Casting Lily
Page 7
“Sorry, guys,” Kiefer whispers as we hurriedly smudge our faces with London street dirt. “And, you know, thanks.”
Mind. Blown.
I’m nervous about Walter’s first scene, when he comes in with our dad from chimney sweeping. But he arrives on cue, and since he doesn’t have to say or do much in that scene, it’s a good warm-up. And once Kiefer makes that first entrance, he’s fine.
More than fine. For the first time, our brother-sister scenes feel like more than acting, like there really is a bond between us. And Kiefer gets better as he goes along. He’s a little stiff at first, but by the time he hits the scene in the dress, he’s playing up the awkwardness and getting some laughs, but then hugging me fiercely, like he really means it, when we say goodbye. In the scene on the ship, where he calms the kids down by singing, he sings out like an angel.
At intermission he’s smiling, and I realize how rarely I’ve seen him actually look happy. Is that partly our fault for shutting him out? He wasn’t easy to include, but there has definitely been a “me and Will versus Kiefer” thing going on, I can’t deny it. When he comes over to hang out with us, he looks kind of shy, like he’s not sure he’ll be welcome. But Will slings an arm around his shoulder and says, “You are Walter tonight, buddy! And admit it—it is fun!”
And Kiefer actually laughs and says, “Well, more fun than last night, anyway.”
On Sunday when I go to put on my costume, Charlotte is there, holding out my dress.
“You’re home! You didn’t call!” I fling my arms around her and actually do conk her on the shoulder.
“Ow. Yes, just this aft. I wanted to surprise you.”
She holds up my cast. “So, seriously—you went and broke your arm without me?”
We both laugh. “Sorry about that. Are you working or in the audience?”
“Tonight I’m in the audience, with my mom. Beth just let me come backstage. But I’ll be back here next week.”
“Come after the show and hang with us,” I urge. “You could take the shuttle back.”
She nods. “I’ll try to talk Mom into it.”
There’s no more time to talk.
“I gotta get back—I left Mom in line so we can get a good seat.” Another hug. “I can’t wait to see the whole play put together, and you bumbling around with that.”
“With what?” I ask, holding my arm out obediently as Beth appears with my cast cover. “I do not have a cast, or a broken arm, or anything out of the ordinary at all.”
“If you say so. Okay, then, see you after!”
The run, as we were warned, goes on and on. We have another heat wave, with stacks of towels backstage for mopping away sweat, and the audience a sea of fanning programs. We have a rain-out. And there’s a cold making the rounds. Luckily, no one gets too sick to perform.
We put on a good show, and we have a good team. I can’t say Kiefer has suddenly become nice. But he makes an effort, and so do we. When we hold hands to take our bows every night, it feels good, like, Yeah! We did it again!
Honestly, it’s a relief to hit our last performance. And yet I can hardly keep from bawling on our last bow. I actually do cry when my dad comes to pick us up after the cast party.
Sixteen
One week of vacation left, and then school. My grandma has come to stay so that my brother and I can have “unstructured time” (my mom’s words) and “laze around” (my dad’s). And that’s pretty much all I do—laze around. A couple of times I go over to Char’s and hang out at her building’s pool, but I don’t really feel like doing much. I spend a lot of time on the couch watching Netflix.
Grandma must have said something to Mom, because on Wednesday after dinner she takes me aside.
“So…are you having a little trouble coming back to everyday life after your summer on the farm?”
I shrug. “I don’t know…I guess so. Everything just seems…I don’t know, boring.”
She nods. I’m surprised at how sympathetic she seems—I expected a “snap out of it” lecture. “I worked at a summer camp for three years, and every year when I came home, I moped around for a week. It drove my parents insane.”
Ha. It’s funny to think of her acting like me. “What got you out of it?” I asked.
“School, I guess,” she answers. “Something new to do.”
School. I should be excited or at least nervous about school. I’m starting high school, after all. But I’m neither.
“What do you say to a little shopping therapy?” says my mom. “You need some school clothes, right?”
I really do. “Can we take Char?” It will be more fun with Charlotte. Also, even though she doesn’t fuss much with her own clothes, she always knows exactly what’s in style and what looks good on me.
“Sure,” my mom says, then pulls out her phone to check the time. “A bit late to start now though. Let’s plan to go right after dinner tomorrow.” She smiles. “Ask Charlotte to come for dinner—it’ll save time.”
On Friday I get my cast off. The wait at the hospital feels like hours. When the nurse finishes cutting through the plaster, I can see that my arm is all white and shriveled and—ew—the skin’s flaking off it.
I must look horrified because the nurse pats my arm and says, “Don’t worry. With a little air and use, it will start to look normal soon.” Great. I’ll be starting high school looking like I have leprosy or something. I’d rather have the cast.
The last long weekend of the summer goes by pretty quickly, thanks to my parents insisting that we all go camping at a nearby provincial park. On Monday night it finally hits me—I start high school tomorrow! How will I even get up so early? I’ve been sleeping late for a month now. What if I miss the bus? How will I find my homeroom? What if there’s no one I know in my classes? My mind goes round and round in circles. When the alarm goes off at seven, I feel horribly tired and groggy.
I blast the shower right on my face to make myself wake up. It is nice to have a regular shower again, no messing around with a plastic bag over my arm. Then into a new top and old jeans (don’t want to look too eager).
I don’t feel hungry, but my mom won’t let me out the door unless I eat something. I appease her with a bowl of cereal with a banana sliced over it, then throw my lunch into my backpack, and I’m off.
Char is on my bus, and it’s nice to be able to walk into the school together. We have different homerooms, though, so we soon part ways.
The morning feels long—Math, English, Geography. Char’s in my Geography class, so we don’t have to worry about finding each other at lunch.
We line up at the cafeteria to buy drinks and scope out any familiar faces. I spot Sadie and Carla from my old school, and we all grab a table together. In a few minutes Emily appears, and we wave her over. Safety in numbers, right? They all seem way more impressed with high school than I am—gossiping about cute boys in their classes and people’s clothes and who they’ve seen. So far, for me, it’s just school, only bigger.
I’m heading back to my locker after lunch when a familiar voice booms down the hall. “AVA! Hey, there you are! Wait up.”
Will bounces like he has springs on his sneakers. “How’s it going? What classes do you have?” He notices my arm. “You got your cast off! That’s awesome.”
Geez, he’s contagious. I’m suddenly happier than I’ve felt all day—especially after we compare schedules.
“You’re taking Drama, I hope?” Will asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Cool! So there’s one class we have together.” It turns out we also have our last class together—Information and Communications Technology, whatever that is.
“Did you see the notice on the bulletin board?” Will seems quite excited—much too excited for a school notice.
“Um, what bulletin board?”
He checks the time. “We’re good. Okay, c’mon!” He actually takes my arm and starts pulling me down the hall.
Beside the office there’s a la
rge bulletin board. On it is a big, brightly colored poster. Will flings out his arm at it. “Ta-da!”
I start to read, and I can actually feel my pulse speeding up.
AUDITIONS NEXT WEEK!
Preliminary auditions for the fall musical, Back to the Eighties, will take place in the small gymnasium on Wednesday and Thursday, Sept 13/14. Be there at 3:45, prepared to sing a short musical piece and read a scene.
Students interested in production roles (costumes, sets, stagehands) should also come to the small gym on Friday at 3:45.
Audition times for lead parts will be announced next week.
Contact Ms. Gooderham, Room 322, for more information.
“So you’re going, right?” Will demands.
I want to. But…“I’m not that much of a singer.”
He waves it away. “I heard you sing. You’re fine. And they’ll probably only give ninth-grade kids chorus roles anyway. But it’s getting on the radar, right? They always do a drama in the spring—no singing required.”
I feel the grin spreading across my face, wider and wider. “I’m in. Which day do you want to go?”
“The first day, obviously! And if you want to practice your song in front of an audience in the meantime, I’m your man.”
I’m already thinking about what I should sing. And wondering what the play is about. And whether I should have a résumé. No, I decide. Not yet, anyway.
That thought leads me to Kiefer and his “babe in arms” theater credit. I’m tempted to tell Will about it—but then I let it go. Now that I know Kiefer doesn’t always feel as high and mighty as he acts, a laugh at his expense just seems mean. Instead I ask, “Hey, Will, do you know where Kiefer is this year?” I know Kendra’s at the French Immersion high school across town, but Kiefer never mentioned his “real life”—not to me, anyway.
“Yeah, his parents are sending him to some fancy private school in Toronto. I don’t think he’s real happy about it either.”
So we probably won’t be crossing paths any time soon. To my surprise, I’m kind of sorry.
The bell jangles. Time for Drama.
“C’mon then, Ava,” says Will. “Don’t want to miss our cue!”
I just know it’s going to be the best class of the day.
Acknowledgments
I could not have written this book without the help of so many generous people.
First and foremost, thanks go out to Robert Winslow and Ian McLachlan, co-authors of Doctor Barnardo’s Children, for allowing me to use their play as the production in Casting Lily. Robert, who is also founder and creative director of 4th Line Theatre in Millbrook, Ontario, also allowed me to use his beautiful farmyard theater as the inspiration for Mill Pond Farm. Jade O’Keeffe, who played Lily in the first production of the play at 4th Line, shared her memories of that summer with me. While I borrowed both the play and the setting for this book, the characters, the rehearsal process and the play reviews are entirely fictional.
Director Em Glasspool of Mysterious Entity Theatre and the cast of The Blind Eye, and directors Drew Mills and Terry Convey of St. James Players and the cast of Princess Whatshername, generously allowed me to observe their rehearsals in progress. Karen Hoffman and Keegan Plant gave me a crash course in community theater and production. Finally, Victoria Windrem, with her background in both community theater and ya writing, was the perfect reader to preview and critique this story.
Thank you, all!
HOLLY BENNETT is the author of numerous young adult novels published by Orca Book Publishers, including Drawn Away, a modern retelling of The Little Match Girl. Holly hasn’t been in a play since elementary school, but she knows lots of actors, musicians and “theater people” and loves going to their performances. She lives in Peterborough, Ontario. For more information, visit www.hollybennett.ca.
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Attitude
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Big Time
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Billboard Express
Sigmund Brouwer
Breaking Big
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Cut the Lights
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Forcing the Ace
ErinThomas
Getting the Brush Off
Mere Joyce
He Who Dreams
Melanie Florence
High Note
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Honeycomb
Patricia McCowan
Hot New Thing
Laura Langston
Learning the Ropes
Monique Polak
Off Pointe
Leanne Lieberman
Pop Quiz
Tom Ryan
POV
Ted Staunton
Raising the Stakes
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Rock the Boat
Sigmund Brouwer
Shimmy
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Show Mode
Raquel Rivera
Slip Jig Summer
Elizabeth J. M.Walker
Stepping Out
Laura Langston
Strings Attached
Diane Dakers
The Frail Days
Gabrielle Prendergast
Totally Unrelated
Tom Ryan
True Blue
Sigmund Brouwer
Upstaged
Patricia McCowan
Warm Up
Sara Leach
For more information on all the books in the Orca Limelights series, please visit
www.orcabook.com.