by P. G. Kain
This announcement gets a favorable reaction from most kids, but I am reluctant to approve. A final exam is still a final exam. It doesn’t matter where it takes place. Still, it’s better than sweating over a page covered in small ovals waiting to be filled in with the correct answer to some torturous multiple-choice question.
“You should have on your desk a copy of the textbook we will be using,” Mr. Evans continues. “Will you please turn to the first page of chapter one on ‘Scientific Inquiry’?”
I quickly open my book and find the page. Once I have it, I take a good look at Mr. Evans. He seems like a nice enough guy. He has wavy black hair that looks like he just combed it and a wrinkled forehead that makes him look like he is always in deep thought. If I were to send him out on a casting it would be for the role of a doctor for some type of aspirin or pain medication. He has a warm, open smile, and it makes me think he will be an easy grader. At least, I hope he will be.
“We are going to start right in looking at the process of scientific inquiry. Will someone begin reading from the first sentence here on page eight?” he asks. One of the girls raises her hand and starts reading. I hate reading aloud in class. It’s one thing to read the script at an audition, but reading aloud in class always makes me nervous. Last year in my social studies class I had to read an article on political leaders in the Middle East out loud, and I mispronounced one of the names so badly it sounded like a word commonly used to describe something terrible that can happen to you in a bathroom. It was humiliating, so I try to avoid reading aloud in class whenever I can.
I turn to a fresh page in my notebook and prepare to take notes, when I feel my phone vibrate. It’s too early for Honey to be calling me for an audition, and Ginger is in Chinese school.
I make sure Mr. Evans is not looking at me and very carefully turn the phone over to see the screen. It’s my dad. I take in a quick breath, which catches Mr. Evans’s attention. I cough politely to cover my excitement, and Mr. Evans goes back to reading along in his textbook.
I haven’t spoken to my dad in days. I know he’s been really busy with work, so this may be the only window I have to actually hear his voice. I decide to turn my polite cough into a larger distraction so I can talk to my dad. I start with a small, simple clearing of the throat that you might use to get someone’s attention and then move into a full-blown cough syrup commercial cough, like I have just swallowed a hair ball. Then I go all out with a cough that sounds like I’ve swallowed a cat that has swallowed a hair ball.
Mr. Evans can no longer ignore my interruption. “Miss, do you need to use the restroom or get a drink of water?” He walks over to me and hands me the hall pass. I nod while still coughing and quietly move my cell phone from my bag to my pants pocket. I grab the pass and head out of the classroom.
Since it’s summer, the building is quiet, like a church on a Wednesday afternoon—the spirit is still there but the congregation is somewhere else. I walk to the back stairwell, where I know I will be able to have some privacy, and hit the callback button on my phone.
“Michael Herold,” I hear my dad say. He always answers the phone using his full name, since he never knows if it might be a business call.
“Hi, Dad, it’s me. I think you just called me, but I was coming out of the subway so the reception was bad.” I don’t like to lie, but I don’t want him to feel bad about interrupting me during class.
“How’s my favorite girl? How’s my Peanut?” he asks. His voice is warm and easy. My dad could be the announcer in a luxury automobile commercial. “Book any big spots I should start looking for?”
I wish I could say yes. I wish I was about to appear on a TV near him any moment now, but I just started back, so it might be a few weeks until I book anything at all. “Not yet, Dad,” I say. “But I did have a go-see just the other day.”
“Good for you.” He clears his throat. “Uh, Cassie, there’s been a change of plans. . . .” My father says this a lot. He changes plans more often than most people change socks.
I try to prepare myself not to get too disappointed. “Yeah?” I say as evenly as possible.
“I know I was scheduled to come and see you in two weeks, right?” he starts. Actually, twelve days and fourteen hours, but who’s counting? “Well, I’m not going to make it,” he says. I feel my face start to get red. I cannot go back to class with tears in my eyes. I squeeze my eyelids tightly.
“I’m actually flying into New York this Friday. Is that all right?”
My eyes pop open, and any thought of tears flies out of my head. “This weekend? Like, in four days? Are you serious? Oh, Daddy, that’s great. That’s fantastic. I can’t wait.”
I can hear him chuckling on the other end of the phone. My dad has this great deep chuckle that you wish you could bottle and open whenever you were having a bad day. “Look,” he says, “I’ve got to get on this flight to Tampa, but I’ll call your mom and make sure it’s all right with her. Love you, Cas. See you soon.”
“You too, Dad. Bye,” I say, and hang up the phone.
This time I actually turn off my cell phone. I walk back to class, and Mr. Evans is writing something on the board about scientific inquiry that already doesn’t make sense to me. It’s only the first day of class and I’m already behind, but it doesn’t matter because I feel like I’m ahead.
CHAPTER 12
I swear I answer 90 percent of my mom’s questions with the same word. “How was school?” Fine. “How was the callback?” Fine. “How do you feel about having lasagna for dinner?” Fine. “What’s a word that rhymes with line?” Fine. However, my unchanging response doesn’t stop her from asking me a thousand questions every chance she gets. I love my mom, but sometimes I wonder how we are related. She loves mathematics and crafting, and I like hanging out with my friends and going on auditions. We could not be more different.
When I was little, I used to love coming to her office on campus. It seemed like such a magical place, but now, as I stare at my soggy tuna-and-sprouts sandwich, her office seems about as appealing as my lunch. When she asked me to have lunch with her, I was hoping that would mean some sunny sidewalk café where I could people watch and look out for cute boys.
“And how do you like Mr. Evans?” my mom asks.
The word “fine” just rolls out of my mouth, but I can tell my mom is trying hard to make conversation, so I dig just a bit deeper. “I mean, he seems like a nice guy. He’s not too old, and so far he hasn’t given us too much homework.” I take a final bite of my soggy sandwich before covering it with paper. “But I forgot to tell you the worst part of class.”
“What’s that?” my mom asks. I can tell she’s excited that I’m sharing something without her prodding.
“Nevin!” I announce.
“Is Nevin in your class? But he’s younger than you are.”
“I know, right? He’s taking it for extra credit or something stupid like that. Can you believe it? Extra credit? Over the summer?”
My mom takes a bite of her sandwich and then smiles with her mouth closed for a second. “I know Nevin can be a bit of a pest, but he’s not a bad kid. You know he worships you. Just be nice to him.”
“I am,” I say quickly, not sure if I’m being honest.
“When you were little, you and Ginger and Nevin were together all the time. The three of you would play in the courtyard until it got dark. You and Ginger even spent a couple of summers with Nevin’s family at the beach house on the Jersey shore. Remember?”
“I remember,” I say. It’s true that when we were kids the three of us hung out, but as we got older, we hung out less. Part of it had to do with the fact that girls and boys generally stopped hanging out together, and part of it has to do with the fact that Nevin got deeply into his dork stage. I’m still hoping to put as much distance between my dork stage and whatever stage it is I’m in now. Still, it’s weird to remember that we used to hang out so much when we were younger.
“Just remember, Cassie. So
metimes when you kiss a frog, he turns out to be a prince.”
“Mom, please! I’m eating.” The very thought of kissing Nevin or that he might actually turn out to be a prince is disgusting. I glance at the clock behind her and see that it’s almost one. I shove what’s left of my lunch in my paper bag and put it in my backpack. “I better go to my audition or else I’ll be late.”
My mom sighs. “Well, at least these things are teaching you a good work ethic. Have fun,” she says. I give her a kiss good-bye and I’m out the door.
CHAPTER 13
The waiting room at Betsy Barnes Casting is packed. I knew it would be. There are two distinct groups waiting outside the studio. All the girls are huddled together on one side, and the boys are hanging out on the other side of the room. It’s only recently that we started dividing this way. A few years ago all the boys and girls just hung out together. I go to the sign-in and grab the sides from the assistant so I can see if there are any lines I need to memorize. Before I even look at the sides or write down my name, I scan the sign-in sheet to see if RR is here.
“Yes!” I say out loud when I see his name on the list just a few spaces above mine. Even his handwriting is cute. It’s sloppy but in a very bold sort of way. I sign my name as girly as possible with big, loose loops in case Rory decides to look over the names to see if I’m here. Once I sign in, I remember that he thinks my name is Monique, so I guess it doesn’t matter how I sign my name.
I grab the sides and go over the storyboard. It’s a “vignette” spot, which means they’re going to film a bunch of scenes and put them together. The fun part about this type of commercial is that you get to be in lots of different shots. The bad part is that they shoot so many different scenes that not all of them make it into the final cut of the commercial. I shot a vignette spot for a cat food a year ago, and my face never made it to the actual commercial. I think that bothers some kids but not me. I try to focus on the storyboard in front of me, when I suddenly see HIM out of the corner of my eye.
At first I’m excited, but then I quickly remember that he doesn’t know my name. He thinks I’m Monique. I can’t exactly go over to him and say hello when he doesn’t know my name. I could reintroduce myself and tell him my name, but that’s pretty bold even for me. I decide to position myself across from him on the other side of the room and engross myself in the copy. That way I will be far enough away so he won’t actually have to talk to me, but close enough so he’ll see me and I can smile or wave. Maybe even smile and wave.
The studio door opens, and four kids walk out. The casting assistant compares the sign-in sheet with her clipboard and announces a list of names to go in next. She ends with, “… and Rory Roberts. In now, please.”
Rory gets up, and as he begins to walk toward the studio he sees me. I decide to cut the wave and just smile. He sees me, smiles back, and gives me a sort of half wave, which is a lot for a boy. His smile alone would have been enough for me, but the half wave is the icing on my cake. So what if he doesn’t know my name? What’s the big deal with a name? He knows who I am, and that’s what’s important. I smile to myself, knowing I’ve accomplished at least half of what I have set out to do today.
I pick up the sides again and begin to study each panel. Sure, seeing RR is a highlight, but booking the spot is what I am here to do. If I totally mess up my go-see, that means no callback, and no callback means no booking, and no booking means no chance of my dad seeing me on TV, and that means I am basically wasting my time in summer school. The spot seems easy enough, so I just think of some facial expressions that would work for each scene.
Rory’s group comes out, and I pretend I am deeply engrossed in the sides. We’ve already had a moment today, so I don’t want to push it. I should probably try to start a conversation with him or something, but we already had the wave, and I’m not sure I want to deal with the whole Monique thing. I hide behind my pages and carefully watch as he walks down the hall and out of sight. He’s wearing a royal blue polo that reminds me of a print ad he was in for a fast-food restaurant, where he’s with his family, enjoying a meal of cheeseburgers and shakes. He wore a blue polo shirt and his usual incredible smile. I know the ad well, because I had it hanging in my locker all last year.
Another group goes in and comes out and then I’m finally called in. The casting director goes over the scene. It’s pretty simple. We’re just a bunch of kids hanging out at an amusement park. During the day, the group of girls keeps running into the group of boys, and one of the boys starts to like one of the girls, and romance blossoms.
We each slate, and then everyone alternates playing the friend or part of the couple. I get distracted for a bit when I realize that just a few minutes ago Rory was in this room pretending to be someone’s boyfriend. I would do anything to have him pretend to be my boyfriend. Then I confuse myself, because I would like him to be my real boyfriend, but in a way, the pretend image is so much nicer.
I try to focus on the audition. It’s a bit hard pretending the messy room is an amusement park, but I do my best to imagine the feel of the summer sun, the smell of freshly spun cotton candy, and the sound of muffled screams going down the steepest hill of the roller coaster. We run through each scene a few times, and then the casting director says she has what she needs on tape and we leave the studio. The amusement park that I created in my head melts away like an ice cube thrown in a fire.
As I walk out of the studio I see Phoebe and her brother Liam. I’m not surprised, since everyone wants to book Phoebe lately. I bet she would be perfect for the girlfriend role in this spot. “Hey, guys,” I say. I know her brother goes with her just to help her out, which is incredibly sweet. Still I ask, “Are you both here to audition for the spot?”
“Please, like Liam would ever get in front of the camera,” Phoebe says. She laughs and moves her long blond hair from one shoulder to the other.
“No, thank you. I’m strictly a behind-the-camera kind of guy,” Liam says. The truth is, Liam is a really cute boy and would do very well. As a matter of fact, he was on my Crush List a few months ago, but he is way too much of a rebel to really have any chance of moving into my top three. Rory has a bit more charm, in my opinion, and a bit more mystery. Also, Liam and I are friends, so if there had been a romantic spark I’d know by now.
I hang out with Phoebe and Liam for a little while, since I don’t have to be home right away and Phoebe is pretty far down on the list to go in. She tells me that she just shot another ad for Pizza Fantastic a week or so ago. Phoebe has been booking like crazy ever since her brother started going out with her on auditions. She says he’s her good luck charm.
“Oh, hey,” Phoebe says, all excited. “Why don’t you come out to Great Neck this weekend? They’re opening the pool at the swim club, and it’s supposed to be a scorcher. You could take the train and we could play volleyball with the other kids at the club.”
Liam, who has been drawing with a pencil on a pad about the size of his lap, looks up. “Yeah, Cassie, you should come out to Long Island this weekend. We could go to that ice cream place again. I’m sure that schnauzer has forgiven you.”
“Will I ever live that down?” I ask, and they both laugh. The last time I visited them, we got ice cream cones at Scoops. We walked out of the store, and I went to take my first lick, but the ice cream was not firmly on the cone, so my tongue accidentally pushed it off its base. It landed smack-dab on a miniature schnauzer, who did not seem too happy about being covered in mint chocolate chip ice cream. We offered to wash the dog for the owner, but I think he just wanted to get away from us, and so did the dog. Thinking about it still cracks me up.
“Guys, I would love to come out there. It sounds totally amazing,” I tell them, “but I actually have plans this weekend.”
Phoebe gasps. “Do you have a date with you-know-who?”
“Who is you-know-who?” I ask, pretending not to know she is talking about Rory.
“Please. Everyone in this room knows who
you-know-who is. I mean, I don’t officially know who you-know-who is, and even I know who you-know-who is.” Liam’s sentence sounds so ridiculous that the three of us laugh out loud, and Phoebe hits Liam on the arm.
“Liam, be nice,” she says. “Don’t worry. We know who you mean because we’re your friends, but no one else has any idea. Liam is just being Liam.”
“Phew,” I say. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because he’s not the guy I’m seeing this weekend.”
“Well, from the sound of your voice, it seems like it’s someone pretty special,” Phoebe says.
“It is,” I say. “It’s my dad!”
CHAPTER 14
I get up at the crack of dawn on the day I’m supposed to see my dad. Okay, it’s actually eight thirty, but on a Saturday, it feels like the crack of dawn. My plan is to spend some time cleaning my room and then do the breakfast dishes. I try to be extra nice to my mom on the days when my dad is in town. I wish she would just come with us, but she says since my dad is away so much, it’s important for the two of us to spend time alone together. I’ve tried to convince her that it’s more fun when all three of us are together, but she won’t budge. It’s been so long since the three of us were together in the same place at the same time that maybe whatever problems made it difficult for us to all be together have sort of just disappeared.
I walk out of my room, and the rest of the apartment smells like pancakes and syrup. My mom is sitting at the kitchen counter finishing her granola and soy milk. “Oh, good, you’re up,” she says. “I made pancakes and waffles, so you can have your choice, or you can have both. And I didn’t put any wheat germ or fiber flakes or natural anything in them. Here, I even bought this.” She hands me an unopened bottle of Southern Charm Pancake Syrup, the kind that is supersweet and has only a very casual relationship to maple syrup.