by Nall, Gail
Despite what Ms. Sharp has to say, I’m in much better shape than Amanda. She’s not attacking her role the way she did before. If anything, it’s gotten worse. If she’d just talk to me, maybe I could help.
I put my hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the blinding lights as Ms. Sharp goes on and on about every person in the house hearing every note. I blink and look toward the row directly in front of the stage, where Tim’s consulting with Hannah and Jenna, the stage manager, and periodically saying things like “forty at full” and “no, group seventy at fifty” through his headset to Joshua, who’s in the lighting booth. It’s got to make them crazy the way Ms. Sharp keeps interrupting the rehearsal when they’re the ones who should be doing the interrupting at this point. The whole scene in front of me gives me flashbacks to being a kid and thinking my dad had the coolest job in the world. I smile slightly, until I remember where all that has ended up. With a father I barely see and a theater I can’t escape.
“This is a big song, Casey.” Ms. Sharp holds on to the piano as if she can’t bear the importance of her words. “You need to sing it big. Belt it out. Project more! Do you have a voice lesson this week?”
I nod.
“Get an extra lesson. Get two extra lessons. You need to work on this.” Ms. Sharp heaves herself away from the piano. “Next scene!” she bellows.
What’s the point when there’s no way I’m going to get the recommendation I need for my college audition? I shouldn’t even let it bother me anymore. I scurry past Amanda, who gives me a wavery smile, and leave the stage. I don’t dare say anything to her right now, unless we both want to face the wrath of Ms. Sharp.
Besides, I don’t know what Ms. Sharp’s talking about anyway. I can belt that song out so the whole town could hear. In fact, I’d like to see the piece I couldn’t shake the rafters with.
I sit next to Harrison. Oliver and Trevor join Amanda onstage, along with most of the rest of the cast.
First things first.
“Look, I’m sorry I almost outted you on Sunday,” I say to Harrison.
He turns toward me. “You what?”
Right. We’re still in denial. Okay, then. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”
“Water under the bridge,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “Just remember that I’m your friend.”
I can certainly use a friend right now. Even if said friend doesn’t like my sort-of-boyfriend. “Just do me one favor, okay? Quit saying stuff about Trevor.”
“Deal. I won’t say anything else about the jerkwad,” he says. I glare at him until he says, “Okay, fine. I mean it for real now.”
“So, did my song sound weak to you?” I ask him as I pull my legs up so that my feet are resting on the edge of my seat.
“Um . . . no,” he says, not looking at me.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re lying.”
He looks straight ahead.
“Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”
“Sure you can,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I lean forward in my seat and try to catch his eye. He finally turns and looks at me.
“We made a deal, so nothing. Look, the song doesn’t sound weak. It’s just . . . quiet. Ms. Sharp’s right. You just have to project more so everyone can hear it.”
“Huh.” I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. “I think I’m just too distracted.”
“It sounds good, though,” Harrison adds, a little too late.
I fume some more. Amanda’s onstage, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than here as the spot follows her across. Danielle’s up there too, doing her perky thing. Even her character is perky. And Trevor is staring at her. I wish I could un-notice it, but I can’t.
It about kills me to admit it, and I’d never say it to Harrison, but I’m starting to think I have a Trevor problem. One that no amount of craving my old life can fix.
I’m late getting to my locker after school the next day because I have to stay after Expressions of Art and convince Ms. Grayson that I really, truly did forget all about finishing my pointillism project because of the play. Luckily, I managed to get a two-day extension, which will save my grade in that class. I grab everything I need, shove it into my bag, and head toward rehearsal. The hallways have mostly emptied out by this late in the day.
I catch singing coming from the choir room. I can’t help but smile, because no matter how sure I am that Trevor and I are definitely having problems, his voice is still the best one in school. I pause outside the room, debating whether to open the door. I know I’m going to have to confront him about Danielle at some point—again—but I don’t really want to do it right before rehearsal.
I’m about to step away when Amanda’s voice joins Trevor’s. I move backward and peek into the window. They’re standing in the middle of the room by themselves, I guess to get a little extra rehearsal in. Amanda’s voice sounds off—unsteady, and a little pitchy. Amanda, who’s studied piano her entire life, is the last person who would ever have pitch problems. I study her face. She looks completely lost.
“Stop, please,” Trevor says, before she’s even a third of the way through her part.
Amanda goes quiet. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m having problems with that.”
“Because you can’t sing. That’s getting to be obvious.”
I think my mouth literally drops open.
“Look, you can’t hear pitch. You forget lines. You’re turning this entire show into a giant fucking disaster. I’m glad I’ve already got a college acceptance, because you’re screwing it up for everyone else.” And with that, Trevor shoves some papers into his bag while Amanda just stands there, biting her lip and tears welling up in her eyes.
Half of me wants to throttle him. The other half is in such disbelief I can’t even move. But I do, because Trevor’s headed right for the door. I race off and hide around the corner of the hallway until I hear his footsteps fade in the direction of the theater.
Then I sink to the floor and bury my face in my hands.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I don’t know what to do. I almost can’t believe I heard what I actually did, but it all makes sense now. Why Amanda’s been so distracted and upset. It’s because of Trevor—and not because she has a thing for him, but because he’s been downright horrible to her. I’m determined to talk to her about it after rehearsal today, if we all survive Ms. Sharp.
“That’s better, Casey,” Ms. Sharp says after I sing bigger than I have in my entire life.
“Thanks.” At least something is going well.
“But I need you to project even more. This is a strong piece. Make it sound that way.” Seriously? If I projected any more, my lungs would explode. I stalk offstage and fall into a seat near Harrison. I don’t really feel like talking, so I take out my pre-calc homework.
I’m five problems in when I realize I’m actually doing homework during a rehearsal. This is not like me at all.
Amanda, Oliver, and Trevor are all onstage. Danielle’s giving Trevor eyes, even when she’s supposed to be in character, and it makes me even angrier. Really, it just cements what I know I need to do.
Every time I turn around lately, Danielle’s hanging all over him, and he doesn’t do anything to make her stop. Even though I could barely stand to look at him after what I overheard yesterday, irritation at seeing him with her, again, got the better of me, and I confronted him about it right after acting class. Which went about as well as I thought it would and ended with him still denying it and me basically yelling at him in the middle of the hallway.
Harrison’s busy texting someone, so I go back to my homework. I’m working on a problem that has about a zillion parts to it when I feel someone sit in the seat next to me.
Amanda. Wait, why isn’t she onstage? She’s in, like, every scene. I glance at the stage. Ms. Sharp is flapping her arms at Trevor. Normally I’d say no one deserves the wrath of Ms. Sharp on a rampage, but I’m starting to think he actually doe
s.
“Hey,” I say to Amanda. “How are things?” It feels like a weird thing to say, but I’m not sure how else to broach the subject of Trevor being the biggest jackass in the world.
“Okay.” She sighs. “Not okay, actually. I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can definitely do this.” I cross my heart and give her jazz hands, which makes her smile a little. “Seriously, Amanda. You make a great Maria. You just need to trust in yourself.”
“Thanks,” she says, although I can tell she’s leaving something unsaid. I know what it is, too.
I take a deep breath. “It’s Trevor.”
She stares straight ahead and bites her lip. “No.”
“I, um . . . I saw what happened yesterday.”
She doesn’t look at me.
“In the choir room after school. I was headed to the theater when I heard you singing. So I stopped and then . . . I heard what he said.”
Her eyes fill with tears again, and I reach over and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not okay. Nothing about it is even remotely okay. I had no idea. How long has this been going on?”
She pulls a tissue from her pocket and wipes her eyes. “A while.”
“Like, years? Or days?” God help me, if she says he’s been doing this since we were in middle school, someone’s going to have to hold me back from him.
“Not that long. A few weeks maybe.”
All those times I saw him whispering something to her onstage, or in the hallway, and the way she looked a little upset afterward? I could almost hate myself for not seeing this sooner.
“But the thing is, Case . . . I think he’s right. I am a disaster.”
“No.” I sit up straighter and look her right in the face. “Don’t believe that. You earned this role because you’re amazing.”
She shakes her head.
“This is over. I’d about had it because of Danielle, but this seals it.” I clench my fists as I watch Trevor cower under Ms. Sharp’s tirade over how he stepped upstage instead of downstage and ruined the effect of the entire scene. “Don’t let yourself be alone with him, okay? Promise me.”
She nods. “I can handle it.”
I don’t know that I really believe her.
“Casey!” Ms. Sharp bellows, and I jump a mile. “You missed your cue. It’s too late to be missing cues! What is wrong with you people? Get up there!”
I scramble out of my seat and sprint to the stage, passing Trevor on the way.
I don’t look at him, because I’m afraid of what I might do.
I drag myself out of bed at eight a.m. on Saturday morning and fumble around my room for my stage makeup and some bobby pins to hide my hair under that hideous nun hat. Dress rehearsal is due to start at ten o’clock sharp, and I’m sure Ms. Sharp will kill me if I’m not there on time. I mean, no one calls her Ms. Late.
I have to grab a ride with Mom. Honestly, all this riding with Mom is making me reconsider my whole anti–driver’s license stance. Before we leave, she makes me load the dishwasher and vacuum the family room as she reminds me of the “obscene advances of your allowance you asked for to try hang gliding and surfing.” She drops me off with just barely enough time to get ready. The stage crew is running around everywhere, and I find the rest of the cast in the backstage dressing room area. Trevor’s talking to Danielle near the far door. Or, actually, Danielle is talking and Trevor is staring at her.
I have to physically restrain myself when I walk past him.
Every time he caught me between classes yesterday, I feigned the need to be somewhere else right that minute. It’s been hard to spend even a second with him, now that I know what he truly is. We are definitely over. I just need to figure out how to tell him that. And this time, it really is for good. Because of Amanda. And because I know what I want beyond a career. It’s self-respect. It’s finally figuring out that I deserve something better, even if it is terrifying and entirely out of my control.
I drop my stuff onto one of the tables in the middle of the room next to Harrison.
“You’re not going to yell at me, are you?” he says cautiously.
I wrinkle my forehead. “No, why?”
He shrugs and plays with the button on his costume jacket. “You look a little crazy right now, and you’ve been kind of bitchy all week.”
“Yeah, I know.” I can’t even get mad at him for using one of my least favorite words in the English language—because he’s right. I sit in front of one of the lighted mirrors that line the wall behind the tables. Harrison takes the spot next to me.
“Case, I’m still your friend. You can talk to me. Even about—” He shudders. “Relationships. And I’ll keep my promise and won’t call a certain King Asshat a whole list of names I think that person deserves. Except King Asshat, obviously.”
I feel like telling him everything. I need to tell someone everything, and if Harrison’s volunteering, I’m taking him up on it. “Three guesses what it’s about,” I say as I cover my face in foundation.
“Trevor, Trevor, or Trevor?” Harrison says with only a hint of a smirk.
“Fine. Go ahead and say it. You were right. You and Oliver and Eric. He’s already moved on to Danielle.” I gesture with a makeup sponge at the two of them in the corner. “And that’s not even the worst part.” I fill him in on what’s been happening with Amanda.
Harrison’s face contorts into a picture of rage that I never even thought he was capable of. “There’s not even a word I can think of for him right now,” he says.
“I’m going to end it,” I say. “For good. I just need to figure out when. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
He smiles. “If you had, I would’ve thought there was something wrong with you.”
I put on the last of my makeup. Then I peer into the mirror. As expected, I look like a scary doll. Perfect. I can be a scary nun doll. Maybe my makeup will do the breaking-up for me.
“I’m going to do it after rehearsal today,” I declare.
“I’ll wait for you,” Harrison offers.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” I stand up and look for my black sack among the costumes hanging on the rack. I flip past Amanda’s party dress, Amanda’s wedding dress, and Amanda’s frolicking-in-the-trees-with-the-children dress before I find it.
“Except I want to be there to see his asshat face when you do,” Harrison says.
“You know,” I say to Harrison. “Now that I’m done—or almost done—with all this Trevor drama, we can go back to looking for something to replace theater. We never really found anything, and I think we should keep trying. There’s got to be something out there for us. Like botany or dog walking . . . or my mom mentioned something about basket weaving. I don’t know what that is, but it might be fun. I’m not resigning myself to a life serving eggs and coffee yet.”
“We’ll see,” he says.
I spot Oliver across the room as I head to change into my costume. I can’t hold out hope that he’d still want to be with me after this mess with Trevor. Not after everything he tried to warn me about and I ignored. And definitely not after I made it clear that I chose Trevor over him.
I close my eyes and wish I could call a redo on the past.
When Ms. Sharp finally lets us go, my stomach is growling. It’s way past lunchtime, and all I want to do is go home and eat. But first, I have to end things with Trevor.
I scrub the scary doll face from my skin and plan how to do it. I have to get him alone. I don’t want an audience, except for maybe Harrison. I’ll have to pry him apart from Danielle somehow. Maybe I’ll catch him in the theater and make small talk while everyone else leaves. Current idea of seventh circle of hell: small talk with Trevor.
I try to psych myself up by imagining his reaction to the whole thing. What if he gets super upset and starts coming by my house and yelling “Casey!” up at my window the way Marlon Brando did in A Streetcar Named Desire? Harrison, Amanda, and I watched th
at movie last year in my effort to be prepared with all classic plays, just in case there was ever an opportunity to audition for them in the future. Not that it really matters to me now.
Back to Trevor. What if he starts to cry right there next to the lighting booth?
No. He won’t cry. He probably won’t really care. After all, he’s so into Danielle, he’ll probably just latch on to her even more. Then an awful thought pops into my head.
What if he’s already with her behind my back? What if he’s never taken me seriously at all? Eric said something about how Trevor gets what he wants and moves on, or he doesn’t and moves on. That doesn’t explain why he’s stuck with me for long. Unless he was getting what he wanted somewhere else. The thought makes me want to throw up.
One thing’s for sure—I’m going to make it absolutely clear that I know what he’s been doing to Amanda. And that it’s going to stop.
I can’t undo the past now, but I can change the future. I take a few deep breaths and stare at my freshly scrubbed face in the mirror. I can’t change him, but I’m still in control of myself.
I pack my makeup and hair stuff, and try to decide whether I could get away with punching him in the face. Probably not. Unfortunately.
“Casey, you coming?” Oliver asks. He’s standing near the door and looking entirely different from regular Oliver. His hair waves softly against his head, and he’s in the plain white T-shirt he had on under his costume. I didn’t even know he owned a plain shirt.
My heart aches just seeing him. I close my eyes for a second. I’ll try to fix everything with Oliver later, after I deal with Trevor. I glance around the room. No one else is back here. Somehow, I missed Trevor. I grab the rest of my stuff in one swoop of my arms, dump it into my bag, and race past Oliver.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Oliver says behind me.
I don’t answer. I just sprint down the theater aisle, scanning the rows for Trevor as I run. He’s not there. I burst through the doors into the school lobby. A few people are hanging around, waiting for rides. I drop my stuff on the floor and search for Trevor. He’s not in the lobby. I check the Alcove of Sin, poke my head down the hallways, and even look outside.