What If... All the Rumors Were True

by Liz Ruckdeschel

  “I should be captain,” Jen butted in. “Seniority should count for something.”

  “Okay, nominees, you can turn around now,” Coach Tygert said. “Well, it looks like we have a tie. Haley and Sasha got nine votes each.”

  Haley was stunned. Her teammates looked up to her that much? She knew a lot of girls would vote for Sasha, but she hadn’t expected to do just as well. She did the math in her head. That meant the whole team had voted for either Haley or Sasha—except for one. Haley was willing to bet that Jen’s one vote had come from her fellow senior, Tessa.

  “So I have a proposal,” the coach said. “What do you think of Haley and Sasha as cocaptains? Since they’re both busy juniors, they could share the responsibility.”

  “Yeah!” the girls shouted.

  Sasha shrugged. “Cool with me.”

  “Me too,” Haley said.

  “Excellent,” Coach Tygert said. “Girls, meet your new leaders, Sasha and Haley!” He held up an arm of each girl in a victory salute. Haley felt her face turn red. She was embarrassed but thrilled at the same time. She and Sasha got along great, and being cocaptains of the varsity soccer team would look awesome on their college applications.

  “I’ll have Captain embroidered on your team jackets,” the coach said. “You should get them next week. Okay, three laps around the field and then we’ll scrimmage. Go!”

  Christina clapped Sasha and Haley on the back. “Congrats! You guys will be awesome.”

  “Thanks,” Haley said. She fell into step beside Sasha as they jogged around the field.

  “You busy after practice tomorrow?” Sasha asked.

  “What, you mean besides having a jillion hours of homework and a thousand SAT vocabulary words to memorize?” Haley said. “Not really. Why?”

  “I’m playing open mike at Drip,” Sasha said. “Busting out some new material I worked on over the summer. I could sure use a little support, a friendly face or two. Those open mike crowds can be brutal. What do you say?”

  Good for Haley—she’s racking up the accomplishments and her high school transcript is looking more impressive by the minute. Who knows—as cocaptain of the soccer team, could she be lining herself up for a future athletic scholarship? Unfortunately, even student-athletes can’t neglect the student part of the equation, though. Sasha is burning the candle at both ends, as usual. That doesn’t mean Haley has to follow in those sometimes less-than-graceful footsteps. On the other hand, good friends—and cocaptains—support each other. So what should Haley do?

  If you think Haley is curious to hear Sasha’s new songs (maybe some of the lyrics are about people she knows!), take her to Drip for "OPEN MIKE". If you think Haley has a budding actress inside her dying to get out, and she can always see Sasha sing another time, send her to try out for A Midsummer Night’s Dream "ON A ROLE". If you think Haley shouldn’t make any more decisions before she straightens out her wardrobe for fall, send her to "THE BAG LADY".

  Junior year is crammed with activity, but no one can do it all. Choose carefully, or Haley could find herself falling down a rabbit hole.

  TOTAL DRAMA

  Good acting takes a lot of effort, but sometimes it’s harder just being yourself.

  “We’ll show Xavier,” Shaun shouted, his voice muffled by the huge papier-mâché donkey’s head that was covering him from the shoulders up. “We’re all gonna get huge parts, and take over the drama program from the inside out. No one’s gonna believe how crazy delicious we are onstage. The theater crowd is gonna love us.” Devon had to keep pointing Shaun in the right direction as they walked toward the auditorium. In full costume, Shaun couldn’t exactly see straight.

  “Well, no one can say we lack commitment,” Irene said, lifting up the skirts of her long ivory antique satin gown to step over a puddle. Irene’s gold crown completed an ensemble that was most definitely fit for a fairy queen. She looked regal enough for the part.

  Devon, who worked at a vintage clothing store called Jack’s, had helped them all scrounge up appropriate Shakespearean costumes for their A Midsummer Night’s Dream auditions. Haley was surprised at how committed Devon himself had become to landing a role in the production. An artist and photographer, he’d always been the stern, quiet type, preferring to observe the Hillsdale High circus through a lens rather than draw attention to himself and actively participate. Now here he stood, in gym bloomers tricked up to look like Elizabethan breeches, yellow tights and a purple ruffled shirt. Maybe he’s finally coming around, Haley thought, admiring her beau in his period getup. He’d even dug up the perfect dress for Haley to wear, a navy velvet gown with gold trim and mutton sleeves.

  Shaun topped them all, of course, with the donkey’s head he’d made in Mr. Von’s art class—unfortunately built without working eyeholes—worn over a green makeshift leotard covered in leaves, crafted out of three discarded Peter Pan costumes. The leotard was a tad small for Shaun, but somehow that protruding Willkommen belly crammed into spandex seemed a good touch for the character of Nick Bottom.

  “I understand the ways of the ass,” Shaun chanted under his mask. “I feel the ass growing within. I am becoming the ass!”

  “No surprises there,” Devon joked.

  “Cut the Method crap, Shaun,” Irene said. “I can’t take any more chanting.”

  Xavier, Shaun’s cousin and their new after-school tutor, had told them all about Stanislavsky’s famous acting method, used by Marlon Brando, James Dean and other legends of stage and screen. “The actor mutht find the character heth playing inthide himthelf,” Xavier had said. “Digging deep, deep, deep inthide and living the life of that character in every detail until he BECOMETH the part. He doethn’t PLAY the character; he ITH the character. They are ONE. Intheparable.”

  “It’s all about technique, Rini,” Shaun said. “I was born to play Bottom, and I’ll do whatever it takes. And you shall be my queen.” He took Irene’s hand and kissed it with his papier-mâché donkey lips.

  “Well, I hope this isn’t all for nothing,” Irene said. It was a bold move for someone who’d never been in a play before to go out for the part of Titania, queen of the fairies and Bottom’s love interest. Titania was one of the female leads, a star of the show, and potentially the best part for a girl in the play.

  The play’s characters came from two different worlds, the human world and the fairy world. Haley planned to audition for a major human role, Helena or Hermia, mostly because Devon had declared his intention to play Lysander or Demetrius. These two couples switched partners during the play, so if Haley and Devon both got parts, the odds were pretty high that they would be canoodling onstage. Method acting or no Method acting, playing love scenes opposite Devon was definitely something Haley could manage. If all worked out, of course.

  “It’s just a silly school play,” Devon said to Irene as they neared the auditorium. “How competitive could it be?” Then he opened the door, and the four friends gasped at what they saw. The auditorium was full of aspiring actors and actresses, studying their scripts and running lines in preparation for their staged reads in front of the drama coach. Each major character’s name was written on a separate poster at the front of the auditorium, and behind the names, lines of potential cast members snaked through the aisles. There were hordes of people there to try out for Helena and Lysander and Oberon and Puck, of course, but the line for Titania stretched all the way to the door. On the other hand, only a handful of kids had signed up to attempt the role of Bottom.

  “Good grief,” Irene said, her face even paler than usual. “Look at all those wannabe fairy queens.”

  Haley, too, had forgotten about the Hillsdale effect. Basically, in order to do anything at all ambitious at such a large public school, you first had to compete with a mob of supertalented, super-qualified, cutthroat kids. There was even heavy competition for slacking off, ever since Annie Armstrong and Dave Metzger had made lazy ennui fashionable among the type-A set.

  “But you’re the only one dres
sed for the part,” Shaun said reassuringly to Irene. “Old Lyons can’t resist the Mistress with the Method.”

  “Maybe Shaun has a point,” Haley said. “You’re committed, and your costume proves it.”

  Still, the threatened look in Irene’s eyes did not escape any of them. Irene looked down at her satin gown and stifled a shriek. “Are you crazy? I look like an idiot!”

  “Come on, Titania,” Shaun said, trying to coax her into the role. “Normally, I wouldn’t think that’s such a good look, but from the ass’s eye view it’s wicked awesome.”

  “The ass’s eye view!” Irene said. “Who cares about that?”

  “That’s exactly what Titania would say! If she talked all normally and not Shakespearean-like,” Shaun offered.

  “Everybody’s nervous, Irene,” Devon said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be great.”

  But Haley was afraid Irene had a first-class case of stage fright. Irene’s hands were shaking, her eyes were huge, and they kept darting around the room. She seemed on the verge of a major freak-out.

  “I—I can’t do it,” Irene stammered. “I’ll make an ass out of myself.”

  “That’s the whole point,” Shaun said. “At least in my case.”

  “Shaun, shut up,” Haley said.

  Irene heaved her green army-surplus backpack over her shoulder and said, “I’ll see you guys later.” Then she hurried out of the room.

  Shaun, Devon and Haley frowned at each other.

  “Wow,” said Devon. “She’s really tripping.”

  “I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Haley said, and chased Irene to the girls’ bathroom. Irene had already run into a stall and pulled the satin gown over her head. Now she was diving back into her comfy ripped white tee.

  “Are you all right, Irene?” Haley asked.

  “I am now,” Irene said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but it’s just too much in there. Did you see who was in line for Titania? Coco De Clerq, about a dozen seniors and that new Spanish chick, Mia Delgado, who I’ve heard is in, like, three television commercials this month.”

  “Mia?” Haley hadn’t had time to check out the room. But if Irene was right and Mia Delgado had been there, that meant the rumors were true—Sebastian Bodega was back from Spain, and he had his luscious girlfriend-slash-model, Mia, in tow. That much Spanish spice could not be good for the delicate constitution of Hillsdale High.

  “Yeah,” Irene said. “The one with the legs up to her armpits. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

  My sentiments exactly, Haley thought, hoping that Devon wasn’t out there ogling the Latin stunner. “Maybe you’re doing the right thing,” Haley said. “I’m not so sure any of us is cut out for the theatrical life.”

  Well, that scene was certainly dramatic. Maybe Irene isn’t giving herself enough credit. Since when does she get so emotional in public? And what will Irene do if Shaun lands the role of Bottom, and Coco De Clerq or Mia Delgado ends up playing his love interest?

  Did Irene really spot Mia trying out for Titania? The girl is still learning English as a second language, and already she’s tackling Shakespeare? Are Mia and Sebastian still an item? And how many hearts will Mia break before the school year is through?

  Haley has got a lot to think about here. The production could be a great experience and might impress college recruiters down the line. But between classes, tutoring and everything else she has on her plate, where will Haley find the time to memorize her lines? How many words can she stuff into her brain before it explodes? On the other hand, Haley’s playing opposite the adorable Devon could take their relationship to the next level. That is, if Haley can beat out all those more experienced actresses who are up for the part.

  If you think Haley needs to clear her head with a good shopping spree before she makes a final decision, go to "THE BAG LADY". If you think there’s no doubt she’s cut out for the theater and a little drama is just what she needs, send her to "ON A ROLE". Lastly, if you think Haley’s biggest worry should be the status of Sebastian and leggy Mia, go to "SPANISH FLY".

  Fate may play a big role in Shakespearean drama, but in this drama you’re the playwright. You get to write your own entrance.

  FIRST LADIES

  Politicians are always surrounded by throngs of obsequious supporters. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re well liked.

  A finely tuned engine roared as Haley shielded her eyes from the sun to peer into the parking lot of the Bergen County Country Club. Not surprisingly, Spencer Eton was at the wheel. He raced up the drive in his brand-spanking-new, bright blue precision Italian sports car—a gift for his recently turning seventeen, legal driving age in New Jersey, and for his efforts in service of his mother’s campaign.

  “The early bird has landed,” Coco De Clerq said with a sigh. “He certainly doesn’t inherit his sense of punctuality from his mother.” Mrs. Eton, in fact, had been inside for a full forty-five minutes, entertaining guests at her latest fund-raiser on her race to become the state’s next governor.

  Spencer hopped out of his ride and breezed up the steps of the country club and onto the veranda, where members and donors were having drinks and enjoying the Indian summer. The youngest member of the Eton clan was dressed with his usual preppy bravado, in a half-untucked pale blue button-down, tie flung over his shoulder, not-too-faded fine-wale corduroys and suede desert boots. He topped it all off with a crisp navy blazer and sandy blond hair freshly windblown from the open sunroof on the ride over.

  Haley didn’t trust Spencer as far as she could hit him with a polo mallet, but she had to admit, the sparkle in his emerald green eyes was pretty tough to resist. She could understand why even the ice queen Coco De Clerq had been thawed by that gaze.

  “Girls, girls, girls,” Spencer said, kissing Coco passionately on the cheek as he nearly swept her off her stilettos. He bent down to give Haley a peck hello too, but she dodged him.

  “Hello, Spencer,” she said, giving him a friendly wave instead. The last thing she wanted to do was provoke Coco’s notorious jealous streak.

  “How can Mother lose with such beautiful campaign workers flogging her noble cause?” Spencer asked, grabbing a plump grape from a passing fruit tray and popping it into his mouth.

  “I am not here to flog your mother’s cause,” Haley said emphatically. She wanted to make sure Coco understood this too. Haley’s Berkeley-minded parents would never vote for a rich conservative like Mrs. Eton, and they’d have an absolute fit if they thought Haley had become a cadet in her army of supporters. Haley was here only because Coco had invited her to the club for a much-needed study break post–SAT prep class, not mentioning of course that a campaign stop was part of the deal. It was such a beautiful Saturday, and after a morning spent cramming vocabulary words into her head, it was heaven to be outside in the fresh air.

  “Of course she’s going to help,” Coco said, glaring pointedly at Haley. “You’re late, darling,” she added to Spencer, but fondly, not in her usual snippy way, much to Haley’s surprise. “The election is only a month away, and Mother Eton has been losing steam in the polls.” Coco was the picture of Waspy elegance in her yellow cashmere sweater and triple strand of creamy white pearls, her chestnut hair pinned up to make her look older and more responsible and trustworthy. In her arms was a basket of Vote Eleanor campaign buttons in a buttery yellow that nearly matched her sweater, and a stack of leaflets promoting Mrs. Eton’s run for governor of New Jersey.

  “Are you kidding? Mother’s got it sewn up,” Spencer replied in his usual cocky manner. He spotted Whitney, in a tweed pencil skirt of her own design and a tight ruffled blouse, standing by the bar. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Haley? Cocomo?”

  “We’ll have two Arnold Palmers,” Coco ordered. Spencer brushed his hand through hers as he left for the bar, letting their fingers linger together a second longer than they needed to. Haley saw a warm gleam in Coco’s usually chilly eyes. Has Spencer finally been tamed? Haley wondered, marveling at the change
that had recently come over Hillsdale High’s resident bad boy.

  “He’s whipped!” Haley announced to Coco, risking incurring her friend’s wrath. She braced herself for the reaction. However, no wrath seemed to be coming.

  “He’s an old family friend, as you know,” Coco said, mustering all her Grace Kelly restraint. “But yes, things have heated up a bit since my…sister finally left for Yale.” Coco was the type of girl who wanted every boy to want her, but she’d always had a soft spot for Spencer. They seemed to be made for each other. Unfortunately, Alison De Clerq had maintained a long-standing and avid flirtation with her sister’s beau. Even though the relationship had never been consummated, Coco felt that Ali—among others—stood in the way. Now, it seemed as if Coco might have been right.

  The queen bee, finally restored to her throne, smoothed her hair and stood at attention as Mrs. Eton fluttered over to greet the girls. “Thank goodness, another pair of hands,” Spencer’s mother said, plopping a load of buttons and flyers into Haley’s arms. “Here you are, dear. Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work.” Mrs. Eton then hurried over to the bar for a photo op with her handsome offspring. She had a beaming maternal grin plastered all over her nipped-and-tucked face.

  “I’ll take those off your hands,” Whitney offered, setting down her Arnold Palmer. “It’ll be easier for me to pass them around, since I know everybody here and you probably…don’t.”

  Haley had to admit Whitney was right. “Thanks,” she said, relieved to be rid of the offending Republican propaganda. Haley nevertheless felt the need to follow Whitney around on this hearts-and-minds-winning mission. Mostly, it was to get out of cozying up to the elderly gentlemen in attendance, a task Coco had just been tapped for. Haley cringed as she watched Coco lean down and speak into the good ear of a former club president, revealing all too much of her meager décolletage.

  Haley and Whitney strode up to the first table, where a silver-haired couple was sitting beneath an umbrella. She wore frosty pink lipstick and a chunky beaded necklace that covered up her wattle, and a stiff tobacco-colored skirt suit. He had on his old college fraternity pin, an official-issue green country club blazer and a green and white repp tie. They both were sipping gin and tonics. “Vote for Mrs. Eton!” Whitney said brightly, placing a flyer and a button on their table.