by Dani Jansen
“Hi, Jack. I’m assuming you’re here to audition for Puck?” I asked.
“I am. Um, was that just Ben Weber in here?” Jack looked over his shoulder and out the open door, the space between his brown eyes wrinkling in confusion.
“It was. Don’t ask.”
Jack chuckled. “That bad?”
“No, that good. I think we’re going to have to give him a part.”
“Wow. That’s…unexpected.”
“Right? But enough about Ben. We’d love to see what you have prepared. Wouldn’t we, Becca?” I nudged Becca, and she managed a twist of the lips that was probably meant to be a smile. Oh, Becca, you are not making this easy, I thought.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths. He was obviously a little nervous, and I was just about to say something reassuring when he launched into Puck’s famous monologue from the end of the play. Ben had been good, but Jack was great. Seeing him audition after an afternoon of “actors” who kept pausing awkwardly when they had to say unfamiliar words was like watching Patrick Stewart play Macbeth after having just watched the latest teen heartthrob play the dark, sensitive love interest in some forgettable drama about vampires or kids dying of cancer. Listening to Jack recite Puck’s monologue, I felt like Jack might just be able to make Shakespeare accessible. He made it sound so easy, so fun, so…cool.
“That was amazing, Jack!” I didn’t feel like I needed to hold back in my praise. This was Jack—one of my oldest friends—and obviously, he deserved the role. “We’ll definitely recommend you for the part. Won’t we, Becca?”
Becca gave a terse nod.
“You think so? I was worried I went overboard by memorizing all the lines, but I just really want this part, you know? I can get a bit too enthusiastic about things. Anyway, I’m glad you liked it.” Jack was beaming. Then there was an awkward pause as I tried to wait out Becca. Say something, I thought at her. The silence must have gone on too long because Jack eventually said, “So, I guess I’ll talk to you two later?”
“For sure. Great job again, Jack,” I said as he grabbed his backpack and walked out the door. I looked at my best friend and said, “Oh, Becca.”
“I know,” Becca said, forehead now planted on the desk in front of her. “I know.”
CHAPTER 5
I was more than a little surprised when I spoke to Mr. Evans the next day and he seemed unsure about casting Jack as Puck. My surprise might even have gotten the better of me. I may have said to him, “Are you crazy? He was great! You can’t cast anyone else!” Not exactly the way a student traditionally speaks to a teacher, I know.
Thankfully, Mr. Evans seemed unruffled. After my little outburst, he explained, “I’m sure Jack was great. He’s been in my drama class for three years, after all. That’s why I want to use him to our best advantage. We might need to double cast some of the roles, so I was thinking of having him play Oberon and Theseus.”
“But they aren’t as cool as Puck!” Yup. That was some first-class arguing there. My two years on the debate team had really paid off.
“No, they aren’t as ‘cool’ as Puck. But who else could we cast as Oberon and Theseus? It needs to be someone who can be regal and command the audience’s full attention.”
I knew then what I had to do, but I really, really didn’t want to do it. I looked through my notes from the auditions, even though I knew there was only one solution. “Well, actually, Ben Weber was pretty good, and he auditioned for Theseus.”
Mr. Evans’s gray eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t want to play Oberon. I don’t know if he’d want to take on both roles. He kind of made fun of Oberon, to be honest. Plus, he’s, uh, hard to work with.” I couldn’t give Ben a full-out endorsement. My conscience and gag reflex would not allow it.
“Now, Alison, I know you and Ben are rivals for valedictorian, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d stoop to this.”
My mind raced. How did Mr. Evans know who was in competition to become valedictorian? Wait. Had he just said that Ben Weber was in the running? Ben Weber, who often wore a T-shirt that said “Federal Boobie Inspector?” And was Mr. Evans accusing me of trying to sabotage Ben? Didn’t any of the teachers know how stupid he was? “But, Mr. Evans, that’s not—”
He cut me off with a smile. “It’s settled, then, Jack can play Puck and Ben will play Theseus and Oberon. I’m sure you can convince him to play a double role. It’s such a privilege, after all.”
“I guess I can try.” I didn’t feel like I could tell Mr. Evans that I was possibly the last person who would be able to talk Ben into doing anything. Any conversation between the two of us ran the very real risk that I might strangle him. Mr. Evans had all but accused me of being petty, so I didn’t see a way to decline this task without seeming childish.
“Great!” Mr. Evans straightened his sweater vest, then sat down at his desk. “We have one more actor to audition today. She couldn’t make the auditions yesterday, so I told her she could come by after school. She should be here any minute now. I’d appreciate it if you could stay to watch her.”
“Sure,” I answered half-heartedly, digging my phone out of the front pocket of my backpack. I needed to text Becca and Annie to let them know I was going to be late. They’d be waiting in Becca’s car by now, since I’d told them I only needed fifteen minutes to speak with Mr. Evans. Normally I didn’t like using text shorthand—I mean, it doesn’t take that much longer to write in full sentences than it does to write like an illiterate ten-year-old—but I needed to be fast: Gon 2 b late. Sorry. Plane laser. I pressed send without fixing the autocorrect because the final auditionee had just appeared in the doorway. It was Charlotte Russell, looking just as cool and composed as ever. Her full lips were quirked into a half smile, which looked both self-deprecating and a bit ironic, as if she knew how ridiculous all of this was and was sharing the joke with us.
Charlotte leaned against the doorway and said, “Hey, Mr. Evans, thanks for letting me come in to audition today. I appreciate it.”
Mr. Evans grinned broadly at Charlotte, his high, bald forehead folding into a series of happy wrinkles. “Not a problem at all. I’m glad you decided to finally audition for one of my plays.” Mr. Evans waved her in, and Charlotte tossed her bag on the floor next to the door as she made her way to the center of the room. I suddenly noticed that I was standing next to Mr. Evans’s desk like a servant waiting on her master. I decided to casually lean against the desk, but I kind of miscalculated the distance.
“Alison! Are you okay?” Mr. Evans seemed genuinely worried for me as he bent down to help me to my feet. I took his hand and pulled myself up.
“I’m fine,” I lied. My butt felt like it must be turning black and blue as we spoke, but I couldn’t admit that in front of Charlotte. And now I was standing even more stiffly than before, too sore to sit and too nervous to lean. So that I would have something to do with my hands, I pulled the Red Binder out of my backpack. I opened it to a random page, pretending to be looking for something, and when I looked down at the page heading, it was like it was mocking me: “First Aid Protocols.” Har, har, Red Binder, you think you’re so funny, don’t you? See how funny you think it is when I toss you in the garbage after this is all over. See if you laugh then.
“What do you think, Alison?” Mr. Evans asked me. Both he and Charlotte were looking at me.
“Um, seven?” Why had I just said that? Why would seven be the answer to his question? Unless he wanted to know how many dwarves Snow White lived with. Please let him be a big Disney fan. Please let him be a big Disney fan.
“Alison, I asked you who else had auditioned for the role of Hippolyta. Are you sure you’re okay?” Mr. Evans cocked his head to the side. Charlotte seemed to be on the verge of laughing. I couldn’t blame her. I was both mortified and a little angry. I mean, I could have been hurt
, and here she was practically laughing at me.
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. No one has auditioned for the role of Hippolyta yet.”
“It’s fate! You must audition for the role, Charlotte. Just give me a moment to get settled and you can begin.” Mr. Evans sat in his chair, his pale, freckled hands folded together on his desk. I shifted my weight to my other foot, trying (and failing) to stay comfortable.
It turned out that Charlotte was one of those actors who seem to just play themselves, but it worked for her. Maybe it worked because Hippolyta, the former Amazonian queen, is proud and strong like the real-life Charlotte, but I suspected it was because Charlotte was so charismatic that you wanted to keep watching her no matter what role she was playing. Plus, she was fearless. When she made eye contact with us—her audience—it felt like she was daring us to try to turn away. Her eyes were a cool blue, I noticed, before I had to break eye contact. She had barely finished her audition when Mr. Evans was on his feet, applauding. “My Hippolyta! I’ve found you! I want you to learn Titania’s part as well, because I’d like to cast you in both roles. I’m sure you’d make an excellent fairy queen.”
Charlotte’s ironic half smile had returned, and she said, “Queen of the fairies, huh? I think I can get behind that.” And then she looked right at me and winked. Winked! I felt myself blushing and cursed my capillaries for betraying me yet again.
Charlotte told Mr. Evans she’d study Hippolyta and Titania’s lines, then both she and Mr. Evans started walking to the door. He had to turn back to say to me, “Alison, you can’t stay here.”
I shook my head, slung my backpack over my right shoulder, and tried to hide a wince when the bag hit my butt, which was still feeling sore from the fall. I was grateful when Charlotte and Mr. Evans turned right and headed for the front doors of the school. I turned left instead, making my way to the student parking lot at the back of the building. It gave me time to worry obsessively about what Charlotte had meant by the wink. I wondered if I had imagined it, though I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Then I wondered if it was just another way to show she didn’t take all of this too seriously; I should have found her too-cool-for-school attitude annoying, but it seemed so light-hearted that I didn’t. I hoped she wasn’t making fun of Mr. Evans, who might be a bit self-important, but who obviously loved what he did and seemed to think highly of her. I didn’t think she was making fun of him, since it hadn’t exactly happened behind his back. So what else could it mean? Was it possible she was flirting?
I was still contemplating the wink when I reached Becca’s car, a thirteen-year-old Honda Civic named Harvey. Harvey didn’t look like much, but he saved us from a loud thirty-minute bus ride home, so we treated him with great reverence. As soon as she spotted me, Becca called out of the driver’s-side window, “Glad you made it out alive. Those plane lasers sounded dangerous. I was starting to think I’d be able to listen to all of Ghost Stories before you got here.”
“Yeah. So disappointed that didn’t happen,” Annie muttered from the backseat. Becca was obsessed with Coldplay, a fact I found endearing and which my sister found aggravating. Only the threat of public transportation kept Annie from mutinying against Becca’s tight control over the aged CD player.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, climbing into the front passenger seat.
“What took so long?” Becca asked as she performed the many rituals Harvey demanded before he’d start up: She rubbed the dashboard three times counter-clockwise, patted the steering wheel, and then quickly pressed on the gas pedal as soon as the engine turned over. The rituals performed, she pulled Harvey out of the student parking lot and onto the road.
“Oh, there was one more audition. Someone who couldn’t make it yesterday,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah? Who?” Becca asked.
“Charlotte Russell,” I said, looking out the side window and making brief but awkward eye contact with the driver stuck in traffic beside us.
I probably shouldn’t have turned my head. I also should have moderated my voice better so that I didn’t sound like a prepubescent boy. But it was too late. Becca had caught on that there was more to this story. “Charlotte Russell, huh? You mean the girl with the tattoo?”
“Does she have a tattoo?” I asked, hoping to sound nonchalant. I failed. Miserably.
“Everyone knows she has a tattoo. Oh my god. You like her, don’t you?” Becca grinned at me, her brown eyes twinkling in delight.
“Becca! The road!” Becca slammed on the brakes just in time to keep from rear-ending the SUV in front of us, but only barely.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said, not a trace of concern in her voice.
“I don’t think basic road safety is a change of subject, Becca.” I took a few deep breaths. No matter how often I drove with her, I could not quite get comfortable with her laid-back approach to driving.
“You’re still avoiding the question.”
“No, I don’t like her. She’s just really interesting.” I picked a hair off my jeans.
“Just really interesting?” Becca sounded unconvinced. “So did you speak to her?”
“I…well, I didn’t speak to her directly,” I admitted.
“You totally have a crush on her,” Becca concluded, smile growing.
“I don’t even know that she’s gay,” I said lamely.
“You’re both such losers,” Annie added helpfully, poking her head between our two seats. “Obviously Charlotte is gay. Just look at her haircut.”
I craned my neck to glare at her. “That is such a stupid stereotype.”
“Stereotypes have to come from somewhere. With a haircut like that, she has to be at least bi,” Annie replied, totally unfazed by my stern look. “Neither of you can even talk to your crushes. It’s so sad.”
“Annie?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Mom’s car.”
“You’re going to have to stop using that some time, you know.” Annie retreated into the backseat. She was angry. I could tell by the way she hunched her shoulders.
“Maybe. But not today. So just shut up, okay?”
Becca turned up the music and we listened to Coldplay the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER 6
That night, I closed the door to my bedroom, lowered the lights, and played some yoga videos from YouTube in an attempt to relax. When deep breathing and downward dog didn’t do the trick, I cleaned my room, a time-tested cure for stress. While my sister liked to make a cocoon of all her earthly belongings, curling up comfortably in a bed littered with dirty clothes and crumpled homework, I felt most clear-headed in a tidy room. I started by changing my sheets and fluffing my pillows, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlotte’s wink and my sister’s stupid comment about her hair. I hated those kinds of stereotypes, which was part of why I kept my own hair ponytail length. As much as I hated the stereotype, though, a part of me wanted Annie to be right. This is one of the problems with being an “invisible minority.” People don’t know you’re gay unless you tell them. I wasn’t about to ask Charlotte if she liked girls, so I could only play a ridiculous guessing game based on a hairstyle and a twitch of the eye. It felt unfair. Yes, everybody has to wonder if the person they like likes them back. But when you’re gay, you have to first wonder whether or not that person even likes your gender. And whether they know you like your gender. Anyway, I did not have time to obsess over some girl who might or might not be gay or bisexual, not if I wanted to be valedictorian.
I needed to do something more active to keep my brain from spinning in circles, so I decided to tackle my desk, the one place where I couldn’t seem to maintain order. I kept my clothing organized by season, I limited myself to one wall poster (Rosie the Riveter), and I worked hard to keep my books contained in the tall Ikea bookshelf squeezed into the corner of my room, though there was some double-stacking to make the
m all fit. But when it came to my desk, it seemed like all my organizational powers failed. There was never enough space for everything. I couldn’t even fit my laptop on the desk anymore. I did most of my work on my bed these days, using my desk less as a workspace and more as a storage container. The Red Binder took up a goodly amount of space, but there were also smaller binders full of handouts and homework for my classes, as well as Post-it notes with to-do lists. There was a pile of university brochures, which I had been slowly accumulating for three years now, as well as various drafts of essays I’d been writing for scholarship applications. I liked to write on my laptop, but I needed to print my work to edit it, and I was too scared of computer crashes to throw out old drafts. My desk looked like the workaholic’s version of my sister’s bed.
I began by sorting through the Post-it notes, throwing away the ones that had every item on the list checked off. (Don’t you just love the feeling of checking off the last item on a to-do list?) Then I started shuffling through loose papers, which is when I spotted a small rainbow pin, one of the little tokens my parents would leave in my room from time to time to show their support. My parents weren’t ones for grand gestures, so instead, they showed that they accepted me by bringing home pins and talking about the great gay couple who worked at their law firm. I had come out to my parents only last year, after Becca had insisted that coming out to just her wasn’t enough.
We had been eating supper at the kitchen table. It was unusual for all of us to be home at the same time, especially on a weeknight. My parents are both lawyers, and they love what they do, which means they often work late. With my extracurriculars and Annie’s busy social calendar, we usually eat alone or in twos. That night, though, we were all there, and we were having a good laugh about Grandma’s new obsession with memes.
“She also sent me the Grumpy Cat one! I didn’t have the heart to tell her everyone knew about Grumpy Cat years ago,” I told my mom. My lasagna was getting cold, but every time I tried to take a bite, someone else mentioned a ridiculous e-mail from Grandma, and I’d be laughing again. Things had gotten a bit competitive.