“That was…” He gasped at the pain in his stomach, wincing for a moment, and then continued. “That was for work experience, for your college applications. You shouldn’t have to worry about money or jobs, or any of this.”
“Well, maybe I need more work experience. Other girls my age have much more experience than me, at multiple jobs. A few more days can only inch closer to looking good,” I said, with a half-smile. I knew him too well. We would argue for another few minutes, and then he would let me have my way. That’s how it always was.
“How are you feeling?” he asked and I raised my eyebrow, finding it funny that in light of the situation, he was the one asking me this.
“I feel fine, I swear,” I replied. “And my cell phone is fully charged, I promise I’ll call you every break.”
Eventually, he sighed, too tired to argue. And he knew I was speaking sense; he had seen the contents of the fridge. I was doing what was necessary.
“All right,” he said, finally. “Call me every break. And I know when they are.”
“Of course,” I replied, blowing him a kiss from the doorway. “Can I bring you anything else?”
“You’ll be late,” he said to me, and I grinned, nodding as I closed the door behind me. As soon as I was outside, in the early morning sunshine, I texted Sarah.
He said yes! To the school I go.
The reply came back almost instantly.
TELL ME EVERYTHING! Oh my God, SO LUCKY!
I smiled at this. When Sarah and I had discussed it last night, I thought it would be impossible. But now as I walked toward the school, it felt like I was living a dream.
Even if I had not spent every second day sneaking around the school, I had spent enough time there legally to know it like the back of my hand. There were no first day jitters, no fears of the unfamiliar that usually accompanied entering a new place. Instead, I was full of energy with a huge smile on my face when I slid through the back door of the kitchen.
“Watch out, Trouble Jr. is here!” called out Adam, who was my Dad’s right-hand man, and had known me since I was a child. I grinned, opening my mouth to explain the situation, but Adam shook his head. “He already spoke to me, kid. You’re not the only one who can communicate with a cell phone.”
I laughed at that, slipping my phone into my back pocket. “So, what’s happening today?”
“Big group of people today, few different events going on,” Adam said, as he led me toward the back so I could get an apron and cap. “Now, listen, Amy, I know it’s hard to cook with gloves, but…”
“You need me to, in case I cut my hand off and blood goes everywhere,” I replied, with a tight smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it”
“Don’t cut your hand off, your father will be mad,” Adam replied, trying to lighten the situation. “That’s a general rule for all chefs.”
“Right.” I nodded, and shooed him out so I could suit up. Feeling a bit like I was a surgeon preparing for an operation, I exited the changing room and headed for the prep line.
“All right, can you cut up these veggies?” Adam asked. I nodded. “We need enough for an army, so don’t stop until you can’t find another vegetable in this kitchen. You get three coffee breaks and an hour for lunch, but I’ll let you take them whenever you need, kid. Just pace yourself and be…”
“Careful,” I finished the sentence with an eye roll, and then rolled up my sleeves in order to wash the massive pile of vegetables in the tin bowl in front of me. The vegetables were meant to go with a homemade dip that was being prepared opposite me. Nothing at this school was done simply. I knew that simple cubes of cucumber or carrot sticks weren’t going to suffice. Instead, I cut shapes, stars, circles and squares, making a rainbow array of colors and shapes, arranging them on platter after platter. I smiled as I worked, listening to the conversations around me. It was so nice to be out of the house and around people. Still, my heart hammered every time I looked at the clock. I was timing my three breaks so that each one would coincide with catching a bit of my favorite classes, or seeing my favorite instructors. If I could slip in just three times today, it would be enough to keep me happy for another few days.
It was like an addiction, seeing the classes run, watching the rehearsals. I had read the symptoms of addiction for a course last year and it all fit—dependency, need to lie, first thing you think about when you wake up, etc. But it could be worse. I could be doing drugs. Illegal ones, I thought to myself with a little laugh as I cut up a red pepper into the shape of a star. Legal ones, I’d been doing since birth. HIV positive patients had enough drugs prescribed to them to run a small pharmacy.
When the clock struck 10:15, I stopped and headed to the back to take off my apron, gloves and hairnet. “Going for coffee!” I called to Adam, who nodded at me, absorbed in his work. I could probably go to the moon and he wouldn’t have noticed, as long as I got the vegetables done.
Pulling my hair into a bun and trying to repair the damage the hairnet had caused, I zipped up my jacket so as to not look so obviously like a chef. The students around me wore an array of colors, except for the senior ones who were currently in rehearsal week for physical theater. They were required to wear all black, all the time, and you could always spot them in the crowd.
I was heading toward room 3C, a huge lecture hall, in order to catch a lecture on Kabuki theater, when I was distracted by a girl’s bright yellow poodle skirt. Suddenly I felt my body connect with someone else’s. The force of it made me stumble back a little and I narrowly missed the lockers.
I knew instantly whom I’d walked into. It wasn’t hard to recognize him after all these years. Always surrounded by a cloud of staff, as if he was too good to even brush elbows with the students, stood Liam Swift. He glanced back at me quickly as he continued walking, and our eyes met, just once, before his entourage continued to sweep him away.
Liam Swift. Sarah and I practically had a heart attack when he rose to Hollywood fame. He was insanely gorgeous, probably one of the best looking men I had ever seen, with piercing light grey eyes, and dark, almost black hair kept a little too long, so that soft strands were almost touching his eyes. With pale skin, and a lean, muscular body, he was enough to make any girl fall over and do his bidding. Still, despite being stunning, he was one of many Hollywood actors we obsessed over.
At the peak of his career, Sarah had unearthed the fact that his grandfather, Peter, ran a theater school—this school. This discovery alone was enough to draw me here more often than usual. But three years ago, in a flurry of media announcements that had me glued to the local news, Liam had come to our town.
Hollywood Superstar Liam Swift , just twenty-three years old and already on Forbes rich list, announces that he will be taking over the role of headmaster at Leopard Academy, a prestigious theater school founded by his grandfather, Peter Smith. Liam will begin his new duties in September of this year, officially retiring from filmmaking.
I could still hear the newscaster’s voice in my ears as she made that announcement. My heart was pounding and I could hardly believe it.
The media had gone crazy, covering every event, attempting to get a glimpse of their favorite star. But now, it had pretty much died down, letting the school function as normal. In fact, the only one who seemed not to function as normal was this egotistic stuck-up headmaster, who never said a kind word to anyone. He always traveled with an entourage of other teachers and I hadn’t ever seen a student approach him.
His classes were small and protected, as they were mostly the junior and senior ones, so I had never attended any of them. But while I was curious about his technique, I could study it by watching his movies a million times. His personality, up close, didn’t seem worth chasing after. But those eyes … perhaps those eyes would change my mind.
I shook myself out of my own thoughts, opening the door to the lecture hall and going to sit in the back row. No one noticed. As usual, the class was full of energy and excitement, even though it was ju
st a lecture.
For the next ten minutes, I floated on the professors words, watching image after image of Kabuki style theater float by on the big screen, listening to the techniques each type of actor would apply.
I didn’t have my notebook with me, but I took notes on my phone, until it buzzed, reminding me to get back to the kitchen. With a sigh, I waited until the professor changed slides and then slipped out, hurrying back to the vegetables.
“Amy, call your father,” Adam said, the second I slipped back in. I reached to pull out my phone and dialed home, while trying to pull my hair net back on with the other hand.
“Amy?” Dad asked, the moment he picked up.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just had first break,” I said, as I tied the apron with difficulty. “I’m cutting vegetables all day, nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good. I told Adam to give you something easy. How are you feeling?”
“I just told you, I’m fine. How are you feeling?” I countered, glancing at my appearance in the mirror. Glamorous, I thought, sarcastically.
“Better. You shouldn’t have to be there much longer, Amy.”
“Take as long as you need, Dad,” I replied, leaning on the phone so I could straighten my apron. “Really. I’m ahead on school work, so it’s not a big deal.”
“Just be careful,” he told me again, and then bid me goodbye. However, not before making me promise to call him on my next break. I did, and hung up, putting the phone into my purse. If he was going to ring me several times, at least it would be back here.
“Do you want to make a prop?” Adam asked me, approaching with two grocery bags. I nodded, anything was better than cutting vegetables. Peeking inside, I found exactly what I was hoping for.
“We’re making fake blood!”
Adam laughed at my delight. “Yes. There’s an accident scene in one of the freshman classes, so they need a lot of fake blood. But you’ve gotta play with it a bit. It’s got to look real, but thinner, be easily wiped off, because in the next scene, they are fine.”
“Right.” I nodded, my mind already turning. Fake blood was easy: corn syrup, food coloring and water. I was already thinking that making it with ice-cubes instead of hot water would keep it thinner and easier to wipe off, without losing its realism.
I set right to work, mixing, stirring and testing. I could only imagine the scenarios in my head for what they would need it for; the creativity that required playing injured. Perhaps the actor would have to fake cry? That was my favorite thing to learn how to do: I had practiced in front of my bedroom mirrors for weeks before I learned how to make tears come on cue. I had been so excited that I almost cried for real. Of course, I thought sadly as I stirred a bubbling potful of fake blood, that was for fun. They need this for real. Lucky.
I had become so lost in my own thoughts that I barely noticed the hours slip by. But when my stomach grumbled, I was surprised to look up at the clock and find it was 12:50pm. Perfect, I thought. I had brought a sandwich and could eat it in the back of the theater. They were rehearsing act one of their production in there this afternoon, and I couldn’t wait to watch it with full lighting.
“LUNCH!” I called to Adam. “Oh, and I think the blood’s ready. Worthy of any vampire.” I grinned, pulling the spoon out to show him the consistency. He raised an eyebrow, coming over to test it on the inside of his wrist.
“Hey, that’s not bad,” he replied, nodding. “You want me to send this over?”
“Sure, just let it cool, but I think it’s done.” I replied, pulling off my apron and wiping my hands on it. It certainly looked like blood, even as it dried, darker than when it was wet. “See you after lunch.”
“Call your father!” he called after me, and I turned, giving him a thumbs up, before heading into the change room.
I texted Dad this time, quickly, as I hurried down the halls. I didn’t want to miss the start of the show, and my sandwich was finished before I had even entered the next building.
On lunch. Going to read a book. I wrote. It was a lame excuse, but he would believe it. I always had my nose in a book, what else was there to do at home? I put my phone away, rounding the corner, attempting to slip into the hall quietly. I did not expect what I was met with.
There were loud voices coming from the hallway. It was impossible to make out individual words in the din. There were at least a hundred girls, maybe more, in a queue that snaked around the hallway and into the next one.
I stopped short before I almost ran into somebody. This had happened before, when I was trying to watch a show. They sometimes invited neighboring schools to watch dress rehearsals, various young drama classes and such. These girls must be from the girls’ school on the south side of town. All of them were perfect; tall, thin and beautiful; the type that a private school usually attracts. I immediately felt inadequate, with my thrift store clothes, and hair a mess, not wearing a scrap of makeup.
Self-consciously, I attempted to pull my hair back into a bun, and prayed it would stay that way. I moved past the girls, who were standing in single file. I figured if they were all from one school, they had to stay together, and I could slip past them and get a good seat before they were all gone.
There was a commotion up front and I knew who it was before I even looked up. Liam. Escorted as usual by his entourage, I was surprised to also find a crowd of media. That hadn’t happened here in a while and I assumed they had given up on him. But here they were, squawking, cameras flashing, as if he hadn’t ever been away from Hollywood at all.
One of his entourage had her hand on his back, a tall wiry redhead who looked young enough to be a student herself, pushing him gently through the crowd. Liam was holding a newspaper up to his face, shielding his face from view. However, standing on the other side, I could see he looked tense, paler than this morning, his jaw tightly clenched. And then he was gone, inside the auditorium, and I found myself standing outside the doors.
“Right this way,” someone said, and I looked up. She was a 6th grade student, I recognized her from the hallways, and the few times I sat in during her classes. She was shoving a paper into my hand, and hurrying me inside. “Move along please. Only students, no one else.”
“What?” I asked my heart in my chest. Did she know my secret? After all these years, was it going to be a preteen girl who called me out? But she seemed already to be speaking to someone else, a mother standing at the front of the line with her arms around someone who was obviously her daughter. I ducked into the room before anyone else had spotted me, heading to the second row to take a seat. Only then did I look down at what was in my hand.
Auditions—Leopard Academy Scholarship Fund—Girls’ Day.
Below it was a script; an excerpt from what I quickly read was Beauty and the Beast. But it was the headline that got me. I must have gotten my dates mixed up—today was not the dress rehearsal. Today was the auditions for the scholarship that everyone always buzzed about. Every two years, Leopard Academy held auditions for one talented student to win a full scholarship to the school, for as long as they needed to attend before graduating. This was an old tradition that Liam’s grandfather had started, although I imagine it was even more popular now that Liam was the headmaster. The spots were coveted; people came from other countries just to be here today. And here I was, sitting in the second row, technically in line.
Before I could even get to my feet, or pull out my phone to text Sarah, another girl sat beside me, putting her feet up on the chair in front of us.
“Hi. I’m Alicia.”
“Uh … Amy,” I said, reaching out to shake hands.
“Did you bring a hardcopy of your headshot and résumé?” Alicia asked, rummaging through her bag frantically. “I mean, of course, I sent it online, but I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to bring a hard copy too?”
“Uh ... no,” I replied, with a shrug. After all, it was the truth, I wasn’t carrying a hardcopy of my headshot and resume with me. Never mind that I didn’t act
ually have either.
“Oh. Well, I’m sure it’s fine then.” She settled back into her seat, relaxing. “How long have you been acting?”
“Uh…not long,” I managed, looking at my watch. This place was packed and it was starting to look like even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t. Not without attracting a lot of attention to myself. “You?”
“Since I was a fetus,” she replied, with a smile. “My mom did an ultrasound commercial when she was pregnant with me. And I did some diaper commercials, and it’s been go go go ever since.”
“Oh,” I said, impressed. She really did mean she had been acting forever.
“And I spent five years as a minor character on Lazy Workers,” she said, looking me up and down to see if I recognized her. I didn’t, but I nodded enthusiastically anyway.
“So…if you have all this experience…why do you want to audition here?” I asked. “I mean…if you’re already a fulltime actress, isn’t that a dream come true?”
“Well…” she bit her lip. “It was. But things have been hard since my dad left…and I haven’t been able to get much work lately. So my mom thought this would be a good opportunity for me. Plus, hello, Liam Swift is the headmaster here.” She nodded toward the stage, where we had seen Liam disappear. “He can teach me anything, anytime.” She winked at me.
“Sure,” I replied. I wanted to ask her more, about what it was actually like to be an actor; how it felt when it was your job and not just something you did because you were so in love with it. What was it like, to act every single day and get paid for it? I was about to open my mouth when the curtain rose. It seemed nothing official was starting quite yet, but Liam and his cronies were on the stage now. The redhead I had seen earlier was standing at the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd. Finally, she turned to him, and nodded.
He stepped forward, clearing his throat. Before he even got to say a word, the lights dimmed and a wave of applause broke out, followed by cheering. Liam glared out into the crowd, waiting for it to settle before he spoke.
A Castle of Sand Page 27
