I could tell Belinda was an authority on many things, but her biggest area of expertise was, without a doubt, Belinda.
“Well, you were awesome.” I smiled.
“What’s your friend’s mom’s name?” Belinda asked, looking over at Lou.
“Um, it’s Amy. Amy Westcott.” Lou shrugged. “But that’s her married name. I’m not sure what her last name was in high school.”
“Amy Westcott,” Belinda whispered to herself. I waited for a flicker of recognition to sputter in her eyes, but none did.
“Really pretty. Long black hair. She was a Lady-in-Waiting,” Lou added. “Number seven, I think.”
“Number seven?! How many of them were there?!” Belinda said with a chuckle. “Hmm, no. Don’t think I can place her.”
“Well . . . ,” Lou said. “I’m working on getting her daughter Jenny to audition. Like I said, she’s a ballerina. In fact, a lot of girls from our class said they’re going to be at tryouts next Thursday.”
Belinda nodded, pleased.
“The real challenge is going to be finding boys,” Lou continued. “Of course Jack will be there, but I haven’t really heard of any other guys who are planning on auditioning.”
Belinda remained silent for a moment, staring Lou right in the eye. I wondered if she’d made a mistake by opening her mouth. Belinda didn’t seem like a person who enjoyed getting bad news.
“Worst-case scenario,” I butted in. “You could just dress up some of the eighth-grade girls in baggy suits,” I tried to joke. “Or change the title to Dolls.”
But my words were cut short as the force of something smacked me in the back, forcing me to crash into Lou. I looked down to find a soccer ball rolling past my feet. I traced its path back up the hallway to a cluster of boys.
“Whoops, sorry, dude,” a voice shouted, amid a chorus of snickers. I recognized it immediately as Tanner Falzone’s.
“My bad,” he said, giggling. “I was aiming for Sebastian.” Sebastian Maroney was the goalie of the soccer team, a kid who at twelve years of age had a deeper voice than my dad’s. The two swaggered down the hall, followed by a pack of boys wearing nylon warm-ups and hiding their laughter behind their hands. Lou reached down and scooped up the ball.
“Well, if that’s how you aim,” she said, squeezing the ball, her knuckles beginning to turn white as she scowled at Tanner, “it’s no wonder you guys got creamed at the championship game.”
“OHHHHHHHH!” the boys wailed, pointing frenzied fingers at Tanner. This was apparently even funnier than pelting the theater geeks with a soccer ball.
“Yeah . . . well,” Tanner said, suddenly red in the face. “Well, maybe you should practice some more high notes!”
“OHHHHHHHH!” the boys echoed robotically, pointing at Lou, although with less gusto. Their faces looked more confused than anything.
“Hey, good one, guys,” I said, grabbing the ball out of Lou’s hands, trying to defuse the situation. “Here ya go.”
I bounced it off my knee and straight into Sebastian’s waiting hands. This, for some reason, made the team giggle even more. Last semester, these boys were my main source of anxiety. Now, I had nothing to hide, but I still went to great lengths to cover up the fact that they pretty much terrified me.
“Come on, guys,” Tanner said, cocking his head to his teammates.
Like a well-trained army, they filed into a line and brushed past us. Just as they rounded the corner Belinda leaned in and whispered sharply, “What about those boys?”
Lou and I looked to each other, confused.
“Those boys could be my gangsters,” Belinda said urgently.
“Your what?!” I spit out, sounding slightly more shocked than intended.
“My gangsters in the show!” she exclaimed. “Harry the Horse, Angie the Ox, Big Jule. Look at them! They’re perfect.”
I jerked my head over toward Lou, who just stood there, blinking.
“Those guys,” I said, pointing down the hallway, “do not do musicals. Trust me.”
“Why not?” Belinda said, suddenly taken aback. “It’s thirty-two degrees outside. Soccer season doesn’t start for a few months.”
“Yeah, but—” Lou tried to interject.
“They play soccer, so I already know they can kick,” Belinda went on. “A couple of bar stretches and they’ll be in tip-top shape to learn the Crapshooters’ Ballet.”
“Ballet?!” I cried, shaking my head. “The day the soccer team does ballet is the day that Lake Superior freezes over.”
“Lake Superior freezes over as a polar vortex sweeps through the Midwest,” the radio weatherman announced as I scarfed down my bowl of granola. “Reaching a full one hundred percent freeze rate for the first time since 1979, residents of Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana are advised to avoid prolonged exposure to the outdoors until the thermometer climbs back up into the double digits.”
“Are you ready for the dance call today?” my mom asked, looking up from the lunch bag she’d been packing me.
“I guess so,” I said, swallowing. “I might be the only guy who shows up, so even if I fall on my face, I don’t think it will hurt my chances.”
“Well, try not to do that,” my dad said, entering the kitchen. “Make sure you warm up first. It’s cold days like these that you’re most likely to injure yourself.”
“I know, Dad,” I said with a sigh, spooning up the last bit of almond milk from my bowl. “I just hope I’m not alone up there.”
“Thank you for showing up today,” Belinda said, pacing across the stage looking out into the audience of nervous auditioners. The final ring of the school bell had cued nearly thirty students to pour into the auditorium, an impressive number by Shaker Heights standards, Lou was quick to point out. The only boys I saw were Garett Kirsch (a short boy from my homeroom), Travis Nordin (a skinny eighth-grader), and one boy I didn’t recognize from the sixth grade. Normally I’d be relieved, knowing my chances of getting Nathan Detroit were much better, but with only four guys to fill an entire cast, was this even a show I wanted to be a part of?
“We’ll be breaking up the audition over the course of two days. Tomorrow will be the acting and singing portion. Today will be the dance call,” Belinda said, holding up a clipboard. “I’m going to give you numbers to pin to the front of your shirt or leotard. Make sure they are visible.”
“Old-school,” I whispered to Lou.
“We’ll begin with the girls.” As she spoke she began stretching various parts of her body. Her green leg warmers bobbed with each plié. “Hopefully more boys will show up, but in the meantime, I’ll be teaching eight counts of eight to ‘Take Back Your Mink.’ I realize that not all of you are at the same level, but try your hardest and remember,” she said, rolling her ankle in a circle, “there’s always next year. Now, when I call your name, please come to the stage to get your number. Danielle Abbott, Nina Avalon . . .”
The dance combination whizzed by. The steps were unusually difficult, even for the girls I’d seen cheerleading on the pep squad.
“Fan kick, three, four, fan kick, seven, eight,” Belinda called out, her leg swinging past her ears like windshield wipers.
“Chaînés, two, three, four, pivot step, seven, pose!”
The majority of the girls struggled, looking like marionettes with their strings tangled, jerking their limbs seemingly at random. Lou, who I’d never seen dance before, looked somewhat shell-shocked. It was impossible not to notice that she was hitting many of the poses on the wrong counts. The only person who seemed to be keeping up was Jenny, the trained ballerina.
“All right, now that we’ve all learned the steps,” Belinda said abruptly, not even the slightest bit out of breath, “let’s take a quick five. Afterward I’ll be breaking you up into smaller groups to audition for me.”
The girls slogged to the wings, graspin
g for water bottles and towels. Lou, desperate for help, ran up to Jenny, who was still onstage stretching. I watched as they began marking through the movement, Lou trying to keep up, obviously still confused.
“Lou, your feet should be ouverte to start. And the balance is devant. You’re doing it derrière.”
“Ooo-what?”
Lou tried to take her corrections, but I could see Jenny’s dance expertise was only making things more complicated. Sometimes the best dancers are the worst teachers. As Jenny continued to talk about her port de bras and aplomb, Lou stood, flustered, rubbing the back of her head with her hand. I could tell she wasn’t getting it.
“Excuse me,” I said, leaping to my feet and scooting past Travis in my row.
“Lou,” I whispered, charging down the aisle.
She looked up, her eyes filled with panic. I flicked my head to the right, signaling to a corner free of girls and dance bags. She looked back at Jenny, who shrugged and gestured for her to join me.
“I know. I’m a mess,” Lou huffed anxiously as she clopped down the stairs. “Adelaide’s supposed to dance front and center. There’s no way she’s going to cast me if I can’t even remember the steps.”
“You’re fine,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Just breathe. You look great. I just think Belinda’s counts are confusing you.”
“Is the first arm throw on the four or the five?” Lou asked hurriedly.
“It’s on the five, but maybe try not to think of it like that,” I said calmly. “Mr. Hennessy is playing the accompaniment to the song, right? I know you know all the words, so if you sing along quietly, the dance steps will make way more sense.”
“Okay,” Lou said, nodding quickly.
“Take back your MINK,” I said, cycling through the first phrase. “The arm throw is actually on the word mink, which makes total sense if you think about it, like she’s throwing off her coat.”
Lou mouthed the words and walked through the movement, this time throwing her arm in the right place.
“And I think you’ve been putting that shimmy on the wrong count,” I said, moving on to another section. “Lyrically it lines up with, ‘It all seems a HORRIBLE dream.’”
“You’re right!” Lou exclaimed.
After giving her a few more pointers, I said, “Even if you mess up, it’s just an audition. Belinda knows you’ll have weeks to perfect it. Just show her that you can make some bold choices.”
“And we’re back,” Belinda’s voice blared through the auditorium.
I looked over to find her staring directly as us. I don’t know why, but something in her eyes made me think we’d been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.
“Thanks, Jack,” Lou whispered. I could tell she was still nervous.
I gave her shoulder a final squeeze. “You got this.”
I watched nervously as Belinda broke up the girls into groups of four. The first few were shaky, mistaking right arms for left and pivots for ball changes, but as the numbers grew higher, the groups seemed to improve. The girls began hitting the right marks and looking more confident. By the time she reached Jenny’s group, they were not only dancing cleanly but infusing the movement with character.
“Numbers twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four,” Belinda called out.
Twenty-three was Lou’s number. She made her way to the downstage right position, hands on her hips and a saccharine smile pinned across her face. As Mr. Hennessy began the intro, Jenny threw her a final thumbs-up from the sidelines. Once the combination began it was as though a spotlight had beamed down from the rafters, shining directly on Lou. The girls lining the wings halted their nervous fidgeting to watch as she danced. She made hilarious faces and accented beats with Oohs and Woos like we’d seen the speakeasy girls do in Let’s Make a Toast! While her kicks weren’t as high and her short frame perhaps not as “dancer-like” as some of the other girls, she more than made up for it with her plucky charm. As the final count of eight began, Lou jumped a step, mistaking a chassé for a turn. Belinda winced, yet Lou seemed to act as if it were nothing, instead replacing the missed counts with a spontaneous ad-lib.
“Nathan, look whatcha made me do!” she whined in her best, most nasally Adelaide voice. Everyone, including Belinda, burst into laughter. I was so proud.
“Thank you, ladies,” she said as the final group buttoned the number. “You may take your seats.”
As the girls trotted down the stairs, Belinda walked center stage and placed her hands over her eyes like a visor, scanning the audience. I reached my hand out and gave a high five to Lou, who was now squeezing into my row. A surge of excitement shot through my body. I knew I was up next.
“Hmm,” Belinda muttered from downstage. “I really thought there’d be more boys.”
“We tried to warn her,” Lou whispered, her wooden chair creaking as she plopped down next to me.
“I might have to rethink . . . ,” Belinda mumbled, beginning to pace across the stage. “Gosh, I’m not sure . . . I don’t know if it’s worth . . .” She checked the silver watch on her wrist and crossed over to Mr. Hennessy at the piano.
I sat up straight in my chair, craning to overhear their conversation. A whisper of panic began spreading through the room.
“She might have to rethink what?” I looked over at Lou.
“I don’t know,” Lou whispered back.
Belinda’s beehive of hair quivered behind the piano as fragments of conversation drifted up and into the room.
“I mean, I can’t have girls play every part.”
“Do you think we should just . . .”
“The whole thing?”
“Oh no.” Lou turned to me with concern. “What’s going on?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Belinda bellowed as she chugged back down to the front of the stage, her face twisted into a frown. “It pains me to announce that the boys’ dance call has been canceled.”
A flurry of whispers swept through the auditorium.
“And because we only have four boys,” she said, speaking over the tumult, “I think we’re going to have to—”
But her words were cut short as a screech of steel rang through the back of the auditorium. Thirty heads turned in unison. The big set of doors swung open and twenty pairs of dirty sneakers clomped into the room.
“Did we miss the audition?” a voice called out. I traced my eyes up the aisle to the sight of Tanner Falzone and Sebastian Maroney, standing with their arms crossed in the doorway. Behind them stood the entire boys’ soccer team.
-LOUISA-
There are things you never expect to see: a whale riding a bicycle, for example, or rain shooting up into the sky instead of pouring down to the ground. But seeing twenty boys from the Shaker Heights Middle School soccer team arrive en masse at an audition for Guys and Dolls suddenly made bicycle-riding whales seem like an actual possibility, as their appearance was as unlikely as anything I could have imagined. Yet here they were; I was staring at them with my own eyes—and what made the whole situation even crazier was that they seemed to be staying. I didn’t need to look at Jack to know that he was equally shocked, but nevertheless, I turned to find him blinking rapidly, as if the image of Tanner and the rest of the boys would disappear after one of those blinks. I noticed that everyone else in the auditorium was staring in disbelief, too. Everyone, that is, except for one very excited redhead.
“Hallelujah!” cried Belinda, throwing her arms in the air and launching into a box step. “My prayers have been answered!” She thrust out her arms and motioned the boys toward the stage.
“Come up, come up, come up!” she called out to them. “All boys onstage now, and start stretching! The dance call is back on!”
The soccer boys hesitated, uncertain. But then a familiar voice called out from behind them: ”You heard her, guys, up a
nd at ’em.”
As the boys obeyed the order and started down the aisle toward the stage, I saw Coach Wilson standing under the Exit sign, arms crossed, smiling broadly.
“Thank you, Mike! Oops! I mean, Coach!” Belinda shouted from the stage, clasping her hands together and shaking them with gratitude. I looked back at Coach Wilson, who held out his hands toward the soccer boys, palms up, as if to say, “They’re all yours.”
As shocked as I’d felt seconds earlier at their arrival, I now saw how inevitable all of it was, given Coach and Belinda’s shared theatrical history. Of course she would take advantage of their friendship to recruit his players for the school musical; in her shoes, I would have done the same. Still, their presence dramatically changed the energy in the room, making it a little more dangerous and unpredictable.
Coach Wilson gave a slight nod toward Belinda, then exited into the lobby. Belinda called from the stage: “I still see some ‘Guys’ out there! Get your heinies up here!”
“You better get going,” I urged Jack gently. He exhaled loudly.
“This is going to be interesting,” he said, and as he scooted past me to get to the aisle, I grabbed his wrist.
“Hey—they’re on your turf; just remember that.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” he said, tugging nervously at his shirt as he made his way toward the stage. Jenny was now climbing out of her seat and scurrying to join me in my row, her face contorted in a grimace.
“Why do I feel like this is going to be painful to watch?” she asked, taking Jack’s now-vacated seat. She had practically read my mind. As soon as Jack arrived onstage, Tanner turned to his teammates.
“Oh shoot, guys, I forgot my tights at home—Jack, do you have an extra pair I could borrow?” His crack was greeted by a round of snorts and snickers from the boys around him. My cheeks burned as I willed Jack to make a snappy comeback, but all he did was head toward the back row of boys.
Act 2 Page 7
