by Lisa Fiedler
I should have known. Who else but Sophia Ciancio would consider the sun her own personal spotlight?
“You’re late,” said Susan.
“Am I?” Sophia looked utterly unapologetic as she glided across the old wooden planks of the floor.
I forced myself not to make eye contact, and continued, “My goal for this summer is not only to put on a totally entertaining show, but also to have some major fun. Today, as you know, we’re going to hold auditions.”
At this, a few kids squirmed in their seats. Some looked worried.
I knew that look; it was exactly how I’d looked on the day of soccer tryouts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Susan turn away. I guess she didn’t want to see the disappointment on the actors’ faces when I told them some of them weren’t going to get to stick around long enough to join in on that major fun.
And suddenly I knew I didn’t want to see it either.
These kids had come here with big dreams. They wanted to be in a show . . . my show . . . and it occurred to me that there was no reason why every single one of them shouldn’t get that chance.
I was the director, after all. I made the rules. And rule number one (which I made up on the spot) was that everyone in this room would be part of the cast. I would keep all of them.
I felt the smile spread across my face.
“In this case,” I explained, “you’re not auditioning to be in the show because you already are in the show.”
I snuck a glance and saw that both Austin and Susan were smiling.
Sophia let out a snort. “That’s so parks and rec.”
I ignored her.
“I don’t get it,” said Sam. “If we’re all automatically in the show, why do we have to audition?”
“Because we have to decide which roles are right for which actors. Once we see what everyone can do, Austin and I will cast you in the most appropriate parts.”
“What if we don’t like the parts you give us?” asked Madeline.
“That’s show biz, kid.” Teddy laughed. “You take what you get, and you like it.”
I was glad he’d said it so I didn’t have to. The last thing I needed was a bunch of cranky kids complaining about their parts.
“We’ll do our best to make everyone happy,” Austin promised. “But remember, there are no small parts, only small actors.”
I smiled at his use of that old theater adage, which just happened to be absolutely true.
“What Austin means is that every part is important,” I clarified. “Even the smaller roles matter, and it’s up to the actors to be big enough to make the most of them.”
Maxie raised her hand. “I signed up for costumes and makeup,” she reminded me. “What am I supposed to do during auditions?”
Austin held up a copy of the script and smiled. “You can look this over and start getting ideas for wardrobe possibilities. You can also sit in on some of the auditions. That’ll definitely inspire you.” He pointed to Deon. “As our tech specialist, D, you should take a look at the script as well. Maybe start jotting down notes for lighting cues.”
“Okay,” said Deon. “But . . . what’s a lighting cue?”
Austin and I exchanged glances. Deon was an electrical genius and a tinkerer of the first order, but apparently, he would need to be taught how to apply these skills to a theater setting.
“I’ll explain it all later,” said Austin with a sigh.
“Susan,” I said, “will you please hand out the sides?”
Susan nodded and hopped to it. And before anyone could ask, Austin said, “Sides is just another word for the scenes you’re expected to perform in an audition.”
“You’ll see we have two options,” I explained. “A monologue and a scene. A monologue is kind of like a spoken solo. A scene is dialogue done with a partner.”
At the word partner, all eyes turned to Teddy, the one professional among us. I could tell everyone was remembering his groundbreaking work in that mac and cheese ad and, of course, they all wanted him for a partner. Teddy was talented enough to make anyone look good.
I could tell that Austin was seeing exactly what I was seeing. We were both relieved when, of the two pages Susan was offering, Teddy took the monologue. Still, I’d been assigned enough group projects in school to know that the process of choosing partners could get pretty hairy. In school it usually turned out to be a popularity contest. I didn’t want that to happen in our theater.
“For the partner work,” I said quickly, “we’ll put names in a hat and draw at random. It’s the fairest way to do it.”
“Excellent idea,” said Austin. “Anyone who wants to do a monologue, raise your hand.”
Teddy, Spencer, Mackenzie, and Madeline shot their hands into the air. That left Mia, Sam, Eddie, Gracie, Travis, Elle, Jane, and Sophia.
Sophia . . . who was giving me a very smug look.
“Anya . . .,” she said, standing and motioning for me to follow her. “A word?”
I hated the thought of responding to her command, but since I knew our presence in this clubhouse had everything to do with her, I followed her to the front door. I was happy when Austin joined us.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound calm and offhanded.
“You know I have no intention of auditioning, right?”
“What do you mean?” said Austin. “Everyone has to audition. How else will we get a feel for what kind of talent and ability we’re working with?”
Sophia gave me an icy smile. “Oh, I think Anya is more than up to speed when it comes to my talent and ability.”
“Well, I know you can sneeze on cue,” I muttered. “If that’s what you mean.”
“I mean, I’m easily the best performer in this troupe, and I don’t see any need to prove it to you. We made a deal, remember? I got you this quaint little venue. Now I’m calling in the favor.”
“The deal was you’d get a role in the revue,” I reminded her. “That’s it. We never said you didn’t have to audition for a part.”
Sophia laughed. “OMG, Anya. I mean, come on. What other sort of part would I want? I assumed ‘starring role’ was implied.”
I was about to tell her it wasn’t, not at all, and that if she wanted to be a part of Random Farms, she would have to stand up and sing for us like everyone else. But just as I was about to open my mouth, Austin piped up.
“That’s fine, Sophia,” he said evenly. “We know what you’re capable of. We’ll cast you in a suitable role.”
“And by suitable,” Sophia crooned, giving him a flirty smile, “you mean big, right?”
Austin hesitated. Then, to my shock, he nodded. “Okay, Sophia.”
I actually felt my hands curling into fists. “Austin . . .”
“Excellent!” Sophia’s eyes were shining triumphantly. “So, I guess I’ll be on my way. Daria Benson’s having some people over for a pool party. I’m one of only three rising seventh graders who got the invite.”
“Congratulations,” I said through gritted teeth. Then I got a sinking feeling in my belly and asked before I could stop myself, “Who were the other ones?”
“One was your friend Becky,” Sophia reported. “But she sent her regrets. Something about having to catch butterflies, I think. I’m not sure who the third person was, but I’m sure it was someone with major status.”
I was speechless. Becky had been invited to Daria’s party. And she hadn’t told me. She’d texted me about her swim meet and the one-hundred-meter butterfly, but Daria’s name had never even come up.
I had no idea how to feel about that, so I pushed the thought out of my head and gave Sophia a smile (which I was sure looked more like a snarl). “Have fun,” I said. “Be back here tomorrow for rehearsal.”
Her expression told me she’d show up whenever she was good and ready. Then she gave Austin a bright smile and flounced out of the clubhouse.
I whirled to face him. “Seriously?”
“What?”
He motioned around at the vast space of the clubhouse. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her. What if she ran back to her father and told him to change his mind about this place?”
“He wouldn’t do that!” But the truth was I didn’t know Dr. Ciancio well enough to say what he would or wouldn’t do in that situation. Maybe the thought of Sophia whining and pouting all summer would be enough to make him go back on his word. So Austin had a good point, but still . . . he had no right to make that decision without asking me. If he’d given me a chance, maybe I could have talked Sophia into auditioning. I told him this in a curt tone.
“She wouldn’t have agreed to hang around that long,” he said. “Daria’s party starts at eleven thirty.”
I was about to ask him how he knew that when Susan came bounding over.
“Let’s get moving,” she said. “The thespians are getting restless.”
“Where were we?” I asked with a heavy sigh.
“Pairing up for scenes,” Austin reminded me. “But with Sophia gone, we’re left with an odd number of actors.”
Great. An odd number wasn’t going to work for partnering.
Reluctantly, I found myself turning to Austin. I was still a little miffed over his giving in to Sophia, but sulking about it wouldn’t get us anywhere. “Do you mind . . .?” I began lamely.
“I’ll be the wild card,” he said, grabbing an extra questionnaire, tearing off a corner, and writing his name on it.
Sam offered his baseball cap to use for the drawing.
As we shook up the names, Mia asked, “What about the singing auditions?”
“We’ve chosen a few songs,” I said. “You can pick whichever one best fits your voice.”
“Mia can sing anything,” said Eddie.
I smiled at him. “It’s nice that you’re so proud and supportive of your big sister.”
“I’m not being proud or supportive,” said Eddie with a roll of his eyes. “I just wanted to say it before she did.”
“Well, it’s true,” said Mia in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m not bragging, honest. I’m just saying it doesn’t matter which song I sing, which might make things easier.”
“Thanks, Mia,” I said. “It’s good to know you’re flexible.”
“But I guess I am sorta proud,” Eddie mumbled.
Austin tore seven more little paper rectangles. The actors quickly scribbled their names on these and dropped them into the hat.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll draw out two names at a time, and those people will be partners for the audition scene.”
This was fine with everybody. I reached into the hat and grabbed two scraps of paper. “Mia and Travis,” I announced.
Travis gave Mia a shy smile. Mia beamed.
I dipped into the cap again. “Sam and Eddie.”
“Let me pick this time,” said Susan. She made a grand gesture of reaching into the hat and drew out two more names with a flourish. “Gracie and Jane.”
The girls high-fived each other.
The last two names were Elle and Austin. When I read them aloud, Elle blushed. But to her credit, she didn’t flip out or panic or faint. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be having any stage fright issues with Elle.
“Wait a minute,” said Eddie, looking up from the sides. “This scene is for a boy and a girl.”
I shrugged. “So?”
“So . . . my partner is Sam. He’s a boy.”
Sam laughed. “Thank you, Captain Obvious, for pointing that out.”
But I saw the problem now. One of these boys was going to have to play a girl, and something told me Eddie wasn’t going to be open to it.
“We’ve got the same problem,” said Gracie, pointing to her partner, Jane. “Should we switch with Eddie and Sam?”
“We could,” I said, knowing in my heart it would be the simplest way to go. “But then again, this is all about acting.”
“Right,” said Austin. “Did you know that in Shakespeare’s time, all the female roles were played by men or boys?”
“Why?” asked Mackenzie.
“Because it was against the law for women to be onstage.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Madeline. “Hadn’t they ever heard of equal rights?”
Austin laughed. “Actually, no.”
“So, if it was good enough for Mr. Shakespeare,” I said, “it should be good enough for us!” I looked from Eddie to Sam, then back to Eddie. “How about one of you plays the opposite gender, just for the audition?”
“What?” cried Eddie. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t want to play a girl!”
“And I don’t want to play a boy,” added Jane.
“What’s the big deal?” said Gracie. “Like Anya said, it’s acting. It might be fun to try playing a boy.”
“I bet I could be hilarious as a girl,” said Sam, warming to the idea. He batted his eyelashes and patted his hair. “Oh no,” he trilled in a falsetto voice. “I think I broke a nail.”
“That’s insulting!” said Madeline, planting her hands on her hips. “Not all girls are like that.”
“Hey, dude!” Gracie said with a rasp, deepening her voice to a hoarse croak. “Check out my muscles! I’m such a tough guy! Anybody got some beef jerky?”
“Not all boys are like that,” said Teddy. “I hate beef jerky. Although”—he grinned and flexed his biceps—“I do kind of have the muscle thing going on.”
“Who wants to go to the mall?” sang Sam in his high voice.
“Cut that out!” snapped Jane.
As the bickering continued, I felt myself losing control of the situation.
“Do something,” said Susan. “Before we have a theatrical mutiny on our hands.”
She was right. I was the director. It was my job to fix this, but how? The girls were insulted, the boys were getting snarky . . . and none of it had anything to do with acting.
“Everybody, just relax!” I shouted over the escalating quarrel.
I gave them a minute to simmer down. When I had their attention again, I said calmly, “I agree that not all girls are into manicures and not all boys are muscle heads. But this actually brings up an important point about acting technique. Ya see, if Sam decides that his character is the kind of girl who cries over chipped nail polish, then that’s a valid acting choice. And if Gracie’s boy character is a gym rat who likes to gnaw on artificial beef snacks, then that’s okay too. Granted, these may not be the most original choices, but it is exactly how an actor brings life to a character. It’s called backstory.”
This backstory stuff was something I’d overheard some of the professional actors discussing once during my Annie experience. It was a cool feeling to be able to put to good use something I’d learned by actually taking part in a production.
As I let the information sink in, Austin turned and threw me a wink. “I think you just gave them an acting lesson,” he said. “Very directorial of you.”
“Thanks,” I said, realizing he was right. I felt a glimmer of pride.
And suddenly I wasn’t so mad about the Sophia thing anymore.
We gave the actors forty-five minutes to rehearse, then got down to business with the acting auditions. Austin and Elle were the first scene partners to read. Sitting in the last row of folding chairs, I felt a flutter of disbelief as I watched them take the stage. This was happening!
It was hard not to giggle, thinking of Austin as Peter Pan, because I just couldn’t picture him in green tights! But Elle was charming as Wendy. My only real concern was that she kept forgetting to “cheat out” to the audience. I made a note on my legal pad to remind her to angle herself slightly when speaking to another actor so she’d always be facing effectively downstage, or toward the audience, and not turning her profile to them.
After Elle’s audition, I (with Susan’s help) continued to audition the scene partners on the stage, while Austin took the monolo
gues outside to read on the lawn.
Not surprisingly, Sam’s audition was hilarious. His acting choice was to take his Wendy totally over the top, making her more of a caricature than a character, which worked beautifully. I laughed so hard, I almost cried. Eddie was terrific too, keeping up with Sam’s energy and never so much as cracking a smile, no matter how wacky Sam got.
Gracie, on the other hand, went a different way entirely with her gender-bending experiment. Despite the silly “boy impersonation” she’d done earlier, for the actual audition she chose to play it with perfect authenticity, digging deep and “becoming” Peter Pan. Susan and I were blown away; Gracie had actually “acted herself” into a boy.
“We’ve got some real talent here, don’t we?” Susan whispered.
“Yes.” I nodded, feeling that familiar swirl of excitement in my belly. “We really do!”
Mia and Travis had just finished their scene when Austin and the others returned from outside.
I gave Austin a questioning look to which he responded with a grin and a nod. I took this to mean that he was pleased with what he’d seen during the monologues.
It was time to move on to the dance auditions. Austin dug the sheet music from How to Succeed out of my backpack and sat down at the piano.
He played the first few bars and winced. “This baby is way out of tune,” he said. “It’ll do for now, but we’re going to have to get it taken care of before the show.”
I told Susan to make a note of that, then I wrangled everyone onto the floor, away from the chairs. “Everybody ready to dance?”
Elle wanted to know if we were going to be doing the fox trot or maybe the tango, both of which she’d taught herself by binge-watching Dancing with the Stars episodes on YouTube.
“Sorry, Elle,” I said. “No fox trots.”
Mackenzie was a little worried about dancing in sneakers as opposed to her actual jazz shoes (or toe shoes or tap shoes or whatever she usually wore for this sort of thing), but thankfully, she didn’t make a big deal about it.
Spencer, Eddie, and Gracie just flat out refused to dance at all.
