Carter Finally Gets It

by Brent Crawford

  “Oh, shut up, Carter!” Ms. McDougle barks. “You’re both freshmen, right?”

  “Yeah,” Abby says.

  “If I can squeeze a D out of Mr. Rumpford, I’ll be a sophomore in two months,” I say.

  “Shut UP, Carter!” she says, breaking the pencil with her teeth. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Get out of here, both of you!”

  Okay, Psycho. Ms. Positive Feedback McDougle seems to have just gotten her ass kicked by Ms. Tired Angry Bitch McDougle.

  Abby and I break out quick. “Sorry about that,” I say as the door shuts.

  But she’s back to hating me again, and she just stomps away. Dang it! I thought that I was helping Abby by doing the audition and kissing her. I thought those were all good moves, but I’m thinking now that I was wrong.

  42. Casting Couch

  The next day I sneak toward the drama wing like the theme music to Mission: Impossible is playing. I can’t let my boys see me! The light crew sign-up is today, and I don’t want to miss out. I run in so fast no one could have known it was the Race Carter flying past.

  I fling the doors open, and about a hundred drama geeks are gathered around a bulletin board fighting to get a peek at the cast list for Guys and Dolls. A bunch of kids are hysterically crying. It’s all very dramatic! I can hear them talking . . . because they’re the loudest people on earth. They yell, “It’s all political!” They scream, “It’s ridiculous! It’s absurd! That’s my part! Ms. McDougle is an idiot! My mom won’t stand for this!”

  I watched all these kids audition. They couldn’t have expected Ms. McDougle to put them in the show. If they were that bad at the auditions, how God-awful would they be in front of five hundred people?

  I see Abby shaking her head and crying. A couple of drama girls are gathered around her, laughing and smiling. Man, chicks are ruthless! She must not have gotten a part. No, wait . . . she’s smiling now. Maybe she did. I have no idea. Girls are nuts. Maybe I didn’t screw her up. I bet she’ll play a Hot Box Girl. They dance in the play and wear slutty outfits.

  A few kids are really excited and jumping around laughing right in front of the crying kids. Man, that’s uncool. Go celebrate somewhere else. Anywhere but right in front of the bulletin board. This area is reserved for screwups like me who don’t get to be in the show. High school is cruel no matter what wing you’re in.

  I’m getting a fair amount of attention since I walked in here today. It’s kind of unsettling. They’re probably staring at me because my hair is sticking up all over the place these days. Or maybe they’re pointing at me because I ran in here like the building was under attack. Whatever it is, people are definitely looking at me . . . kind of aggressively. Maybe the drama geeks let it slide that I was down here yesterday, but two days in a row is too much. It would suck to have to tell my boys I got beat up by the drama department.

  That guy Jeremy prances right up to my face and asks, “Do you know who I am?”

  I don’t think he expects an answer, so I just go, “Uhhh . . .”

  He bellows, “I am Jeremy, the president of the Merrian High Thespians. I have been the lead in the past three shows. I am not, however, the lead in Guys and Dolls. Can you please enlighten me as to why?”

  “Uh . . . a-a-are you really asking for my opinion?” I ask.

  He seems shocked that I know how to speak, when he narrows his eyes and hisses, “Certainly.”

  “Well, you should really think about drinking a little water before you audition. Maybe even take a bottle onstage with you. . . .” I say hesitantly. He nods his head like I’ve just given him some decent info, so I add, “You also don’t seem tough enough to be a gangster, and you sing beautifully but you totally missed the point of the love song . . . and maybe too much hand waving.”

  His eyes well with tears, and his confidence drops.

  “But hey, what the hell do I know . . . I’m just a freshman,” I say apologetically, because he’s sobbing. “Hey, do you know where the light crew sign-up is?”

  His jaw quivers and his lower lip is shaking when he asks me, “Are you Lynn Carter’s brother?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “How’d you know that?”

  He takes a deep breath to collect himself and mutters, “Oh, she was just the last person to make me cry.”

  “Yeah, she does that. . . .” I say.

  A girl stomps up from behind and cuts me off with, “I bet you think you’re pretty cool, don’t you?”

  I’m sure she doesn’t expect an answer to her question, so I walk into the drama classroom. Lots of crying in here too. Three girls are sobbing in front of Ms. McDougle’s desk. “A freshman? You can’t be serious. You can’t let a freshman play Sarah! She’s never done a show here before! The drill team is no substitute for THE THEATER!”

  Ms. McDougle can only take so much of this. She finally fires back, “None of you were guaranteed parts at all! The freshman gave the best audition. I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I’ve had my heart broken many times over many parts, but that’s also part of THE THEATER. The only fair thing to do is give the parts to the best people at the auditions. And Abby gave, by far, the best audition.”

  Did she say Abby? I also think I heard “drill team.”

  The drama girl fires back, “Fair . . . FAIR? What’s fair is that you and Abby and this whole production are destined to fail, and I will be there to laugh when it does. Ha-HAA-HAAAA!” (Psycho!)

  Abby got the lead! That is so awesome. She won’t get to wear the Hot Box Girl outfit, but she’s probably happier about getting the lead part. What the hell was she crying about in the hall?

  As the psycho girl passes me, she stares me down. She’s coming fast. I try to jump out of her way, but she rams me into the wall and barks, “No-talent, freshman jock jerk!” and stomps away.

  “Ouch,” I say. “This place is tough on self-esteem.”

  Ms. McDougle laughs. “Well, here’s the man now. The boy who’s made my life a living hell.”

  “Who’s the man? What’d I do?” I say, walking up.

  “How are you holding up? Are you excited?” she asks.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, all nonchalant.

  “I think you’ll be great,” Ms. McDougle adds.

  “You think? I mean, I’ve screwed in a few lightbulbs, but I’ve never, like, hung one before; so sure, I’m stoked,” I say. “Where is that sign-up sheet?”

  “You’re not doing light crew, Carter,” Ms. McDougle says.

  “Why not?” I ask, a bit pissy.

  “I think you’ll be a little busy,” she says sarcastically.

  “What kind of crap is that? You can’t cut me from light crew. I’m signing up, whether you or any of these drama nerds like it or not!” I say.

  Whoops, I just yelled at a teacher. I shouldn’t have done that. McDougle’s my favorite teacher. She’s pretty and she never talks to me like I’m some stupid kid. It almost seems like she respects me . . . or something. That’s probably why I just yelled at her. If she’d just treat me like a punk, like all my other teachers do, I’d never have had the courage to go off on her.

  “You’re going to be performing in the play, Carter. You can’t do lights too,” Ms. McDougle says.

  “What? I’m what? Nuh-uh!” I say like a dope. “W-w-which, what part? Do I get a costume? Am I gonna play the fat guy?”

  “Sky Masterson,” she says, shaking her head.

  Sky Masterson? Sky . . . Masterson? Which part is? Wait? “THE FRIGGIN’ BRANDO PART?!” I yell. “You gave the lead part in the spring play to a freshman? Are you crazy?!”

  Ms. McDougle just laughs.

  “What’s funny? This isn’t funny! I mean, thank you very much, but seriously, no way!” I shout.

  Now she’s mad at me. “Get over here!” she yells, and pushes me into a dressing room.

  I’m having some difficulty breathing.

  “Mr. Carter, a hundred people auditioned for that part and did not get it. You’re being very
insensitive!” she yells.

  “I’m being? I-I-I’m k-k-keepin’ it real! I can’t do it!” I protest.

  “Of course you can! I wouldn’t have cast you if you couldn’t. You were the only guy who got the character of Sky. You and Abby have chemistry. I had to give you two the parts no matter how much crap I’ll get for casting freshmen.”

  “So Abby is really gonna play Sarah?” I ask.

  “Of course. You two were head and shoulders above the others. It was REAL and passionate. That’s what people come to the theater hoping to see, Carter.”

  “They do?” I ask.

  “Yes. I hear we have to work on your dancing, though.”

  “Naw, I can dance. I just can’t count,” I reassure her.

  43. The Play’s the Thing

  We do what they call a “table read” with the whole cast. We don’t have a table big enough for thirty-two kids and ten adults, so we’re smashed into a giant circle of folding chairs, reading the play out loud. I’ve never liked reading in front of people, so this is going to be painful. But Abby’s here. I thought she’d run up to congratulate me, or say thank you, give me a big kiss, show me some boob . . . something. But she didn’t say a word. Ms. McDougle made her sit on my right because most of the talking is between her (Sarah) and me (Sky). Jeremy is sitting on my left because he’s playing my best buddy, Nathan Detroit (Sinatra). Everyone is shoulder to shoulder in the circle, but I’ve got elbow room to spare. In fact, I think this whole circle hates me. I try to look like I don’t care and just read the script. My head is buried in this sucker like I’m a pro actor who can’t be bothered. Dang it! I have sooo much to say. Too much! Good lord, we’ve got to cut this down, McDougle. Give some of my lines to the fat guy. He loves to talk.

  I don’t have any lines at the beginning, so I’m trying to figure out what’s going on in the show. I’m also very busy sweating and shaking in anticipation of reading my lines. Is it hot in here? My first scene is with Jeremy. We make a bet that I can’t get Abby to go with me down to Cuba. I’m supposed to be all cool. Well, Sky may be cool as a cucumber, but Carter is a mess! My mouth is full of dust and I’m dyslexic all of a sudden. I can’t stay with the lines. I’m going all slow but still screwing everything up. Everybody is staring at me like I’m an idiot, including Abby and Ms. McDougle. Sweat is pouring off my face when we get to the scene between Abby and me. Finally I know what’s going on, and we’re off and running! I don’t even have to look at the script; I still remember it from yesterday. We’re going at it. Back and forth, bam, bang, boom. It’s great. People are laughing. This is fun. Abby looks all serious at first, but I get her to crack a smile a couple of times.

  The helper girl says, “Skip the song and go to the top of page twenty-one. . . .”

  I flip to page twenty-one, and the first words are Sky kisses Sarah.

  So I slide over and plant one on her. BAM! It shocks the hell out of her, and the whole drama department gasps. It’s in the script, people! They gasp again when she slaps my face . . . as hard as she can. Everyone claps, so I do a little bow in my seat, which makes them laugh. They’ve instantly stopped hating me. Hell yeah! So this is THE THEATER!? What the hell was I doing screwing around with football, swimming, and baseball? This is where it’s at! I do another scene with Jeremy about gambling, and it goes great. He and I are joking around and he gives me a playful shove, and the whole room seems to be having a blast. What a great place this drama wing is! I want to run out onto that baseball field and laugh at my boys running wind sprints and scratching their crotches. They have no idea how miserable they are, or how much fun being in the spring musical is.

  I’m so proud, my face hurts from smiling. I’ve never felt this kind of pride. Of course, I can’t really tell my boys about any of it, because they’d make fun of me endlessly; but secretly, I feel great.

  I’m almost as stressed about my boys finding out about the play as I am about learning all the lines, dance moves, and lyrics. My sister has everyone under strict orders not to talk about the play to anyone, but it’s difficult to keep something like this under wraps.

  I’m walking down the hall with EJ and Bag when the hottie who works at Blockbuster walks right up to us and yells, “Way to go, Sky!”

  I just walk right by her like I don’t hear a thing. I want to smile. I want to say, “Thank you!” I want to say, “We should hook up sometime,” but I just look like a deer caught in headlights as I duck into the stairwell.

  EJ asks, “What the hell was that?”

  “H-h-how should I know?” I say. “That chick’s always walkin’ up to people and saying random junk. Like, ‘Way to go, clouds!’ or ‘How about the moon?’ I think she’s on drugs. Um, I’ll see you guys later. I got detention.”

  “Again?” EJ asks.

  “Yep,” I say, without even looking at him.

  “You’re a degenerate, Carter!” Bag laughs.

  He has no idea. I’m not just a degenerate, I’m a gangster! A singing, dancing, kissing gangster. The drama department hit man. Belting out the hits from three o’clock to six o’clock, every night. Firing out jazz hands and slapping down pas de bourrées—I love it! I just go for it down in the drama wing. I like these kids, no matter what Lynn says.

  I don’t talk to them in the halls or anything, but I wish I could. They’re all smart. They discuss movies and books. I can’t say anything about the books, but I can throw in my two cents when it comes to movies. They debate themes and character arcs and stuff I’ve never even thought of. The only thing my boys talk about these days is baseball, and I hate being the only one without a hat.

  I’m still an outsider down here, but then, I feel like an outsider everywhere I go. It’s cool because Sky Masterson’s an outsider too. He hangs out on the outskirts of society and doesn’t know how to deal with people on the inskirts. Usually he just uses dames for sex, but he accidentally falls head over heals for Sarah, and he cleans up his act for her. He sacrifices his tough-guy reputation to prove he’s worthy of this chick. He’s all about honor and not letting people down. When Sky gives his word, he always comes through, whether he’s making good on a bet or making himself good for Sarah. I wish I could drop all this wisdom on my boys, but they’re too busy learning how to hit a curveball.

  After a month, Abby still won’t talk to me outside of the lines in the script. My favorite person and damn near best friend lately is Jeremy. He’s a bit girly, but he’s really cool. He has a sweet car, and I try to copy his hair and the clothes he wears (a little). He’s a great dancer, and he helps me out after rehearsals. He kind of translates the moves into thoughts and ideas instead of all those funny words and counting. I’m starting to get it.

  I know all my lines with Abby like I know my own name. I won’t give her the satisfaction of hearing me yell “Line?!” when I forget. I did it a bunch at first, and she’d always smirk. So I study them like a madman now. I have to leave enough time to space off, so I don’t have any free time at all. I haven’t seen a movie or been stuffed inside Hormone’s CRX in six weeks. Weekends, nights, mornings—I’m working on this play. I want to be great. I want to show those drama nerds who think a freshman could never handle the lead part in the spring play that they’re wrong. And I will!

  Thankfully, my ADD is keeping pretty quiet these days. I tend to drift off when I don’t have lines, so that’s my main battle right now. Most of the time, when it gets dead quiet onstage, I’ll know that I’ve missed my cue and rack my brain for where the hell we are and what it was I was supposed to say. Sometimes I just flex my jaw like a tough guy taking a dramatic pause and fire out the missing line like I was keeping it a secret. After the rehearsal, Ms. McDougle tells me, “Carter, take out the pauses in the group scenes.” Like I’m not trying to stay focused harder than I’ve ever tried to do anything in my life. If I could concentrate on the junk I’m supposed to, life would be a breeze.

  Rehearsals are especially tough now that the Hot Box Girls have gotten their
skimpy costumes. In one of their numbers, they play farm girls and wear Daisy Dukes that show the bottoms of their butt cheeks. Does the costume designer want me to fail?!

  I’m supposed to say, “I’ve got a little more than dough riding on this one,” and then the music starts for my toughest song, “Luck Be a Lady Tonight.” But all I can think about are those girls wiggling around offstage. The piano man probably notices what I’m gawking at, because he starts playing, snapping me out of the daydream.

  This song is about gambling, and it goes really fast. I usually get lost somewhere in the middle, but I’m keeping up so far. I’m singing to the dice, so that when I roll them, they’ll do what I want them to do. And so that Lady Luck won’t be a coldhearted bitch tooo-night!

  I roll the dice and kind of walk around all cool with my hands in my pockets. The leotard lady wants me to prance and gallop more, but I keep telling her, “This gangsta’ don’t gallop. I strut!” She’s starting to get it. Abby just shakes her head.

  I wish I could sing as well as Abby when we sing “I’ve Never Been in Love Before.” It’s a love song, and I feel it deeply. I look into her eyes, and in that moment, I really believe she loves me, too.

  There are a few places where I’m certain she’s not in love with me. She gets to slap me twice in the first act. She lives for those moments. Ms. McDougle is into realism, so we don’t do “stage slaps” in the Merrian drama department. Which is great for the audience, but I’m going to be one of those old boxers who gets loopy from taking too many shots to the head. Abby lets me have it every time—HARD! One time she hit me so hard, it knocked the next line out of my head. I see little birds flying around, and Ms. McDougle goes, “Carter! ‘I’ll drop in again.’ Say the line today, please!”

  I know the line, lady. I just need a standing eight count before I can deliver it!

  I shake it off, and Ms. McDougle says, “Okay, guys, take it again from the slap, please.”

  Before I can even get myself together, WHHAAACKKK! Abby lets me have it again. DANG IT, woman!