by Jeff Rud
I smiled at Jenna. I was feeling so good for her that I almost forgot about my own nerves. Almost. Two kids later, it was my turn.
Ms. Lawson handed me a script. “I’d like you to read for the part of the Artful Dodger,” she smiled. “Are you familiar with the story?”
“Yes,” I said. “But I haven’t practiced the—”
“No worries, Kyle,” Ms. Lawson said soothingly. “I assume you can read, right?”
I laughed. The drama teacher’s gentle manner and sense of humor had managed to relax me. Now I was just in a mild panic instead of a full-blown one.
I read with Jake Barnett, a small blond boy who had obviously landed the part of Oliver. It was good casting. The kid was so scrawny and pitiful-looking that even I believed he could have been a ragged orphan.
The reading actually went pretty well. “Fine job, Kyle,” Ms. Lawson said.
“Thanks,” I replied, starting down the steps at the side of the stage.
“Wait, Kyle,” she said. “We still need to hear you sing.”
Sing? Now? In front of all these people? Not a great idea.
“I don’t think so,” I mumbled, looking down at the floor. “I mean, I haven’t prepared anything.”
“Never mind that,” Ms. Lawson said. “We just need to get an idea about any hidden talents you might have. This is mostly a dramatic production, but there will be four or five songs. Which ones we choose will depend on which of our actors can sing. I’d like you to try singing with the piano player. Does this key work for you?”
Mrs. Davis, the Sainsbury music teacher, played a few bars of “Consider Yourself.” I knew the song from the movie production of Oliver! It was a lively tune in which the Artful Dodger welcomes Oliver to the pickpocketing gang.
“Sure,” I said, not feeling the least bit sure about either the key or my performance.
Mrs. Davis started again, playing the brief introduction to the piece. Before I had much time to think, I had to begin. “‘Consider yourself, at home...,’” I started.
“Okay, hang on, Kyle,” Ms. Lawson yelled from her seat. I couldn’t believe she was stopping me already. Was I that bad?
“That sounded fine,” she said. “But this is the theater. You need to project. I need to hear you sing full-out.”
I nodded. I thought I had been singing loudly, but the piano had drowned me out. Mrs. Davis began again. What the heck. I’m just going to belt it.
“‘Consider yourself, at home,’” I sang. “‘Consider yourself, one of the family...’”
I don’t know quite how it happened, but within seconds I was really getting into it. I was singing full voice. I even began mimicking some of the dance moves the actor playing Dodger had performed in the movie.
After I had finished, Ms. Lawson and Mrs. Davis spoke briefly to each other and then to the jurors. “That was good, Kyle,” Ms. Lawson said. “We’ll be in touch.”
After the elation of the performance, her reaction was kind of a letdown. What did “good” mean? Did it mean I would get a part in the production? Or did it mean “pretty good for a dumb jock basketball player”?
“Well?” I asked Jenna and Lukas as we walked out of the theater. “How do you think it went?”
“Are you kidding?” Lukas said, his blue eyes opening wide. “You were awesome. I knew you’d be great.”
“You amaze me,” Jenna smiled. “I think Ms. Lawson was blown away.”
Inside, I wasn’t so sure. Jenna and Lukas were probably just being kind. They could tell I had been nervous. After walking partway home with them, I continued by myself up Albion. I was confident that at least I hadn’t embarrassed myself on stage. But I was also feeling confused. What had started out as a bit of a goof had suddenly become important to me. I had missed performing in the years since Lukas and I had been elementary school hambones. And for the first time I admitted it to myself: I really wanted a part in this show.
chapter six
The telephone rang just as we were finishing supper.
“Leave it,” Mom said. She hated it when our rare family dinners were interrupted. But my father couldn’t bear to let it ring. Who knew when it might be one of his editors calling about a breaking news story? Although he wasn’t quite finished eating, he got up, walked quickly into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
“Just a minute, please,” he said. “Kyle, it’s for you.”
I jumped up and grabbed the phone.
“Hello.”
“Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“This is Ms. Lawson. I just wanted to call and tell you how much we enjoyed your audition today. You did great. I had no idea you were hiding such talents under that basketball uniform.”
I blushed. “Thanks,” I said.
“The reason I’m calling is because we think you’d make a great Artful Dodger,” she continued. “But I needed to speak with you first and make sure you’re up for the challenge. It’s going to require a major time commitment. If you want it, that is.”
I felt stunned. The Artful Dodger? I hadn’t expected to get even a bit part in Oliver! let alone one of the main roles. This was really exciting.
“Sure,” I said. “I mean, yeah. I can put the time in.”
“I’m worried about your involvement in basketball,” Ms. Lawson said. “Is that going to get in the way of the show? You know, you absolutely have to be at rehearsals, Kyle. We can’t make exceptions for anybody or anything. This show is a big deal. We have rehearsals after school from Monday through Thursday for the next six weeks. We sometimes rehearse on weekends too. The production runs in mid-November. There will be several shows for the community as well as for other schools. And of course we perform for the Sainsbury student body and their families.
“And Kyle, judging from your singing today, we’re thinking of having you sing a number,” Ms. Lawson said. “Are you up for that?”
Sing a number? By myself? On stage?
I heard my voice answering, even before I had time to weigh the consequences, “Yeah, sure.”
Although it was a major time commitment, the show’s practice times worked out almost perfectly with basketball. The team practiced every morning from Monday through Thursday. Most of our games were on Friday nights. There shouldn’t be much of a conflict at all.
“So, Kyle, can we count on you?” Ms. Lawson asked.
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “That’s awesome. See you tomorrow afternoon.”
Mom and Dad were both looking at me with puzzled expressions. I hadn’t told them anything about the Oliver! tryouts. I had planned to, eventually. I had been waiting until I heard whether I got a part. I certainly hadn’t expected to find out this soon.
After I explained the phone call to them, a big grin broke across Mom’s face. “Wow,” she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “I had no idea you were even trying out. I’m so proud of you!”
“Me too,” Dad chimed in. “How’s this going to work with basketball, though? You know Coach Williams is pretty serious.”
“I think it’ll be okay,” I said. “I mean, our practices don’t conflict and neither do our games. I’ll talk to Coach about it tomorrow morning.”
I had trouble getting to sleep that night because I was so excited. First of all, we were playing Davidson on Friday in our opening game of the season. And second, I had just landed a part in the school play. My grade eleven year was shaping up pretty nicely so far.
I was up like a shot the next morning when the alarm rang at 6:30 AM. As a result, I had enough time to down a couple of pieces of toast, a banana and a glass of orange juice. I even had time to scan the Sports section of the Bulletin. I never read the news pages, even though my dad writes for them.
It was only 7:15 AM when I entered the Sainsbury gym. I had planned to arrive early so that I could talk to Coach Williams about my part in Oliver! I didn’t want him to find out from Ms. Lawson in the staff room or from another student in PE class. Coach was a funny g
uy. He liked to have control over his players. I was pretty sure he’d want to hear this news from me.
Coach Williams’s door was open, but I knocked anyway. He looked up from his desk. He was sipping coffee from a large red mug and poring over some statistics. “What’s up, Kyle?” he asked.
“I just wanted to talk to you, Coach,” I said, hating the nervous croak in my voice.
“Shoot,” Coach Williams replied, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head.
“I’ve got a part in the school play,” I said. “I just wanted you to know that. It won’t interfere with practices and—”
Coach cut me off in mid-sentence. His brow was furrowed. He looked much more annoyed than impressed. “Kyle, you should have checked this out with me first,” he said.
I was taken aback by his reaction. What harm did it do to him if I was in the school play? And what did he mean “check it out with him”? What was I, his slave?
“The school play is a huge commitment,” Coach said. “But basketball is an even bigger one. Just remember what your top priority is, okay? This year is a real opportunity for us. We’ve got a chance to do something special on the basketball court. And you’re a big part of that, Evans.”
I couldn’t help but notice that Coach had slipped into using my last name instead of calling me Kyle. Typically, whenever he was mad at a player, he used the kid’s last name.
“I’m s-sorry, Coach,” I heard myself stuttering. “I should have checked with you first.”
Again, he interrupted me. “It’s not a problem now, Evans,” he said. “Just don’t make it a problem, okay?”
I nodded and got up to leave. Coach had already returned to his statistics. He didn’t even say good-bye.
I walked out of his office and toward the locker room, feeling dejected. Couldn’t Coach just be happy for me? I wasn’t planning on ditching the basketball team. I loved basketball. But there was room in my life for something else too, wasn’t there?
At least this morning I was early for practice. I was already in my gear and shooting free throws when the rest of the team rolled in. “You’re going to have to get up earlier than that to take my spot.” Ben Stillman snickered as he headed past me to the locker room. My only response was a clean swish of the ball from the foul line.
The team ran crisply through the first half of practice, with Coach once again running the four-set and giving Stillman the majority of the shots. Next, he put the starting five in a 2–1–2 zone defense, with me in the middle. Coach told the second-stringers to run Davidson’s zone offense against us. As they did that, Coach yelled at the five of us on the first team. “Move your feet, Evans!” he shouted. “C’mon, Stillman, you’ve got to be there!” he implored as Stillman blew his coverage at the back of the zone, allowing the second-stringers an easy layup. Once again, Stillman seemed to be coasting through defensive practice. It seemed to me that he played hard only when he had the ball in his hands and a chance to score.
“Okay, last time,” Coach ordered. “Let’s do this right, for once.”
We lined up in our 2–1–2 zone, again with me in the middle. The second team moved the ball crisply around the outside, getting it low on the baseline to Pete Freeman. Pete was a six-foot swingman who couldn’t shoot well from outside but had some strong moves to the bucket. Stillman jumped out far too hard on Freeman, who used a slick crossover dribble to easily beat Stillman inside. Since we were in a zone, I had to shift from the middle to pick up Freeman going toward the hoop. But as I did that, Pete deftly flipped the ball inside to Sammy Curtis who had cut through the open middle. It was an easy layup for a basket by the second string. Coach Williams didn’t like it one bit.
The sound of his clipboard hitting the polished wooden floor echoed across the gym. “Evans!” he screamed, pointing straight at me. “What are you thinking?”
“But Coach...,” I began, trying to tell him that I felt I had to cover Freeman since he had beaten Stillman.
“That’s enough,” Coach yelled. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses this morning. We’ve only got two days until Davidson. That’s the team you’ll have to defend, not a second string.”
By now, everyone could tell that Coach was completely pissed. It hadn’t happened all that often, but we had all seen him go off like this before. And none of us wanted to bear the brunt of his anger.
“Evans!” he yelled again at me. “Since you can’t play defense properly, take a couple of laps around the track. The rest of you guys, hit the showers.”
I headed for the gym door in a state of shock. That play hadn’t been my fault, but Coach was taking it out on me. What about Stillman? He was the one who had made the mistake.
As I jogged around the track, a steady rain was falling. But I wasn’t thinking about getting wet. I was wondering why Coach had it in for me today. Could it have something to do with my role in Oliver!
“So, this is it, everybody.” Ms. Lawson beamed from her spot at the front of the theater, as we sat in the first two rows of seats. “This is our cast.”
We glanced around at each other with nervous tentative smiles on our faces. I was sitting beside Jenna, who was flanked by Lukas. The rest of the seats were occupied by students whom I knew either vaguely or not at all. There was a charge in the air, a very similar feeling to the first day of basketball practice, right after the final cuts have been made.
“Now, before we get started, I have some business to clear up,” Ms. Lawson continued. “Most of it is about commitment. It’s very important to the success of our show. I have already spoken with each of you individually about this.
“A big show like this—and believe me, this is a big show—doesn’t just happen by you showing up for a few rehearsals. Each of you needs to show up for every rehearsal, unless you’re on your deathbed. And that doesn’t go just for the cast but also for the technical crew. The sound and lighting and props people will be joining us in the coming weeks.
“My point is, it’s a huge team effort. And not one of you here—including the leads—is more important than the team. Is everybody clear on that?”
Everybody nodded in unison.
The first rehearsal was pretty routine, even for a theater rookie like me. We each got a copy of the script and were told to review it silently and highlight our lines and stage cues. Although I had never been part of a show like this before, it all made sense.
We broke into working groups. Since I was Dodger, I was placed in a group with Lukas. He had landed the part of Fagin, the lovable old criminal who shepherds a band of orphan pickpockets in London. If there was another role that really appealed to me in Oliver! it was Fagin. But I was happy for Lukas. I knew he’d be terrific.
Ms. Lawson had us run through our dialogue in certain scenes. From the moment he first read, it was obvious that Lukas had already done plenty of work on his character. Gone was soft-spoken quiet Luke. In his place was jovial, conniving, funny Fagin. I had to marvel at Luke. The kid could really act.
“Good,” Ms. Lawson said. “For the next two months, you all must make sure that Oliver! is your number one commitment outside schoolwork. Is everybody ready to do that?”
Again, most heads nodded. Except for mine. Was the musical bigger than basketball for me? Bigger than Jenna? I was excited about being part of it, but I couldn’t quite go that far.
chapter seven
Friday afternoon couldn’t come soon enough for me. But it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting the school week to end. Despite the problems with Coach Williams and Ben Stillman, I was excited about my first season of senior high basketball.
The game against Davidson didn’t tip off until seven pm. We didn’t have to be in the locker room until six, so most of the guys headed home for a few hours. Not me. I had to report to the theater to help the students who were beginning to prepare the sets.
As I approached the theater, I saw Lukas hanging out with some of the other kids in the cast. I waved
at him. “What’s up, Kyle?” Luke smiled as he spoke.
“I’m pumped,” I replied, glancing at Lukas, who was sitting with Brad Schmidt and Ollie Jacobs. They had landed roles as members of Fagin’s gang. Brad and Ollie were skateboarders, with lip-piercings that looked painful. Brad wore his hair in a Mohawk, dyed red on one side and green on the other.
“Pumped for what?” Ollie said with a dry grin. “It’s just set design, man. No biggie.”
“For the game,” I replied. “We got Davidson tonight. It’s the start of the season.”
Brad and Ollie responded with blank expressions. It was pretty easy to tell that neither was a basketball fan. “You must be excited,” Luke said, turning to the others. “Kyle is an awesome basketball player.”
“Uhh, cool,” Brad said. “Good luck with that.”
Their reaction was different from most of the kids I hung out with. My friends knew all about the basketball team.
“So what do we do here?” I asked, looking around the theater.
“Ms. Lawson wants us to go into the art room and pull out those big lengths of backdrop board,” Luke said. “We’re just hired muscle for today.”
I laughed. That was funny, coming from Luke, who was five-foot-nothing and about 120 pounds. I grinned. “Let’s do it, then.”
It took us about half an hour to lug all the supplies out of the art room and onto the stage. I was surprised by how strong Luke was. By the time we were finished, there were about twenty kids milling about, preparing paints, brushes and other supplies. Ms. Lawson had arrived as well and was dividing the set-makers into working groups.
“By the time you guys see these again, you’ll swear you’re in the heart of London,” she said.
I sat a few rows back in the theater, eating an apple and a granola bar while I watched the set crew go to work. They started by drawing the outlines of buildings on the blank backdrops. Then they penciled in features such as bricks, sloped rooftops and cobblestones. Then, section by section, they began painting the backdrops. I had never realized how much work went into a theater production before it finally hit the stage. I just took it for granted there would be sets and costumes. I never thought about where they came from. It must be the same for somebody who just showed up to watch a basketball game too. They probably had no idea about the hours of practice that went into it before you ever even tried on a uniform.
