“You three and Derek,” said Stefan, getting up. “Call me tonight and we’ll figure out a script.”
“What—wait a minute!” I grabbed for his shirttail. “Who else?”
Stefan looked from me to Bree and Suresh.
“Sunny, were you watching those kids?” he asked in a low voice. “They will not make you look good in front of an agent.”
“They couldn’t have all been that bad.” I scanned the evaluation forms but nobody scored higher than six out of ten. “What about Alison Brown?”
“She grunted after every line,” said Stefan. “I thought she was going to drop a kidney onstage.”
“But you gave her a six,” I said.
Stefan shrugged. “She complimented my hair.”
I sighed and kept looking, but every candidate had some obvious flaw . . . like Ilana had said. “I guess . . . maybe you’re right. They’re not really star material.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Stefan nudged me as he slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. “This works out better for you.” He waved and headed for the exit.
I turned to Bree and Suresh with a half smile. “Welcome to our four-person show,” I said.
“Sunny,” Bree began, but then another voice spoke my name from the doorway.
“Sunny?” A heavyset girl with curly dark hair poked her head in. Anne Marie.
“Hey, Anne Marie, what’s up?” I stood the papers on end and banged them against a chair to straighten them.
She glanced nervously at Bree and Suresh before coming forward. “Are you still holding auditions for your show?”
“Well, they’re officially over.” I gestured to the stage. “But you can go for it if you want.”
With a grateful smile, she climbed the steps and smoothed down her skirt.
“I’ll be doing a piece from Stardust,” she said.
And as the words rolled off her tongue, she transformed into Yvaine, the fallen star. Her voice was mesmerizing and there was no shortage of emotion in her words. When she finished, I was sad it had to end.
“Well?” she bounced up on her toes, hands clasped in front of her chest. “What do you think?”
“Honestly,” I said, “I’m surprised you’re not the lead in Mary Pops In instead of Sara.”
Anne Marie beamed and blushed. “Well, Ilana told me I didn’t fit the part.” Her blush deepened. “I think she meant it literally.” Anne Marie’s hands outlined her round figure and settled on her stomach.
My eyes narrowed. Ilana’s cruel judgment was why I’d held the auditions in the first place. I couldn’t be like her. I wouldn’t be like her.
“Ilana’s an idiot,” I said. “You’re talented and everyone should see it. Welcome aboard.”
Anne Marie’s eyes outshone the stage lights. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” She bounded off the stage and shook my hand. “When do we start rehearsals?”
“Uh . . . tomorrow afternoon,” I said, walking her to the exit. “And . . . don’t mention this to anyone yet.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I looked into the hall and saw every person who auditioned standing there.
“Crap,” I muttered.
Derek was the first to step forward.
“I’m sorry about my audition,” he said. “I promise stuff like that won’t happen if I’m in the play.”
Cole, the boy with the stutter, joined Derek. “M-my mmmom says acting helps m-my speech.”
“I really want this!” shouted Max.
Soon, everyone was talking at once, and I could see in all their faces how badly they wanted to be on that stage.
That afternoon when I posted who’d gotten into my mystery show, I didn’t add a few of their names.
I added all of them.
EIGHT
YOU’D THINK SUCH A GOOD deed could only be met with cheers and offers of Chocolate Monkey muffins, but once the news was shouted through the halls, I found myself face-to-face with an angry Ilana.
“You cannot let those kids in your show,” she said.
It was the end of school and I was putting books in my locker.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t think Your Highness rules this section of the land.”
Ilana blocked my locker with her hand. “I’m serious, Sunny. You’re affecting Mary Pops In with this.”
“How?” I asked with a snort. “Are the cardboard chimneys getting dirty without the sweeps? No villagers feeding the imaginary pigeons?”
Ilana shook her head emphatically. “Ms. Elliott wants to make both performances into a showcase, with Mary Pops In as the closing act. If your . . . freak show”—she scowled—“goes first, it could blow everything.”
“That is a problem,” I said, reaching into my locker. “But I think you’ve got bigger worries.”
Ilana blinked in confusion. “Like what?”
I held out a pencil. “Like deciding which nostril you want this lodged in.”
Ilana’s face darkened. “Listen here . . .”
“No, you listen.” I waved the pencil at her. “I get that you have diva issues no amount of red carpet can fix,” I said, “but if you ever, ever call my cast freaks again, you will thoroughly regret it.”
Even though she looked a little scared, Ilana crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. “You can threaten me all you want, but I won’t let you ruin Mary Pops In.”
“Why do you even care?” I asked in exasperation. “It’s not like you’re in the show.”
Ilana smirked. “No. Of course not,” she said, sauntering away. “Have a good night, Sunny. I’m off to rehearsal.”
I watched her go with a curious stare. The only reason she’d be at rehearsals was if she was in the show. But that couldn’t happen unless . . .
I slammed my locker shut and hurried to Chase’s. He was still there, hanging with friends before rehearsal. When he saw me, he offered a tentative smile.
“Hey, S—”
“Ilana,” I cut him off. “Is she in the show?”
His very wise friends decided this was the time to leave.
“Good luck, bro,” one of them said.
“She is, isn’t she?” I asked.
My stomach lurched into my throat, and Chase reached for my arm, squeezing it.
“I wasn’t sure how to tell you,” he said. “Sara’s dad got orders to transfer, so they’re moving in a few months. Ms. Elliott took her out and replaced her with Ilana.”
I swallowed hard. “Which means Ilana gets to be Mary Poppins, the part she wanted all along.”
Chase held up a hand. “Don’t read too much into this.”
I gave him a disgusted look. “Ilana volunteers for the selection committee and just happens to get the understudy role for Mary Poppins who just happens to be moving in a few months. And I’m not supposed to read anything into it?”
“Sunny . . .”
I jerked my arm out of his hand. “And why are you defending her, anyway? Is she your girlfriend now?”
“What?” Chase blinked and recoiled in confusion. I couldn’t blame him. I had no idea where that jealousy came from.
“I mean . . .” I struggled for words. “I don’t care. I just thought you’d have better taste.”
Chase’s neck and face colored to match his hair. “Says the girl holding hands with the school bully.”
“Holding ha—?” I scowled. “We were making a pinky swear, Chase!”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never done that with any of your other guy friends,” he shot back.
“Fine.” I grabbed his wrist and hooked his pinky with mine. “I swear you are getting on my nerves!”
I wrestled my pinky free and turned away, but Chase took my hand.
“Sunny, wait. I don’t want to fight anymore,” he said. “We’re supposed to be best friends.”
I regarded him silently, taking in the hopeful smile he offered, and let out a deep sigh.
“You’re right,” I said, turning toward him. His han
d was still on mine, and when I moved, my fingers accidentally slipped between his.
We were holding hands. It was only a matter of time before he realized it too, and freaked out.
“Uh . . .” I quickly let go and clutched my hands behind my back. “So, truce?”
“Truce,” he said. “And I’m sorry for being harsh last night. It’s cool that you got your own show. You’ll make it awesome, I know it.”
I forgot all about being embarrassed. “Awww . . . really?”
“Yes, really,” he said, stepping closer.
I wanted to tell him about my mom and the agent, but my brain was turning to mush. Chase and I had stood shoulder to shoulder plenty of times but never face-to-face. My stomach was an Olympic gymnast, flipping and jumping and twirling little ribbons.
Chase was near enough now that I could see all the details of his nose and cheeks.
“You’ve got more freckles than usual,” I said, touching one.
The muscles of his cheek moved under my fingers as he smiled even wider. “You’ve been counting? It’s from all the sun at baseball practice.”
“You should tell your dad that sensible young men wear sunscreen,” I said in mock seriousness.
“Ha ha.” Chase squeezed my fingers. “Look, sorry to give bad news and run, but I need to get to rehearsal. Can we talk later?”
I nodded. “Have fun with your . . . uh . . . girlfriend,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
Chase laughed. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said.
“Whatever,” I said with a casual shrug. “Kiss her, don’t kiss her . . .” I paused. “Don’t kiss her.”
He laughed again. “Good-bye, Sunny.”
We parted ways, and I headed back to my locker. Despite the bad news of Ilana as Mary Poppins, making up with Chase made me feel worlds better. He was right—my show was going to be awesome, and by the end of it, I’d have an agent!
BREE HAD PROMISED to meet me at my house after school, but when I rounded the block I saw both her and Stefan waiting on the porch. Since I’d gone against his advice and accepted everyone, I steeled myself for what was coming.
“Sunny!” Bree hurried down the sidewalk to meet me. “We’ve got great news.”
I looked at Stefan, who was smiling just as widely.
“Both of you?” I asked warily. “If this is a trap, I know martial arts.”
“Oh, Sunny.” Stefan guided me onto the porch. “I’ve seen you try to kick a soccer ball and miss. You don’t have the skill for martial arts.”
“Fine,” I said. “But you’re not mad about auditions?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t thrilled when I heard your decision, but I know you’ve got the best intentions. And I can’t argue with a good deed.”
I could practically feel the halo encircling my head.
“Well,” I said demurely, “I do what I can for the little people.”
Stefan rolled his eyes. “All right, Saint Sunny. Let’s talk about your production.”
Bree stepped forward with something hidden behind her back. “We thought we could do a play that shows people you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
My eyes widened. “I love that idea! What play?”
Bree and Stefan grinned at each other, and she whipped out the book. “Ta-da!”
“Ohhh. Neat,” I said, my enthusiasm waning.
There was no way I couldn’t judge this book by its cover. It had a pig on it.
Bree’s face fell. “You don’t like it.”
I took the book from her. “No, no! I love Charlotte’s Web. I was just hoping for something more . . . glamorous than precooked bacon.”
“You don’t have to be Wilbur,” tried Stefan. “You could be Charlotte.”
“The spider? I can’t spin a web with my butt.” I held up a finger. “But it would be an awesome skill for my bio.”
Bree held up a script. “How about Willy Wonka?”
“How about diabetes?” I countered. “That’s what we’ll get from eating so much candy.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Bree’s face, and Stefan put a hand on her shoulder.
“Sunny, clearly you have something specific in mind.”
He was right. I needed the agent to see the show and think “star material,” not “meat is murder.”
Bree held out a couple other scripts and books, but they weren’t quite right. Too sad, too silly . . . one of them required me to saw a lady in half.
And then I found it.
The book had two women on the front cover. The one on the left wore a smirk on her green face as the one on the right whispered into her ear. Across the top of the book was the title “Wicked.”
I gasped and held it up. “This is perfect!”
Wicked was the story of Elphaba, who later became Oz’s Wicked Witch of the West, and her misunderstood school years with Galinda (aka Glinda), Good Witch of the North.
A show about a green-skinned girl facing prejudices mirrored what I was going through, what we were all going through, with Ilana. And even better, it was famous in the theater community.
I beamed at Stefan and Bree. “What do you think?”
Bree shuffled back and forth, as if she wanted to be excited but couldn’t quite get there. “It’s kind of long, isn’t it?”
“We could trim it down,” said Stefan, staring at the cover. “I’m sure the script is online somewhere.” He glanced at me. “And for casting . . .”
“I’m Elphaba!” I raised my hand like I was in school.
“Wrong,” he said. “You’re Galinda.”
I lowered my arm. “But . . . Elphaba’s more like me.”
“Then you’re missing the point,” said Stefan.
I frowned. “Huh?”
“Ilana says your looks don’t match a famous character,” said Stefan. “You need to prove that you can be the bubbly blond Galinda just the same as any white girl.”
I grabbed him by the arm. “Of course!”
Bree finally clapped, startling Stefan and me. “Let’s do this!”
We hurried upstairs to print out the script and spent the next couple hours arguing and assigning every role. Anne Marie had the voice and presence to play Elphaba, Suresh had the attitude for Fiyero, the lead male, Bree would make a good Nessa (Elphaba’s sister) and Derek could be Boq, a supporting male.
The remaining people ended up with smaller roles, but I knew they wouldn’t mind. They’d get more speaking parts and stage time than they’d ever had before.
“I can’t wait for rehearsals!” I said as we assigned the last part. “Don’t forget, we start tomorrow.”
Stefan smiled apologetically. “I’d love to, but I’ve got my own performance.” He slung his bag over one shoulder. “We had Pride and Prejudice tryouts, and I’m Mr. Darcy.”
I clapped a hand to my forehead. “I forgot you were auditioning too! Congratulations!” I hugged him, partly because I was happy but also because I didn’t want him to see the worried look on my face.
With Stefan in the lead role of his play, he wouldn’t have time to help with mine. I’d heard horror stories from Ilana about the rigorous schedule CAA kept, and I knew that with only six weeks, my time was even shorter.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Finish cutting the script tonight, make copies, and distribute them tomorrow for a table read. Have everyone study over the weekend.”
I felt like I should be taking notes. I’d never been through an entire show because extras weren’t brought in until a week before opening night.
“And then?” I asked.
“And then Monday you take the stage,” said Stefan.
THE NEXT MORNING I tracked down the cast members and handed them copies of the script with their parts highlighted. As each person saw their copy I got to share in their excitement, which was fun . . . at first.
“We’re doing Wicked?” Wendy threw her arms open. “Brilliant!”
“Awesome!” shouted Max.
“Perfect!” said Anne Marie when I found her at lunch.
By the time I reached Derek, who was stirring pudding with a fish stick, the thrill had worn off.
“Here.” I thrust the script at him. “We’re doing Wicked. And before you say anything, I already know it’s brilliant, awesome, perfect, great, and neato mosquito.”
Derek glanced at the script. “You forgot one,” he said. “It’s also . . . wicked.” He raised an eyebrow and I couldn’t help smiling.
“We’re having our table read in Blakely this afternoon,” I said. “Right after school.”
“I’ll be there,” said Derek, shoving the fish stick in his mouth so he could flip through the script.
Ammo, who had been sitting beside him, frowned. “I thought you and I were gonna put open cans of tuna in the air ducts after school,” he told his brother.
“You can’t do that on your own?” I asked. “Or . . . not at all?”
“Mind your own business,” said Ammo, pointing at me. Then, to Derek, “I need you to hoist me into the ceiling.”
“I can do it before the table reading,” said Derek. “But I can’t get you back down. You’ll be stuck there.”
“At least you’ll be at the top of the class,” I joked.
Ammo used his fingers to pull his eyes into tight Asian slants. “Aw haw haw! You funny!” he said.
I stared at him, too shocked for a comeback.
“Stop it,” Derek said, knocking Ammo’s hands down. To me, he said, “Sorry. I’ll see you at the reading.”
I nodded and turned away as quickly as I could to hide the warmth spreading in my cheeks.
The fact that people noticed I was Asian wasn’t news to me. As far back as kindergarten, I’d been asked about my family and our background. I’d even seen people pull their eyes into slants before, but that was little kids who didn’t know any better. Granted, Ammo was a flatulent idiot, but he was a year from high school, so he definitely knew right from wrong.
Even though I tried to shake the thought, it stuck with me. Who else saw me as different because I was Asian? Or Suresh because he was Indian? Or even Anne Marie because she was overweight? It was as if all this time we’d been merely tolerated, not accepted. And that bothered me. It wasn’t just Ilana that my “freak” show would be speaking to, I realized. It was the whole school.
D Is for Drama Page 6
