Little Do We Know

by Tamara Ireland Stone

  I watched her, thinking back to all the time we’d spent in her room, talking and listening to music, or in my room, curled up on my comforter, binge-watching shows on my laptop. I missed her. I missed her so much it hurt.

  I thought back to what she’d said to me the day we fought. When was the last time you had an opinion that was entirely your own? And I thought back to what Aaron had said to me in the sound booth earlier. It’s okay to question this stuff.

  “I’m not a sheep,” I whispered. The words ricocheted off the glass and hit me like a slap me in the face.

  It wasn’t true.

  I was a sheep.

  But I didn’t want to be one anymore.

  I stepped away from the window and stood a little taller, feeling a new sense of purpose as I let the curtain fall and returned to my desk. I hid my essay in the background, opened the browser, and navigated over to the search box. My hands were trembling as I typed, Religions of the world.

  The screen filled with links. Christianity. Islam. Hinduism. Sikhism. Buddhism. Judaism.

  I clicked on one and scanned it. And then I went back to the search screen and clicked on another one. I scanned that, too. I did it over and over again, until I found one that caught my attention, and then I read it top to bottom. When I was finished, I returned to the page full of links and clicked on another. I scanned. I read. I clicked again. I read until the sun went down and the streetlight clicked on. I was still reading at 2:00 a.m., even though my eyes were heavy and burning, and my neck was stiff.

  I expected to feel content at some point, but every answer I found led to another question I’d never even thought to ask.

  “I just want to apologize to Mike’s mom. And Josh’s mom. And my mom. And I’m sorry to everyone.”

  I paced back and forth in front of Tyler’s Prius as I waited for him and Charlotte to get there. I could see the school bus on the other side of the parking lot, waiting to take Luke and the rest of the lacrosse team to their away game in San Bernardino.

  Suddenly, I heard the locks click open, and I turned around to find Tyler walking toward me, arm extended, key fob in hand. “Who are you talking to, crazy lady?”

  I looked right into his eyes, gripped his chin in my fingers, and said my next line. “I was very naive.”

  “Were you now?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m so, so sorry for everything that has happened.”

  Charlotte climbed in back and gave me shotgun.

  “Because in spite of what Mike says now, it is my fault—”

  Tyler was starting to back out when I heard a loud slap against the passenger window. I jumped. I turned to find Luke with one hand flat on the window and the other pointing at the lock, a smile on his face.

  “Hey, easy on the Prius!” Tyler yelled.

  Luke and I had already said our good-byes and good-lucks, and told each other how excited we were for our goodnight. But I was full of nervous energy, and I was so happy to see him again, I got out of the car and threw my arms around his shoulders. He picked me up so we were face-to-face, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

  “Hey, you,” I said.

  “Hey.” He kissed me. “You’re going to kill this thing. Okay? Everyone at UCLA will wonder how there was ever another Heather or a…what’s her name?”

  “Phoebe.”

  “Right. Phoebe.” He kissed me again. He tasted like a candy cane. “Go get yourself into UCLA Drama.”

  I unwrapped my legs and jumped to the ground. “Go remind Denver why they’re lucky to have you.”

  I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him again. And then I got back in the car and leaned back against the headrest, grinning to myself.

  “You guys are gross,” Tyler said.

  My head fell to one side. “I know, right?”

  Tyler took a left out of the parking lot, following the signs to the freeway, and I picked up where I’d left off. “I’m so, so sorry for everything that has happened, because in spite of what Mike says now, it is my fault. Because it was my project, and I insisted…”

  We drove like that for the next hour, me reciting lines, Charlotte feeding me the ones I couldn’t remember. When we were a little more than halfway there, Tyler pulled into a Starbucks drive-through, and we loaded ourselves with sugary caffeinated drinks, and then hit the road again. When Tyler finally made it to campus a little over two hours later, I was feeling better. I’d done both monologues countless times, and I could feel the caffeine and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  I pulled out the instructions I’d printed the night before, along with the parking permit, and directed Tyler to the right lot. The three of us got out and walked through campus, passing groups of people huddled around tables and kids flying by on skateboards. I pictured myself as a student, walking to class, meeting new friends in the library to study, running lines with my drama buddies in the theater.

  Charlotte wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pulled me into her. “Promise me one thing?”

  “Anything.”

  “Ten years from now, let me be your date to the Oscars. I’ll do your hair and help pick out your dress and stuff, too, but bring me, okay?”

  “Who says I’m not going to be your date at the Oscars?”

  “Me,” she said. “I enjoy acting, but not like you do. You love it. I’m going to make a great drama teacher, like Ms. Martin. You’re going be in the movies.”

  I hugged her hard. “I love you, and I’m going to miss the hell out of you next year.”

  “I’m going to miss you more.”

  We continued down the path that led to the theater. The two of them weren’t allowed inside, so they hovered around the sculpture garden while I walked up to a long table and introduced myself to a guy with dark hair poking out from under a purple beanie. I handed him two copies of my headshot and résumé, and he crossed my name off the list.

  “How many people are auditioning today?” I asked.

  The guy looked around, like he wasn’t supposed to share the information. He set his elbows on the table and leaned in anyway. “A little over two hundred on the list. About thirty auditioning today and forty next week. The rest are via video submission. Ten spots to fill.” He handed me my name tag. “Take a seat anywhere in the first three rows. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I put on a brave face and tried to ignore how clammy my hands suddenly felt. Two hundred people. Ten spots. I’d planned on slightly better odds. I wondered if any of them had ever been on TV. I hoped I’d made that experience clear enough on my résumé.

  As soon as I stepped through the doors, I recognized the theater from the drama school’s online videos. It was smaller and less ornate than the main one, with rows of movie theater–style chairs and blank gray walls. There were props on the stage: a round table with two chairs set at an angle, and a living-room set with a brown couch and a glass-topped coffee table.

  I took a seat in the second row and set my bag by my feet. I visualized myself climbing the steps and crossing the stage. I’d stand on my mark and root my feet in place.

  While we waited, I looked around, sizing up the competition. Smack in the middle of the third row, I spotted a girl in a bright blue blouse with a round face and shoulder-length blond hair. She immediately reminded me of Hannah. Her hair was more curly than wavy, but the overall look was close enough. She caught me staring at her and grinned, and my heart sank deep in my chest, because she looked more like Hannah when she smiled. It made me think about all those performances on the Foothill stage, looking down into the audience at the beginning of every show and seeing my best friend sitting in the first row, rooting for me. It made me realize for the first time that Hannah wouldn’t be in the audience for Our Town. She might not be in the audience for any of my performances ever again.

  The room darkened and the spotlight clicked on, illuminating the stage. A man in brown corduroy pants and a white collared shirt walked to the center, cleared his throat, and introduced himself as Ben
Waterman, the chair of the drama department.

  I checked the time on my phone: 6:06. Luke was probably just getting to the field. I pictured Addison and the rest of their friends huddled together in the rival school’s bleachers, dressed in their green-and-white Falcons gear, trying to look intimidating but probably failing at it.

  “You’ll be performing backstage in a private room,” Mr. Waterman explained. “Stay here until you hear your name, and then follow Tess to the audition room.” Next to him, a woman with dark hair and straight-cut bangs raised her hand. I assumed that was Tess. “First, you’ll perform your contemporary piece, and then we’ll call you back to perform your classic piece. Any questions?”

  No one had any, so he wished us luck and left the stage. Everything was quiet while Tess consulted her clipboard. Then she called the first name, and we were off. Performer after performer disappeared backstage and then returned to the theater, but I was only half paying attention. I was running through my first monologue in my head, over and over again.

  After an hour, my name still hadn’t been called. I was tapping my foot nervously and biting my lower lip, when I felt my backpack vibrate. I looked around to be sure no one had heard it, and then shifted in my seat, reached down into my backpack, and slid it out of the pocket, shielding the screen to hide the glare.

  It was from Addison. “Goooooaaaaaal!” it read. She’d included a picture of Luke with his stick raised high in the air and his mouth open wide. He looked happy.

  “Emory Kern.”

  I dropped my phone in my backpack as quickly as I could and stepped into the aisle. I threw my shoulders back as I walked to the stage, hoping I looked confident and prepared, because I didn’t entirely feel it. Before I left the theater, I stole a quick glance at Hannah’s doppelgänger.

  Inside the audition room, Mr. Waterman was seated in the center of a long table, with two women on either side of him. He thanked me for coming as I took my spot on the big black X directly in front of them.

  “Thank you. My name is Emory Kern and my first piece is from The Blair Witch Project.”

  I took my gray wool cap from my back pocket and pulled it over my head, down low, until it brushed my eyebrows. I began breathing, fast and hard, making my hands tremble and my shoulders heave, so when I spoke the first words my voice would already be clipped and shaking.

  I began speaking slowly and evenly, delivering each word exactly the way I’d practiced, but soon, I was no longer standing in a room on the UCLA campus. I was gone, completely absorbed into the world of the Blair Witch, where I’d spent days walking a path that led back to the exact same spot. My nose was running and tears were sliding down my cheeks as I delivered my final line: “I’m going to die out here.”

  I let the silence build in the room. And then I stood up straight and looked all three of them in the eyes, one at a time. “Thank you.” And then I smiled much larger than I’d intended to. Because inhabiting Heather’s body and mind like that had been nothing short of exhilarating. And because I knew I’d nailed it. I returned to the theater feeling pumped with adrenaline and slightly sick to my stomach.

  “Meredith Pierce,” a woman’s voice said, and the next person walked past me.

  Back at my seat, I reached into my backpack for my water bottle, my fingers still trembling as I worked the cap and brought it to my mouth. I took giant gulps, feeling the cold water slide down the back of my throat.

  “What did you read?” the guy next to me asked, and I told him between sips of water. “Ah, great flick. I’ve seen it, like, twenty times.”

  “Me too.”

  I’d watched it twice in the last two days alone, first on Wednesday, in bed on my iPhone, and then on Thursday, when Mom mentioned at dinner that she’d never seen it before. I forced her to sit on the couch with me with a bag of microwave popcorn between us. She thought it was terrifying, but I’d seen it so many times, I barely flinched.

  I was feeling good, but nervous, watching people continually leave the room and return a few minutes later. And once everyone was finished with their first pieces, Tess started calling everyone’s name a second time.

  “Megan Kuppur,” she began. “Carin Lim,” she said a few minutes later. And she went on while my heart pounded. I took deep, slow breaths, listening for my name to be called again. When I felt my phone vibrate, I jumped in my seat. I dug it out of my bag and read the screen.

  Addison: Call me as soon as you can.

  Addison: It’s important.

  I did a quick scan of the room, now that I knew the order, and tried to estimate how much time I had to sneak away and make a quick call. I decided I couldn’t chance it. There were only six people in front of me.

  A few minutes later, I heard, “Emory Kern.” I wasn’t ready, but I shook it off and walked toward Tess anyway, saying my first lines in my head, over and over again.

  Think not I love him. Think not I love him. Think not I love him.

  I scanned the theater for Hannah’s double again, but she must have already performed her second piece, because she was gone.

  Inside the audition room, I threw my shoulders back and smiled wide. “I’m Emory Kern. For my second piece, I’ll be reading from William Shakespeare’s As You Like It.”

  The woman sitting next to Mr. Waterman had a kind smile. “We’re ready whenever you are, Ms. Kern.”

  I shook out my hands. I rocked my neck to each side. I let out a slow, even breath. And then I stood there quietly, inhaled, and began. “Think not I love him, though I ask for him. ’Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well. But what care I for words?”

  I kept going, my voice loud and clear and exactly the way I’d practiced. When I got to the last few lines, I turned it up, projecting my voice, feeling each word leave my body. I was almost done, and I was nailing it. I said the last line, “Wilt thou, Silvius?” and I let it linger in the air before I gave the admissions team a small smile, bowed, and said, “Thank you.”

  I fell into my seat and reached for my water bottle and my phone at the same time. I called Addison. She picked up on the first ring. “Hey. How did it go?” she asked.

  “Good. Is everything okay there?”

  “Sort of. Luke got hit and he went down hard. He didn’t get up for a full minute. But he seems to be okay now. Dad thinks it’s a broken rib from the way he was holding his side when the coach led him off the field.”

  “Are you with him? Can I talk to him?”

  “The team doctor is checking him out. But don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  I checked the time. Charlotte, Tyler, and I had planned to go shopping at a nearby mall and get dinner while we waited out the traffic. “I can come straight home, but it will still take me a couple hours to get there.”

  Addison didn’t sound concerned. “Really, he told me to tell you not to rush back. He’s planning to go home on the team bus, so he won’t be home any earlier anyway.”

  “Okay,” I said with a sigh. I wished I could make the miles between us disappear. “Text me if anything changes.”

  “Promise. Oh, and Luke told me to give you a message.”

  “What?”

  “He said ‘goodnight’?” She giggled. “I have no idea what that means, but it seemed important to him that I told you, so there you have it.”

  I smiled into the phone. “Tell him I’m glad he’s okay. And that I said ‘goodnight.’”

  “What are we doing tonight?” Alyssa asked after SonRise practice ended. “I want to do something fun. Jack and Logan don’t have plans either. We could all go get pizza, or go bowling or something.”

  I hadn’t told her I’d made plans to help Aaron finish up the video. I wasn’t keeping it a secret from her or anything, I was just kind of hoping it wouldn’t come up.

  I glanced over at him on the stage, gathering up all the microphone stands to return them to the storage room.

  Alyssa followed my gaze. “Ooh, I have an idea! Let’s see if Aaron wants to com
e.”

  “He can’t. He has plans.”

  “Sure,” Jack said. “I bet he’s got plans for a big Tinder-filled evening.” Logan laughed hard. I hadn’t realized the two of them were standing behind me.

  Alyssa slapped him with the back of her hand. “He does not. He has a girlfriend.” Then she laughed along. “He’s going home to an empty house to FaceTime with her? Which is even more pathetic.” She looked back at me. “You’re the one who told me he didn’t have any friends here. Let’s take him out, show him the town and all that.”

  Before I could say anything else, she turned her back on me and strutted toward the stage. “Hey, Aaron,” she said as she climbed the steps. She gestured toward Jack, Logan, and me. “The four of us are going out tonight, and we’ve decided that you should join us. What do you think? Wanna come?”

  “Tonight?” Aaron asked. He looked right at me. “Oh. I thought you were going to stay and finish our video project?”

  Our video project.

  Alyssa flipped around and locked her eyes on mine.

  “But it’s okay,” Aaron said with a dismissive wave. “Seriously. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay and work on a Friday night.”

  A slow smile spread across Alyssa’s lips and before she said a word, I knew exactly what she was thinking. She turned toward Aaron again. “No, it’s cool,” she said. “I’ll stay and help you two. We’ll get it done faster, and then we can meet up with Logan and Jack.” She raised an eyebrow at me and then looked back at Aaron. “Sound good?”

  The word no was right on my lips. There were only two stools in the sound booth, and Aaron and I could barely squeeze ourselves into that area in front of the monitor as it was. Besides, this was our project.

  But none of that mattered, because Aaron answered right away. “Sure,” he said. “Give me a minute to put all this stuff away, and we’ll get started.” He left through the door, carrying the mic stands in both hands, and Alyssa skipped down the stairs.