by Seven Steps
The three girls spotted me and sent me collective glares.
Great. It was the first day of rehearsals and I was already public enemy number one.
Mrs. Simpson stood and clapped her hands twice. Her sunflower print headwrap matched her skirt, and she wore black shoes that were sensible in an orthopedic sort of way.
“Okay, people, let’s come to order.”
She clapped again, and the auditorium went quiet.
“We have a lot to do and little time. Our production will take place the first week of June. That means we have exactly two months and three weeks to get everyone rehearsed.” She gestured to the stack of white, bound books sitting atop her enormous bag. “Our first order of business is to distribute the scripts. Please come and get your copies.”
The squeak of sneakers echoed through the auditorium as at least ten people rushed forward to grab the thick books. I walked over and took one too.
The front cover had A Midsummer Night’s Dream in bold, black letters. When I got back to my seat, I quickly flipped through the crisp, white pages. Did Mrs. Simpson expect me to remember all these lines in less than three months? There had to be at least a hundred pages here. It was impossible!
Anxiety hit me hard, and I handed the book to Purity while I focused on slowing my racing heart. Studying was not my forte and I had a feeling that learning the lines for this play was not going to be easy at all.
“The next order of business is identifying our lead characters.”
Lead characters. That included me.
I felt eyes on me and I slid lower in my seat.
“It has come to my attention that some of you think I showed favoritism in my choices for the lead roles. This matter has been taken as high as Principal Mann.” A few scattered gasps came from the stage. Charlotte glanced at me, a smug look on her face. I rolled my eyes.
“I spoke with Principal Mann today about the matter and we have come to an agreement. The actors and actresses that I have chosen will stand, and if you don’t agree with me or with my decisions, then you are free to not be a part of this year’s production. I’ll give you a minute to gather your things and find your way to the door.”
Purity and I shared a victorious look. If Charlotte aka Char-latte thought Mrs. Simpson was going to crumble in the face of her temper tantrum, she had another thing coming.
But my triumph was short-lived. Yes, I was grateful to Mrs. Simpson for standing up for me, but it didn’t change the fact that standing on stage in front of everyone was going to be a total nightmare. I could probably have handled a big part or being on stage crew but having a lead role with so many lines made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Mrs. Simpson had confidence in me, but I was 100 percent sure I did not have that same confidence in myself.
Not anymore.
When no one moved, Mrs. Simpson continued.
“Good. Now that we have that out the way.” She cleared her throat. “Welcome to the St. Mary’s Academy production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so let’s get started.” She snapped her fingers. “Let’s set for act one scene one. For this we’ll need Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, the two attendants, Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius will be set up stage left in chairs, while everyone else will set up standing stage right.”
Really? We were starting already? I hadn’t even looked at the script yet!
Purity patted me on the back. “Break a leg!”
Believe me, if I could break a leg and still get extra credit, I would.
I walked on stage, heading to the left. Next to me was Adriel Aquino and Emily Crawford. With their long hair, bright shirts, and wide-legged pants, they looked like time travelers from 1975. The real-life couple had somehow managed to get the roles of on-stage couple Theseus and Hippolyta.
And besides them was…
My chest tightened to almost painful levels.
Josiah? What was he doing here? I thought he wasn’t coming to this school until September. Was he in the play too? No. It couldn’t be! Life could not be this cruel.
Our eyes met, but his expression remained neutral and nonplussed. I tried and failed to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and walked quickly to my seat.
What was he doing here?
I sat in my chair, my legs shaking. Half of me was ready to bolt while the other half of me reminded myself I needed this extra credit if I was going to finish the eleventh grade.
I was stuck. Horribly and inextricably stuck.
Joe sat one seat away from me, and for a moment, I thought I was going to have a total meltdown. Then Hershel Moskovics, our resident Demetrius, sat between us and I relaxed a little. Hershel was tall and chunky, and he blocked out Joe completely.
Thank God.
I tried to think back to when we’d read this play in the ninth grade. I remembered most of it, but not this particular scene.
Who could Joe be playing? Which characters had Mrs. Simpson called to the stage again? I was so busy trying not to freak out that I wasn’t paying attention.
I opened my script and turned to the cast page. A quick scan did not reveal Joe’s name, but there was a TBD.
TBD.
To be determined.
I slid my finger over to the left and saw it was next to Lysander’s name.
Lysander. Wasn’t that—
“Sophia, line, please.”
My gut rolled. It felt like everything around me was moving way too fast. My entire body was frozen. There was no way I could do this. Especially not with Joe!
“Sophia, we don’t have all day. Line, please. Page four.”
I knew two things about this play.
One, Puck freaked me out.
And two, Hermia and Lysander were epic lovers.
And now, I was playing Hermia to Joe’s Lysander.
Joe who hated me.
Sweat formed on my hairline. My head felt heavy, like it might fall off at any moment.
Someone chuckled to my left, and I knew without a doubt that it was Charlotte. She never believed I could do this. She’d said so in the hallway yesterday. And now, I was proving her right.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be on stage in front of people pretending to love a boy who couldn’t even look at me. I couldn’t risk being made a fool of again.
Mrs. Simpson’s irritation was plain. “Sophia, darling, you’re holding us up.”
My throat felt like sandpaper. A bead of sweat dripped down my ear and I wiped it away.
I tried to calm myself and focus on the script, but the words were so blurry I could barely make them out.
A few more chuckles spread throughout the auditorium and my face went hot.
It was happening all over again.
I was choking on stage in front of everyone.
Again!
My teeth ground together, and my eyes warmed with impending tears.
Please don’t cry, I begged myself. Please don’t cry.
Mrs. Simpson stood and walked to the front of the stage, her eyes on me.
“Are you all right, hon?” she asked. “You don’t look so hot.”
Hot? I wasn’t just hot. I was sweltering!
“Um, do you have some water?” I croaked out.
The pity in her face was unmistakable and I burned beneath it.
“Sure, dear.”
She gestured to someone behind me and I heard sneakers skidding across the floor.
“Is that all you need?” she asked.
Besides needing the floor to open up and swallow me whole?
“Yeah. I’m, um… just feeling hot. And tired.”
“Okay. Do you want us to call in your understudy and you can sit this one out?”
“Yes,” I whispered, standing up quickly. “I think I need to lie down.”
Mrs. Simpson’s frown deepened. “Fine. Why don’t you take a load off? Lisa will take over from here.”
I was barel
y out of my seat before Lisa Phillips was thrusting herself into it.
I didn’t care. I just needed to get off stage, away from Joe. Away from everything.
A redheaded boy handed me a bottle of water, and I grabbed it and beat a hasty retreat.
Charlotte was right. I didn’t belong in the lead role. I barely belonged on stage.
Purity met me at the steps and walked me to the bathroom right outside the auditorium. When we were safely inside, she turned to me.
“What happened up there? You looked like you were about to throw up.”
I splashed water on my face. “I felt like I was.”
“Is this because of Joe, or because of your stage fright thing?”
“Both.”
She clicked her tongue and handed me a paper towel. “That boy has been nothing but trouble since the moment he got here. I wish he had stayed in Georgia.”
“Texas.”
“Whatever. Look, you cannot let him know he got the best of you. You have to fight back.”
I snorted, drying my face. “And how am I supposed to do that? I can barely function when he’s near me. It’s like my entire body gets all shaky.”
“So, ignore him.”
“It’s not that simple. We’re supposed to be lovers.”
She blew out a breath. “That does complicate things, doesn’t it?”
I leaned against the sink, feeling cooler, but no more in control.
“Well, you can’t just quit, that’s for sure,” she said.
“I know that,” I snapped. I closed my eyes, immediately feeling guilty. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m just freaking out right now.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s hard.”
“What am I going to do? I can’t just run off stage whenever I see Joe. There has to be some way to get the extra credit but not have to do the play.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“I don’t know. The only way I’d even have a chance of passing is if I—”
My head shot up.
“What?” Purity asked. “What is it?”
“Do you have plans tonight?”
“No.”
“Good. I need you to come with me.”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“To pay a visit to an old friend.”
“Your friend or mine?”
“Both. Tonight, I’m getting out of this play. Permanently.”
We stayed in the bathroom until we were sure that rehearsal was over, then we walked back out to get our things.
Purity was less than thrilled with the plan I’d come up with. She called it stupid and reckless. And maybe it was, but I had no choice.
I could not do this play, especially not with Joe. So yes, I was going to do anything I had to do to get out of this hole I’d dug myself into. Even if that meant being a little reckless.
The plan was to visit Jeffrey “Wally” Wolowitz at his house and beg him to break into the school’s computer network and change my grades just enough to cover the extra credit I’d be losing out on with the play. There was no doubt he could do it. His hacking skills were legendary. The question was, how could I convince him to do it? Especially since he’d fired me from being the eye candy at his upscale dungeon and dragons events. There was no time to think about it now. I’d have to figure it out when I saw him. But one thing was clear. After today, I was not stepping one foot back into this auditorium.
Purity and I quickly grabbed our bookbags and rushed back toward the door when Mrs. Simpson called out to me.
“Sophia. A word, please.”
Crap. What could she want now? Was she calling me to see if I was feeling better, or was she telling me that I was out as Hermia for good? I couldn’t blame her if she replaced me. Especially since my brain was screaming that I could not pull this play off anyway. I’d proven that very fact when I’d almost passed out on stage.
I told Purity I’d meet her in the hallway and trudged back down the aisle. Mrs. Simpson was hunched over her massive brown satchel, moving things around and shoving stuff in. She was like a real-life Mary Poppins with that bag.
“Yes, Mrs. Simpson?”
She sighed, stood straight, and put her fists on her hips. Her expression was more annoyed than sympathetic. It was the same look Mom gave me when I was in trouble. My gut tightened.
“What happened up there?” she asked.
I shrugged, trying to look more innocent than I felt.
“I don’t know. I just got nervous, I guess.”
“Nervous about what?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “I was just nervous.”
“Am I going to have to find myself a new Hermia, or are you going to get un-nervous?” she asked, her voice harsh.
My mouth opened, then closed. When I didn’t immediately answer, she kept talking.
“When Mr. Mann asked me why I picked you as the lead, do you know what I told him?”
I shook my head.
“I told him I picked you because I believed in you.”
“In me?” I asked, pressing my hand to my heart. “Why?”
The question surprised me. It was at that moment I realized exactly how much of my confidence had been sapped away. Shame heated my cheeks.
“I believed in you because I’ve seen you perform. Mr. Walters showed me the short film you did in film club. The Greek one. You played the lead, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And how do you think you did?”
I shrugged again. “Okay, I guess.”
Her brows pressed down. “You guess? What’s all this shrugging and I guess stuff about? I’ve seen you prance around this school in your short skirts with boys all over you. I’ve seen you get into fights. I’ve seen you sing ‘Lady Marmalade’ in front of a crowd of hundreds. The girl I remember was full of so much confidence and ambition it was coming out of her ears. What happened?”
The Spring Fling happened. My epic meltdown on stage happened.
But I didn’t try to explain that to her. How could she understand what it was like to be humiliated in front of hundreds of people?
“Tomorrow, when you come to rehearsal, bring the old Sophia with you. I want to see that girl who sparkled on stage, not the one who fakes illnesses. Got it?”
How could I tell her that the old Sophia was dead? There was only me left now. A husk of what I used to be.
“Yes, ma’am,” I lied.
“Good. Now run along home and rehearse your lines. Tomorrow I want you prepared.”
I turned from her and walked up the aisle.
Though her words stung, I took comfort in the fact I didn’t need to bring old Sophia back. And new Sophia was one phone call away from not coming back here either.
I frowned at Purity as I approached the doorway. She saw my expression and frowned too.
I quickened my pace, anxious to get on with my plan.
The moment I crossed the threshold of the auditorium, I heard my name.
But this time it wasn’t Mrs. Simpson.
“Hey, Sophia.”
My heart fluttered. Joe stood behind Purity with his hands in his pockets. He wore his camo hat low, hiding his eyes. God, couldn’t he leave me alone for just a few hours?
“Uh, hey.” My voice came out in a frog-like croak, and I cleared my throat.
“Can we talk?” His Texas twang was less pronounced than I remembered it, but it was still melodic and sweet.
He scratched the back of his neck, revealing strong, defined triceps even though he wore long sleeves.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Purity said, whipping around and planting her hands on her hips. “In fact, you can go crawl back into whatever rattlesnake den you crawled out of you… you—”
“P, stop.” I put my hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn to me.
“Say the word and I can call Cole, Eric, and Ollie to come out here and kick his butt right now.”
Joe’s eyes wid
ened, and he put his hands up in defense. “Whoa there, little lady. I just want to talk to her about the play. That’s all.”
Purity whirled back to him. “I don’t care what you want to talk about. She has nothing to say to you.”
I took her hand. “P.”
She turned back to me, with fire in her eyes. I wished I had the same fire in me that she did.
Yes, Joe’s presence had upended my life, but something I couldn’t explain drove me to want to hear him out.
I sighed. “I want to talk to him.”
Her eyes went wide. “But, Sophia! He’s ruining everything.”
“I know.” I leaned close to her. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m giving him.”
Her expression squeezed in irritation and she shot a hateful glance at Joe. Then she looked back at me.
“Fine. I’ll meet you at the car. If you’re not outside in five minutes, I’m sending the brute squad in.”
“I promise.”
She hmphed, then raised her chin and left Joe and me alone.
I rolled back on my heels. My fight or flight response was in full flight mode right about now. I wanted to get away from Joe, but my curiosity kept me there.
What was he going to say? What would he do?
“I just wanted to say I hope we can both be professionals and find a way to work together. I know it’s a difficult situation, but I’m willing to be the bigger person if you are.”
Excuse me? Was he saying I couldn’t be the bigger person? Did he think my meltdown on stage was because of him? Granted, it partially was, but how dare he assume that.
I squared my shoulders, trying to appear put together even though I was falling apart. “I’m more than professional,” I replied shortly. “And as far as being the bigger person, you don’t have to worry about that from me. Maybe you should take your own advice.”
He nodded, as if he wasn’t bothered at all by my cutting remark. It irritated me. I wanted him to be as uncomfortable as I was right now.
“I just don’t want our differences to get in the way of the production, especially with all the kissing stuff and our… uh… history of… that.”
