D Is for Drama

by Jo Whittemore

  “I’m so sorry!” she said in a whisper. “You were brilliant and I wanted you as Mary Poppins, but the others on the committee wanted Sara.”

  Ilana’s confession momentarily stunned me. It was sweet that she’d suggested me for the role (and nice to know I wasn’t a complete failure), but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that nobody else saw it that way.

  “Why didn’t I at least get a better part than usual?” I asked.

  She smiled. “You did! Villager Number Two.”

  I clenched my teeth and took a calming breath. “I meant bigger than that. There has to be someone who—”

  Ilana put a hand on my shoulder. “Sunny, the parts have been cast. I can’t change the list.”

  “Sure you can,” I said. “I’ll even retype it for you.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Do you really think that’s fair?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh. “I guess not.”

  Bree cleared her throat. “If you can’t do anything for Sunny, then what about me?”

  Ilana tilted her head sympathetically. “Sorry, Bree. My answer’s the same.” She gave Bree a quick once-over. “But I can fit you in for a brow pluck tomorrow.”

  Bree covered them protectively. “I’m good.”

  Ilana nodded. “Then I should probably get inside. Ms. Elliott’s makeup won’t do itself!”

  After blowing us kisses she slipped back into the office, and Bree and I stared at the closed door.

  “So, that’s it?” asked Bree. “She insults my facial hair, and it’s over?”

  “Not for me.” I shook my head. “I’m going to be in that spotlight, one way or another. Wait and see.”

  WHEN I WALKED home that afternoon, I was surprised to find Chase not at baseball practice but waiting at our usual spot, the massive oak tree on our street corner. He was tossing a foil-wrapped lump in the air and catching it behind his back. On one of his higher tosses, I snatched the bundle away.

  “Lightning-fast reflexes!” I said. Then I tripped over a tree root.

  Chase tried not to laugh as he offered me a hand up. “Maybe you should be a tumbler instead of an actress,” he said.

  “I would if the unitards were cuter . . . and not called unitards,” I said, smoothing my hair and skirt. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too,” he said. “Practice was canceled after the coach threw up in the dugout.”

  I looked down at the foil package in my hand. “I really hope this isn’t a souvenir.”

  Chase laughed. “Of course not!”

  Then he peeled back the foil so I could see the delicious pastry inside. My best friend was the only person I knew who preferred the bottom half of bakery muffins and always saved the tops for me.

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes with a dreamy sigh. “Chocolate Monkey.” My favorite flavor: banana nut with chocolate chips.

  Chase leaned against the oak. “I thought you could use it.”

  “You are so, so wise.” I took a huge bite of muffin, drawing comfort from the moist, cakey goodness.

  Maybe Villager Number Two could eat Chocolate Monkeys as part of the character. Then I might not mind having such a lame part. Especially if I could pelt Mary Poppins with the chocolate chips.

  “How’d the talk with Ms. Elliott go?” asked Chase.

  “Perfect,” I said, taking a big swallow of muffin. “She got me a job in Hollywood doing a movie with Jaden Smith. I don’t even need Mary Poppins anymore.”

  “Oh, good,” said Chase. “Then I didn’t miss your mental breakdown.”

  “Ha ha.” I kicked at the tree. “Ms. Elliott’s too wrapped up in her personal life to help, and Ilana told me I didn’t get the part because some other people voted against me.”

  Chase wrinkled his forehead. “I thought you were good. Are you sure?”

  “That’s what Ilana said.” I buried my face in the aluminum foil and scarfed more Monkey. When I came up for air, I mumbled, “The whole thing’s rigged.”

  Chase stared at me, looking pensive. “What are you going to tell your parents?”

  “What can I tell them? I didn’t get the part,” I said, picking the last crumbs out of the foil.

  Chase shook his head. “You can’t just blurt it like that, though. You’ve gotta put spin on it.”

  I snorted. “Wonder where you got that from.”

  Chase’s dad was a smooth-talking politician, and his speeches were filled with vague statements that people could interpret dozens of ways.

  “I’m serious,” said Chase. “You need to break the news in a different way.”

  I thought a moment. “How about—‘Mom, Dad, once again I’ve embarrassed the family.’”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “A different, positive way.”

  “Hey, Mom and Dad, you know how you were worried about success going to my head? I’ve got great news!” I threw in a thumbs-up.

  “Maybe less sarcasm?” suggested Chase.

  “I can’t.” I balled up the foil and tossed it to him. “My bitterness is too fresh.” Setting my backpack under the tree, I dropped down to lean against it. Chase joined me.

  “Maybe they’ll forget about the auditions,” he said. “Isn’t your dad in the middle of a project?”

  Dad composed music for film scores. That was how my parents met, while he was working on the sound track for one of Mom’s movies.

  I snorted. “Sure, but there’s no way my mom would forget. She’s probably been massaging her tear ducts to get ready for disappointment.”

  Chase bumped my shoulder with his. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. If your parents aren’t happy with it, so what?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy who jumps through hoops for his dad.”

  “Flaming hoops,” he added. “And my situation’s different.”

  “How?” I challenged him.

  “My dad’s way stricter than your folks,” said Chase. “If I screw up, he probably has Understudy Chase waiting in the wings.”

  I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Yeah, well, nobody can replace you, so joke’s on him,” I said.

  Chase rested his head on mine. “Thanks.”

  We sat in silence, listening to barking dogs and the whir of a lawnmower until I knew it was time to head home.

  “I don’t suppose the politician’s son came up with something I could tell my parents?” I finally asked.

  Chase stretched and said, “How about . . . the committee loved your audition and gave you the biggest supporting role you’ve ever had.”

  My lips slid into a grin. “Ooh. That’s brilliant!”

  “Thanks.” He helped me to my feet. “Just don’t tell my dad or he’ll make me run for class president.”

  I fished in my backpack for a pen and notepad. “Say that whole thing again.”

  Chase recited as I wrote, and I practiced on him a few times while we walked toward my house.

  “One last tip,” he said when we reached my driveway. “If all else fails, use big positive words to describe your situation. Inspiring . . . a tour de force . . . stuff like that.”

  “Inspiring,” I repeated. “A Tour de France.”

  “Tour de force,” he corrected. “Tour de France is a bike race.”

  I wrinkled my forehead, trying to remember it all. “Why did my mom have to be an actress? Why couldn’t she have been a lunch lady?”

  Chase leaned in close. “Because guys don’t like girls with tuna fish hair,” he whispered.

  I pushed him away with a smile. “Good-bye, Chase.”

  “Good luck,” he said. “Let me know what happens.”

  I took a deep breath and climbed the porch steps, hoping that maybe my parents had developed amnesia or moved without telling me. But when I opened the front door, my mom emerged from the family room, grinning broadly.

  “There’s my superstar!” she said. “Come here, Sunny!” She held her arms open and I walked into them.

  “Hi, Mommy.” I hu
gged her, hoping she couldn’t smell failure on me. “How was your day?”

  “Very exciting!” she said, stepping back to take my hands. “You’ll never guess who came to visit.” She pulled me into the family room, and every muscle in my body tensed. There was only one other person in the world who cared as much about the play as my parents, and she was sitting beside my dad on the couch, sipping jasmine tea.

  My grandmother.

  Chocolate Monkey churned in my stomach. “Hey, Dad. Hey, Grandma,” I said, summoning my most cheerful voice.

  “Sunny!” Grandma pushed the teacup into my dad’s hands and hoisted herself off the couch to hug me. The second the greeting was over, she pulled away, her expression serious.

  “What happened with the play?”

  “Oh!” I laughed nervously. “Well . . . my friend on the selection committee said she loved my audition.”

  Grandma stared at me, unblinking. “And?”

  I looked from her to my mom and dad, who were sitting on the edge of the couch, holding each other’s hands.

  Now was the time for some big positive words.

  “Well, I was brilliant and mesmerizing and . . .” My palms were starting to sweat under Grandma’s scrutinous gaze.

  “Did you get a good part?” she pressed.

  “I got a great part,” I assured her. “It’s the biggest part—”

  “You got the biggest part?!” interrupted Grandma. She whooped with joy and turned to my parents. “She got the biggest part!”

  Mom clasped her hands together and praised the sky, while Dad whistled through his fingers.

  “Ohhh, shoot,” I muttered.

  Apparently, jumping to conclusions was a family thing.

  THREE

  EVEN WITH A SCRIPT FROM Chase I’d managed to botch things up. And I hadn’t realized how much my family had been hoping for good news. Mom and Grandma were actually tangoing across the room.

  “Wait,” I said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “She’s right,” said Grandma, pointing at Mom’s feet. “You’re off a step.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean—”

  Mom squished my face in her hands. “I’m so proud! My daughter . . . star of the school play!”

  “But Mom,” I forced the words through chubby cheeks. “It’s not that big a—”

  I was going to say “part,” but Dad interrupted this time.

  “Of course it’s that big a deal!” he said, tousling my hair.

  “We’ve waited forever!” added Grandma.

  Dad shot her a warning look and Grandma shrugged. “It’s true.”

  Mom waved her away and hugged me tight. “Tonight we’ll do whatever you want to celebrate!”

  At the moment all I wanted was to crawl into a hole and die. It was too late to tell them I didn’t get the lead role. The truth would kill them, and then I’d be sent to prison, where nobody won an Oscar.

  No, until I could think of something better, I’d have to pretend life was perfect and that my dream had come true.

  Summoning a huge smile, I said, “Can we go to Guero’s for dinner? All this excitement’s made me hungry!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Of course!” said Dad. “You’ve earned it.”

  I should have, for that performance. For good measure, I jumped up and down, clapping my hands and hating myself.

  “Yay! Let me get ready!” I grabbed my bag and hurried upstairs. It was too dangerous to call Chase, so I texted him instead.

  Help! Parents think I’m a star! I typed.

  Guess those astronomy lessons were a waste, he responded.

  “Chase!” I squeezed the phone in frustration. This was no time for jokes.

  Someone knocked on the other side of my door and I froze.

  “Everything okay?” called Mom.

  “Yeah! I’m just changing!” I said, pulling on my jeans.

  “We’ll be in the car,” said Mom. “Don’t make us wait too long!”

  “Be right out!” I told her. I started to type a response to Chase, but the phone vibrated with another message from him.

  Okay, bad joke, he typed. Set things straight. Gotta hang w/ my dad and defend theater. Good luck!

  With a frustrated sigh, I threw the phone in my purse. No way could I set things straight right now. Not with my family singing some Korean victory song in the driveway. I’d just have to act like I was a good actress.

  Ironic.

  The second I climbed in the car, my parents and grandmother started firing questions at me, wanting more details about the play.

  “What’s your rehearsal schedule?” asked Dad.

  “When do rehearsals start?” asked Mom.

  “Are you wearing another potato sack?” asked Grandma. “Because last time, I hugged you and got a rash.”

  Mom clapped a hand to her forehead and Dad turned his attention to the road.

  “You know, I was just so excited, I forgot to ask.” I laughed and shook my head. “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Mom smiled and nodded, leaning back in her seat, but Grandma just stared at me.

  “It took a month for the rash to go away,” she said.

  My phone vibrated in my bag and I jumped to answer it, hoping it was Chase. Unfortunately, the caller ID said Stefan. I ignored the insistent buzzing.

  Grandma nudged me. “Answer the phone! It could be your drama teacher!”

  “It’s Stefan,” I told her. “I’ll call him back later.”

  Mom turned around. “He probably wants to know about the play results. You should give him the good news!”

  “He did put a lot of effort into your audition,” Dad chimed in.

  “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth, and answered the phone.

  “Sunny!” chirped Stefan.

  I took a deep breath, pasted on a wide grin, and said, “Hey, Stefan! What’s up?”

  “Do we have something to celebrate?” he asked.

  My whole body stiffened, but I forced myself to keep smiling. “No, not at all!” I said. At the curious look from my family, I put my hand over the mouthpiece and told them, “He wants to know if he’s interrupting.”

  “Ahhh,” said my mother with a nod of understanding.

  “Awww!” said Stefan with a tone of anguish. “They gave you a crappy little part again, didn’t they?”

  “They sure did!” I said with a laugh and a wink at my grandma.

  “Well, this is crazy,” said Stefan. “I’ll talk to Ms. Elliott and figure out what happened. You did not deserve to be overlooked.”

  The smile on my face was genuine now.

  “Thanks, Stefan,” I said.

  “I’ll call you when I have info,” he said and hung up.

  I put my phone down and Grandma frowned.

  “You done talking? He didn’t want details?”

  “Uh . . . no,” I said, thinking fast. “He had to go. There was something burning on the stove.”

  “I didn’t know Stefan could cook,” said Mom.

  “He can’t. That’s why it was burning. Look, there’s Guero’s!” I pointed out the window, grateful for a change of subject.

  We pulled into the parking lot, and Dad walked around to my side.

  “Celebrities first,” he said, opening the door.

  “Consider us your entourage,” added Mom.

  Two parents and an old lady with a potato sack allergy. That seemed like the kind of entourage I deserved.

  “Thank you,” I said, ducking my head modestly as I climbed out of the car.

  Guero’s was famous for their garlic bread, which I normally loved, but this time I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than half a slice.

  “You okay?” asked Mom, rubbing my shoulder. “I thought you liked the bread here.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Chase and I shared a muffin after school. I guess I’m still kind of full.”

  She nodded and brushed my hair away from my face.

  “We
should ask Chase and his father over for dinner,” said Dad. “I like talking politics with him.”

  “Sunny should marry the boy,” said Grandma. “He would make a fine husband.”

  My parents exchanged looks, and I blushed.

  “Grandma, I’m thirteen,” I said. “And Chase and I aren’t like that. We’re just friends.”

  Grandma waggled a finger in my face. “Your grandfather and I were just friends. But then he gave me a pig.”

  I wrinkled my forehead. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Chase gave you a muffin,” said Grandma.

  “Because we’re friends,” I said again. “Not because he likes me. There’re no farm animals in my future.”

  “Maybe not,” Dad chimed in. “But what your grandmother says isn’t that strange. Your mom even did a one-woman show about a princess who received cattle as marriage offers.” He smiled and took Mom’s hand. “What did you call it?”

  She smiled back. “The Cow Girl.”

  Dad chuckled. “The people who went to see it were expecting a Western about cowgirls.”

  Everyone laughed, and I nibbled on garlic bread, picturing my mom in a one-woman show. She would have been the top-billed and only star, every actress’s ultimate dream. I could only hope someday—

  Wait! Why not now?

  I gasped in excitement and inhaled a bite of bread. When I started coughing, everyone glanced over in alarm, and Grandma whacked me on the back. Before she could break my spine, I gave a thumbs-up and took a long drink of soda.

  “Are you okay?” asked Mom.

  I nodded.

  I was more than okay. I was brilliant!

  The moment I got home, I called Stefan. My plan was way too exciting to wait until after he’d talked to Ms. Elliott.

  If CAA wasn’t going to choose me to star in any of their shows, I’d just have to star in my own. That way, I’d be telling my family the truth and I’d get the part I always wanted. Plus, I was pretty sure nobody in CAA history had ever attempted a one-girl show. I’d be a legend!

  “Hello?” said Stefan over a background madness of barking and squawking.

  His parents owned a cute pet shop called Feathers ’N’ Fangs, and sometimes he covered the register.

  “Stefan?” I asked. “Are you at work?”

  “Yeah, but with all the whining and screeching, it could just as easily be Idol auditions.”