But when I walked through the quad, there wasn’t anyone waiting to yell at me or tell me that I was the terrible person I’d started to believe I was. There wasn’t anyone to greet me, either. Clearly Tucker had told Sara. She walked right by me without so much as acknowledging my existence. And, of course, when Tucker did pass by, and it only happened once because he had obviously changed his route to the classes that we used to walk together in order to avoid me at all costs, he wore his headphones and only paid attention to his feet.
It was final. He hated me.
But no one could hate me more than I hated myself.
***
I drifted through my classes for a couple of weeks, my thoughts always turning back to what I’d done. I hated Lassiter for it. Even though I’d known that was the way she was, it had never been as evident as what she’d pulled in that restaurant. I wouldn’t accept her calls. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her. For the first time in our friendship, I was the one not answering the phone.
Sam only mentioned once that she missed seeing Tucker around. When I didn’t say anything, she dropped it and never brought it up again.
I skipped lunches and went to the library instead. Once I even went over to the Resources section just to torture myself with memories of Tucker’s hands all over me and how he’d been so desperate for us to be together.
How I’d been desperate for him, too.
My time was spent preparing for my audition, but the spark had gone out from the fire in my heart for it. And while I read over the monologue from Our Town that I had chosen, it dawned on me how close Emily’s words about George changing mirrored what I’d experienced at my own hand.
There was a fleeting moment where I’d talked myself out of doing it. But the more I wallowed, the more it became clear that I needed to get my mind off everything. And pretending to be someone else until I could leave sounded like a really good idea.
All the audition board said was “Student Directed/ Written Musical.” And the leads were only listed as Boy/Girl and Man/Woman.
The people who were interested in participating in the play were confused but there was a certain level of mystery and excitement that went along with it. In between classes there was always someone whispering about who could be the writer and what kind of student was directing. High school student? College student? There wasn’t even a title to get clues from.
On audition day, I was a nervous wreck, standing inside the old historic community theater. The line seemed fifty people deep and we had to wait in the wings behind burgundy velvet curtains as each actor recited a monologue and then sang a song of their choice. Sara was the one playing the pieces on the piano, and I wanted so badly to talk to her. But also, I feared that she’d screw up my song on purpose just to mess with me. My paranoia had hit an all-time high.
A voice was calling out names from the back of the theater and the stage lights were so bright that we couldn’t see anyone beyond them. I imagined a rapidly aging man in his seat directly in the center of the room, resting his elbows on the chair in front of him with a scowl on his long face, his brown vest over a buttoned shirt, scraggly long hair pointing in every direction as if he’d been struck by lightning.
I’d once been told that I could never be a lead. The least I could do was try to prove that I could.
And if this new director felt that way, then I would be content to work on scenery in the darkness backstage. I just wanted one chance to try. To prove it to myself.
With every person that advanced in front of me, I became more tense. My stupid sweaty hands, nervous bladder, and uneasy stomach were making me break out into a cold sweat. And then the person in front of me was called and I tried to control my breathing, just like Tucker had taught me. My brain tingled at the memory and I forced it to focus on the task at hand. I could think about those things later.
There was a smattering of applause as the stage was cleared and the voice shouted my name, the harsh sound of it echoing to where I was standing. Swallowing my heart, and with as much confidence as I could gather, I stepped onto the stage. Without making eye contact, I handed my sheet music to Sara.
She didn’t say a word.
I crossed to center stage, grateful for the blinding light, and took a deep, settling breath. “My name is Mallory Durham. I’ll be doing Emily’s Changes monologue from Our Town. And I’ll be singing The Girl I Mean to Be from the musical The Secret Garden.”
I turned my back to the crowd and prepped my first line before I slowly faced the audience. My voice was strong as I relayed Emily’s words to George. I could feel her sadness, and it reverberated off the walls while I connected with the lost girl who stood by and watched as her friend changed, ostracizing everyone around him. I put as much passion as I could into delivering her lines until I almost believed that I was her. And when the last words left my mouth, the entire room was so quiet, I could swear everyone could hear my heart beating.
I finally looked over at Sara and she nodded once before her fingers landed lightly on the keys and I counted the intro in my head before I opened my mouth to sing. I survived the three minute song by bringing up memories of being on stage with Beatless. How I’d felt strong, even when I doubted myself. How Berkley had seen me as someone that everyone liked. That Sara had once considered me an equal. That Tucker had taken the time to make me believe in myself.
The words of the song left my mouth in confident notes, ringing out over the chairs and projecting toward the back wall. And I sang with every ounce of passion I had in my body until the piano died out and I let the sounds fade, clasping my hands together nervously.
There was light applause from the audience and then the room went completely silent.
Until the one voice I’d wanted to hear for the past few weeks yelled from somewhere in the audience.
“Next!”
I stepped forward and lifted a hand to my forehead to shield my eyes and zero in on where Tucker was and why he would have the ability to do what he’d just done. Why there wasn’t someone telling him to stop. When I found him, my stomach rolled violently. He was directly next to Mr. Hanks – my old drama teacher, holding a clipboard in his hand and chewing on the end of a pen. To the side of him was Bastian Logan, holding a clipboard, too. And in the seat behind Bastian sat Mr. Bates – my old choir teacher.
It dawned on me then, what I had just walked into.
Student Written.
Student Directed.
Musical.
I didn’t even have to ask the question that was hanging on my tongue. The answer was staring me in the face.
“Remind me to tell you something later.”
“Tell me now.”
“It’s a surprise.”
I hadn’t paid attention to the clues.
"Did I tell you that I've written some stuff?"
"No."
"Well, I did. A few songs, actually. And I've been thinking about putting them together to send out to a few places. Maybe get some professional feedback. I already gave it to Mr. Bates."
Numbness settled into my limbs as I exited stage right. But I didn’t run. Not that time.
***
Over Thanksgiving break, I spent all of my waking hours with Sam. I’d whittled my time down so much at the store that Mrs. Moore had pretty much stopped scheduling me more than one night a week. I knew eventually she’d just tell me that it wasn’t working out, but I wanted to let her make that decision. When I did get hours there it was hard to keep my focus from wandering two buildings over to where I knew he was, so I preferred not to go in at all.
Sam had bought a turkey and some sides, and the two of us sat at the dining room table like everything was fine.
“Mom called today.”
“How is she?” Sam practically choked on the chipper tone she was forcing while stabbing at her meat.
“She’s not coming home for Christmas.”
“Well shit.” My aunt stopped trying to wrestle with her food
and laid her fork down next to her plate. “Do you want to go to your dad’s?”
“Umm. No.” I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of traveling to the coldest place on earth to endure a holiday with the man who probably wouldn’t remember to send a card on my birthday.
She rested her chin on her hand and sighed. “We should get a tree. Decorate it for old time’s sake.” She smiled. “I’ll let you put the star on top.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do. It’s Christmas, damn it.” She resumed trying to struggle with her meat before giving up and eating her mashed potatoes instead.
“The turkey’s not that tough.” I laughed lightly.
She shrugged. “Must just be my piece.”
We left the next day to go to a Christmas tree farm, but when we realized that two of us wouldn’t be able to get the tree through the door by ourselves, much less anchor it inside the stand, we ended up at Wal-Mart buying a fake one instead. The box was much easier to maneuver through the house.
It was the one time we really needed a man. And neither of us had one.
The plastic tree leaned and it took forever to spread the branches out, but we listened to Christmas music and strung the lights while drinking instant cocoa in snowman mugs. And for the first time in a while, I felt a little happy.
Sam had allowed me to get a tree of my own for my room. That night, after I’d placed the star atop the tallest branch of the big artificial one, Sam kissed my cheek, whispered that she was tired, and needed to sleep. In my room, I set up my little one in the corner. White lights that matched the ones on my wall were wrapped around each branch, like my dad had taught me. I hung small silver balls with thoughtful consideration to their weight. And I topped it with a shiny blue bow, making sure the sides were even.
It glowed in the corner, soft and inviting as I went to my closet to pull out a flat wrapped box, the jovial paper serving as a reminder that the person I’d bought the gift for deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.
I wrote Tucker’s name on it with a black sharpie, and then placed it under the tree, adjusting the tag.
Mal,
I should have told you earlier that I am proud of you for pushing yourself and using your voice again. Even though you thought I wasn’t listening, I could hear you in your room - pushing your limits so that you could find your footing before you stepped out of your comfort zone. I heard it get stronger. I saw you. Don’t think that you’re invisible. People see you. They hear you. I promise.
It’s easy to lose that. To let doubt creep in. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that you are inherently you, no matter how much you try to not be. You’ve always been the Mallory you are now. You just let others tag you as an Other. As a Lesser. But this girl? She’s always been lurking beneath the surface. Hold tight to her, Mal.
I wish I had stayed true.
The only thing I can do is help you hold on.
I’m trying my best.
Sam
~*~13~*~
School had become just another thing I did to get to the end of the day. I was ignored by Sara and avoided by Tucker. To add to everything else, as I suspected, I was let go from the store and it didn’t even sting. I knew I’d blown it, but at that point I just didn’t care.
I was trying not to care about anything at all. And it wasn’t working.
The auditions had made me nervous, but waiting for that roster to go up was excruciating. I just needed the musical credits to add to my GPA, and then hopefully I would get a grant so I could leave this place behind. Never look back. I could fade away from all of it and start over. I was strong enough to do that. What I had once feared was the only thing that kept me going.
The casting paper went up on Monday the 9th - just in time for the players to know what parts they’d get, or if we’d have to scramble for something else to fill the credits. There was a crowd surrounding the red page tacked into the glass case, but all I could see from the back was the top of it and the remaining cork board above and around it. I wanted to ask the people walking away if they’d seen my name on it.
But, I think maybe I talked myself into believing that after all that had happened, if I even made it on that list, I’d be a background player. Or that Tucker would mess with me and make me a tree or a rock. Like a statue that had to stand still off to the side for two hours.
I’d take it. I owned up to what I had done, and I’d tried to rectify it, but if he didn’t want my apologies, then I’d move on. He was the one who couldn’t give me the answers that I needed.
When the crowd parted, I made my way forward and started from the bottom of the page upwards, my heart sinking a little when I didn’t find my name amongst the secondary parts. I started to walk away, not even bothering to look farther when Riley Stevens, a girl from my math class, stopped me and smiled, squeezing my shoulder.
“Congratulations!”
“What are you talking about?” I didn’t mean to scowl; it’s just how my face was these days.
Her forehead creased and she pointed to the board. “You got the lead. Well, one of them. You’re Woman.”
“Bullshit.” I laughed. It was a hateful joke she was pulling on me. We weren’t even friends, so I wasn’t sure what she’d get out of lying to me, though.
She pulled my arm and led me back to the board, her finger pressed against the glass where the leads were listed. “Not bullshit. You killed that audition.”
When she walked away, I held both hands against the side of the cabinet, just staring. The musical finally had a name, and it lodged itself into my brain like a bullet: Plastic Hearts. The back of my neck prickled a little, like someone was watching me. I slowly turned to see if anyone was there.
Tucker was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded and a completely blank look on his face. His headphones hung around his neck as he stared at me, and I looked away quickly, wanting to escape. But I took one step forward and then, as soon as I did, I stopped.
I needed to know.
The distance between us felt like a chasm, but I went over and stood in front of him, staring up at the defiance on his face, arms folded under my breasts to keep me grounded.
“You gave me the lead.”
“It was a unanimous decision. Not just mine.” He finally looked at me and his lips pulled tight as our eyes met. “I couldn’t exactly say no when everyone was so moved by your audition. Mr. Hanks said he was impressed with your ability to become a completely different person in the span of mere seconds.”
Heat rushed over me and I started to look away but he continued.
“Mr. Bates said your voice was strong. Excellent breath control.”
The sick feeling I’d been fighting was finally back full force.
“And I guess I had to agree.” He moved like he was going to reach out and touch me, but then thought better of it. “Plus, if I’m being totally honest with you,” he bent forward and lowered his voice, “I wouldn’t miss the chance to watch you squirm for the next few months if my life depended on it. I guess I should thank you for these past two weeks. They really helped change the script and a few songs we weren’t so sure of. But I’d say it’s almost a fucking masterpiece, thanks to you.”
“Screw you, Tucker,” I whispered, not meeting his eyes.
He tipped his face forward, his smell invading my space, making me dizzy. Just next to my ear, he whispered, “Have you forgotten, Mal? You already did.” He backed up and smiled, but it wasn’t real. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our little secret.”
He left me standing in the hallway, staring at his retreating form, and wishing we lived in a state that was prone to earthquakes.
Because I needed a hole to fall into.
***
Even though no one had reacted to my audition, once I was cast as the lead, people came up to me at school between classes to tell me how awesome they’d thought it was. I just
smiled and nodded, and thanked them, fighting the blush that I couldn’t control. Too much attention. Too fast.
I told Sam about getting the lead, and her eyes held a bit of their old sparkle.
“I’m definitely going to be in the audience for that. I’ll bring you carnations beforehand. And I won’t even tempt fate by saying the name of the play that cannot be named.”
“There’s a play about Voldemort?” I teased.
She rolled her eyes and glared. “Youths.”
I studied for my finals in the library. And I avoided the Resources section like it was the pit of Hell. I focused on doing my very best, because I had a goal: To leave. I gave up all of the things I’d been worried about, like embers lifting from a fire into the night sky. Like I could feel every single one of them escaping my body when I let them go.
I didn’t care if my mom came back or not.
I didn’t wonder about Lassiter anymore, because she wasn't worth it.
I didn’t dwell on whether or not I would ever come back to this place once I received my grants, because I would get them. I would take the first one they offered me.
I walled up my heart and the way it ached for Tucker. Eventually, it only felt bruised.
Waking up on Christmas morning didn’t mean anything. Sam slept late. There were no presents under the tree. No traditional Christmas pancakes. No music playing in the background as we eventually celebrated.
I sat next to the tree and stared up at the star on top, finally understanding exactly how little I had left. Cupping my hands around a mug full of hot apple cider, I gazed at the white lights until they became unfocused, causing them to eventually take on the appearance of constellations in a clear night sky.
Mom called Christmas night, and as much as I didn’t want to take the call, I did.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come home.”
She didn’t even acknowledge that she would miss my birthday, as well. I fought back the urge to cry. “Sure. Are you having fun with your new boyfriend?” I’d grown bold. “What’s his name, anyway? Is he coming back with you?”
Beatless Page 10