Allie Finkle's Rules for Girls: Stage Fright
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Anyway, Mrs. Hunter saying my mother looked wonderful on TV was a good sign that I’d gotten the part of Princess Penelope. I mean, wasn’t it? Otherwise, wouldn’t she have just said my mom had done a good job or been nice or whatever? Wonderful means delightful, which is like joy, and Mrs. Hunter had once said I was a joy to have in the classroom. So that’s practically like saying I got the part.
Then Mrs. Hunter was asking us to please take our seats, that she had an announcement to make. We all knew what that meant:
She was going to announce the cast list for Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling.
You could have heard Uncle Jay microwaving leftover pizza in his apartment over on campus six blocks away, that’s how quiet it was in Room 209 as Mrs. Hunter unfolded the cast list. Everyone was dying to hear what part they had gotten.
“First,” Mrs. Hunter said, “allow me to tell you what a spectacular job I thought all of you did at the auditions yesterday. You were very prepared, and you tried very hard, and I really appreciate that. I wish I could have given all of you the parts you wanted, but I couldn’t, so instead I gave each of you the part in which I believe, knowing all of you as well as I do, you will most excel, and give the best performance. I really hope you will accept my decisions. Now, I’ll start with the evil queen’s soldiers.”
There were hoots and fist pumps of excitement as Stuart Maxwell, Patrick Day, and a few other boys plus Rosemary all discovered they’d gotten the parts they’d wanted (well, Patrick and Stuart weren’t too stoked to find out Rosemary was going to be a soldier along with them, since that meant they wouldn’t be able to get in as much trouble as they would have liked. But she was sure excited).
Mrs. Hunter then moved on to the reusable water bottle wizard, the part Joey Fields had really wanted. Not surprisingly, given that Joey F was the only one who’d auditioned for it, he got the part. Joey closed his eyes and gave a silent Yessss!
Next, Lenny Hsu learned he’d gotten the part of the recycled paper dragon (again, he’d been the only person who’d auditioned for it). He barely looked up from his book on dinosaurs upon learning this.
Caroline looked relieved when she found out she was playing the unplug-when-not-in-use unicorn. This was the part she’d auditioned for. It had very few lines, exactly what Caroline wanted. She just had to prance around the stage and point Princess Penelope in the right direction through the magical woods with her horn, then explain that unplugging electronics when not in use saves one thousand pounds of carbon dioxide and $256 per year per household. I guess Mrs. Hunter had been as impressed by Caroline’s prancing as we all were, since she gave Caroline the part.
But then Mrs. Hunter read off some names of people who most definitely were not happy with the parts they’d gotten…like some of the girls who’d auditioned for the part of Princess Penelope. They were stunned to discover that, instead of the princess, they’d been awarded parts as public transportation elves or water conservation mermaids. Dominique and Marianne looked like they were about to cry upon learning that they were compact fluorescent bulb fairies. I saw Cheyenne throwing them fake sympathetic smiles. I knew they were fake because Cheyenne is incapable of feeling real sympathy for anyone but herself. I knew she was just waiting to hear her own name read off, along with the words “will be playing the part of Princess Penelope.”
Well, as far as I was concerned, Cheyenne could wait until the cows came home, but Mrs. Hunter was never going to say those words. Because that part was mine.
Then Mrs. Hunter said, “The part of the fairy godmother of reusable cloth shopping bags will be played by Erica Harrington.”
Erica gasped and then twisted around in her seat to look at me. “Yay!” she mouthed joyfully.
“Yay!” I mouthed back. I was really happy for Erica, because she’d wanted to play the fairy godmother so badly.
“The part of the fairy queen,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “will be played by Cheyenne O’Malley.”
Cheyenne wasn’t the only person in Room 209 who gasped upon hearing this—but she might have been the only person in the room who didn’t gasp in a good way. You could tell she was totally horrified.
“Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said, her hand flying up into the air. “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. That’s not the part I auditioned for. I tried out for Princess Penelope!”
“I realize that, Cheyenne,” Mrs. Hunter said. “But I think, based on your performance yesterday, that you’ll be better in the role of the fairy queen, which is a very good part as well.”
Cheyenne’s mouth fell open. Also, her eyes bulged out of her head a little.
“But that’s not the lead,” Cheyenne said. “I’ve always had the lead in every play I’ve been in. Back in Canada, anyway.”
“Well, I pictured you as the fairy queen from the play’s inception,” Mrs. Hunter said. “It’s a lovely part. You’ll be able to wear lots of sparkles and a pair of wings along with a beautiful gown and a tiara of compact fluorescent lightbulbs. Plus, you’ll be the head of all the other fairies.”
The other fairies, Marianne and Dominique, looked over at Cheyenne expectantly, as if to say, Hey! Remember us? We wanted to play Princess Penelope and we’re stuck with being compact fluorescent lightbulb fairies, too. Hello! I mean, at least Cheyenne got to be a compact fluorescent lightbulb fairy queen.
But Cheyenne barely glanced at them.
“I don’t want to be a fairy queen,” Cheyenne said. “I want to be Princess Penelope. And I’m telling my mother!”
With that, she folded her arms across her chest, turned her head to look out the window, and dismissed us all.
Mrs. Hunter said, “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Do let your mother know that I look forward to hearing from her, as always,” and returned to her list.
There were only two names she hadn’t read off yet—mine and Sophie’s. And I knew why.
Obviously, I’d gotten the role of Princess Penelope. I couldn’t think what other part hadn’t been assigned yet, but clearly Sophie was getting that one…
…and just as clearly, she was going to cry when she found out I was Princess Penelope and she wasn’t.
So I couldn’t act too excited when I found out. Even though, of course, on the inside I would be bursting with happiness.
No one likes a sore loser like Cheyenne. That’s a rule.
But no one likes a sore winner, either. That’s another rule.
So if you win, it’s rude to be too celebratory about it and rub it in other people’s faces. It’s important to accept victory modestly.
Then you can celebrate all you want in private, where the losers can’t see you (that’s another rule).
“Allie Finkle,” Mrs. Hunter read from her list.
I leaned forward a little in my chair, trying to contain myself. I wasn’t going to jump to my feet or anything, let alone climb on top of my desk and do a self-congratulatory victory dance.
But I might do one tiny fist pump. Just a little one. I mean, I could celebrate a little. After all, I’d earned it. I’d worked hard on that audition!
“…I’m giving you the part of the evil queen,” Mrs. Hunter said.
Yay—
Wait. What?
What had she just said?
“Cool, Allie,” Rosemary, down the row of desks from me, whispered. “We’ll get to be in tons of scenes together!”
“And the role of Princess Penelope,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “goes to Sophie Abramowitz.”
Sophie, in her seat a few rows ahead of mine, let out a little shriek. Then she put both hands over her mouth and said, “Oh, my goodness! Oh…my goodness! Me? ME?”
“Yes, Sophie,” Mrs. Hunter said, smiling at her. “You. Now, class. We don’t have very much time. I want everyone to start trying to learn their lines right away. I want them memorized by the end of next week at the latest. Now, let’s get out our math books and turn to page two-ten. We’re going to be working on fractions this morning.”
Because I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. I’d tried out for the role of Princess Penelope—I’d worked really, really hard on my audition—and yet, somehow, I’d ended up as the princess’s evil stepmother?
How could something like that even happen?
I mean, no offense, but I had been the best Princess Penelope at the auditions. I’m not even being a braggart, either, when I say that. I had practiced with an actual theater major (well, he was at one time). Uncle Jay had totally coached me. I hadn’t overacted like Cheyenne. And I had even made Mrs. Hunter laugh during my audition!
And okay, maybe she wasn’t supposed to have laughed. But come on!
And I know I don’t look as much like a princess as Sophie does. I’m not totally beautiful in the traditional sense the way she is.
But I know I’m a better actress. I’m not saying that to be mean. And I would never say it to Sophie’s face.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And I know it.
So why would Mrs. Hunter—my Mrs. Hunter, the best teacher I’d ever had—give me the worst part in the whole entire play? The part of the evil, mean sorceress who spends the play trying to kill not only the pretty heroine but everyone else in the Realm of Recycling? A character who litters? A character who thinks global warming doesn’t exist even though ninety-eight percent of scientists do, and who doesn’t realize you can save a tree by recycling a stack of newspapers only three feet high? The character everyone hates? Why? WHY?
It didn’t make any sense. Had I done something to make Mrs. Hunter hate me? I couldn’t remember doing anything to make Mrs. Hunter hate me. But maybe I had, by accident or something. Maybe I had disappointed her in some way, and so in revenge, or to teach me a lesson, she was making me take this awful, awful part.
Or maybe…maybe Mrs. Hunter was mad at my mom. Maybe Mrs. Hunter had really loved Requiem for a Somnambulist and was mad that my mom called it preachy and pretentious.
But no…that made no sense. She had said my mom’s performance on Good News! the night before had been wonderful. Why would she say that if she didn’t agree with my mom’s review?
No. It must be me. It must be me Mrs. Hunter hated.
I wanted to cry. A few moments earlier, I had been telling myself not to celebrate too hard in order not to hurt my best friend’s feelings.
And now I was sitting there, trying hard not to burst into tears in front of the whole class.
Only not really, because no one was even paying attention to me. Everyone was too busy buzzing about Sophie and her remarkable achievement.
And Sophie was being fittingly modest, acting just the way a proper princess should, saying, “Oh, thanks,” and “Well, I’m just going to do my best,” and “It’s all Mrs. Hunter’s doing, really, for giving me the chance.”
I’m sorry, but even though I know it’s wrong to hate people, a part of me hated Sophie just then!
Well, okay, maybe not. But a part of me really disliked her. Just a little. Because that should have been me saying those things! How come no one was crowding around my desk, congratulating me?
Oh, wait. I know why. Because everyone hates the evil queen!
To prove it, Stuart Maxwell just threw a wadded-up piece of paper at me and went, “Ha. Evil queen. That suits you, Allie!”
I wanted to cry even more when he said that. But instead, remembering I was an actress, I acted like I didn’t want to cry. I said, “Well, you’re an evil soldier. And you work for me, the evil queen. So you have to do what I say. And I say, shut up.”
He looked at me with his eyebrows raised and went, “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Yes, I can,” I said. “I’m the queen. So I’m the boss of you.”
Defenseless in the face of such logic, Stuart did the only thing he could, which was take out a piece of paper and frantically start drawing headless zombies.
I kind of knew how he felt. I mean, I would have started drawing headless zombies, too, if I thought it would have made me feel better.
But I knew the only thing that was going to make me feel better was…well, getting to play Princess Penelope.
But since I knew that wasn’t going to happen now, I guessed I was going to have to settle for going up to Sophie myself when the bell for morning recess rang, and say, “Hey, Sophie. Congratulations. I’m really glad you got the part you wanted.”
And act like I mean it.
Which was exactly what I did. While Cheyenne stomped off to go call her mother on her cell phone and tell her to call Mrs. Hunter, I went up to Sophie and congratulated her for getting the role of Princess Penelope. The role I thought I should have gotten.
Because that’s what gracious losers—and best friends—do.
“Oh, my goodness, Allie,” Sophie said, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a huge hug. “Thank you so much! And I’m so sorry you didn’t get it. You were really good, too.”
“Yeah,” Caroline said. “But it’s okay, because Allie didn’t really want it the way you did, Sophie. She just tried for it to make sure Cheyenne didn’t get it.”
I practically had to blink back tears when I heard that. I didn’t want it as much as Sophie? Um, yes, I so totally had.
But considering I hadn’t gotten it, I guess it was just as well everyone thought this.
“Yeah,” I said casually, hugging Sophie back. “I’m fine with the part I got. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to go call my mother and complain, like Cheyenne.”
“Can you believe she’s doing that?” Sophie let go of me and pushed some of her curly hair out of her big brown eyes. “Talk about being a princess! She must think she is one or something!”
“Totally,” I said.
“You’ll make such a good evil queen, Allie,” Erica said. “You’ll be the best evil queen ever.”
I just stared at her. “I will?”
“Of course,” Sophie said.
“You’re always the best when we play queens at recess,” Caroline said, seeming to agree with Sophie and Erica. “Why wouldn’t you make a great evil queen? And you know Stuart and those guys will do what you say.”
My shoulders sagged. “Oh,” I said. “That’s right.” No wonder Mrs. Hunter had given me the part of the evil queen! It wasn’t because she hated me. It was so the boys playing the evil soldiers would obey me. I sat next to them all day, didn’t I? Well, me and Rosemary. She probably thought Rosemary and I would keep them in line at rehearsals the same way we did all day in the classroom.
Well, it wasn’t fair! Just once, I wanted to get to play the part of the pretty princess instead of the tough girl who keeps the bad boys in line.
But I guess that was never going to happen. At least, not with this play. And not with this teacher. All my hopes had been raised that, for once, things might turn out differently, only to be dashed.
And I knew exactly who to blame for that. For the raised hopes, anyway.
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RULE #12
When You Know the Right Thing to Do, You Have to Do It
So. It was all up to me.
I’d always known that, in the end, it would be.
Well, Mrs. Hunter didn’t have to worry. I was ready. I knew all of Princess Penelope’s lines and her blocking. I was completely prepared to step into her part. I even had a costume—my gold flower-girl dress. I would wear it with my black patent leather party shoes (if they still fit…I hadn’t tried them on in a while).
Of course, there was the small question of who would play the part of the evil queen.
But I even had an answer ready for that: Mrs. Hunter, of course. Mrs. Hunter could play the evil queen herself. There was no reason why she shouldn’t. She wasn’t doing anyth
ing during the performance, anyway, except running around making sure we had our props, like Erica’s reusable cloth shopping bags and such, and seeing that we got onto the stage on time, and opening and closing the curtains.
But Mrs. Jenkins could do all that. She was only the principal, after all.
And yes, I did feel bad for Sophie. Of course I did.
But she had made her own misfortune by letting her celebrity go to her head. I mean, my mother was the star of a local cable television program, but had I let that go to my head and become super bossy and started telling my friends that I hated them? No.
Sophie really had no one to blame but herself.
“But has Mrs. Hunter asked you to take over Sophie’s part?” Mom inquired that day at lunch. Because I’d brought down my flower-girl dress for her to iron, assuring her I was going to be needing it that night at the open house.
“Well,” I said. “Not officially. But I’m positive she’s going to.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom took the dress from me. “If she hasn’t asked you, I really don’t think you should get your hopes up.”
“But, Mom,” I said, “there’s no one else she can ask. Cheyenne has been acting horribly lately. There’s no way Mrs. Hunter is going to ask her to play Princess Penelope. And I’m the next-best actress in the whole class. I mean, not to be a braggart or anything.”
“She really is good, Mom,” Kevin chimed in from the kitchen counter, where he was eating grilled cheese. “You should see her. She killed.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Mom said. “Because I hate to see you disappointed. And your father was really looking forward to seeing you in his Dracula cape.”
“This will be much better,” I assured her. “You’ll see.”
It had been hard walking a sobbing Sophie home for lunch. Mainly because I’d been waiting for her to apologize for saying she hated me, only she hadn’t. Not even once. Possibly because she’d been crying so hard over losing the part of Princess Penelope. Still, you would have thought she’d stop to think about my feelings, for a change.