BUT! Duey wants the leading role! I heard him talking to Cam about it. So, if I screw that up for him, I'm never going to meet my own secret goal of getting Duey for myself when Roz gets over him. Last I checked, looking like an idiot in an audition isn't part of Teen Life's top ten list for "How To Get a Boy to Like You."
Plus, it may not even be necessary to keep Duey and Brittley apart. It doesn't seem to me that he's all that into her. He didn't talk to her much at the theater. I even asked him about it--only because I was getting so confused. I said, "I hear you're going out with Brittley." (I had to know the truth--for Roz's sake.)
And he said, "Yeah, so she tells me." I chuckled along with him, my hopes rising.
"So, it's true, then?"
He squirmed. "It's true, I guess."
I nodded, feeling kind of let down that Duey would let someone like Brittley control him like that. "So, any girl could tell you that you're going out with her, and you'd be okay with that?"
"Sure."
But I didn't believe him, and to prove he was wrong, I pushed the point. "So, I could tell you right now, 'we're going out,' and you'd say, 'okay?'"
He tipped his head, raised his brow. He might have even blushed. (If he was embarrassed, I didn't care. I wanted him to see how ridiculous he was being.) But instead of saying, 'You're right, it's not true that anyone could come up and say that and expect me go along with it,' he smiled and said, "Well, you're not just anyone. It'd be more than okay."
It'd be more than okay?
!?!?!?
He wasn't supposed to say that.
Well, it was nice to hear, but my point was supposed to get him to dump Brittley, so that Roz could have another chance with him.
Which leaves me with my new problem. When it comes to saving Duey, from whom am I saving him, exactly?
Brittley?
Or, me?
Chapter 15
"Myri? I believe you're next."
My stomach replies with a violent heave, making me curl slightly.
My mind reels. I have no idea how I'm going to get myself up from the floor.
I wish I'd skipped class, skipped auditions. Taken the F.
An F would be so much more bearable than crumbling alongside Duey up on stage.
Diggs rolls his fingers in an impatient wave from the center of the gym. Everyone else is scattered along the walls, under the hoops, and on the bleachers. Cass gives me a friendly push, as I roll to my knees, which I suppose, is helpful. After all, I'm shaking so badly, I can barely stand.
Inching my way toward the Lime Light of Doom, I'm hit with an idea. Maybe I can get credit for auditioning as a rock, or a log, or something that doesn't talk or move. I can roll up in a ball, and Duey can sit on my back, while he reads his lines.
"Take it from the top of page three, please," Diggs says, when I step on stage.
Okay, page 3... page 3....
I tap my head. I can't remember if there's a rock on page 3.
Paper rustles, and from the corner of my eye, I see Duey tuck his script in his pocket.
Wait--he's memorized his lines? Already?
Sweat breaks on my brow, as the tunnel I've just fallen in grows at warp speed.
I'm going to faint.
I'm moving a zillion miles away, and I'm going to faint.
I can't faint. Not here. Not now.
"Myri?"
Did Duey say his first line?
What's his line? What's at the top of page 3? I pat my pockets, both front and back. I don't have a script. How can I not have my script? I look out at the theater, looking for Cass, looking for a clue. Diggs is leaning forward, almost grimacing, waiting for words to be spoken.
I rub my cheek. My face feels hot, my palms wet.
"Is no one here?"
Okay. Now I know this is the second time Duey has said this. He takes a step sideways, as if looking for someone, which is what he should be doing. After all, he's the prince, and he's looking for me in this scene, the owner of the bakery.
"Uh--." My words fall short in my mouth. I can almost feel them there, fighting to get out, trying to say what I need to say, which is something like, 'What is it you could possibly seek in a place such as this? It's been a hundred moons since someone has stopped by.'
I'm supposed to say this, while trying to hide as the poor, dismally-cursed Nelle.
I'd like to hide now.
"Uh," I try again. But the words don't come. I stare at the back of Duey's head, and wonder what he must be thinking.
Brittley lets out a guffaw. Duey drops his arms by his sides, looks questioningly out at Diggs. I've totally goofed it.
"Uh, could you excuse me a moment?" I've finally found my voice. "I just remembered... I need... Uh... my cell phone. I'll be right back."
I jump off the stage.
Diggs jumps from his seat. "Wait. Where are you going?" His clipboard clatters to the floor. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah," I lie, leaving wet streaks where my hands rub my jeans. "I'll be back in a minute."
Chapter 16
The coolness of the brick wall outside the gymnasium door presses through my shirt, and I realize I've forgotten my sweater and my binder. I'm going to have to go back in there.
Great. As if avoiding a slow and painful death once in one day isn't enough, I'll have to somehow manage it all over again.
But not yet. Footsteps draw my attention down the hall.
Roz.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks. "Did we miss it? Is your audition done?"
I let out a huff, look away, look back. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Or more importantly--" My eyes adjust to the shadowy figure beside her. "What's she doing here?"
Wren floats a little higher. "We came to be cheering y' on. Mrs. Haines thinks Roz is in the bathroom."
I scoff. "Well, there's no need for that." I pull the black elastic out of my hair, shake out the ponytail, then pull it all back again. "I made a total fool of myself. Hopefully, Duey's not still gaping on stage."
"You read your lines with Duey?" Roz's voice goes weak with hope.
I shake my head. "I barely muttered a syllable."
She sets an ear on her shoulder, trying to dip her head lower to meet my eyes. "Well, was it a good syllable?"
She's trying to be funny, but I don't laugh.
Wren slips closer. "Surely, y' said more than that. Even a newborn babe can let out a sound or two, when it opens its mouth."
"Nope."
Roz throws up her hands. "Myri, you have to go back in there and read your lines."
"No way."
"But you'll fail. And Brittley will get the part with Duey, which will make things worse than they already are!"
I bump my head back against the wall. "Well, there's nothing I can do about that."
"Okay, okay. So maybe you won't keep Brittley from getting the lead, but you'll fail with your grade. Even if Diggs is dating your mother."
"Maybe I should fail then. Maybe my mom will get mad and stop seeing him."
Roz shakes her head, looks at me, looks at Wren, then back at me again. "Why don't you let Wren help. Then you'll be able to get through the trimester banging nails on the set like you want."
I ignore the nodding head that's floating beside her.
"Diggs is going to make you do it, anyway," she argues. "Just go in there and get it over with. While you still can. And while Wren is here to do it with you."
Wren gives a faint smile--one that has more strength than I'm able to manage. Her gaze goes to the window pane of the gym door. The light streaming out from it almost seems to reflect back a glow of confidence in her hazy form.
"There's nothing to it, Myr," Wren says, setting her gray eyes on mine. "Truly, there's not an easier thing to be done. Just let me pull y' along, like a puppet on a string. Could be a wee bit of fun, I imagine. I've never set foot in a theater--or, on a stage, I mean--but I think I've always been wanting to try."
&n
bsp; I look to Roz, let out a defeated breath. "Like a puppet on a string?"
Roz nods. "All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the ride."
Chapter 17
"Yer trying harder than ye ought."
Wren's voice rings through my head, because that's where she is. In my head, my arms, my legs, my chest. It's a good thing I haven't eaten peas lately, because this brings back bad memories.
"Like a puppet on a string," Roz says encouragingly.
I almost want to hit her for talking me into doing this, and I would, if I had any control over my body, which I don't. Because if I did, I wouldn't be walking like this--not with my legs and arms swinging out with each step....
I mean, what does Wren think she's doing? Does she really think people walk like this? This is Roz's solution? Handing myself over to a nitwit of a ghost?!
"Of course," Wren says, pressing her hands--my hands--to my hips.
I slap my hand over my mouth in surprise. I hadn't expected Wren to read my thoughts, to respond to them with her own.
And my voice.... It has an Irish lilt to it.
Wren nods my head, answering my thoughts once again.
"I hadn't counted on this being so invasive," I mutter more at Roz, than Wren.
"And I hadn't counted on yer clothes hugging so tight," Wren retorts.
"Well, you're not wearing your ratty nightgown anymore, so you can stop walking like you are!"
"Myr!" Roz says, wiggling her hands by her ears in frustration. "One of you talking is more than enough. You've got to trust Wren to do the work. You've got to let her do everything for you. If you go in there fighting it, especially when Wren is trying to walk--" she takes a step back as she looks at me, shakes her head, "then Diggs will think you skipped down to Bill's Pub and Brewery."
"Okay, okay. Just give me a second. Both of you."
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly let it out. I try to imagine letting go of my body. Letting go and stepping away.
Amazingly, after a moment, it feels like I do, although I don't step, exactly. I float. Barely. A little, off to the side. Yet, somehow, I'm still hinged. I'm separate, but not.
I can see myself standing here, but at the same time, I know it's not me.... It looks like me. But it's Wren. This is so weird. What makes it Wren?
She moves my arm, and a second later, as if there's a time-lapse, I feel her moving it for me.
Well. I'll say this. Nothing I've ever done compares.
This is detachment on a whole new level. In a whole new dimension. Because I'm seeing how I look from the outside. How everyone else sees me. And I'm not sure I like it.
Wren swivels my hips. "I think we're ready for a dance on me trotters."
What?
Before I can find a way to stop her, Wren opens the door and marches us in.
Chapter 18
The weight of thirty stares falls on me, as I re-enter the gym, making me forget about staying let-go. Muted snickers rattle my ears. My heart catches in my throat. And suddenly, I find myself struggling, once again, to breathe.
I have to do this. I can do this.
"No, ye don't," Wren hisses. "Yer supposed to be leaving that to me."
Oh. Right....
"Myri," Diggs says, shifting in his seat to look at me. "I'm so glad you're back. Feeling refreshed, I hope? Would you like another shot at your lines?"
Wren nods my head, as she takes me a bit less swaggery toward the stage. When we pass Diggs, I feel myself turn and bend at the knees.
Was that a curtsy?
This is followed by an excited little hop.
Please, don't do that.
"I would love to be reading my lines, with all the thanks of a thousand souls, although I've only got me one," Wren says with a giggle.
And drop the Irish accent!
Wren tips her head, and turns a small circle, looking at the banners, the bleachers on the far wall, the shiny wood floor.
And stop looking like you've never been here before!
She smiles at Diggs. "I'll be ready, now that all the nerves are stopped jumping in me gullet."
Stop talking like that!
"Err, great," Diggs says, arching his brow. "No apologies necessary. Duey? Would you mind taking the stage?"
"Sure." He jumps up from the floor, lifts his blue baseball cap, and puts the visor at the back of his head, leaving tufts of brown hair sticking through the band at the front.
Wren takes in a quick breath, which makes me take in a quick breath, which makes us cough and splutter.
That there would be Duey?
Ye-aah! Now, follow him to the stage.
But don't skip!
We careen to a stop in front of him.
Wren brings my hand to rest on my chin, as she looks out at Diggs. "Would there be a script-thingy handy?"
Duey turns his mouth up in a grin, takes the script from his pocket, steps closer. "Just take a deep breath," he whispers, turning his back to the gym. "Follow my lead, and we'll both get through this.... Unless you want to ditch me again. Twice in one day would be a first, although I'm always up for new things. I just don't think an F should be yours." He stands back and shows me another smile.
With a short, nervous laugh, Wren darts a glance in his direction. She pats my sides, straightens my shoulders. "Don't y' be worrying yer head over a silly thing such as that."
Right.
"Now, where were we,..."
The bakery scene! Page 3!
"Oh, yes." Wren flips to the right page and reads the scene's description. "The run-down bakery. Where Prince Bastian meets Nelle, who's been living alone as a cursed, hunch-backed, half-human goat.... Oh, my." She looks out at Diggs. "Should I be hunching me-self over for this? Like an ill-begotten goat?"
He laughs, I presume, at the way I sound. She hasn't bothered to soften the Irish accent. "Uh, no. Reading it will be fine."
She looks at Duey, or rather, we look at Duey, who smiles and takes a half-step forward.
"Is no one here?" He pauses, and then turns away, as if he doesn't see me.
"No. No, there be no one," Wren replies, making my voice raspy, while throwing it off to the side, as if she were hiding behind a barrel, like the script says.
"Surely, you're mistaken," Duey replies.
"No. But I dare say it's been a hundred moons since anyone has crossed my threshold. What is it y' could possibly seek in a place as low and empty as this?"
"The one attached to that sweet voice."
Wren huffs like the script says. "Sire, either yer brain has grown daft, or else cast under the spell of a bad fairy, if y' thinks me craggy voice, weighted with the age of a hundred years, sounds sweet to human ears. T'would be better if y' left, and never returned."
Duey shakes his head. "I have no way, nor desire, to leave this place. The skies have grown dark. The air, heavy with foreboding. Please, my maiden, believe me when I say I can hear the kindness in your voice. Take mercy and offer me some bread, if not some company. For it has been many a day I've been lost in the forest. My stomach has grown weak with hunger. My heart, weary with loneliness."
Tucking the script under my arm, Wren begins moving my hands in front of me, as if hastily stacking a tray with food. A few moments later she shoves the imaginary tray forward, then opens the script again. "`Tis only hard bread I can offer today." She pushes forward an imaginary pitcher. "And water. But yer belly won't be thanking me for it. Despite me efforts to knead the yeast through, me loafs refuse to rise. Forgive me, but `tis the best I can do."
Duey pretends to take a bite. A tough bite, but one that shows growing pleasure at the taste. When it comes to acting, he's actually pretty good.
"Who makes such fine food? The taste belies its sight. It would be lovely with a spot of tea. Show yourself. Come sit with me a while. We'll heat a kettle by the fire."
"Y' don't know what y' ask. Please, eat and be on yer way!" Wren tips my head, as if spying on Prince Bastian from behind an
imaginary curtain. "There be evil lurking in these woods!"
Finally, with a spin, a bow, and a flirty wave, Wren gives us quick leave of the stage.
• • •
"That was great!" Roz says.
Only Roz would have the courage to sneak back-stage, when she's not even supposed to be here.
Wren lets out a long-winded breath from my mouth. "Well, I'd trade all the gold of Ireland to know what Duey'll be thinking."
We turn to see him give a thumbs-up, as he makes his way off the other side of the stage. Even though I'm not completely connected to my body, I feel the full force of my stomach going queasy.
"Okay, that's it. Time for you to leave." I stretch my arms up to shake Wren free, squeeze my eyes shut.
With a slight fluttering from my belly--as if we're being pulled apart like string cheese--Wren appears before me, looking like the ghost she's always been.
"Feel better?" Roz asks, draping her arm across my shoulders.
"Like I've been bathed in the breath of life," Wren says.
I brush at my arms, making sure all of me is still here, give Wren a hard squint. "She was asking me, Genius. And we're never doing that again."
Chapter 19
I'm hanging my jacket in my locker--and still humming, of all things (something I've done since last Friday)--when Roz and Elise come running down the hall. Elise reaches me first. "I can't believe it, Myr! You did it!"
"Did what?"
Roz slides behind and gives me a push. "Come on! You'll see!"
They pull me with them, not caring how many kids we bump along the way. At the end of the next corridor, they push me head-long through a crowd of students gathered around the bulletin board outside Diggs's door.
"It's the cast and crew list," Elise says.
"Yeah, so?"
"Wellllll, check it out!" The sound of Roz's voice makes me believe I'm about to read the best-news-ever. I mean, why would she be happy, if not to show I've gotten what I wanted. A behind-the-scenes assignment. Maybe Diggs teamed me up with my mom. It'd make sense for him to put us together. And if that's the case, I'd be more than happy to help. Happy enough to do ALL the work. Let her stay home.
The Ghost in Me Page 6