Something to Believe In

by Jenny B. Jones

  I’m a little bummed when I discover we’re meeting in a classroom and not the theater, but maybe it’s just for the first day.

  I sit down—back of the room, first row. That keeps me out of the line of fire of the professor, but still allows quick access to the exit.

  Turning to the girl to my left, I utter three brave words. “Hey, I’m Katie.”

  She opens her laptop. “Claire.”

  “Are you a theater major too?” I feel a jolt of unfiltered joy knowing I’m in a room full of people like me.

  “No.” She focuses on her screen. “Elementary education.”

  Oh.

  Claire doesn’t look up and shows no sign of wanting to chitchat. This making friends stuff is not easy.

  “Katie!” Jeremy grins and waves as he approaches, carrying a backpack large enough to double as a body bag. “Thank God there’s a familiar face here.”

  I give a small nod toward the girl beside me and lower my voice. “That’s Claire. We’re practically best friends already.”

  He watches Claire swivel in her seat away from us, clicking away on her laptop, oblivious to our scene-building. “I wish she’d stop talking to us. We know we’re cool, but give us some space.”

  “She’s a smotherer.”

  “Good morning.” The professor walks in and blesses everyone with a smile. “I’m Dr. Maddox, and this is Theater 101. Make sure you’re in the right place.”

  My face breaks into a grin as happiness bubbles within me. Oh, sir, I know I’m in the right place. Finally.

  I know everything about this professor, as I’d cyber-stalked him like a crazed fan.

  Geoffrey Maddox, thirty-five, department head. Spent three years on Broadway, two on off-Broadway, before coming back to his home state of Texas and pulling the Hendrix theater department from the ashes. While I was still a long way from NYU, I’m lucky to be in a school with a renowned theater program. I vow to jot down every word this man says, commit every instruction to memory, and become an even better actress under his tutelage.

  I’ve never known a drama teacher who didn’t like to mix it up, so I sit up straighter, prepping myself to get out of my seat for a fun activity.

  “Here’s the syllabus.” Dr. Maddox grabs a stack of papers thick enough to destroy a forest of trees. “Take one and pass it back. You’ll need two textbooks for this semester. One is cheap and easy to find, and the other is an out of print tome that will cost you the equivalent of a car payment. Both are required.”

  Hey, where are the fun activities?

  My silenced phone lights up with a call from a number I don’t recognize.

  Since it’s not Tate, I ignore it and reset my focus.

  “If you think this class is going to be one big semester of improv games, you’re in for a rude surprise.” Dr. Maddox holds up a tiny remote, and a text-overloaded slide pops on a large screen. “Theater history is my area of expertise, and I’m here to share my expansive wisdom.”

  Wait. I’m a freshman. I didn’t sign up for expansive wisdom.

  My phone flashes again with a call from the same number. I dismiss it before hiding my cell in my lap and texting my no-show boyfriend. Again.

  Suddenly, the classroom door flies open, and all heads turn toward the commotion.

  “Don’t start the party without me!”

  My eyes round as my two worlds collide. Because there standing in the doorway wearing a Hendrix t-shirt and holding a sequined backpack is Maxine.

  I blink three times just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  Nope. She’s still there.

  “You must be Maxine Dayberry,” Professor Maddox says. “We’re glad to have you join us.”

  We are?

  Maxine plops herself in an empty seat by me and winks, her eyelash extensions brushing against her rouged cheek. “Surprise, sweet pea!”

  “What are you doing?” I ask as she high-fives Jeremy.

  “I found out seniors get free tuition,” she whispers as the professor returns to his lecture. “Isn’t that cool? It’s gonna make me look so smart against all those other beauty queen wannabes.”

  “So you signed up for a theater class?” I’m still struggling to process the obvious.

  “Yeah, I figured I could share some of my expertise. I also enrolled in a pottery class and psychology. But not sure I’m staying in psych. We took a personality inventory yesterday, and my results said I could be bossy and had trouble respecting boundaries. If that’s the kind of erroneous gobbledy-gunk that professor’s preaching, noooo thank you!”

  I scan the syllabus, and my heart sinks at the mention of three research projects, five tests, and ten quizzes. Basically, every day of my life for the next four years is a test, paper, or some other soul-draining task not the least bit relevant to my life.

  When Theater 101 is over, Jeremy races off to his next class at the athletic complex. I forego my idea of introducing myself to the professor and walk out with Maxine instead. I guess Dr. Maddox can wait another day before he meets his next favorite actress.

  “How’s everything going?” Maxine asks as we walk outside. “Is the one roommate still a brat?”

  “Yes.” I slip on my sunglasses against the hot August sun. “I realize living with you prepared me for more than knowing how to make fiber smoothies and mend your girdles.”

  “I was the ideal roommate. Do you want me to talk to this Jemma? Show her who’s boss?”

  “No. She’d only take it out on me with ten more new rules.”

  “Well, you hang in there, honey. They can’t all be dream roomies like me.” Her brow furrows as she stares at a spot beyond my shoulder. “Isn’t that your sweetie, Tate?” Maxine throws up her hand and waves him down with all the subtlety of a drunk air traffic controller. “Tate! Yoo hoo! Tater Tot! Over here!”

  Tate breaks from a pack of guys and ambles toward us. When he sees my face, his happy smile falters.

  “Where were you for breakfast?” I ask as he hugs Maxine.

  “Katie, I’m so sorry. I forgot. It’s been nonstop since four a.m. this morning. The Up Sigs had a surprise scavenger hunt, and things got pretty crazy.” He leans close to Maxine. “If you hear of anyone skinny-dipping in the university fountain, it was not me.”

  “Meh. Amateurs.” Maxine laughs. “Try doing that at Caesar’s Palace at straight-up noon, then come and talk to me.”

  I interrupt anymore talk of aquatic escapades. “You stood me up, Tate.”

  “And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” He does look properly contrite. “How about I bring pizza tonight and come to your dorm?”

  “I can’t.”

  He waves to a guy passing by. “Why?”

  “It breaks Jemma’s Roomie Rule Number twelve.” She requires a twenty-four-hour notice of guests. “Plus, I promised Jeremy we’d pick up our scripts for our first audition.”

  Tate doesn’t look as crestfallen as I’d like. “Okay, sure.” He angles toward me and kisses my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  He joins a guy wearing his same fraternity shirt and disappears into the rapidly-moving crowd.

  Tate didn’t even ask me about my audition or look the least bit interested. And he didn’t seem too contrite over standing me up. “Maxine, I don’t know that Tate and I are gonna make it.”

  “It’s a whole new world over here,” she says. “Give things some time to settle down and be normal again.”

  My backpack weighs heavily on my shoulder with books thicker than bricks, and papers that list more due dates than my brain can balance. “Maybe Millie was right. Maybe this place is too much for me, and I should’ve just taken a few classes at the community college.”

  “Nonsense!” Maxine pulls me to her side in a hug. “You can do anything you set your mind to, sweet pea.”

  I’m not so sure.

  She gives me a final squeeze. “Before I jet off to my next class, I do have a pressing question.”

  “Yes?”r />
  She holds up her Theater 101 book. “Do these things come in large print?”

  Chapter Seven

  One week later, I have to stop, reapply my lipstick, and take an obnoxious selfie because I want to capture the night I had my first college audition.

  Moving onto campus didn’t make me feel more grown-up for some reason, but this audition sure does. When I’m starring on Broadway, my Wikipedia page will fondly mention my premiere college production. That quaint detail will be written this very night. There are twenty roles in this play, so even if I don’t get the lead, which is what I’ve prepped for, the odds of my landing something are pretty solid.

  The Burnett Building houses all the theater classes and the auditorium. It smells like floor wax and overambitious dreams as I step inside. I walk down a long hall to the theater, grinning as the black stage comes into sight. The floor inclines as if pushing me toward my destiny. I resist gravity’s pull and take a hard left on the fourth row where Jeremy sits with his nose stuck in a script.

  The first three rows are crammed full of people, and the air buzzes with electric energy. I sense competitiveness, envy, excitement, and fear. Also, everyone except Jeremy and me is dressed very subdued. Did everybody but us get a memo to dress as Manhattan as possible? Black shirts, dark jeans.

  I take a seat and lean toward my friend. “Are we at a beatnik poetry reading or an audition?”

  Red splotches Jeremy’s cheeks, a sure sign he’s nervous. “I’m not sure we’re emo enough for this gig.”

  But clearly the attire theme is a thing. “If they announce the play got changed to a night of mime, I’m out.”

  I watch upperclassmen mix and mingle, catching up after a long summer. I pick at least three girls who I think might be competition, and it’s hard not to dislike them immediately.

  At 7:00 p.m., Dr. Maddox takes the stage.

  He introduces his graduate assistant, Sierra, a young brunette with pink highlights and more piercings than your granny’s embroidery. The tepid smile she wears says she’s not here to be friends. She passes out an audition form, requesting our name and experience. The instructions tell me to put a checkmark by the roles I want, and with one swish of my pen, I check the lead.

  “I’d like to welcome everyone,” Dr. Maddox says. “The Acid Rain Diairies will be an interesting and thought-provoking fall show, and I’m excited to see your talent. Let’s get started with some warmups.”

  He leads us through a series of exercises that, taken out of context, would probably qualify us for some mental evals. From swimming through the theater like ocean fish, roaring like rabid dinosaurs, to posing like trees in a windstorm, we quickly react to every one of Dr. Maddox’s commands until we’re thoroughly limbered and vocally prepared.

  The professor first auditions the minor roles, and I’m surprised at the number of students who request to read. An hour and a half later, they finally get to the major players, and my nerves zing when I hear the sweet sound of my name.

  “Katie Parker Scott.”

  “Me!” I jump up and climb the steps to the stage. The lights are hot on my face, I feel the heavy weight of stares, and suddenly I want to throw up and giggle. It’s the best amalgam of terror and joy.

  “Tell us about yourself,” Sierra, the grad assistant says with no small amount of boredom.

  “I’m Katie Parker Scott.” I guess they know that. “I graduated from In Between High, I’m a theater major, and my last role was Sophie Sheridan, the daughter in Mama Mia in our community show.”

  “Impressive.” Doctor Maddox slips off his glasses and runs a hand through his Brad Pitt blond hair. “So, do you sing and dance?”

  “Enough to not offend. I’ve had two years of dance and one year of voice.”

  He scans my one-sheet. “This is quite the resumé for a small expanse of years.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You attended the Dallas County Theater Camp this summer?” Sierra asks.

  “I did.” I’m pretty sure these two haven’t kept anyone else talking this long. And Dr. Maddox is even smiling!

  “That’s a very prestigious camp.” He taps a pen on the table before him. “Few get in.”

  Open to all outgoing seniors in the state, the DCTC only takes 100 kids. “I had the lead in our final production.”

  He glances at Sierra, and they share a look that I’m hoping means, “We already adore her.”

  Dr. Maddox puts down the paper, returns his glasses to his nose, and gives me his full attention. “You come highly recommended by your drama teacher. Mrs. Hall and I go way back.”

  My confidence expands like a weenie dog balloon at a kid’s birthday party. This is amazing! This guy already likes me!

  “All right.” He sits back and folds his arms over his chest. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Page nineteen, beginning of scene two.”

  I check my script, then set it down. That’s right, fellow thespians— I don’t need no stinkin’ script. I’ve got this thing memorized. Katie Parker Scott did not come to play.

  Okay, Dr. Maddox. Prepare yourself for five minutes of wow.

  “I only got to do two minutes of wow.”

  Crickets chirp their off-key support as I walk outside in the dark with Jeremy. Auditions were over two hours long, and my confidence is sufficiently popped.

  “Actually, it was one minute and forty-eight seconds.” Jeremy holds up his fancy watch. “But it was sheer brilliance. I teared up at least twice, and I haven’t done that since my mom told me we were going vegan.”

  “I don’t understand. Was it that bad?”

  Jeremy sidesteps two giant dudes who could easily be football players. “Maybe it was so fabulous, Dr. Maddox saw all he needed to see. If Meryl Streep had read tonight, would you need more than a minute to see her clear and evident genius?”

  I’d personally want Meryl to read all night. “I didn’t even get to the good lines. Do you know how many hours I spent memorizing that stuff?” For nothing. Everyone else depended on their script, and I don’t know if that made me standout in a positive way or made me look too overeager.

  Jeremy kicks a rock in his path. “Dr. Maddox probably realizes the play is terrible and doesn’t want to hear more than he has to.”

  Laughing, I glance to make sure no one can hear us. “This play is the worst.”

  Acid Rain Diariies, written by a former Hendrix student who’s now a somebody off-Broadway, tells a bleak story with melodramatic lines and minimalistic sets. If my hunch if right, I’ll be playing one of the twenty remaining American inhabitants who missed the space bus to the new colony on Mars after global warming killed Earth as we know it. Personally, I think it’s lacking in jokes and pratfalls, but nobody asked for my artistic input.

  But they should have.

  “Enough about me,” I say. “You did an amazing job.” The street lights glow from tall, ornate posts, and we step into a crosswalk. “When you whipped out the umbrella for the meteor shower of ice and fire, that was art in motion.”

  “Do you think my death scene was too much?” Jeremy asks.

  “Not at all. Your howls of pain were very authentic.”

  “I’ve worked on those all week.” A warm breeze tousles Jeremy’s red hair. “I got three complaints from my dorm floor and two visits from the campus police.”

  “What we do doesn’t come without a price.”

  “Amen, sister.”

  I stop and turn back, letting my eyes rest on the distant roof of the Burnett building. “We’re on our way, Jeremy. By October, we’ll both be acting in our first college play.” I slap his hand in a high five before we split to go our separate ways.

  My audition adrenaline wears off the very second I slip my key into my lock, and exhaustion hits me with a tsunami-sized wave. “Honey, I’m home,” I say to the room. “The audition went incredible and—”

  Violet steps from the bathroom, her eyes swollen with tears. “Your audition went well?” She sniffs her
red nose.

  “Violet, what’s wrong?”

  “She’s crying,” Jemma says, with that ever-present, you’re a moron snap in her voice.

  “I can see that.” I set my stuff down, then grab a tissue for Violet.

  “I don’t know what to do with tears.” Jemma stuffs her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I read her some passages from my Anatomy and Physiology textbook. I even used a soothing voice, but still—” She flaps a hand toward Violet—“the waterworks don’t stop.”

  Violet blows her red nose. “I overheard some girls talking tonight, and the sorority president apparently regrets I’m one of them.”

  Jemma frowns. “Why do you care what she thinks?”

  Violet sniffles and collapses on her bed. “Because I don’t want it getting back to my mom that I’m a disappointment. She expects me to be an officer at some point and hold positions of leadership in Kappa Zeta. I have to continue our family legacy of successful KZs.”

  My bio-mom’s legacy was a mile-long rap sheet and a ten-year sentence in prison. There are worse family legacies, but I can tell Violet won’t find that a comfort. “The year’s barely started. There’s plenty of time to turn this around. And it’s just a few girls you heard. That doesn’t mean everyone thinks that.”

  “Half an hour later, I heard two more say I always look miserable and out of place at the socials.”

  Those jerks. “Why would they say that?”

  “Because I feel miserable and out of place at the socials.”

  Jemma rolls her dark eyes. “Logic compels me to ask you why you even want to be part of this group?”

  “Because it’s expected,” Violet says. “It’s who I’m supposed to be. I’ve grown up always knowing I’d become a Kappa Zeta.”

  “Anything that makes you cry is stupid. And you have five minutes left of your evening block of bathroom time.” And, with that, Jemma puts on her giant headphones and climbs up the ladder to her bunk.

  “I think we just had a civil conversation with Jemma,” I whisper to Violet.

  “Don’t ride the wave of accomplishment.” Violet reaches for a bottle of lotion and squirts a dollop into her palm. “Her moments of kindness are as short-lived as my last romantic relationship.”