by Cyn Balog
Apparently, I get vicious when pushed to the point of certain humiliation. Panic overtook me. I lost control of my body and voice. “I will kill you,” I whispered to him, but he just grinned in that way that made it impossible to hate him. The stage started to go blurry before me. I attempted to step in its direction, but instead took a step backward. My lips felt like Jell-O. How would I get them to form actual words? Then I noticed Parker and Rachel in the front of the auditorium, heads together, snickering.
They were laughing at me.
I felt like someone had launched a cannonball at my chest. I couldn’t breathe. The urge to flee grabbed me with both hands, and I turned on my heel and rushed out of the gymnasium and into the girls’ bathroom.
In a stall, I wiped my forehead with a wad of toilet paper and took some deep breaths. Stupid me. Z was probably out there with his adoring audience in all his thespian glory, thinking how sad and pathetic and unworthy I was. I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering why I had to be so weird. Then I summoned my courage and made the decision to tell Z that it wasn’t possible, that my body just couldn’t do the many magnificent things his could, and I was so sorry if it meant we could no longer be friends.
I stepped into the hallway. Z was there. “What happened?” he asked.
“I-I don’t do that, you understand?” I snarled at him. “I don’t like people looking at me like that.”
“OK, easy,” he said, trying to calm me. “You…actually like being on the sidelines? Seriously?”
He said it as if it just occurred to him, like he was just realizing for the first time that I wasn’t the outgoing person he was. I nodded.
Z snapped his fingers and said, “That’s too bad. We could have made the ultimate dysfunctional couple.”
Couple? My mind stuck on that word. Me and Z, a couple? I glanced through the open gymnasium doors from my spot in the hallway as Parker Cole took the stage and began to speak the part of Lady Macbeth.
I crept toward the gymnasium, listening. Compared to Z, she was awful. Anyone else would have paled in comparison, but she really paled. She missed an entire line in the soliloquy. (It was the one I’d practiced, so I knew it well.) She had to check her lines twice. I think she was chewing gum. She kept sweeping her hair out of her eyes and stood as stiff as a board the whole time.
How dare she? Auditioning for a role that would put her close to Z? Of course, that’s what she was after. Not the grade, not the adoration. She certainly wasn’t in love with the stage like Quincy. The vulture wanted Z.
When it was over, Parker’s admirers applauded, and she curtsied with great flourish and blew kisses. And then…
Then, she looked straight back to the gymnasium doors, right at Z, and licked her lips.
That was it. I was done for.
“Is anyone else interested in auditioning for Lady Macbeth?” Reese asked, looking around the room.
I could have just walked out, gone home, given up, resolved to experience Macbeth from the comfort of the audience. But as I watched ethereal Parker Cole flounce back to her chair and give a double thumbs-up to Rachel, a fire ignited in me. She always got everything and everyone she wanted. And if I wasn’t careful, she would probably dig her talons into Z too. She’d chew him up and spit him out the way she’d done to a hundred other boys.
I pushed past Z. “Here!” I shouted so loudly that everyone turned.
I went up to the stage. My knees wobbled, and sweat broke out in places I never knew could perspire. By the time I got to the stage’s stairs, I was a shaky, sweaty mess. I climbed them slowly. I hated that everyone was watching me. And yet, here I was.
I’m saving Z, I told myself. He’ll thank me for this.
The next three minutes were a blur. I muttered the soliloquy I’d practiced in a soft monotone, and meanwhile, people in the chairs talked, did homework, went on with their lives. I did not hold anyone’s rapt attention like Z had. I stuttered several words. But I didn’t forget the lines. And when I finished, the world didn’t end. As I left the stage, some people clapped politely.
Z clapped too, and he wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me after my performance, which was a plus. He smiled. “See, you are a natural. You’ll get it for sure.”
I said, “You think so? You don’t think Parker was better?”
He leaned back and yawned. “No way.” He grinned and patted my head. “Oh, Vic. My innocent little starlet. I refuse to let fame corrupt you.”
I adored him so completely then. My heart was beating so loud that I could barely hear my own voice. But inside, it’d already begun to dawn on me. I’d done what I’d previously thought was impossible—without dying and without my magical anxiety pills. A new sense of power surged through my veins. I’d transformed into a determined beast. I would get that part. Or…I don’t know what. But at that moment, I’d never been so sure I wanted something and was willing to do anything to get it.
Z tapped me on the knee. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “They won’t announce who got the roles until tomorrow. I’ll drive you home.”
I nodded and followed him, feeling an unfamiliar sense of power at having stepped out of my comfort zone. But even my euphoria couldn’t stop me from glancing around for Parker. I didn’t see her, but I would have liked to think she was watching me, for once wishing she could trade places with me.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I murmured numbly as we stepped into the dusky, warm afternoon.
Z just laughed as we walked across the lot to his Honda Civic. “You’re going to be famous.”
I shook my head. Not possible. People at school barely knew my name.
He unlocked the door with his remote, and we both climbed into his car. “You don’t think so? Why not?”
“Because I’m not like that. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes person.”
He screwed up his face. He was always the center of attention, so I knew he had no idea what that was like. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“I’m OK with it,” I said.
“Probably because you’re just used to it. Playing it safe.” He pretended to snore.
I’d only been in his car a handful of times, but I’d already begun to adjust to Z’s way of driving. He’d be going a leisurely pace, and the next moment, he’d be up the ass of the car in front of him. At first I hated it…never knowing whether to lean back and relax or brace myself. But this time I was prepared. Like I’d gotten comfortable with being uncomfortable.
He said, “Maybe you’d like being center stage.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’ve never tried,” he singsonged. “Have you?”
I didn’t answer. He already knew what my reply would be.
We stopped at a light. He took his hand off the gearshift and plopped it right on my knee.
His hand was warm on my bare skin. I froze. “Um. What are you doing?”
His big eyes widened. He didn’t move his hand. “What? Nothing.”
“Your hand?”
He began to massage my knee, moving up to the hem of my skirt. This was more dangerous than the movie theater incident because I was wearing my too-short, pleated St. Ann’s skirt. I wanted to tell him not to, but all the same, I thought, It’s just my knee. A knee is like an elbow. There’s nothing remotely wrong about touching someone’s elbow. And I liked it. I liked the way his hand felt on my bare skin. It felt protective.
“So, why have you never tried to be center stage?” he murmured. “You’re nervous, is that it? You think there’s something wrong with you?”
I didn’t answer. I mean, obviously. And not only that—what the hell were we talking about? I couldn’t even think.
“Vic, calm down. Relax, all right? You’re perfect.” He let out a tortured kind of groan. I didn’t know I could have that effect on anyone, much less him. “This is perfe
ct.”
Perfect. Yeah. As scary as it was, he was right. Being with him was also strangely perfect. He let his fingers trail circles on my skin, which was a field of goose bumps. Then he had to downshift. Before the warmth from his hand had faded, his hand was back, even higher on my leg this time.
Over the whip of the wind and roar of the engine, I heard a whisper float from his mouth. I would have recognized it anywhere, but his playful tone threw me off. Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell.
He pulled into my driveway, nearly rear-ending my parents’ SUV, then removed his hand and looked at me over the rims of his dark sunglasses. “Amen. See you, Lady M.”
I shivered as I opened the door. I mean, way to jinx things. I didn’t even have the part yet, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted it. “Stop it.”
He leaned over to look at me as I got out. “Now why would I do that, Vic?”
I meant to slam the door, but the way he was looking at me so seriously, I nearly missed the door as I bumped it with my hip. It closed with a soft thud. “Huh?” I said through the open window.
“I have no intention of stopping, Precious,” he said as he threw the car into reverse, “because I think you’d like being center stage. And I believe it’s my mission to get you to try it.”
Chapter 22
You were in the play, correct? The Friday before the incident?
Yep.
Z was there.
He had the lead role. Turns out he was quite the thespian.
You sound bitter.
Oh no. I enjoy some healthy competition now and then.
Did he get along with everyone in the cast?
It’s hard to imagine him not getting along with anyone.
And what about Victoria Zell?
Victoria? Oh, you mean Lady Macbeth.
Yes. What was their relationship outside of the play?
None.
None?
Quite honestly, I don’t know. That girl was a bit of an enigma. We thespians have a few screws loose, for certain. So she probably could’ve fit in. But she kept to herself.
So they didn’t have a relationship, or you didn’t know about it?
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Z surprised me. I think he quite liked to surprise people.
—Police interview with Quincy Laughlin, senior at St. Ann’s
The thought of getting the part of Lady Macbeth both thrilled and terrified me. I was scared stiff at the thought of performing in front of an audience, but at the same time, I could imagine a scene where, in the heat of the moment, Macbeth pulls Lady Macbeth into an embrace and delivers a passionate kiss. I wondered how Z kissed, if he did it perfectly, the way he did everything else. I knew that would be my only way to experience it—on the stage, as part of a performance, since we were both attached to other people.
Andrew, I knew you wouldn’t mind, as a fan of the stage. And I also knew that Parker and a slew of other girls at school would probably jump at the chance to be kissed by Z. They’d all be so jealous! Still, my palms got all sweaty because kissing a person was scary enough—but kissing Z? In front of all those people? Then I started to wonder… Was there even a make-out scene in Macbeth? Maybe I was spending all this time worrying about it for nothing.
For the rest of the night, I kept thinking of his hand on my knee. How nice it felt, in a protective, big brother way. I wondered if he liked it too. I went to sleep repeating his last words over and over to myself: I think you’d like being center stage, and it’s my mission to get you to try it. I tried to get the play out of my head, but couldn’t. In my nightmares, Parker got the part, and I had to watch her making out with Z.
So a combination of emotions flooded me the next morning when I walked past the gymnasium doors and saw my name posted on the very top of the page, right under Z’s. Relief. Excitement. Fear.
I’d gotten the part.
I was going to play Lady Macbeth, and Z would be playing my husband.
I walked to class that morning in a daze. For once in my life, I’d topped Parker. For once in her life, the principal’s perfect daughter wouldn’t be getting everything she wanted. I couldn’t believe it.
Z was uncharacteristically early. When I arrived in the classroom, he was already there. Usually I was the one waiting for him. I beamed at him. “I can’t believe it,” I said, still numb.
For some reason, Z looked nervous. “I can. I told you. I knew you’d get it,” he said in a monotone, staring at his phone.
I’d assumed that after he’d earned the lead, he’d be a little happier. “Congratulations to you too,” I said.
He kept thumbing his phone and murmured, “On what?” Then his mouth opened and he looked up. “Oh, right. Thanks.”
“You’re not happy? Quincy’s probably crying into his breakfast somewhere.”
He looked up. “It’s hardly worth getting worked up over, either way. It’s a fucking school play.”
“Oh.” My excitement fizzled. Right. It was just a stupid school play. It wasn’t Broadway. “Then why’d you try out?”
He shrugged, looking back at his phone. “Why not?”
What had happened to the playful and flirtatious Z who had dropped me off the night before? I think you’d like it better center stage.
As if he could read my thoughts, he smiled. “Ah, little Vic. Sorry. I don’t mean to be an asshole. Just…” He tapped his phone. “There is so much of the wide world you know nothing about.”
My cheeks reddened. I thought about what he’d said: It’s my mission to get you to try it. Try what? Why did he have to be so cryptic? “You could maybe fill me in,” I suggested.
He opened his mouth to reply, but the bell rang.
Reese glided into the room. She said, “I’m sure the news is all over the school, but in case you haven’t heard, Z and Victoria will be playing Macbeth and Lady Macbeth in the play!” She’d never sounded quite so excited before. I doubted the news was all over the school. Maybe in her warped world it would have been, but aside from Quincy and a few others, the vast majority of students at St. Ann’s could give a rat’s ass about drama. Reese clapped her hands together and extended her hands, presenting us like we were refrigerators on The Price is Right. “Congratulate them!”
The class turned and mumbled halfhearted congratulations. Most of them looked at Z, not me. Roger Falcon, a baseball jock, high-fived Z. A girl in the front of the room cheered, “Go, Z!” The only person who really paid any attention to me was Parker. Her glare lingered on me for what seemed like hours.
Reese went on and on about what a performance it was going to be, and how talented this year’s cast was, and—for a split second—I thought that things might be different between us. That Reese might treat me the way she treated Z.
That didn’t last. A few minutes into the lesson, she called on me to define eleemosynary and gave me a glare that rivaled Parker’s when I drew a complete blank.
Somehow, I’d thought that being Z’s friend would make me visible. That being next to him would finally put me on the map and make people who once detested or ignored me give me a second chance.
So far, that was not the case.
Now, instead of liking me because he liked me, they were almost more wary of me.
But that was OK. They were just jealous. Like Parker.
I was prepared for more icy glares from her during chemistry. And I got them. But I ignored them. What I didn’t understand though was when she leaned over at the end of class while I was gathering my books and whispered, “He bought Reese.”
Before I could ask Parker what that meant, she was gone.
Chapter 23
Let’s talk about the incident that happened at the theater during dress rehearsals. What was the atmosp
here like?
It was tense. Some of the cast were sour about the selections for the main roles. There was talk of roles being bought.
Bought? From Mrs. Reese?
It was no secret Reese played favorites. But why she chose Victoria Zell as Lady Macbeth was pretty much beyond anyone’s guess.
Victoria was not a favorite of Mrs. Reese?
Not really. There was a core group of us who lived for the stage, and she wasn’t part of that.
Was Z?
No…but his tryout was singular. No one thought he bought his way in, but they certainly thought she might have.
—Police interview with Quincy Laughlin, senior at St. Ann’s
It was the week before Halloween, and my mother had put purple lights all over the fence on our side of the duplex. They cast an eerie, supernatural glow on the yard. My dad had taken to putting the trash cans where I always put my backside, but I moved them out of the way and slid down into my place against the fence. Then I told you I’d gotten the part.
You, of course, were shocked. It was like the Little Mermaid going out for track. You stuttered, “W-why?”
I told you that it was for the grade. I told you that I needed all the help I could get in English, which was true. “I can’t believe I got it though,” I said. “Parker auditioned, and I even beat her out.”
“Parker Cole? The principal’s kid?” you asked. You’d heard me complaining about how perfect she was, how the entire world revolved around her. Usually when I did, you would try to boost my mood with compliments. But this time, you just went, “Huh.”
The shock in your voice kind of annoyed me. “What?” I snapped, chewing on my Juicy Fruit.
“It’s just so unlike you, Vic,” you said. “You don’t usually step out like that.”
I said, “Well, maybe I wanted to try something different.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “And it turns out I’m good at acting.”
You were silent for a long time, taking it in, I guess. “Wow, my girlfriend. The actress.” Another long silence passed. Then you said, “Of course you’re good at it, Vic.”
