D Is for Drama

by Jo Whittemore

  “What?!” I shouted. “Are you kidding me?”

  The math teacher scowled and pointed at the door.

  “That’s enough for one class. Principal’s office,” she said.

  I knew there was no chance for redemption, so I grabbed my stuff and headed toward the door. On my way out I slapped the audition assessments on Ilana’s desk.

  “See you at Chase’s practice” was all I said.

  MY WALK HOME after school was a blur, each step turbo-fueled by anger. I’d never felt more betrayed than I did by Ilana at that moment. A few times came close, like when my parents told me swearing killed the dinosaurs, but at least they hadn’t done it for shallow, evil reasons.

  Plus, the principal still remembered me from his wigtastrophe, so I’d gotten Saturday detention for the second time that year, which would not please my parents. Asian Bad Girl was a role they wouldn’t have me play unless it came with the chance for an Emmy.

  I wanted to get home to an empty house, but to my ultra irritation, I smelled kimchi the second I opened the front door. While I normally love Korean food, spicy pickled cabbage is not a soothing scent, and it could only mean Grandma was still lingering.

  Sure enough, only a few seconds passed before she stepped into the living room and beckoned me to the kitchen. I followed, dropping my bag on the counter.

  A huge glass jar sat on the dining table, packed with red chili juice and white cabbage. Two steaming bowls of rice waited beside them.

  “Your parents are out meeting a friend,” she said. “They may have a surprise for you soon.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t have the heart to act excited. “That’s nice.”

  Grandma handed me a bowl of rice and a fork to spear the kimchi. “You don’t like surprises?” she asked.

  “Not unless it’s Ilana Rourke’s head on a stick.” I stabbed a piece of cabbage and ate it straight from the jar.

  Grandma watched me. “I don’t understand.”

  I shook my head and mumbled around a mouthful of rice. “It’s not important.”

  I swallowed a second bite of rice to tone down the spiciness of the kimchi. The sides of my nose had started to sweat. Grandma nodded and sat down, scooping some cabbage from the jar for herself.

  “How was school?” she asked. The look on her face was genuinely concerned, so I forced a smile.

  “Fine,” I said. “The usual eighth-grade hijinks.”

  “Ah. And what did you learn about the play?” asked Grandma.

  I stopped chewing. In all the madness over Ilana and my one-girl show, I’d forgotten to create an alibi.

  But it was my show. Why couldn’t I just make up a schedule?

  “We meet after school, and rehearsals start Thursday,” I told Grandma.

  My lips tingled, and my tongue felt like it was on fire. I tried to cool it with a sip of water, holding it in my mouth.

  Grandma leaned forward. “Spicy, isn’t it?”

  I nodded and gulped half the glass of water.

  “That’s what happens with Truth Kimchi,” said Grandma. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin while I wiped at my forehead with a sleeve.

  “Truth Kimchi?” I repeated.

  Grandma narrowed her eyes wisely. “Ancient recipe. Every time you lie, it gets hotter,” she said.

  My stomach gurgled uncomfortably. “Well, it’s not that hot,” I said. To prove it, I slid another piece of fiery cabbage in my mouth. Grandma took two pieces and ate them solemnly, watching me.

  “Your eye always twitches like that?” she asked. “And your nose leaks?”

  I sniffed deeply and opened my eyes wider, blinking rapidly. “Just allergies,” I said. Tiny fireballs threatened to shoot from my mouth.

  Grandma smiled widely and shoveled a stack of kimchi into my bowl. “Eat this. It clears sinuses.”

  I looked down at my bowl and laughed nervously. If Grandma kept up the questions, the Truth Kimchi was going to burn a hole through my stomach.

  Of course, there was always the possibility she was tricking me.

  “I don’t believe this is really Truth Kimchi,” I said, though the words were garbled with my tongue pressed to a napkin.

  “No?” asked Grandma. She reached under the table and produced a bottle of thick golden liquid. “Then this isn’t really antidote.”

  She poured a little into my empty water glass, and I sniffed at it before taking a sip. After a few seconds, the burning sensation in my mouth subsided. I breathed contentedly and let her pour the rest.

  “Now that we know you are lying, why don’t we start over?” asked Grandma.

  I slunk down in my seat, red-faced from both the kimchi and embarrassment. My brain worked overtime, trying to figure out how I could talk about Ilana and my one-girl show without admitting I wasn’t the star of Mary Pops In.

  Grandma leaned closer. “I know you’re not the star.”

  My glass slipped and hit the table. That was one secret out of the way.

  “Yes, fine,” I said, righting my glass. “I’m just an extra, but it’s the biggest part I’ve ever gotten. And when you guys thought it was the biggest part period, I couldn’t correct you.” I focused on my glass and swirled the golden residue around the bottom. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed again.”

  “Sunny.” Grandma covered my hand with hers. “We are disappointed only if you give up,” she said with a smile. “Because you try, we are always proud.”

  My eyes watered again, but it wasn’t because of the kimchi. “Thanks, Grandma,” I said.

  She squeezed my hand and let it go. “So you didn’t get the part,” she said. “Did the committee give a reason?”

  I made a face. “That’s why I’m mad at Ilana. She’s supposed to be my friend, but she wouldn’t cast me because ‘an Asian Mary Poppins would just be weird.’” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Crazy, right?”

  Grandma rubbed her chin with a finger and shook her head. “Not crazy. Disappointing.” She got up and carried the kimchi jar into the kitchen.

  I turned to watch. “What’s that mean?”

  Grandma’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Ilana is a good actress but she judges people. I hear her talking after last year’s show.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “You did? Where was I?”

  “Hugging people and giving them rashes,” said Grandma with a frown.

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry. What did Ilana say?”

  Grandma hesitated then sighed. “She says the heavy girl with the pretty voice takes up too much stage. And the boy with the stutter makes the show last an hour longer.”

  I winced even though the verbal jabs hadn’t been directed at me. I knew the kids she was talking about, Anne Marie and Cole. They were really sweet and definitely didn’t deserve that.

  “Maybe we should move,” I told Grandma. “To a city where nobody judges.”

  Grandma laughed and poured the kimchi down the drain. “That is make-believe. No matter where you go, there is judgment. Too rich, too poor, too young, too old . . . even in your magazines.” She nodded at one that had slid out of my backpack. “You think the cover shows heavy people?”

  I glanced at the copy of Style Now. A gorgeous, slender girl smiled up from the front cover.

  “That doesn’t make it right,” I said.

  “I agree,” said Grandma, filling the jar with water and soap. “But it is the way things are.”

  I tossed the magazine on the counter. After all the hard work I’d put into my audition, that answer was not the right one.

  “If nobody else wants to change things, then I will,” I said. “Tell Mom and Dad I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Grandma looked up in surprise. “Where are you going?”

  “To confront Ilana.” I burped and made a face. “After I brush my teeth.”

  She nodded, and I started for the staircase, then paused. “I guess the Truth Kimchi really works. You should have kept some.”

  Grandma smiled. “There is no T
ruth Kimchi. Just extra hot peppers.”

  I smiled back. “You tricked me!”

  “I outsmarted you,” she said, holding up a finger. “Big difference.”

  “How?”

  “If I trick my granddaughter, I’m mean,” said Grandma with a wink. “If I outsmart her, I’m wise.”

  I laughed and ran upstairs to prep for my showdown with Ilana. If things were gonna get West Side Story, I’d need my toughest pair of boots and my skull T-shirt. Granted, it was a skull decorated with pink rhinestones, but the message was clear.

  Nobody messed with Villager Number Two.

  SIX

  ONE BUS RIDE LATER I was climbing into the bleachers at the ball field. Ilana was sitting with a few girls, cosmetic case on her lap, and as soon as she spotted me, she nudged the girls on either side of her. They stopped talking and eyed me warily.

  I nodded at Ilana’s friends. “Would you mind leaving for a second?”

  Ilana whirled around to give them a don’t you dare look, and they glanced at one another nervously.

  I crossed my hands over my chest. “Or I can show you a new face kick I learned in Tae Kwon Do.”

  “Bye!” one of the girls blurted, and fled the stands. The others scrambled after her.

  I didn’t really know Tae Kwon Do, but people seemed to think “Asian” equaled martial arts expert. I could have told the girls I was a ninja, and they would have believed it.

  Ilana watched her friends bail, then laughed nervously. “You know, I promised one of them a makeover, so I should . . .”

  She got up to leave, and I stepped in her path.

  “Sit.”

  “Right.” She dropped back onto the bench.

  “I saw those mean things you wrote about people in the audition assessments,” I said.

  Ilana had the nerve to look offended. “Not mean. Truthful. And why do you care? I didn’t say anything bad about you.”

  My eyes widened. “You said I couldn’t be Mary Poppins because I’m Asian!” I exclaimed.

  People sitting nearby glanced over. Ilana blushed and tried to defend herself.

  “An Asian Mary Poppins isn’t believable,” she said.

  I clapped a hand to my forehead. “Mary Poppins uses an umbrella to fly around London and hops into chalk drawings. How is that any more believable?”

  Ilana turned up her nose. “It’s understood that she’s a little different.”

  “Then why not make her Asian?” I asked.

  “Because that’s a lot different!” said Ilana. “People want what’s familiar.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about Mary Pops In. A musical where ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’ is now ‘A Canful of Cola.’”

  Ilana waved my argument away. “That’s nothing.”

  “Ilana, come on!” I cried. This time, it was loud enough for some of the players to hear, including Chase.

  He frowned, and I gave a nervous wave before sitting beside Ilana.

  “Fine, so you didn’t pick me,” I said in a softer voice, “but there were a bunch of people way better than Sara for that role.”

  Ilana shook her head. “Nope. They all had huge flaws that would destroy the show. And it has to be a perfect performance.”

  I tried to remember all the things I’d read on the evaluations. “How is . . . a girl who gestures too much going to destroy the show?”

  “She could knock over scenery,” Ilana answered.

  “And a girl who spits when she talks?” I asked.

  “She could drown the audience,” said Ilana.

  I groaned. “That’s ridiculous. And it’s not fair.”

  “Life’s not fair,” Ilana said flatly. “If it was, I wouldn’t—” She cut herself off. “Just let it go, Sunny, and wait for high school.”

  “Wait for high school?!” I jumped to my feet, and Ilana flinched.

  If Chase hadn’t appeared just then, I’m not sure what would have happened. Ilana probably would’ve been sporting a bald spot.

  “Hey, guys, thanks for coming!” Chase said, stepping between us. To me, he turned and said in a hoarse whisper, “What’s with the yelling?”

  “I’m not yelling,” I said. “I’m calling Ilana out for being a jerk.” I leaned past him so she could hear me. “With all the money you earn on makeovers, you’d think you could buy a better personality!”

  “Sunny!” Chase said with a shocked look.

  I held up a hand to stop him. “Do you know what she did?”

  “I don’t care,” he said, pushing my hand aside. “That was really harsh. You probably hurt her feelings.”

  We both turned toward Ilana, who was staring at the ground with a forlorn expression.

  “See?” he said.

  “She’s faking. All good actresses can do that,” I said, but I wasn’t sure.

  “I think you should leave,” said Chase with a frown. “Especially since you don’t have any real interest in watching me play.”

  Now he looked almost as hurt as Ilana. How did I suddenly become the bad guy?

  I grabbed his hand. “Chase, I’m sorry, but you should have seen her tearing people apart at auditions! And she wouldn’t pick me for Mary Poppins because I’m Asian.”

  Chase studied me, and for a second I thought I’d won him back to my side. But then he shook his head.

  “Ilana wasn’t the only person on the selection committee. There could’ve been other reasons they didn’t pick you.”

  “But—”

  “Stop it, Sunny!” Chase scowled. “You didn’t get the part. Let it go!”

  His words stunned me into silence, and I pressed my lips together to fight back tears. Chase had always tried to see my side, but now that he and Ilana were getting close, there was no reason to.

  “For your information,” I finally said, glaring at him, “I don’t want that stupid part anymore. Not if it means spending time around you.”

  Chase opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Besides,” I said, “Ms. Elliott’s letting me star in my own show, so I won’t have the time.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Really?” he asked.

  Ilana stepped forward. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded, feeling a new surge of conviction.

  Forget the one-girl show. I had something bigger to prove.

  “And unlike the cast you selected, mine will be chosen for the right reasons.” I scowled at them and stormed out of the bleachers.

  Now I had a problem.

  How was I going to cast an entire production by myself? My theater experience was limited to classes and what I’d learned inside a potato sack. I didn’t really feel qualified to hold auditions. What I really needed was a seasoned professional. Someone like . . .

  “Stefan?” I said when he answered his phone. “Do you have a second?”

  “I’m watching the shop, so I have all night,” he said over the din of animal madness. “Come on by.”

  I CALLED MOM to get me at the pet shop in an hour and walked the couple blocks to Feathers ’N’ Fangs. When I opened the door, overhead bells jangled and a barrage of sound came from the side kennels. But nobody showed up to greet me.

  “Hello!” I called.

  A cage beside me rattled, and I jumped.

  “Hell-o!” said a screechy voice.

  I glanced over to see a parrot shifting from foot to foot.

  “Hello!” I said again with a smile.

  “Hell-o!” the parrot repeated.

  Glancing around, I leaned closer.

  “Sunny is a superstar,” I said.

  The parrot gave a throaty chuckle.

  I couldn’t even get respect from a bird.

  “Don’t mind Petie,” said Stefan, emerging from the pet-food aisle. “He only knows ‘hello.’ Everything else gets a laugh.” He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a bird treat. “Right, Petie?”

  As if in answer Petie let out another chuckle and poked his b
eak through the bars for the treat.

  Stefan winked at me, and I smiled.

  If I could’ve had anyone for a big brother, it would’ve been him. He was tall and handsome, with a killer smile and hair gelled into short spikes. He looked born for show biz. Even in a ratty green apron.

  “What do you say, protégé?” He held open his arms for a hug. “I’m sorry you didn’t get Mary Poppins.”

  “I’m over it,” I said, hugging him back.

  “Please. You’re in theater.” Stefan grinned. “‘Never forgive’ is our sacred motto.”

  I made a face and stepped away. “Okay, fine. But I do have good news.”

  His grin deepened. “You got your one-girl show.”

  I rubbed my nails on my shirt. “Maybe.”

  Stefan laughed and applauded me. “Bravo. And did you decide on a piece?”

  I lowered my hand. “Here’s the thing.”

  He stopped laughing. “Uh-oh.”

  “It’s not a one-girl show anymore,” I said. “I’m letting other kids try out.”

  The bells over the shop door jangled, and Stefan waved at whoever walked in before returning his attention to me.

  “That’s sweet, but you realize more people on stage means less focus on you,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “But those kids never stood a chance at regular auditions.”

  While Stefan restocked dog biscuits, I told him about Ilana and the evaluations. His reaction was similar to Grandma’s, but from the way he shoved boxes onto the shelf, I could tell he was more upset.

  “I’ve seen that attitude at the high school level,” he said, “but I hoped you were immune to it at your age.”

  “Nope,” I said, repositioning the boxes. When I’d straightened them all, I stood there, staring at the shelf. “Maybe it’s more than just discrimination, though.” I turned to Stefan. “What if I didn’t deserve anything better than an extra?”

  Stefan gave me a withering look. “Don’t be stupid. I was there, and you did great.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s possible that Mary Poppins wasn’t the best role for you, but you still deserved to be one of the leads.”

  “You think so?” I said, tracing the edges of a box with my fingers.

  “Yes.” Stefan arranged cans of dog food on the shelf. “But it doesn’t matter what I think about you. It matters what you think about yourself.”