Understudy

  "The Scarlet group is going to hold up an audition," someone said.

  "Well, Mr. Gupper, this is not the Scarlet group," Mr. Blake said, fixing his tie.

  "But isn't that like an S.O.P?" Marc Gupper asked.

  "No. Let's move on shall we? Nigel Armstrong, you're going to be the Ghost of Christmas Past."

  Nigel, a pimply kid from the Math Club sat up in surprise. He almost knocked the large framed glasses from his face. I felt sorry for him. Nigel had a stuttering problem. It wasn't really that bad, but making him act in a play was like asking someone with a limp to power walk.

  "I−I don't t−think I can, Mr. Blake," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I−I've never b−been in a p−play before."

  Mr. Blake waved his hand in front of his face. "Come on. That's the beauty of it! You'll get to try new things!"

  Nigel opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Blake was already reading from the list again.

  "Sara Brown, you're Fred's wife."

  "I wonder who's going to play Fred," she murmured.

  "Amanda Crowley, you're Belinda."

  "Yeah, whatever," she muttered under her breath.

  The list continued and I felt my insides churning as names were called. What if I ended up in the cast? I hated acting, and I had no intention of becoming an actress.

  "Frank Fordsten, you're assigned to logistics."

  Frank was a member of the Drama club, and his disappointment at not landing an acting role was evident from the way his face crumpled.

  "Henry Hampton, you're Jacob Marley."

  "Drake Kendall, you're going to play Fred."

  "Seriously?" Sara mouthed as she turned to face me, her lips jutting out in disapproval. She hated Drake, and playing his wife was the last thing she expected.

  "It's just for a play," I said, keeping my voice down.

  "He's a jock!"

  "At least his brain cells are working properly, unlike his teammates." In my peripheral vision, I saw Drake shake his head. "And I don't think he likes you either."

  "Blythe Mansen, you'll be Cratchit's wife."

  "Tina Swanton, you'll be in charge of the props and costumes along with Diana Redwood."

  I felt my world crumble. Those were the two positions I was hoping to be assigned with.

  Sara winked at me. "Uh−oh, guess you're going to act."

  "I don't want to."

  She shrugged. "It's just for a play," she said, repeating my own words.

  "Katharine Vanburgh!"

  My heart lurched, making it hard to breathe. I didn't know much about A Christmas Carol, and I struggled to remember if there were any female roles left to assign to me.

  Mr. Blake placed the clipboard on his lap and studied my face. "I really liked what you did with the pep rally posters last year."

  I gulped, not sure what the pep rally posters had got to do with the role I was going to get.

  "As much as I want to see you on the stage, I'm going to appoint you as the Production Designer. You'll be handling the whole creative department. I know I can count on you."

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, and by the time they did, I felt Sara's arms around my shoulders, locking me in a tight bear hug. "You lucky bitch!"

  "I−I can d−do c−creative work too," Nigel whispered, though no one seemed to care as people congratulated me and wished me luck.

  "Enough of that," Mr. Blake said, raising his pen. "We have one character left and one student on the list."

  His eyes travelled down to the bottom of the list, and I realized that I knew who exactly came right after my name. I was used to having Adam's name called out after mine, but now that he wasn’t around...

  "Eric Wharton."

  The room fell silent, at least on our side as the Scarlet group continued to be noisy. Everyone's eyes shifted to the wall where Eric stood.

  "Is he going to be Ebenezer Scrooge? That role would suit him perfectly," I heard someone whisper.

  "Except the part in the end where he gets all jolly and generous."

  "No, Waylon Nettly got that part."

  In the weeks since Eric's arrival in Highcrest, he hadn't made any friends. Not a single one. He always kept to himself, and if anyone tried being friendly to him, he either ignored the gesture or mocked the person entirely.

  In the end, people just ignored Eric back, though they couldn't help comparing him to Adam.

  All eyes were shifting back and forth between Eric and Mr. Blake. The latter seemed to be oblivious to the thick anticipation that hung in the air. Or maybe he knew, it was the kind of atmosphere he was aiming for ever since he announced the play fest anyway.

  "You'll be playing Tiny Tim."

  An almost imperceptible widening of his eyes was the only reaction Eric allowed himself. And he continued acting unfazed.

  "That's the one with the leg brace, right?" Amanda asked, looking over her shoulder to study Eric, a mischievous smile forming on her lips.

  "Yep, he's the one," Mr. Blake replied, tapping a finger over his chin.

  "But how do we make Bob Cratchit carry him on his shoulder?" Bethany asked. "Isn't that one of the key moments in the story?"

  Several people nodded in agreement and some started suggesting different ways Eric could perch on Billy Johnson's shoulder, who was playing Bob Cratchit. One suggested a piggyback ride.

  "That would be awkward," Drake said with a smirk, and Sara rolled her eyes.

  "Duh, isn't it obvious?" she asked.

  Drake stared at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry, wife."

  There was a general uproar followed by catcalls. Sara's face turned red but she kept her mouth shut.

  Mr. Blake, on the other hand, seemed pleased that Drake was already in character, and I found myself smiling despite Sara's ominous glare.

  "I'm sure we'll come up with a solution to that," Mr. Blake said, suddenly thoughtful. "Or we can just scrap that part. The important thing is we come up with a great show!"

  Eric looked away from the group, putting on the stoic mask he wore when he wanted to let people know that he didn't care. But I'd seen that look enough times on Adam's face to know that the subtle way his brows furrowed meant only one thing. He was annoyed. The very same reaction he had when Reggie spilled coffee on his jeans.

  I seldom saw that reaction from Adam, usually only when we were talking about his brother. Now that Eric was the annoyed one, I felt a small satisfaction. He wasn't totally indifferent after all, and I couldn't wait to see how he would transform himself into Tiny Tim. I bet Adam would want to see it as well.

  ***

  Adam and I hadn't talked about what happened the other day. We mostly talked about school and the play, in which he seemed bothered by the fact that Eric was going to play Tiny Tim, a reaction I hadn't expected.

  We were sitting by the edge of the lake, watching as a flock of ducklings swam by.

  "Tiny Tim, huh?" He rested his chin on his knee. "Isn't that the kid with the leg brace?"

  "What's the fascination with the leg braces? Amanda asked that question as well."

  Adam gave me a sidelong glance. "Can't Mr. Blake find another student for the part?"

  "I don't think so." I grabbed a small stone from the ground and traced my finger along its curved edges. "I thought you'd be psyched about it."

  It took him a long time to answer. "Not really."

  "Is there something wrong?"

  "Nothing. How about you? What character are you going to play?"

  "I'm not. I was assigned to be the production designer."

  "Fancy title."

  Adam squinted toward the sky, and I found myself doing the same. There were thick gray clouds up ahead, and I wondered if it was going to rain.

  "Tiny Tim. I never expected that. Scrooge would've been perfect."

  "You bet."

  "But he has to be Tiny Tim."

  "Yeah."

  Adam nodded, his lips curling into a humorless smile. "Seriously, Tiny Tim. Of all
the characters."

  "What?" I asked. "Why is this such a big deal?"

  "Nothing."

  My eyes flickered back to his face, and he avoided my gaze. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing, I was just thinking about something."

  "Then that's not nothing."

  He didn't answer. He lay down on the grass and I continued staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  At first, he tried to ignore me. But after a minute or so, he sighed. "You won't let this go, will you?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'm sorry, but I'm sworn to secrecy." He drew a cross mark over his chest.

  The more he tried to avoid whatever it was, the more curious I got. But then I reminded myself that I didn't care about Eric.

  So he was going to be Tiny Tim and Adam seemed uncomfortable with it. So what? For all I knew, Adam was just worried that his jackass of a twin brother would screw up. Worst case scenario, the play would suck and we'd end up getting a low score for English. That's got to be it. I mean, it's no big deal even if Eric played Ebenezer Scrooge. He didn't give a damn anyway, so why should I?

  But still, as I studied Adam's face, I saw something that made it impossible for me to completely ignore the subject.

  He was worried. For what?

  Chapter Eleven

  Eric

  If Mesopotamia was the cradle of civilization, Highcrest was the cradle of extreme boredom.

  The town was so quiet I actually preferred being in a dark alley somewhere in Brooklyn, where the walls were riddled with graffiti and something new was always happening in the streets.

  I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes. Maybe I could just sleep the hours out and wake up the next day, go through the same routine of having an awkward breakfast with my parents, go to school, go home, and go to sleep. I felt like the dude I used to make fun of at boarding school.

  Anthony would've found that funny, but the thing that would have made him die with laughter would be the news that I'd be playing Tiny Tim. Just thinking about it made me want to kill myself.

  I could've been cast as an extra, or a bystander. Hell, I'd even play Scrooge! Or maybe not. No, definitely not. Maybe as a production assistant?

  From what little knowledge I had of that stupid classic, Tiny Tim was the kid with the leg problem. He was supposed to be this sick cheerful boy who would somehow help Scrooge become a jolly old guy. It was a far cry from the image I have. Maybe I could pass as a sick boy. But cheerful? Never.

  As if agreeing with me, my stomach grumbled and I remembered that the last thing I ate were the carrot sticks I found in the fridge.

  The kitchen was immaculate. Like no one actually lived in this house, which was sort of true, considering we all acted like dead people. It's funny how death could affect the living in extreme ways. There was some left over lasagna in the fridge. It would've been ok if it weren't for bits and pieces of ground beef.

  I opened up plastic containers; I even considered the tofu cubes until I found something better. A bag of Romaine lettuce.

  I quickly tore the plastic open and was munching on a crunchy leaf when Dad entered the room with Mom following behind. I could tell from the way they were dressed that they just got home from a meeting. No doubt an important one, judging by Dad's choice of Armani jacket. But then again, he always wore his fancy suits like second skin.

  "What are you doing?" Dad asked, eyeing the bag cautiously.

  "Eating," I said, offering him a leaf.

  Mom walked past him and placed her purse on top of the wooden counter. "You could've popped the left over lasagna in the microwave," she said, opening the fridge.

  "I'm a vegan remember?" I said, taking a step backward as I caught a whiff of her Chanel No. 5. Damn, I hated that scent. "I eat non-living things."

  Dad shook his head in disgust and stalked out of the room.

  "What? Aren't you guys supposed to be happy that I'm being healthy?"

  "Yes, because sticking needles containing god knows what in your arm is healthy!" Dad exclaimed from the adjoining room.

  "Oh, great!" I tossed the plastic bag on the counter beside Mom's purse. My hunger was gone. "I've been clean for more than a year. Thank you so much for asking!"

  "He's just upset," Mom said, frowning slightly as she examined the bag.

  "It's Romaine, Mom. It's not Mary Jane or anything!"

  She sighed. "I know."

  I leaned back against the fridge. The cool surface felt good on my skin, but it wasn't enough to clear the questions swimming in my head. "Why am I here again?"

  "Because this is your home," Mom said, carefully placing a hand over my shoulder.

  "Really?" I asked, walking towards the door. "It doesn't feel like home to me."

  "Where you going?"

  "Out."

  ***

  Connie's bakeshop was packed as I came in. Mostly adults chatting over a cup of coffee. It reminded me of Starbucks minus the Mac books and Wall Street guys jabbering into their smart phones.

  I liked it better here, though I couldn't help but remember the last time I was here with Kat.

  I ordered a carrot muffin roll to go, but Connie told me that she had sold out.

  "Would you want to try our cornbread instead?" she asked. Her kind gray eyes seemed to smile at me.

  "Umm, sure."

  "Okay, I'll be right back," she said, disappearing behind the curtain exactly the way she did when Kat ordered− wait, what did she order anyway? I tried to remember what it was, but the only thing that came into my mind was how I acted like an asshole in front of her.

  I didn't mean it. I really couldn't understand why I acted like that that day. Maybe it had something to do with the knowledge that she hated me. A fact that she made clear right from the start.

  I'd met her twice before the accident, before my parents sent me to boarding school. Since then, I'd only hear about her when Adam and I were having those rare "bro bonding" moments. An activity which, as much as I tried to deny it, I missed.

  But even then, I knew how much they loved each other, and a part of me believed that it was one of the reasons why Kat was angry at me. I reminded her of my brother. I understood that, but what I couldn't understand was why I couldn't stop acting like a jerk to her. It wasn't like I was, but I usually only acted that way around people I didn't want to associate myself with. Plastic people in Highcrest who thought that they knew me since they knew my dead brother.

  But Kat was different. Adam could easily make friends with anybody, but there was something about Kat that changed him. Talking about her always made him happy, which made me I want to get to know her. And also, as weird as it may sound, I felt like I had this duty to look out for her. Maybe it was because she's my brother's girl, or maybe I was just being crazy. Either way, it was driving me nuts.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting," Connie said as she came out holding a tray of cornbread loaves. The delicious smell wafted throughout the room and my stomach started grumbling again.

  I watched with anticipation as Connie sliced a huge chunk and wrapped it with a sheet of wax paper before handing it to me.

  "How much?" I asked as I fumbled in my pocket for some change.

  Connie gave me a warm smile. "Consider it a gift."

  "What?"

  "You remind me of your brother," she said, her smile faltering. "Such a sweet boy."

  That was what I hated about the people in this town. I hated it when people treated me kindly just because I had a dead brother, but somehow, with Connie, her words felt real. I realized that it might be the reason why I was drawn to Kat.

  She didn't have to pretend that she was sorry for me. She showed me how she felt, even if I couldn't understand why she was so angry with me. She was real.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kat

  Preparations for the play fest went into full swing two days after the casting and appointment of roles were completed. Students were grumbling about memorizing their lines, an
d I couldn’t thank my lucky stars enough for having been spared that horrible fate. Unlike me, Sara was excited about her part. She was learning her lines even before the official rehearsal schedules were announced.

  “It’s not that bad,” she said as she flipped through her copy of the script. “I actually would prefer being cast as the narrator than working with the production design. It’s a lot of work.”

  “Easy for you to say. You live for the drama.”

  Sara lifted her chin as if to protest, but she ended up smiling sheepishly, showing her newly bleached teeth. “I do, don’t I?”

  “Yeah, and it’s ridiculous.”

  Sara shook her head. “You know what’s ridiculous? Eric as Tiny Tim!”

  As if on cue, Eric entered the gym, and I hated myself for noticing him.

  “Have you filled out your college applications?”

  My gaze darted back to Sara and I just blinked at her.

  “Well, not exactly the answer I expected, but I will take it as a yes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sara went back to reading her script and made no indication of answering me.

  “What do you mean?” I repeated.

  She sighed dramatically. “You may not admit it, but you’re kinda like suffering from OCD.”

  “I don’t have repetitive habits.”

  “Not exactly, but you like things organized, and you hate missing deadlines. Procrastination is totally out of your vocabulary."

  She was right, but she was wrong about the college applications. I wondered how she would react if I told her that I planned on attending Highcrest Community College. She wouldn’t believe me, and the fact that I was that predictable annoyed me.

  “Have you considered HCC?” I asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What if I’m not?”

  Sara peeked up from her script and rolled her eyes. “Oh please, like that’s going to happen.”

  I shifted in my seat as I considered her answer. What was I thinking anyway? Was I really prepared to forego my dream of getting into NYU for Adam? Would I be able to justify that decision years from now? Would Adam even still be around then?