She pulled one off the top of the stack and shoved it at me, then turned back to Jordan. “The scene with Maria and Tony is on the front page. Bernardo’s scene is toward the back.”
“Thanks,” he said again.
“I’m Mary East, by the way.”
He nodded. “Right. You introduced yourself to me this morning.”
“Right.” She laughed as though she’d said something funny, and I wondered exactly how she’d introduced herself to him. “It will be great to have you in the cast.”
“Thanks.” A moment of silence ensued. A normal person would have returned to passing out scripts. Mary stood in front of Jordan like he was a painting she’d stopped by to admire.
“I’m trying out for the part of Maria,” she said.
“Good luck,” he told her.
She giggled again and finally left.
Jordan leaned closer to me. “See, I’m not sure that much friendliness is normal.”
“Mary isn’t friendly. She’s hitting on you because you’re cute and new here. Therefore you haven’t learned yet that she’s vain, manipulative, and has several dead bodies buried in her backyard.”
“She has what in the backyard?”
“Well, that may just be speculation on my part, but I’ve been suspicious of her since the third grade when she stole my library book. You can’t trust someone who nabs your copy of Misty of Chincoteague, and so you have to pay for it.”
“I see.” Jordan flipped through his pages, skimming the lines.
I tried to familiarize myself with Maria’s lines, and not think about Mary at all. In my mind I saw Maria at the dance. Young, hopeful, and with long blond hair like mine. Dang. Maria was Puerto Rican and definitely brunette. Would Mrs. Shale penalize me for having blond hair? I could always wear a wig or dye it. I’d tell her this when I went up.
Jordan flipped from one page to the next. “And to think I complained about Shakespearean English.”
“What?”
“Listen to how these gang members speak: ‘Great, Daddy-o!’” He turned to another page. “‘Riga tiga tum tum.’” Two pages later. “‘Cracko, jacko!’ What does that even mean—cracko, jacko?”
I shrugged. “Sounds like the punch line to a bad Michael Jackson joke.”
“We’re going to look stupid saying this stuff.”
“Not me. Maria doesn’t have a foul mouth like you badboy gang members.”
Over the top of his script, Jordan glared at me.
I nudged his knee with mine. “Don’t worry. Once you get up onstage and the audience is out there cheering for you, you’ll see why I love drama.”
Jordan flipped to another page. “Hey, we gang members get cool names too—Action, A-rab, Chino, Pepe—who wouldn’t be afraid of a Pepe?”
“I think that’s pronounced ‘Pep-ay,’” I said, “and not ‘Peep,’ or, you know, anything else.”
He didn’t answer me, but instead went back to his script, mouthing the lines silently.
After a few minutes Mrs. Shale called Jordan up. He took the stage casually, as though not even nervous. I, along with every other girl in the auditorium, watched him breathlessly.
He read the scene with Lauren, and then again with four other girls. He wasn’t bad the first time, but by the fifth time he was good. His voice became louder, and he spoke with the right amount of emotion. He even put some body movement into it. He probably would have gotten a part even if Mrs. Shale hadn’t been predisposed to adore him.
The other surprise was that Lauren could act. As she looked up at Jordan and read her lines, you could almost see the stars forming in her eyes. I hadn’t expected anything so remarkable from someone whose main talent thus far had consisted of leg kicks and synchronized clapping.
To make matters worse, Lauren had brown hair. It would be bad enough to lose the part of Maria to Mary. It would kill me to lose the part to Lauren.
After Jordan finished reading with three more girls, Mrs. Shale let him go. He walked back to our seats and plopped down next to me with a smile. “How did I do?”
“Good enough that I predict you’ll be saying ‘Daddy-o’ and ‘cracko, jacko’ sometime in the near future.”
He could have left then. Who knew how long it would take until I had a turn to read. But he didn’t. He sat next to me.
Lauren left her group of friends and walked down the aisle. I assumed she was going home, since she’d already read; but she walked over to us and sat in the chair next to Jordan. She smiled at him till he looked over at her.
“Jordan, you did really well as Tony.”
He nodded at her. “Thanks, I’ve always wanted to belong to a singing, dancing street gang.”
She laughed a light, tinkly laugh. I hated her all over again.
“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lauren.”
And apparently I was invisible because no one seemed to notice me sitting by Jordan.
Lauren ran her acrylic nails through her hair. “Everyone thinks you’ll get the part of Tony.”
“Well, Mrs. Shale hasn’t heard me sing yet.”
“I’m sure you sing beautifully,” Lauren said.
I wanted to yell, “You already got your quota of my boyfriends. Go away!” Instead, I just glared at her, which she didn’t see because her eyes were magnetized to Jordan’s face.
She leaned toward him. “I bet you’ve learned a lot of great acting techniques from your father, haven’t you?”
Jordan’s head jerked back with surprise. “What?”
“Your father,” Lauren cooed. “Isn’t your father Christopher Hunter?”
He paused as though he didn’t want to answer. “Who told you that?”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows. Even the teachers were talking about it. They say he’s going to come up and see the play.”
The teachers. Mrs. Shale. Mrs. Shale had told everyone about Jordan’s father. A wave of nausea swept over me. Even my toenails felt sick.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t been rendered invisible, because Jordan reached over and took hold of my hand. Still without looking at me, he said, “Will you excuse us for a minute? I need to talk to Jessica privately.” Then he stood up and half pulled me out of the auditorium.
Once we got outside, he did look at me, and then I wished he hadn’t. The anger glimmered in his eyes. His jaw was clamped tight. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you told people about my father. I trusted you. I specifically asked you not to tell anyone.”
“I only told Mrs. Shale,” I said weakly. “And I only did that because she was going to cancel the play altogether. I couldn’t let her do that. You wanted your father to come and see you perform.”
“I also wanted to be a normal teenager, Jessica. I didn’t want to spend my senior year being some peculiarity.”
“You’re not a peculiarity. People like you. Is that such a bad thing?”
More head shaking. “People don’t like me. They like my father. And now I’ll never know whether they would have liked me.”
I felt pinned to the wall by his gaze. The way he looked at me hurt.
“I’m so sorry,” I gulped. “I asked Mrs. Shale not to tell anyone. I thought I could trust her.”
“Well, I guess we know the truth about both of you now.”
Another pin. This time through my heart.
He took a step closer to me and lowered his voice. “Tell me the truth about one thing, Jessica. Just promise you’ll be honest in what you say next.”
I nodded numbly.
“Did you want the play to go on so I could be in it or so you could be in it?”
My cheeks burned. It was hard to breathe. I couldn’t answer.
His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head again. “I thought so.” He gave me one last disappointed look, then turned and walked out of the school.
I’m not sure how long I stood there, watching him leave and then watching nothing at all. It’s hard to realize you just messed up your life. It’s
even harder to realize you messed up someone else’s. I wanted desperately to set things right, but how could I? People knew about his father. I couldn’t undo that. I couldn’t think of anything that would make this even a little bit better. Finally, I walked back into the auditorium.
When I did, Kate took the stage. She read Anita’s part, the woman who was Maria’s best friend and Bernardo’s girlfriend. While she spat out venomous lines against the gang that killed her boyfriend she glared at me. Her chest heaved in angry rhythm to her words, and the emotion poured from her lips.
Take a number, Kate, today everyone hates me.
After Kate read, Mrs. Shale called me up for my turn. Walking to the stage, I tried to keep my hands steady so the paper wouldn’t shake between my fingers. It was her fault. The reason everyone knew Jordan’s secret, the reason approximately half the girls in the school had shown up for tryouts, the reason the guy I liked had just walked away from me—it was Mrs. Shale’s fault. How could she have done this to Jordan? To me?
Mrs. Shale sat in the front row. Her notebook lay in her lap. She gripped her pen like it was an orchestra wand. “You may begin when you’re ready,” she told me.
I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t be a young girl in love at a dance. Nothing drama class had ever taught me could help me shelve my rage. It brimmed inside of me, seeping out into the air I breathed.
I read the first line, and thought: You betrayed me, Mrs. Shale. I read the second. How could you do this to me? I read the third. You’re an adult. You’re a teacher. You’re not supposed to tell students’ secrets.
My performance stank. I read the part as though Maria had violent tendencies and Tony and several other members of the cast would be strangled and strewn across the dance floor before the night ended.
As I finished reading my last line the guy playing Tony took a step back from me. I had gripped the script so hard that it lay crinkled in my hands.
Mrs. Shale stared at me, tapping the top of her pen against her teeth. “Well . . . that was an interesting interpretation of Maria. Who wants to read next?”
I stepped over to the edge of the stage. “Can I talk to you privately for a minute?”
Perhaps because I was one of her drama students, or perhaps because she was tired of sitting for so long and wanted to stretch her legs, she agreed. We stepped into a small room offstage where props were stored.
I had never yelled at an adult before, let alone someone who would not only determine my grade in drama but also which, if any, part I got in the school play. Emotion whirled in my throat.
“What is it, Jessica?” Her words were impatient, not sympathetic.
My hands shook, so I crossed my arms across my chest and tucked them close to my body. “I asked you not to tell anyone about Jordan’s father. I told you he didn’t want anyone to know, but you told, didn’t you? Everyone knows. That’s why all these girls came here today. They think if they’re in the play, they’ll get to meet Christopher Hunter.”
She made a little tsking sound, as though I was being unreasonable. “I told you I had to ask the principal for more funding. Naturally, I had to tell him about Jordan’s father. He’s the reason Mr. Poure even agreed to let us put on the play. One donation from Christopher Hunter could keep our arts program alive for years.” She gave my hand a pat like a mother reassuring a child. “Jordan has no reason to hide his father or be embarrassed about anything. He should be proud. Besides, everyone was going to find out when his father came to see the show anyway. We just let everyone know a bit early.”
“No,” I said. “We didn’t let everyone know. You did. You told, after I asked you not to. It doesn’t matter what you thought or why you did it. You didn’t have the right to make that decision for Jordan.” My voice rose of its own accord. I was halfway to hysteria, mostly because I knew everything I said applied to me too. “It was his secret, not yours.”
Mrs. Shale pulled herself up straighter. “I only told the principal. And his secretary. And of course, Mrs. Cluff because she’s the music teacher. I only told the people I had to. If Jordan is upset, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. But as for you—” She held up one finger to silence me. “You answer to me, and not the other way around. You’d do well to remember that if you want a part in our cast.” She pulled the pen from behind her ear, clutched her notebook in the other hand as though it were a flyswatter, and stormed out of the room.
She probably went back to sit in front of the stage, but I’m not sure. I didn’t check before I ran out of the school.
Seven
My mother has often tried to comfort me with the phrase “Things always look better in the morning.” The next morning was not one of those times. I had called Jordan twice after tryouts to tell him I was sorry. To tell him I’d been a jerk. To see if there was some Herculean feat I could do to earn his forgiveness. He never answered. Finally I left him a message trying to detail all of the above. I asked him if we could still be friends. I asked him to please, please call me.
He never called. I took my phone with me to school, even though it’s against the rules, just in case he text messaged me.
When I got to my locker, I saw Kate sitting on the floor doing algebra homework. She looked up with surprise while I twirled my combination. “You look awful.”
“Thanks.”
She let out a sigh. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant …well, you know what I meant.”
“I suppose you meant I look awful. Was there some hidden message that I missed?”
Kate snapped her book shut, picked it up, then stood and leaned on the locker beside mine. “I meant I can tell you feel rotten about our fight. So do I. Let me apologize first and tell you I shouldn’t have yelled at you about Jordan. It’s not worth it to let a guy ruin our friendship.” She held one hand out, as though giving me something. “Besides, after tryouts I heard all about his Hollywood connection, so I can see why you said he was more your type than mine. I mean, you want to be an actress, and I want to be a Supreme Court justice. What I’m trying to say is if you go out with Jordan, it’s okay with me.”
“Thanks.” I shoved my backpack into my locker and got out my notebook for first period. “But you don’t have to worry about Jordan. He broke up with me yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yeah. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about Jordan’s father, but I told Mrs. Shale. She told an undisclosed number of people. I’m not exactly sure how many, but it’s somewhere between three and the entire school population. So, you know, it’s my fault everyone knows, and he’s not speaking to me anymore.”
Her mouth formed a sad little “Oh,” and then suddenly her eyebrows shot up. “Wait a minute, is that why you look depressed this morning? It’s because Jordan fought with you, not because I fought with you?”
I tapped my fingers against my locker door. “It’s not a contest, Kate. I didn’t consult the dark circles under my eyes to see whether they’re there for you or for Jordan. I just wish yesterday never happened.”
My voice cracked, and Kate put her sympathetic face back on. “Right. Me too. Let’s just say yesterday never happened between us, and those dark circles will vanish. The bags under your eyes might take longer.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
“I know what will cheer you up. Let’s go see if Mrs. Shale posted who got the parts for the play.”
I was not entirely certain this would cheer me up. I shut my locker slowly, and we drifted down the hallway toward the drama room. I held my books tightly against my chest. “I yelled at Mrs. Shale at tryouts, did a horrible job, and she told me off. Well, not in that order, but she’s probably the one who caused the bags under my eyes. So what kind of part do you think I’ll get?”
Kate laughed as we walked. “A big one because you’re still a good actress, and Mrs. Shale knows it. You have nothing to worry about. I’m the one whose only experience in drama is playing a dead person.”
“It’s not the size of the
part that matters,” I told Kate. Because I’d said it to her so many times during the production of Our Town, it had become our own mantra. “It’s how well you do your part.”
as it turns out, I lied to Kate during Our Town. There are many, many things that matter about a part, especially its size. Also, the phrase “You have nothing to worry about” is one of those phrases like “Everything will look better in the morning” that is overrated. Kate and I stood in front of the cast list for a full five minutes, stunned by the news. Kate was stunned because she’d been chosen to play the second biggest female role, Anita. I was stunned because I hadn’t been chosen to play anything. Oh, officially Mrs. Shale listed me as Jet dancer number four/Velma and Anita’s understudy; but Velma only spoke about five words during the entire play, and being an understudy doesn’t mean anything. In the entire history of Three Forks drama productions, I’ve never heard of a main character actually needing their understudy to fill in for them.
Kate, for example, is very healthy, and I could tell by the way she squealed and jumped up and down in excitement that there was very little chance she would need me to take over for her.
I was going to do nothing in this play but sing backup for some hokey song and do a few twirls and leaps across stage. I suppose Mrs. Shale thought she’d taught me a lesson, and she had. The lesson was: Never trust a drama teacher; they’re evil.
Maria went to Mary, and—no surprise—Jordan was Tony. My only consolation was that Lauren had been cast as Shark dancer number three/Rosalia and Maria’s understudy. At least she hadn’t taken my last boyfriend and the part I wanted.
I stared at the list for a moment longer, staring at the main parts on the top of the list and my name on the very bottom. It wasn’t worth the time I had to take off from Wal-Mart to perform the part. “I’m not going to be in the play,” I finally said. “I quit. Mrs. Shale can find someone else to be Jet dancer number four.”
Kate turned away from the list to look at me. “You can’t quit. What about all those it’s-not-the-size-of-the-part pep talks you gave me?”
“Those were . . .” I didn’t finish, because I couldn’t think of a way to explain it.
Fame, Glory, and Other Things on My to Do List Page 9
