I almost want to meet this girl, because I’m sure she’s nothing like me.
Saiph and I are standing there, admiring his handiwork, when I hear a familiar evil cackle. I don’t have to turn around to know that Miss Geek Patrol herself, Nichole Hamilton, is standing behind us, her attack sensors set to seek and destroy. She can probably laser my name right off the paper with her eyes.
“The stage hands have a separate sign-up sheet. I think it’s in the bathroom, just behind the toilet.”
She thinks she’s so funny. I’m afraid to turn around. I’m afraid Saiph’s going to see her and realize he’s standing next to the wrong girl. Nichole always gets her wishes, why shouldn’t she get mine, too?
I have to restrain myself, because the urge to reach out and grab Saiph’s hand and hold onto him is so strong, no matter what he might think of me. But even that couldn’t keep him from her. And he might look even dorkier than I do right now, but we both know all he has to do is take the glasses off and he’s Superman again.
Nichole almost laughs when she sees him, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the way he stands up straight and tall and looks at her like he’s never seen anyone more revolting. He looks almost like he feels sorry for her. Nichole’s laugh trails off and turns into a snort.
“Who’s your…” She puts one hand on her hip, sizing up the situation. She doesn’t know what to call him. She doesn’t want to use the word friend—that would be giving me too much credit. “Congratulations, Speck. You’ve finally found someone who’s an even bigger loser than you are.” She flips her hair and scowls down her nose at Saiph and me.
“Nichole, this is Saiph. Saiph, Nichole.” I don’t introduce him as my foreign pen pal. I don’t want word getting back to my mom about it. As far as Nichole’s concerned, Saiph’s just the only kid at this school who isn’t afraid of her, and the only boy who isn’t falling at her feet. Even if he’s a greasy-haired nerd with a pocket protector.
The more Saiph looks at Nichole, the more he looks like he’s about to start laughing. The corners of his mouth twitch. He’s trying to hold it back. I don’t know what’s funny, but it’s infectious, and I catch myself almost smiling too.
And then he ruins it all. He grabs my hand—gently, but also like he’s never going to let go—and says, “Don’t even bother signing up. Adrienne’s going to get the lead.”
He says it so confidently, like he really believes it, that for a moment Nichole is too stunned to react. Then she bursts into laughter. She pulls her iPhone out of her purse and starts typing.
My cheeks burn. My whole face and neck heat up.
I want to kill Saiph. But more than that, I want to curl up in a little ball and hide for the rest of my life. Which probably won’t be very long, what with the chances I’ll die of embarrassment rising by the minute.
Chapter Twelve
I’m standing in line in the empty lunchroom to audition for the play after school. I can’t believe this. Saiph’s in line with me, for moral support, or so he says. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small paper bag. He unfolds it and offers it to me. “Will princess be needing her barf bag this evening?”
He thinks that’s hilarious. It’s not. It is so not. I grab the bag from him and rip it in half. He stops laughing.
But I’m super nervous, and I think I might regret tearing up the barf bag before it gets to be my turn. I don’t see Nichole anywhere. Maybe she’s so great at this, she doesn’t even need to show up to get the part. There’s no way she listened to Saiph and didn’t sign up.
I watch as each person goes on stage, reads some lines, and then leaves. It looks simple. Except that most of them don’t get through their whole monologue. Some of them are decent, but most of them suck. I bet even the ones who suck are doing a better job than I’m going to. I’m probably going to trip on my way up there and projectile vomit all over Mrs. Wagner, the drama teacher, who is judging all this.
“You look nervous,” the girl in line behind me whispers.
She says it in a friendly way, not in an “I can tell you’re a loser and so not going to be my competition” way.
“I am,” I whisper back. “Just a little.”
“My name’s Charlotte.” She reaches out and shakes my hand. She’s got curly, light brown hair.
“I’m Adrienne.” I don’t add, “You must not have heard of me, or else you wouldn’t be speaking to me.” I introduce her to Saiph instead. He lifts up his glasses to peer under them and get a better look at her. Then he leans in and whispers to me, “Do you think she brought an extra barf bag? You could borrow one from her.”
I don’t think Charlotte heard him, so I force a smile and pretend to laugh. “You are so funny!” Oh, man, do my acting skills suck.
Charlotte doesn’t notice. “Is this your first time?”
I nod. “I’m not much of a… My mom sort of wanted me to try out. Why? Do you do this a lot? What part do you think you’ll get?”
Charlotte sighs and leans against the wall. “Extra. Again. But at least I’ll be part of it.”
I don’t mean to twist my eyebrows up all funny and squint at her like I have no idea what she’s talking about. It just happens. “You mean part of the play?”
“Part of the play, the group, everything.”
Being an extra still means showing up to rehearsals. It still means putting work in, even if nobody cares about your part and thinks you suck and don’t deserve to be there. Or at least that’s what I’ve gathered, never having been in a play before. That’s a lot of effort to put in, just to go out of your way to not be invisible.
Saiph puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Adrienne here is going to get the lead.”
“Wow. That’s awesome!” Charlotte blinks at me through her glasses. She’s impressed. She actually believes him.
I shrug out of Saiph’s grasp. “He’s”—I stop myself from saying lying—“kidding. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get booed off the stage.” I try not to sound very serious when I say that, like I’m making a joke, but what can I say? I have no acting skills.
Charlotte’s face softens. She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sure that won’t happen. You’re going to do fine. Just relax.”
Yeah, relaxing. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll get the lead for sure if I just relax. Because it’s not like if I fail I’ll have to go tell my mom that I lied to her, even if it wasn’t on purpose, and that I let her believe I was the daughter she wanted instead of the daughter she got, and that she’ll have to call back all of our relatives and her friends from back home and tell them I suck.
Okay. Even if I just become an extra, at least then I can say I’m in the play. I can tell Mom there was a misunderstanding between us, and that I meant lead non-speaking part, not the actual lead of the whole play. The stars in her eyes will fizzle out a little, but they won’t go away completely. I’ll be in the play. That should get both her and Saiph off my back, and hanging out with Charlotte during rehearsals might not be so bad.
***
I get up on stage when it’s my turn. I’m holding a piece of paper with the script from the most important scene in the play on it, the one where the heroine—a princess, no less—defeats a fire-breathing dragon. My stomach’s flip-flopping so much, I don’t think I’m going to be able to read. I can’t remember the Alphabet. My throat is too dry. My mouth doesn’t know how to open anymore.
My heart pounds as I look out across the empty cafeteria. It’s a little thrilling to be up here on stage, even if there’s nobody in the audience, but then I remember reading my lousy poem in front of everyone and how awful that turned out.
Mrs. Wagner stands to the side of the stage with her lips pursed, one hand on her chin. She doesn’t like what she sees, I can tell. She double-checks her clipboard. “Miss Speck. You’re trying out for the part of Victoria, is that correct?”
I nod because I can’t talk. Because talking would betray just how much I know I’m not suppose
d to be here. Charlotte might have been fooled for about five seconds, but everybody else knows I’m not lead material. I’m not even extra material. I might make an okay audience member.
“Begin, please.” Mrs. Wagner’s not even looking at me as she says it.
I guess she’s seen enough terrified kids trying out for a role they can’t even hope to fill. She knows what we look like. She can probably smell the fear rolling off of us a mile away.
I clear my throat. I scan the words on the page. I open my mouth with the intent to actually start reading. I feel so awkward, so embarrassed. I hesitate. The first line on the paper is a direction. Victoria sees the dragon and screams bloody murder.
I’m supposed to scream? Out of nowhere, I’m supposed to open my mouth and scream like there’s a dragon about to attack me? I think I must have gotten the wrong piece of paper, because none of the other kids trying out had to do this.
“Miss Speck, is there something wrong?” Mrs. Wagner looks down her nose at me.
“I… I think there’s been a mistake. It says I’m supposed to scream. Everybody else had dialogue.”
“Everybody else wasn’t trying out for the part of Victoria.” Mrs. Wagner rolls her eyes, already tired of dealing with me. I guess she can already tell I’m not cut out for this. “I chose this scene because it’s the most dramatic in the play. It takes the most passion, the most…” She makes a fist and holds it to her chest. “It requires oomph. I want to believe Victoria’s scream of terror. I don’t want to think a dragon’s chasing you, I want to know it is, even if I can’t see it.” She smiles and gestures at the stage. “Please proceed.”
She knows I can’t do it. She’s just enjoying watching me squirm. Scream, and then act like a dragon’s chasing me? All I can do is think about how stupid I’ll look and how unrealistic it’ll be. And how when I open my mouth, no sound will come out. I’m a speck—what do I know about oomph?
Mrs. Wagner shakes her head and starts to write something on her clipboard. It’s going to be over before it’s even started if I don’t do something.
I open my mouth, determined to give it my all, but what comes out is only a garbled squeak. That’s the best I can do. It’s a good thing someone isn’t actually attacking me, because no one would hear my pathetic mewls for help. I look around, pretending to see the dragon, and shuffle in place. Shuffling in place is my idea of running away, or at least of how to fake it on stage.
“That’s enough.” Mrs. Wagner cuts me off by making a slashing motion with her hand.
“But I… Can I start over?” It sounds so stupid, arguing that I need more time. As if that would help. I watched a dozen kids come up on this stage and make the same argument when she told them to get lost. I thought it was pretty clear that reading a couple more lines wasn’t going to make any difference for them. And still I’m making the same pleas that I need to keep going. Like somehow that’ll change Mrs. Wagner’s mind.
Okay, so I know when I’m done. I hand the page of the script back to Mrs. Wagner. “Do you think I could still be an extra?” I whisper to her, before getting off the stage.
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “No, Adrienne, I don’t believe we’ll be needing you.”
Oh. Great. I’m not even good enough for a non-speaking part. I wish that didn’t hurt so much. After all, I came here knowing I didn’t belong. It’s not like I thought I’d actually get a part or anything. Now I’ve proven that I can’t get in the play, and Saiph can let this go and get back to granting my wishes. Mom will just have to get over it.
Okay. The excuses aren’t working. I feel my face getting hot and tears welling up behind my eyes. I will them to stop. I didn’t even care about this audition—not before Saiph kept insisting I’d make the lead. As I leave the stage, I see Nichole striding across the lunchroom. Mrs. Wagner beams at her.
Nichole purposely runs into me, then acts surprised. “Oh, Speck”—she makes a flicking motion with her fingers, as if she’s flinging away a speck of dirt—“I didn’t see you there.” She looks at the stage, then at me, and gasps. “Oh, wait, you didn’t actually audition, did you? I’m so sorry I missed it. Maybe they got it on video? Maybe someone who saw it can act it out for me. You know, someone with talent, who actually got a part.”
Her face blurs in front of me, and I feel the tears start to fall. I can’t hold them back anymore. I make a break for it and run past her, through the propped-open double doors and into the hall. Saiph hurries after me, but I turn away from him and drag my sleeve across my face. I don’t want him to see me crying, even though it’s too late for that.
Saiph takes my hand. He’s actually smiling at me. “Good job, princess.”
He sounds so sincere, I glance over my shoulder at the stage, to see if somehow Mrs. Wagner fell and hit her head in the last minute and has changed her mind about me. She hasn’t. Nichole’s still cackling, and Mrs. Wagner’s smiling at her and handing her the scene I botched.
I sniff and rub my wet face with my palms. “Maybe you weren’t watching,” I tell Saiph.
“Are you kidding? You did a great job—we’ve got them right where we want them. Everyone likes an underdog. Imagine how it’ll feel to make that kind of comeback.”
I roll my eyes at him. Yeah, right. But he’s grinning at me, and I can’t help a tiny smile twitching on my lips. “Let’s get out of here,” I mutter, tromping down the hall and away from the lunchroom, where Nichole’s about to take the stage and scream bloody murder on cue. As much as I’d like to imagine Nichole’s about to get eaten by a dragon, I don’t need to hear her nail the part I just lost.
I turn to Saiph, trying to see a bright side to all this. “At least now you and Mom can forget about me getting the lead.” It’s kind of relieving, really.
He holds up a finger and shakes his head. “Au contraire, ma petite princesse. The lead is as good as yours.”
“Ha ha. Pretending we’re in a parallel universe isn’t going to change anything.”
He clucks his tongue at me. “Oh ye of such minuscule faith. You’re going to play Victoria, and you’re going to beat that dragon.”
“Oh yeah? And how exactly am I going to do that?”
“You’ll see,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me. “It’s all part of the plan. I’ve got everything under control.”
But if he’s got everything under control, why do I have such a bad feeling about this?
Chapter Thirteen
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m working my shift at Flame Burger. I’ve got on my super-not-cute hat with our cartoony dragon mascot on it and my scratchy green work shirt. Saiph insisted on coming here with me. I actually let him. He’s supposed to sit out in the dining room and sip his Coke and not look conspicuous or talk to me or anything. It’s been an hour so far, and he’s doing a good job. I keep looking over at him, afraid he’s going to start talking to someone or set the place on fire, but he’s just sitting there, occasionally looking up at the clock. Behaving. I should be happy about that, right? Then why is it driving me crazy? Why do I get the feeling something very bad is about to happen?
I catch sight of Mrs. Wagner coming in from outside. She looks lost, like she hasn’t been to a fast food place in ten years and won’t remember how to order. She glances around the dining room, like maybe she’s looking for someone. I’m supposed to smile and say, “How may I help you?” if she comes up to the counter, but I duck down before she can spot me.
I’m giving myself too much credit. She probably won’t even recognize me. I stand up, pretending I was rearranging some ketchup packets, and that’s when I hear Saiph’s voice.
“Mrs. Wagner, I’m so glad you could make it. You remember the girl I talked to you about, the one who tried out the other day at the auditions? Her name’s Adrienne Speck, and she’s right over there.”
I’m just in time to see Saiph point at me as I pop up from behind the counter. I’m going to kill him. Did he actually invite her here? Did he serious
ly go out of his way to bring the drama teacher who thinks I stink worse than last week’s garbage to my work to see how much I stink in real life, too? I think he must have gotten the whole “wish granting” thing mixed up with “not wish granting.”
But he’s not done. He doesn’t just point me out to her, he steers her towards a chair and motions for her to sit down. “The show’s about to start. I think you’ll be very pleased with Adrienne’s real audition.” He grins and rubs his hands together.
Mrs. Wagner raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief, but she stays put and waits for the show to begin.
I take back what I said about him behaving. I run into the dining room and grab Saiph’s ear and drag him into the corner. “What are you doing?!” I try to keep my voice down, but it’s hard when he’s so annoying.
He winces and rubs his ear, which is turning red. “What I’m here for, remember? I’m helping you out.”
I don’t even know what to say. You tell a guy to stay shut up in the attic with nothing to do all day, and he trashes your room. You tell him not to talk to anyone at school, and he gets up on his desk and makes an embarrassing spectacle of himself. You bring him to work with you and tell him to behave, and he invites the drama teacher you made a fool out of yourself in front of to come over and watch you do it again.
“You’re helping me out.” I glare at him. “I think you need to rethink your definition of the word help.”
“And I think you need to stop complaining and get ready.”
“Get ready for what?”
“The finest performance of your life.” He reaches out and pokes my hat, right where the cartoon dragon is. The sugary smell gets stronger, so that this place smells more like a bakery than a hamburger joint.
Then something absolutely horrible happens. The dragon picture on my hat comes to life. A real live dragon jumps out of my Flame Burger hat and onto the floor in front of me. And let me just say that it’s NOT the same size as it was in the picture. It’s at least six feet tall and eight feet long. It’s green, and scaly, and it has really big teeth. I don’t scream—I don’t move or make a sound, barely even breathing.
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