Stage Fright

by Meg Cabot

  “Good luck, honey,” Mom said, bending down to kiss me.

  “Never say ‘good luck’ to a performer,” Uncle Jay said. “Always say ‘break a leg.’” He shook my hand. “Break a leg, kiddo.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I said to him. Why would he want me to break a leg? That sounded awful. Theater people are just weird.

  Then I turned and ran upstairs to Room 209…

  …which was in chaos. Everyone who didn’t already have their costume on was trying to get into one, while everyone who did have their costume on was running around, going over their lines, or, as in the case of Patrick Day and Stuart Maxwell, having a cardboard sword fight.

  And in the middle of it all, I saw Sophie and Cheyenne standing in front of Mrs. Hunter, both with tears in their eyes.

  Uh-oh.

  I spotted Caroline and Erica standing nearby, already in costume, and hurried over to them.

  “What’s going on?” I asked them, nodding my head toward Cheyenne and Sophie.

  “Sophie told Mrs. Hunter she was sorry for what she’d done and wanted to come back and be in the play,” Erica said breathlessly. “And that she’d apologized to you, and we said we all witnessed it. Then Sophie asked Mrs. Hunter if she could have her part back. But Cheyenne overheard, and came rushing over, and said she won’t give up the part of Princess Penelope!”

  “Oh, no!” I bit my lip. This was awful! I knew it was up to me to make things right. Somehow.

  I dashed over to the little cluster by the chalkboard. “Mrs. Hunter,” I said. “It’s true. Sophie apologized to me. And I’ve forgiven her. We’re friends again. Please let Sophie back into the play.”

  Mrs. Hunter looked down at me as I stood there. I’d reached for Sophie’s hand, because I’d noticed that she had tears in her eyes and seemed as close to fainting as I’d ever seen her (Sophie is a bit of a dramatic fainter). She didn’t say anything, but I could read the Thank-you in her eyes as they gleamed tearfully back at me. As chaotic as Room 209 had been before, it now got very quiet. You could have heard Mrs. Danielson’s class putting on their boring presentation downstairs, that’s how quiet it was: And in olden times, they didn’t have things like nice, sanitary water fountains. Everyone shared the same dipper from the same old-timey well.

  “Mrs. Hunter,” Cheyenne said, interrupting the silence, “you said I could have the part of Princess Penelope!”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Hunter said. “But that was when Sophie wasn’t feeling well. She’s obviously better now, and she’s apologized to Allie. We agreed if she did that, she could come back to the play. Remember, Cheyenne?”

  Cheyenne’s eyes got very narrow as she glared at Mrs. Hunter. I could tell she was getting ready to say Shut up, just like she had to her mother that day in the mall.

  Only Cheyenne didn’t dare say shut up to Mrs. Hunter. No one would ever say shut up to Mrs. Hunter. Not if they wanted to live to see tomorrow. That’s a rule.

  “That’s not fair,” Cheyenne said instead, stamping her foot.

  “Well, you’re not the director of this production,” Mrs. Hunter said, her green eyes beginning to crackle, a dangerous sign that she was getting angry. “Are you, Cheyenne?”

  Cheyenne looked like she was going to argue for a second…but then realized that she wasn’t actually the director of Mrs. Hunter’s play. When this finally sank in, she got a sour look on her face…

  …then stuck her nose in the air and flounced away.

  Mrs. Hunter turned to Sophie and said with a smile, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” Sophie said, her face brightening. She’d finally realized she was going to get to play Princess Penelope after all. “Thank you so much! And again, I’m really, really sorry.”

  “That’s all right, Sophie,” Mrs. Hunter said. “We all have our bad days. Now, you’d better go finish getting ready.”

  “I will, Mrs. Hunter,” Sophie said. She let go of my hand and ran, with a delighted squeal, over to hug Caroline and Erica, who were still waiting anxiously to hear the good news.

  To me, Mrs. Hunter said quietly, “Thank you for being so understanding, Allie. You’ve really been very mature and professional about all of this.”

  I felt myself blushing with pleasure at this unexpected compliment. Professional! Mrs. Hunter thought I’d been a mature professional!

  That was practically like saying next time our class did a play with a princess in it, Mrs. Hunter was going to give the part to me. Wasn’t it?

  “Now, hadn’t you better go put your costume on?” Mrs. Hunter said. “We’re supposed to perform at seven thirty, right after Mrs. Danielson’s class. You’d better hurry.”

  “Right away, Mrs. Hunter,” I said. I hugged my costume to myself. Mature! And professional! Me!

  I took my costume and hurried off to the girls’ room to put it on, not stopping to join the other girls in their little celebration. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d made a special adjustment to Queen Melissa the Maleficent’s look, and I needed extra time to get it just right. No, I hadn’t traded in my red high-tops. It was something else, and it was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to see if anyone noticed. It took a while for me to get it right, though—longer than I thought it would. Caroline, Rosemary, and Erica each came into the girls’ room once to tell me to hurry up.

  Finally, though, I got my costume exactly the way I wanted it. And when I came out, our class was already lining up to go downstairs to perform.

  “Hey, what did you do?” Rosemary whispered when I got in line. “You look different.”

  “Nothing,” I said innocently.

  “No,” Rosemary said. “You did something.”

  “I didn’t,” I whispered. But I was telling a lie. Just a little one. A fib, basically. “Do you think I look good?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Tell me what you did and I’ll tell you if you look good.”

  “Fine,” I said. I pointed to my eyes. “Fake eyelashes.”

  Rosemary stared. “Really? They look real. But bigger.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I borrowed them from my mom.”

  “Cool,” Rosemary said.

  “Girls,” Mrs. Hunter said from the front of the line. “Shhh.”

  So we had to stop talking. Our class went down the stairs to where all the parents were waiting. We could hear them clapping in the gym for the class that had gone ahead of ours…Mrs. Danielson’s presentation on early settlers. I couldn’t believe they were clapping so much for something I personally knew to be so boring.

  “All right, everybody,” Mrs. Hunter said. We were all gathered by the secret door that led to the backstage area, so no one would see us going into the auditorium and setting up the stage behind the curtains for our show. “I want you to do the best you can tonight. Don’t be nervous. Remember, it’s only your families out there, and they love you. You’re going to do great.”

  “Hey,” Sophie said, coming to stand right next to me. “I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry I acted like such a brat. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” I said. I wasn’t lying, either. I guess we can all let things go to our head sometimes. Not everyone can be a mature professional like me.

  “What did you do to your eyes?” Sophie wanted to know.

  “Fake eyelashes,” I whispered.

  “Really?” She looked impressed. “That’s so cool.”

  “Thanks,” I said. So Sophie really had had a major attitude adjustment since Mrs. Hunter had kicked her out of the play, then let her back in.

  “…and most of all,” Mrs. Hunter went on, “I want you to break a leg. Got it?”

  “Got it,” we all said. Even though, of course, none of us understood where that crazy expression had come from.

  “Good,” she said, and opened the door to backstage.

  We all went, as quietly as we could, behind the stage, and got our assigned set pieces and put them where they belonged, while out on the stage, M
rs. Jenkins introduced us.

  “And now,” the principal said, “Mrs. Hunter’s fourth-grade class, Room Two Oh Nine, would like to present an original play, Princess Penelope in the Realm of Recycling.”

  We all ran off the stage so that only Sophie was left there, in her spot, to deliver her first line when the curtain opened. Which she did as soon as the spotlight, operated by Mr. Eckhart, hit her.

  If she was nervous, you couldn’t tell. I was sure nervous as I stood in the wings. There were a lot more people out there than there’d been that morning, when we’d been performing for the kindergartners. I could hear them rustling around, moving their legs and their programs, coughing and whispering. I could see some of them, too, though not my family. It was too dark for me to make out individual faces.

  When Sophie said the line that was my cue to come out onstage, I suddenly felt a huge wave of nervousness come over me. What was I doing? I couldn’t do this! I was too scared! What if I messed up and forgot my lines?

  On the other hand…I had practiced so much! I knew all my lines, and everyone else’s, too. I wasn’t going to mess up.

  And if I did, I knew Uncle Jay and my parents would forgive me. Because, like Mrs. Hunter had said, they loved me. Just like I had forgiven Sophie for being such a brat earlier that day.

  And besides, why was I even nervous? Queens don’t get nervous.

  Especially evil queens. And that’s who I was now. Not Allie Finkle, but a very, very evil queen. I just had to remember that.

  So I went out onto the stage, doing my special evil queen walk and talking in my special Queen Melissa the Maleficent voice (which was a mix of Missy and Cheyenne—but mostly Cheyenne, even if she didn’t know it).

  And right away, before I’d even fully delivered my first line, everyone started laughing.

  Just like Kevin had said. Basically, I killed.

  And all my nervousness went away. Acting was really fun! It was great to make people laugh! It was even more fun making grown-ups laugh than kindergartners. For one thing, grown-ups laugh a lot louder and harder than little kids do.

  Also, you barely had to do anything to make adults laugh. It was amazing! I had the place in an uproar in no time. I really wasn’t expecting that. I expected a little laughter, on account of my shoes and socks.

  But not this.

  Maybe it was the eyelashes.

  Or maybe it was relief on the audience’s part that we weren’t doing a presentation on early settlers.

  Or maybe it was just that I was such a mature professional.

  But whatever the reason, the audience seemed to love the play…all of it.

  Even Cheyenne, who didn’t flit around with quite as much abandon as she had that morning. But she definitely put a lot more effort than usual into it.

  And when I’d finished my death scene and lay sprawled across the stage with my red high-tops in the air, struck dead by my own pollution ray…well, we got a huge standing ovation.

  I actually felt a little sorry for all the classes that were going to have to follow ours later in the week. How would they ever top Room 209’s performance?

  After the curtain closed, we all let out a big scream of excitement before Mrs. Hunter herded us back upstairs to our classroom to wait until our parents came to get us.

  “You were so good,” Sophie said as she hugged me.

  “You were better,” I told her.

  “No,” she said. “You were.”

  “Oh, we were all good,” Erica said, hugging both of us. “Even Cheyenne.”

  We all had to agree.

  And because we were still practicing positive reinforcement in the hopes it would make Cheyenne a nicer person, we even told her we thought she’d been good. But she only made a face at us and said, “Um, I know.”

  It was right after that that our families came to find us. All the parents were full of compliments for Mrs. Hunter on the wonderful show. Even Mr. and Mrs. O’Malley, Cheyenne’s mom and dad.

  “I’m so glad you liked it,” Mrs. Hunter said. She didn’t say anything more, like that Cheyenne was a joy to have in the classroom, or that she was a mature professional, like she’d said about me. Because she’d have been lying if she said that about Cheyenne.

  Finally, my own parents came to get me. Mark, Kevin, Uncle Jay, and Harmony were tagging along behind them.

  “You were so great!” Dad said, giving me a congratulatory hug. “Don’t tell any of these other kids,” he whispered in my ear, “but you were the best one.”

  “I definitely want to write about this play,” Harmony said, “for my topical seminar in media and society. It has an intriguing premise.”

  “I knew you had it in you all along, kid,” Uncle Jay said, giving me another handshake when Dad put me down. “You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” I said modestly.

  “Oh, Allie, you were very, very funny,” Mom said. And then her voice trailed off. “Allie…what’s that on your…? Allie! Are you wearing a pair of my false eyelashes?”

  “Yes,” I said. Shoot. I’d forgotten to take them off before she got there. “I didn’t think you’d mind. They’re to make my eyes look bigger onstage. I mean, you wear them on TV, so I thought—”

  “Allie Finkle,” Mom said. “You march into the bathroom and take those off right now. You are too young to be wearing them. And taking something of mine without asking! I’m ashamed of you!”

  I couldn’t believe she was yelling at me in front of everybody.

  But I guess I did kind of deserve it. One of the rules in our house is Don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you without asking first.

  Which was why I hadn’t asked, since I’d known she’d say no.

  As I peeled off the eyelashes, I stared at myself thoughtfully in the mirror over the sinks. To think that I, Allie Finkle, had just that evening been in a hit play. And had caused so many people to laugh so hard! It was obvious they’d really enjoyed it. Erica’s dad, Mr. Harrington, had told me I’d been the best part of the whole night, and Erica’s brother, John, had said he’d never seen anything funnier than my death scene in his whole life.

  Even Missy had put down her cell phone long enough to grunt at me and say, “You were okay.”

  Those had to be good things, right?

  It was true that I hadn’t gotten to play the part I’d wanted. I hadn’t gotten famous (yet), or gotten a limo or bodyguards or paparazzi following me around.

  I hadn’t been a sore loser, like Cheyenne, and I hadn’t let my part go to my head, like Sophie.

  But I’d done my best with the part I’d gotten.

  And Uncle Jay said that was the sign of a truly dedicated performer.

  And Mrs. Hunter had said I’d acted like a mature professional.

  What’s more, I’d learned something really important: I like acting. I was feeling really, really good right now (except for the part about Mom’s eyelashes). But about the show, about the nice things people had said to me afterward…and about acting as a career choice in general.

  I wonder how hard it would be to be both an actress and a veterinarian.

  It would be difficult, I bet, to do both.

  But not impossible.

  If anything, this whole thing had proved that nothing is impossible, if you put your mind to it.

  Nothing at all.

  Allie Finkle’s Rules

  Never eat anything red.

  Don’t chew with your mouth open.

  Swallow what’s in your mouth before speaking.

  It’s important to try to make your friends feel good about themselves as often as possible. Then they’ll like you better.

  Popularity isn’t important. Being a kind and thoughtful person is.

  Cheyenne is officially boring.

  There’s no kissing in fourth grade.

  You should always tell people they look nice, even when they don’t. This makes people feel good, so they’ll like you better.

  It’s rude t
o tell someone they’re only going to get something because no one else wants it, not because they earned it.

  Don’t play tackle football in the hallway.

  Don’t slam doors in people’s faces.

  Whenever possible, try to be born into a family with no little brothers.

  May the best man—or woman—win.

  It’s wrong to hate people.

  Practice makes perfect.

  It’s always better to have things out in the open than to let them fester.

  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.

  If you want to get anywhere, you can’t play by the rules.

  Always answer the phone at home, saying, “This is (your name) speaking” to be polite.

  Friends try to make friends feel better.

  Friends don’t try to make friends feel bad on purpose.

  No one likes a sore loser.

  No one likes a sore winner, either.

  It’s important to accept victory modestly. (Then you can celebrate all you want in private, where the losers can’t see you.)

  There are no small parts, only small actors.

  It’s rude to interrupt people.

  If you whine about it, you’ll get sent to your room and also have your TV privileges suspended and maybe also no dessert and possibly also your Nintendo DS taken away for a week.

  Best friends rescue each other when someone’s evil sister has them trapped.

  You can’t make someone with a bad attitude about something change her mind and have a good one.

  It’s okay to lie if the lie makes someone else feel better.

  Make the best of it.

  Treat people the way you yourself would like to be treated.

  When you know the right thing to do, you have to do it.

  No one would ever say shut up to Mrs. Hunter. Not if they wanted to live to see tomorrow.

  Don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you without asking first.

  Nothing is impossible, if you put your mind to it. Nothing at all.

  Teaser Chapter

  Allie Finkle’s Rules for Girls Book Five: Glitter Girls and the Great Fake Out