“I
really
need some new friends,” Harrison grumbles.

“Is that the last person?” Amanda asks as a tiny freshman steps down from the stage.

A tall guy with messy-spiky dark hair and a Pink Floyd T-shirt strides past us down the aisle and approaches Ms. Sharp.

“Maybe not,” I say. “Who is that? He looks familiar.”

The guy says something to Ms. Sharp, she says something back, and he bounds up the stairs to the stage.

“Oh, wait! That’s Silent Hollywood Guy!” Kelly says, sitting up straighter.

“Who?” Amanda asks.

“Hey—I ran into him in the hall yesterday.” I remember him now. The one who wouldn’t say anything to me. “He
is
silent.”

“Yeah, everyone says he’s from California, but I’ve never heard him talk,” Kelly says. “I think he moved here over the summer.”

Who in their right mind would move from California to Podunk Holland, Indiana?

“What’s his real name?” Amanda asks.

“No idea,” Kelly says.

Silent Hollywood Guy sings “One Song Glory” from
Rent
. I guess he’s not so silent after all. Ms. Sharp has him read for several parts, which he does with a loud, ringing voice.

“I’m in love with him now,” Kelly says. “He’s so much cuter when he talks. Do you think he has a girlfriend? Do you think he’s in a band? He looks like he should be in a band. Do you think he’ll give Trevor a run for the lead?”

Harrison shakes his head and mutters something about the Grimaldi twins. Silent Hollywood Guy finishes and steps down from the stage. His beat-up tennis shoes make a muffled swishing sound as he shuffles down the carpeted aisle to his seat.

“Thank you for coming,” Hannah starts, but as usual, she’s interrupted by Ms. Sharp. Why we even have a student director is beyond me.

“That’s it, people!” Ms. Sharp says. “Check the bulletin board outside the theater tomorrow. Casting should be posted by noon. Remember! There are no small parts, only small players.”

I roll my eyes. Easy for her to say. Her entire life isn’t riding on this one play. No way will one of Ms. Sharp’s former Broadway director friends recommend someone who lands a pea-sized role. Or worse—chorus.

We stand up to leave. Silent Hollywood Guy brushes past without seeing any of us. Trevor follows, the Grimaldis trailing after him. I try to look like I’m super busy with . . . picking lint off my top.

“Hey, Case,” he says in that melting-chocolate voice. “Nice job.”

I pry off a really stuck ball of fuzz and finally look up at him. “Thanks. You too. I’m sure you’ll get the lead.” It’s stating the obvious, and I say it in as bland a voice as I can muster.

Trevor’s giving me a look like I just handed him the part along with a million dollars and the key to Broadway and a vocal role in the next huge Disney animated film. “I hope so.”

False modesty. He
knows
he’s getting the lead. I’d usually feel the same way about myself, but it takes everything I have to force a smile right now.

“See you in rehearsals,” Trevor says, grazing his fingers across my arm as he follows the Grimaldis out of the theater. My traitor skin breaks out in goose bumps.

“I hope I see Silent Hollywood Guy in rehearsals,” Kelly says. “And I hope he’s un-silent.”

“Ooh, me too,” Amanda agrees.

As we walk up the aisle, Gabby flies past us, somehow managing to knock my purse off my shoulder. I reach down for it, and when I look up again, she’s shoulder to shoulder with Trevor up ahead.

Not my problem to deal with anymore. And
that
makes me smile for real.

I’ve spent the entire lunch period pushing mixed veggies back and forth across my plate.

Just fifteen minutes until Ms. Sharp posts the cast list.

Harrison is stirring his soup but not eating it. Across from me, our one non-theater friend, Chris, chomps down on a stomach-turning pile of six peanut butter sandwiches and an entire bag of Cheetos. Amanda and Kelly are chatting away, like they aren’t even the tiniest bit concerned about what parts they’ll get.

I dump my uneaten lunch into the trash and balance my tray on the towering stack of dirty ones. I glance around the cafeteria. Groups of people talk and eat, like it’s any other day of the week.

That’s it. I can’t hang around the cafeteria any longer. I go back to the table and grab my backpack. Harrison jumps up and follows me.

Without talking, we walk across the lobby and around the corner to the hallway that runs next to the theater. The bulletin board holds signs advertising yesterday’s auditions and other artsy projects.
Apparently the Objets d’Art Club is hosting a Throw-In, whatever the hell that is, and the ballet company is planning a production of
Cinderella
. I dump my backpack on the floor and sit against the opposite wall. The painted cement feels cool against my back. Harrison slides down next to me. The hallway is deserted except for us. Sounds echo from the cafeteria, where everyone is happy and unconcerned about whether my future works out as planned.

Harrison’s stomach growls. We both stare at the bulletin board as if the cast list will magically appear. I’ve done this so many times now—waiting in this hallway, at this very spot, my entire body a mess of nerves and excitement and dread. Freshman year, I parked here with Amanda and Harrison, having no idea if any of us even got into the cast, much less a speaking role. Amanda and I played endless rounds of MASH to distract each other while Harrison drilled holes into the bulletin board with his eyes.

At one point, I told Amanda that I didn’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get cast, and she looked me right in the eyes and said, “Casey Fitzgerald. If you don’t get into this play, we will go audition for every show within an hour of here until you
do
get cast.” And when I asked her how we’d get to all these imaginary auditions, she told me that she’d steal her mom’s car and drive me. Which cracked both of us up because 1) Amanda is incapable of stealing anything, 2) the only thing she’d ever driven at that point was her uncle’s John Deere, and 3) Mrs. Reynolds would have needed hospitalization after the conniption fit she’d have thrown when she found out. Turns out, Amanda didn’t have to steal the car, because I got cast as Marian the librarian.

Of course, getting Marian then (and snagging Tracy Turnblad in
Hairspray
last year, even though I had to drop out) made this whole waiting thing a lot better.

At seven minutes until twelve, a girl skips toward us like she’s Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
or something.

“Hi!” she says with a chirping voice. “Are you waiting for the cast list too?! I hope I get in! I
so
want to be Maria, but I’ll be happy with anything! I’d even love to be in the chorus! Oh, by the way, my name is Danielle. I’m a freshman. What are your names?!”

I’ve never seen this girl in my life. She must’ve auditioned early yesterday, while I was mentally rehearsing my song. Harrison stares blankly at her. She blinks a couple of times and smiles at him. Then she looks at me.

My heart melts a little at her enthusiasm about the whole thing. I was exactly like her two years ago. Although less peppy. A
lot
less peppy.

“I’m Casey.” Even though I get where she’s coming from, I kind of hope that will make her stop talking. My stomach feels like it did on the roller coaster at Holiday World that I dragged Amanda onto over the summer—the one we rode after I brought the park down with my rendition of “On My Own” while standing in line. Amanda and I had been talking to these really cute guys from Evansville, and they both gave us their numbers afterward. I think Amanda texted with one of them for a while, but I never did, even though I’d just broken things off with Trevor.

“Casey! I love that name! Were you in the play last year?! I was
in all of the plays in middle school! I have a perfect casting record! That’s why I really want to be in this show! Even if it is just the chorus!” Her head bounces with every syllable. She has curly light brown hair pulled back in a cheerleader-style high ponytail. It bounces, too. Every time she opens her mouth, the light from the ceiling gleams off her silver braces.

Harrison continues to look through her.

“Casey?! Were you in the play last year?!” Her ponytail bobs again.

“No. I got the lead and had to drop out because I got sick.” I really don’t want to think about that right now. In fact, I’m afraid I’m going to get sick again. My stomach doesn’t feel so good. I really,
really
wish she’d stop talking. I need all my concentration to focus on keeping my nerves in check.

“Oh! That’s awful! I hate being sick! I’m glad you’re okay this year!”

“There you are,” Amanda says, as she, Kelly, and Chris walk up. “You guys disappeared so fast.”

“I couldn’t sit there any longer,” I say.

“You’ve got this in the bag, Case.” Amanda peers into Harrison’s face. “But he doesn’t look so good.”

He stares at her the same way he did Danielle.

Danielle keeps on talking. “Hi! Did you guys try out too?! I did!”

“Um, yes,” Kelly says warily.

Danielle the Perk Monster steps toward her like a cat backing a mouse into the corner. Kelly bumps up against the wall, but Danielle
keeps talking at her. I’m beginning to think her excited chattiness is covering up her own nerves.

“It’ll be over soon,” Amanda says, joining Harrison and me on the floor. “Then we’ll know, and we won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“You don’t even look worried.” I mess with the zipper on my purse. Open. Close. Open. Close. It’s almost hypnotic.

“I am. I just don’t show it. Besides, I don’t think I have as much riding on this as you and Harrison.” That’s true. Amanda’s got plans for studying classical piano at NYU. No important-theater-people recommendations needed for that. Just big-deal-pianist recommendations, which she already has. “But I really want to be in the play. It’s always such a blast. And no party beats a cast party, right? Look, you don’t have any reason to be worried. And hey, on the bright side, if you don’t get in, you’ll finally have enough time to take your driving test.”

I smile. Just a tiny bit. Only because Amanda bugs me pretty much every day to get my license already so she won’t have to drive me everywhere like she’s been doing for months. It’s not my fault that her birthday is six months earlier than mine. And that parallel parking freaks me out. And that I was crazy busy memorizing an entire play this summer. And that I kind of like riding to school with her in the mornings. It sure beats getting a ride with my brother.

Amanda checks her phone. “Only two minutes left. She should be here soon. Um . . . Harrison?”

I give the zipper one final tug before I look up at Harrison. He’s
sitting with his head between his knees.

“Dude, are you going to puke?” Chris squats in front of Harrison.

“Go away.” Harrison’s voice is muffled.

“Yeah, just don’t puke, okay? I have a weak stomach.”

Amanda laughs. I manage another faint smile as Gabby wafts into the crowd. She looks more like she’s arrived to accept a crown and scepter than to check a casting list. Trevor follows with the Grimaldis. I swear I can smell Johnny Grimaldi’s hair gel from clear over here, and it’s not helping my stomach. Or maybe it’s the way that Trevor is talking to Gabby. I squeeze my eyes shut. Nothing matters right now except the cast list.

“Here she comes!” The Perk Monster jumps up and down. A crowd of students follows Ms. Sharp down the hallway. She’s like the Pied Piper of the theater program. Amanda and I stand, and then reach down to pull Harrison up. He gets to his feet, swaying slightly.

Ms. Sharp fights her way through the crowd. “Excuse me. Ex-
cuse
me!” Brushing students aside with her elbows, she reaches the bulletin board. “First rehearsal, which is a read-through only, is tomorrow after school.” With that, she turns around, tacks the cast list to the board right smack over the Throw-In notice, and pushes her way out. Everyone swarms the bulletin board.

Gabby’s right in the front. She checks the list, and when she turns around, she’s not smiling. My heart does a leap. That’s good.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. I will never ever in my entire life ask for anything else.” I say something that resembles a prayer under my breath as we move toward the board. I spot Trevor’s head near the
front of the crowd. He reaches the bulletin board, reads it, and breaks into a smile. Johnny Grimaldi slaps him on the back.

“Oh no,” Harrison mumbles.

We continue to push our way forward. I grab Amanda’s hand as we get closer. I squint, but I still can’t see the names. Finally, after what seems like hours, we get to the board. Amanda puts her finger up to the list.

“Oh wow,” she says.

I look over her shoulder and read:

Holland Performing and Visual Arts High School’s Production of

The Sound of Music

CAST

Maria: Amanda Reynolds

Wait, what?