Stage Fright

by Meg Cabot

I wasn’t in the best of moods, either, but not because of Requiem for a Somnambulist being bad. I was nervous about my audition. Now that I was actually about to face them, I wasn’t so confident anymore about how my friends were going to act when they found out I was auditioning for the part of Princess Penelope. It was one thing to tell yourself you were going to do something at night before you fell asleep.

  It was another thing to wake up the next morning and actually go about doing it.

  I had to tell Kevin and Mark not to say anything to Erica when she came to the door. About me wanting to play Princess Penelope, I mean. I said I was going to tell her and Caroline and Sophie in my own time.

  Mark told me he wouldn’t say anything if I gave him my dessert at lunch, which was totally unfair since I hadn’t told on him about the football-in-the-house thing—but I agreed. Kevin said he wouldn’t tell, period, which was nice of him, except that I knew he was just saying that so I’d keep on walking him to school, because if I refused, Mom or Dad or Mark would have to walk him, and he wouldn’t have nearly as much fun as he does with me, since my friends fight over who gets to hold his hands (for some reason, they find him cute).

  Although today, Caroline, Sophie, and Erica were all too nervous about the audition to remember to argue over who got the privilege of holding on to Kevin’s sweaty fingers. Erica was still reading her script as she came up to our front porch to ring the bell.

  “Oh, Allie,” she said when I got to the door. “This is going to be harder than I thought it was! The fairy godmother has so many lines! How will I ever remember that plastic bags are all made from polyethylene, which may take as long as five hundred years to degrade, and only one out of every five plastic bags is ever recycled?”

  “You don’t have to remember all that today,” I reminded her. “You can just read from the script during the audition. Mrs. Hunter didn’t say anything about us having to memorize the part by today.”

  “Yes,” Erica said, “I know. But if I get the part, I’ll have to remember all the lines someday. And how am I going to do that?”

  “I know all the songs in Annie by heart,” Kevin volunteered as we made our way to the stop sign, where I could see Sophie and Caroline waiting for us. “Just because I’ve sung them so many times.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Practice makes perfect.” That’s a rule.

  “Are you ready for the audition?” Erica asked Sophie and Caroline as soon as we’d gotten close enough to speak.

  “No. I’m so nervous,” Sophie said. She held out her hand. “Look at my fingers. They’re shaking so much, my mom thought there might be something wrong with me and she wanted to take me to the doctor instead of letting me go to school today.”

  It was true. Sophie’s fingers were shaking a lot. I felt worse than ever about trying out for the part of Penelope.

  Then I remembered what Uncle Jay had said—that there was a chance Mrs. Hunter might have envisioned me, or even Cheyenne, instead of Sophie, in the role, and there was no guarantee she’d even get the part, anyway—and I made myself calm down.

  “As long as Cheyenne doesn’t get it,” I said. “Right?” Everyone agreed.

  “Seriously,” Caroline said, “I can barely put up with her under normal circumstances. But her getting the lead in the class play? And the part of a princess? No way! Rosemary was right. We have to keep Her Royal Brattiness from getting it!”

  “We all have to really try to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said. I didn’t mention that I was going to try to make sure that didn’t happen by going out for the part myself, though.

  “Totally,” Sophie said.

  “Definitely,” Erica said.

  “Good idea,” Kevin said, even though no one was talking to him.

  Mrs. Hunter was holding the auditions in the school auditorium during the time we normally had art class. Waiting so long—art class wasn’t until after morning recess, during which time we had to endure Cheyenne going on and on about how sure she was that she was going to get the part, because she’s had so much experience and has such long hair and is so princesslike—was murder.

  “The thing is,” Cheyenne was telling everyone at recess, “back in Canada, I was actually the lead in all my school plays. I played Anne in our school’s production of Anne of Green Gables. And Helen Keller in our school’s production of The Miracle Worker. So I really deserve the part of Princess Penelope, because I’ve been the lead in so many plays before. I brought my head shot and résumé in to show Mrs. Hunter. I guess none of you brought head shots and résumés, did you?”

  “Well,” Caroline said, “maybe not. But everyone knows Sophie looks the most like a princess out of all the girls in our entire school.”

  Cheyenne just glanced over at M and D and started laughing at that.

  “Sure she does,” Cheyenne said. “Anything you say, Caroline.”

  Really, I know it’s wrong to hate people, like Mark said. But it’s kind of hard not to hate Cheyenne.

  When it came time for the auditions, Mrs. Hunter made our class line up. Then she led us down to the auditorium (which is also the gym and the cafeteria. Pine Heights Elementary is way old-fashioned). Once we’d sat down (on the gym floor, where it was sometimes possible to find an old squashed French fry the custodial arts manager, Mr. Elkhart, had missed), each kid was allowed to go up onstage and read from the part he or she wanted to play. This made the audition time very short for kids like Stuart Maxwell who just wanted to play one of the evil queen’s soldiers. I mean, he just went marching across the stage and said, “Yes, Your Majesty! The pollution ray is ready!” That was the soldier’s only line.

  Which was fine with Stuart, because he didn’t want to spend time memorizing lines. He just wanted to carry a spear, use it to threaten to kill Princess Penelope, and look cool on the night of our class open house. I know this because Stuart Maxwell told me so himself.

  But as it turned out, every single girl in our class with the exception of Rosemary, who wanted to play a soldier, too (and Erica, who wanted to play the fairy godmother, and Caroline, who wanted to play the unicorn), longed to play Princess Penelope.

  We figured that out as we were sitting on the floor, waiting for our turn to go up onstage, and girl after girl went up and read the same part—Princess Penelope’s speech to her stepmother about the importance of recycling, and how if we’re going to preserve the planet for future generations, we’ve got to leave it a cleaner place than we found it. After which Princess Penelope nobly gives herself up to save the planet from being destroyed by the evil queen’s pollution ray (but the princess’s fairy godmother makes everything okay by weaving a spell of protective reusable cloth shopping bags around Penelope and the Realm of Recycling. Then the evil queen’s pollution ray bounces off it and ends up hitting her in the chest and striking her down dead).

  Sophie, Caroline, Erica, Rosemary, and I sat next to one another during the auditions, and we clapped really loud for each girl as she tried out, even though, to tell the truth, most of them really, really stank.

  I don’t mean to sound rude, but they just really did.

  “She’s not putting any feeling into it,” Sophie whispered about Marianne’s performance.

  And it was true. Marianne was reading Penelope’s lines from the script like a robot.

  “Maybe she’s just nervous,” Erica, always trying to see the bright side of things, whispered.

  “We’re all nervous,” Sophie whispered.

  “I’m not nervous,” Rosemary said.

  “She means most of us are nervous,” Caroline whispered. “But we know not to sound like robots.”

  Dominique went next. She didn’t sound like a robot, but she wasn’t any good, either. She read through Princess Penelope’s lines so fast, you could hardly understand what she was saying.

  “Thank you, Dominique,” Mrs. Hunter said.

  “That was terrible,” Sophie whispered when Dominique sat back down.

  “It
really was.” We all had to agree.

  “Sophie Abramowitz?” Mrs. Hunter said.

  It was Sophie’s turn.

  She let out a little gasp. We each grabbed one of her hands for support and squeezed. Her hands were very sweaty. Then she let go, picked up her script, and hurried up onto the stage.

  If Sophie was nervous, you couldn’t tell by the way she read. She didn’t go too fast, and she put a lot of feeling into it. She did a totally perfect Penelope. If I were Mrs. Hunter, I’d give her the part. Not only did Sophie look pretty, with her curly hair and dark eyes, but she sounded good, too. When she begged the evil queen (played by Mrs. Hunter, sitting out in the audience) to consider recycling for the good of future generations, you could really hear the sympathy for the fairy folk in her voice.

  I only hoped that when it was my turn, I could do as good a job as Sophie.

  “Thank you, Sophie,” Mrs. Hunter said when she was done.

  “That was amazing,” we all said when Sophie returned.

  “Do you really think so?” Sophie asked. “I was so nervous. I stumbled over a lot of the words.”

  “You couldn’t tell at all,” Erica said, and for once she wasn’t just being nice. You really couldn’t tell.

  “Cheyenne O’Malley?” Mrs. Hunter said, and it was Cheyenne’s turn to go up and read.

  “Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said, stopping in front of Mrs. Hunter on her way to the stage. “I’ll be reading for the part of Princess Penelope today. And here’s my résumé and head shot.”

  We started giggling then. We couldn’t help it. A résumé?

  “Why, thank you, Cheyenne,” Mrs. Hunter said, taking the photo and paper Cheyenne gave her.

  Then Cheyenne climbed up onto the stage. “May I begin?” she asked.

  “You may,” Mrs. Hunter said.

  And Cheyenne began.

  We stopped giggling then. Because Cheyenne seemed so professional. Also, we wanted to see how good she was in comparison to Sophie. The truth was, I suspected Cheyenne would be good, because she’d been bragging to everyone about how much she’d practiced.

  But I didn’t expect her to be as good as she was. Which was very, very good. If I had thought I could hear Sophie’s voice throb with sympathy for the fairy folk, well, Cheyenne was crying for the fairy folk. With real tears!

  I couldn’t believe it. I’d never seen anyone cry onstage like that. Unless, like, a hammer had accidentally fallen on their toe or something.

  “Somebody has to bring that girl down,” Rosemary said. “Or when I get the part of the evil soldier, I’m going to kill her for real.”

  “Shhh.” Sophie shushed us. “I’m watching.”

  “What for?” Rosemary asked. “She’s terrible!”

  “No,” Sophie whispered, looking worried. “She’s really, really good!”

  I thought Cheyenne was good, too. She was so dramatic, everyone in the whole gym was watching her with his or her mouth hanging open, even Patrick Day, who’d sneaked in his Nintendo DS. But for the few minutes while Cheyenne was acting, he didn’t seem to care what happened to Super Mario.

  It seemed impossible to imagine anyone could act better than Cheyenne O’Malley. Except possibly Miley Cyrus.

  When she was done with the scene, Cheyenne curtsied the way a real princess would, then wiped the tears from her cheeks. There was stunned silence for a moment.

  Then everyone clapped like crazy.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Sophie said as she clapped. She wasn’t smiling or anything. It was like she didn’t want to clap, but she had to. At least, that’s how I felt. “Oh, my goodness, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You’re going to be sick?” Rosemary said as she clapped. “How do you think I feel? We can’t let her get the part.”

  “What are we going to do to stop it from happening?” Caroline asked. Her clapping was hiding how disgusted her voice sounded. “I mean—she can cry on cue. I’m surprised she doesn’t have her own TV show.”

  “Allie Finkle?” Mrs. Hunter called my name over the sound of everyone’s clapping.

  I swallowed. Hard.

  “Well,” I said, blowing some hair up out of my face. “I guess it’s up to me.”

  Sophie, Caroline, and Erica stared at me as I got up. They’d all stopped clapping.

  “Wait,” Sophie said. “You’re going for the part of Penelope?”

  “I guess I have to,” I said. “We have to beat Cheyenne, right? And the more people who try, the better. Right?” That was the strategy I’d decided to tell them I was going for, in hopes they’d understand why I was auditioning for the part of Princess Penelope and not be mad at me. It had sort of occurred to me as Cheyenne had been doing her crying bit.

  And the amazing thing was, it seemed to work!

  “Don’t be better than me!” Sophie cried.

  “I won’t,” I assured her. “I’ll just be better than Cheyenne.” Only I was lying, of course. I fully intended to be better than both of them. If I could.

  Did that make me a bad friend? I hoped not! But it was like Uncle Jay said: May the best woman win!

  “Go, Allie,” Erica said. “You can do it!”

  The walk up to the stage seemed like the longest walk in the world. Why hadn’t I noticed how far it was from the gym floor to the stage? On my way there, I passed Cheyenne. She made a face at me, a sort of Go ahead and try to beat me face.

  Well, guess what? I was going to.

  There was just one problem. My fingers were shaking even more than Sophie’s had been earlier by the stop sign. I could barely hold on to the script, my fingers were trembling so hard.

  Only, what did I have to be so nervous about? I was going to beat Cheyenne, that was all.

  And I was going to do it by not making Princess Penelope a big crybaby. I was going to make her be exactly the way I’d rehearsed her last night with Uncle Jay—a cool girl who saves the Realm of Recycling. And who eats Count Chocula for breakfast.

  By the time I’d climbed all the way to the stage, walked out into the middle of it, and turned to face everyone, I felt like I wasn’t Allie Finkle anymore. I was Princess Penelope. I was going to fight for my father’s throne, for a reduction in carbon emissions, and for all the creatures who lived in the Realm of Recycling. I’d forgotten all about Cheyenne. Even though I could see her laughing and whispering with her friends.

  But that didn’t matter. Because I was a princess. What did I care about a silly fourth-grade girl and her head shot and résumé?

  Instead, I looked down at Mrs. Hunter’s script and began to read my lines in a clear, strong voice, making sure to project—not project, but project, as in project my voice, which was something Uncle Jay had told me about. It means making sure your voice carries all the way to the back of the room, so even people in the last row of the theater can hear you. I was pretty sure I could do it because I’d never had a problem with being loud before. In fact, I’d had a problem with Mrs. Harrington, Erica’s mom, asking if I could lower my voice a little when we played dollhouse at Erica’s and I got a little too dramatic. I could be even louder than Cheyenne if I wanted to. I could be louder than anyone.

  I knew my portrayal of Princess Penelope was working—and that I was projecting all right—because everyone from Room 209 was staring up at me with their mouths hanging open just as hard as they’d been staring up at Cheyenne. Patrick Day had stopped playing Super Mario Brothers again, and even Cheyenne and Marianne and Dominique had stopped whispering. I said my lines exactly the way Uncle Jay and I had rehearsed them, giving them a lot of emotion and depth. The only real problem occurred at one point when I thought I heard Mrs. Hunter laugh.

  But why would she laugh when the part I was reading was from a totally serious scene of the play? Uncle Jay had not laughed once when I was doing it. And I had done it for him five or six times.

  So, probably I had misheard her.

  When I was done, there was a moment of silence. Then, just like with C
heyenne, everyone started clapping. Everyone. Even Lenny Hsu.

  And Lenny hates everything. Except dinosaurs.

  That’s when I discovered something: There is something totally great about hearing people clap for you. It’s even better than Count Chocula cereal. It’s even better than being called a joy to have in the classroom by your favorite teacher of all time.

  I sort of wondered if it would be cooler than saving the lives of little baby animals, the way a veterinarian does.

  When I got to where my friends were sitting, Erica was the first one to grab me by the hand.

  “Oh, my gosh, Allie,” she cried. “You were so good! I had no idea you were such a good actress!”

  “Thanks,” I said, letting her pull me down next to her. I was glad she had liked my performance, but I couldn’t help looking over at Sophie. She was smiling, too, along with Caroline and Rosemary. But there seemed to be a slightly worried expression on her face.

  “You were really great,” Caroline said.

  “Much better than Cheyenne,” Rosemary said. “You blew her out of the water.”

  “Thanks,” I said again. “My uncle Jay helped me rehearse. It turns out he used to be a theater major.”

  I turned toward Sophie, who I noticed hadn’t said anything. I was getting more nervous than ever that she might be mad.

  And the only way to handle that, I knew, was to say something about it. It’s always better to have things out in the open than to let them fester. That’s a rule.

  “You aren’t mad at me for trying out for Princess Penelope, are you, Sophie?” I asked. “The last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship. But when I got home last night and read the script all the way through, I thought I might like to try for the part. But you were so good, I know you’re going to get it, anyway.”

  …and the best way to keep a person from getting mad at you is to compliment them. Even if you don’t think it’s true. This is a rule.

  It totally worked on Sophie. She smiled, all the worry gone from her face, and said, “Oh, no, Allie, I’m not mad. I understand. You just did it to make Cheyenne’s performance look even worse. Which you did. And besides, I’m not going to get the part. You are.”