Smash It!

  I catch Eli staring at me for the third time today, and he looks away like he did every time before that. Sometimes I wish he’d just tell me he doesn’t like me so I can set some boundaries on how to be platonic friends. Like no staring off into the distance at me while we get verbally accosted by our band teacher.

  Mr. Kaminski storms into his office after telling the clarinets not to play if they’re just going to “shrill about!” I think that’s a fair assessment, considering they did get a tad screechy—especially Kara. And that’s not jealousy talking; the girl is tone-deaf and plays on cracked reeds because the idiot has yet to figure out not to chew on them.

  I’ve packed away my flute and am putting it in my locker when I catch Dré a few lockers down looking at Eli. He’s got his brow raised, and Eli’s shrugging. They do this. Silent speak. It’s a coded language they use when they don’t want me to know what they’re saying.

  Before long, Eli’s leaning against the flute locker next to mine. “Still mad at me?”

  I almost drop my lock. “Mad at you?” I try to act all chill, like I didn’t storm out of a movie because my not-boyfriend was holding hands with a girl who can’t change her reeds to save her life.

  “Yeah. You haven’t been talking to me. So I assumed you were mad at me.”

  Assumed. You just assumed. “No. I was busy.”

  Eli looks down and then up at me ever so slightly, which means he doesn’t believe me but he’s not going to push it. He wants us to patch things up and move forward. Forever forward on the road to nowhere.

  But I’m an adult these days and doing the Fuck It thing, which means not holding grudges against people who don’t even know why you have a grudge. I’m going to be the bigger person. I’m going to be so big that I blot out the fucking sun.

  “I’m not mad, Eli. I’ve been stressed. I got hit with two papers and a test all at once.” Not a lie.

  He reaches out and pulls a curl from my bun, as if I didn’t spend a significant amount of time this morning getting it just perfect. Cool. Now I’m going to spend the rest of my day with a lopsided bun and one whack-ass curl dangling from it.

  I grab my book bag as Dré saunters over, running a hand through his hair. “You two good or whatever? I’m tired of walking on eggshells.”

  I shoot Dré a look that just makes him laugh, and Eli rolls his eyes.

  Dré is as unfazed as ever. “I need to copy math homework. Whose turn is it?”

  I push past Dré, and Eli and I walk to lunch, leaving him to follow.

  “I’m serious, guys. I cannot go to Nova’s class without my homework, the lady already threatened to hit me once. I’d tell admin, but she’s old and black, so you know they won’t do shit.”

  I glance at Eli. “My money says she hits him. I saw her smack a teacher with a folder once.” It’s easy to be the bigger person when you miss the guy who has your heart on a string. Actually moving on isn’t as easy as writing it down on a piece of paper. It’s not a to-do-list item, or as simple as saying yes.

  Eli’s smiling, and I can’t help but think it’s extra wide because he’s relieved I’m no longer avoiding him. I exhale and give him a small smile. I’ve got bigger problems than crying over something I should have known was a nonstarter. Bigger things...like getting up onstage in two days and hoping to god I don’t make a complete fool of myself.

  Maybe the only way to move on is by simply putting one foot in front of the other in another direction.

  Chapter 11

  I worked with Al again, the day before auditions, and he told me if I got nervous to imagine everyone naked. I told him he was old and a cliché, and here I am trying that shit out because I’m nervous as fuck. We’re all sitting in the auditorium, and there have to be thirty or more kids here. I’m between Dré and Eli, and Kai keeps glancing back at me from two rows up. He’s giving me those dimpled Hawaiian cheeks and I am melting, because both Dré and Eli have noticed but they’re pretending not to.

  Or I’m overthinking it.

  I’m overthinking a lot of things right now. Mrs. Gunta, the drama teacher, is onstage talking with a senior about lighting and music. She hasn’t even acknowledged the rest of us poor souls who are about to pee on the stage because the anxiety is real.

  I catch a glimpse of Cleo working with the curtains—I guess she’s not trying out for a part. Now that I think about it, she hasn’t been cast in a production since we started high school. She was always cast in plays in middle school, and the family was dragged to each and every one of them, including this weird space thing they did about a dog on Mars.

  And then it dawns on me. Maybe Cleo’s never been cast because it’s just that hard. Cleo’s very talented, and if she’s not even bothering to try out, what the hell am I doing here? And why don’t these people look as terrified as I feel?

  Actually, everyone else looks bored, and the freshmen keep placing bets on which senior will get a leading role. They’ve even gotten bored. My leg is bouncing like I have to pee, and they’re chewing gum and taking selfies like it’s any other Friday.

  Eli puts a hand on my leg. “You’re ready.”

  A laugh erupts from me and I can’t stop. This is the moment I die, I’m sure of it. I’ve gone over lines and songs a thousand times yesterday alone, not to mention I’ve been practicing so much I’m even singing in my sleep. I know I know the lines. I know the song, too, and I’m not that bad—the problem is doing it when it counts.

  Mrs. Gunta taps a mic and a boom sounds. “Yeah, turn it down a little, Joshua. Cleo, dim the houselights. Good. Can everybody hear me?” Her voice is a mix between a 1920s jazz singer and the Wicked Witch of the West. The stage brightens as the lights above me dim. This is really happening. “Welcome to auditions. Everyone is here for Othello the Musical, right?”

  All the drama kids are cheering and whooping, and a few of them are even doing a short chant. Lennox is one of the chanters, and I’m wishing I was sitting next to her. Maybe that sureness could rub off on me.

  “We’ll do boys first. Ladies, I know, bummer, there are so many girls to go through, but I think we all can’t wait to see who’s got what it takes to be our Othello.” The girls are all whooping now, and I realize I’m clutching my book bag like it’s my oxygen and I have two busted lungs. I could really use a little extra O2 right now. “We’ll do the lines first, then the singing. It’s going to be a long night, so buckle up and get ready to belt. Auditions start now. Everyone, you know what to do.”

  “SMASH IT,” everyone except Eli, Dré, and me yells. They’re all applauding again, like we’re on a talent show and Mrs. Gunta is Ryan Seacrest.

  Eli squeezes my leg, but there is nothing he can do right now to make that I’m going to pee feeling go away. I know I don’t have to, because I just came from the bathroom.

  Oh. My. God.

  Fuck this Fuck It thing.

  One by one, the boys are called up to the stage. I think she’s going in order of the sign-up sheet that was passed around. Kai’s in the middle of the pack, and the guys that have gone before him were pretty good but nothing spectacular. The applause everyone gets after though—every single one, no matter how shaky someone was or how obviously nervous—everyone applauds like it was a performance worthy of a Tony.

  Kai’s onstage delivering his lines, and I know immediately he’s not going to get the supportive applause. He’s going to get whoops and cheers because he earned it. He’s got bass in his voice, and it takes up the whole auditorium. He paces the stage like a lion on the prowl, and he—and I mean this in a good way, because he’s doing Iago’s soliloquy—looks and sounds like a son of a bitch. Like a guy who would manipulate you into smothering your wife.

  It’s creepy. He’s so damn good.

  I, too, stand up and applaud when he’s done, and then we’re back to people doing their best but nowhere near Kai’s delivery. When
it’s Dré’s turn, he gets onstage, and I realize I’ve never seen him practice or even heard him talk about practicing. I get that secondhand embarrassment, because I’m almost sure he’s going to fail. He can sing his ass off, but just because he’s good at pretending to be the cool guy doesn’t mean he can act.

  But he starts, and he’s not bad. I’m squeezing the arm of my chair, but as every second goes by, I’m feeling proud. That’s my friend. He’s doing the thing, and he’s amazing. Not as amazing as Kai, but better than most of the drama kids.

  Eli’s the last boy, and though we’ve practiced together a thousand times, when the light hits him, it’s like I’m seeing him perform for the first time. He rivals Kai, and he’s reading the Othello part. I thought that was a ballsy move, but now I realize every time he practiced with me, he must have been holding back.

  My friends aren’t just rock gods. They’re amazing, talented guys, and I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see the depths of their talent. Even though they’ve never done anything like this before, they didn’t hesitate to try. They’ve got this hunger—this fire—to get up and perform, and they don’t let anything put it out. No wonder they laughed when I said I was going to audition.

  Like Kai, Eli gets applause because he deserves it—but even as I clap my hardest, my stomach churns. Girls are next, and though there are a ton of us here, we draw straws and I’m last. I swear I’m going to shit bricks when my time comes.

  I go to the bathroom anyway; nothing comes out, and by the time I’m back, five girls have gone. Five girls, Dré tells me.

  There are maybe fifteen left.

  Eli tells me that, of the five girls, only one was really good, the black one with the braids—Jackie, the vlogger from the party. Lennox is onstage now, and she’s kick-ass. I didn’t expect anything less.

  Time blurs, and then I hear my name. When I say my stomach fell out of my ass, I mean it. I trip over Dré’s feet exiting our row, and a few kids behind us whisper. They probably aren’t talking about me, but it doesn’t matter, because I feel like they are.

  I make my way to the stage, and I can’t even make eye contact with Lennox or Kai or anyone from the party, even though they’re whooping and clapping for me. I hear Eli and Dré shout in unison, “You can do it!” I’m trying to remember the other shit Al said about breathing through nerves, but the light hits me and I panic.

  It’s hot, and I scratch my face and chuckle like a deranged chicken. Mrs. Gunta says, “When you’re ready.” I can hear her, but I can’t see her with the light in my eyes.

  Ohhhh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Okay.

  Do or die.

  Now or never.

  Someone whispers something in the wings, and I swear, if it’s Cleo telling me I’m embarrassing the family, I’ll just die.

  I look over.

  It’s Lennox. She’s peeking her head out of the curtain. “Mrs. G. Can I borrow Olivia for like two seconds?”

  Mrs. Gunta mmm-hmms into the mic as I walk to the wings. I don’t know why Lennox called me over, because I swear to god, I WILL NEVER WALK BACK OUT ONSTAGE.

  As I’m walking, I realize she might be trying to spare me from embarrassment. What if I have a giant period stain on the back of my jeans? I don’t feel like I’m on my period, but sometimes it comes out of nowhere, and that is some shit that would happen to me.

  “O.” Lennox pulls me farther into the wings. “Breathe out your mouth. You look like someone shoved a dry tampon up your ass.”

  “What?” I can feel my eyes bugging out.

  She pinches my cheeks, and I wince. “Yeah, I know it hurts, but it will keep your mouth from tightening and being all nervous.” We did warm-up exercises as a group, so I get what she means, but...Christ. “You’re not nervous. You’re excited. You’re about to rock this.”

  She’s my Bob Marley angel, but I’m kinda wishing she was the real Bob Marley and just blew a weed cloud in my face, because these positive words alone don’t help.

  I go back out onstage, and I get another round of applause. This time I laugh and wave, because, fuck it. Eli’s right. We’re all scared to fail or scared to admit we’re in love. We’re all stupid and smart all at the same time. Being brave enough to do it anyway is the difference.

  This is my open door. This is what I’ve been wanting to do ever since I can remember, and I’m here and scared, but ready to be brave enough to do it anyway.

  I stand in the middle of the stage and take a deep breath. I’ve got nothing to lose. So I start, and all those hours of practice take over. I’m doing the only monologue that was offered in the girls’ audition packet—Desdemona’s. At first my pacing is off, but I fix it, taking the exaggerated breaths where I’m supposed to. Speeding up where I’m supposed to. I take time to think. I let my pleading words stretch and flow.

  It goes by fast, and by the end I’ve forgotten there are people in the darkness. It’s not me in my room pacing the floor. I’m onstage.

  And then the applause starts.

  The roar is unanimous, and I don’t know if it’s support, or if they think I’m hot stuff. I get the same applause everyone got—but my god, does it feel good.

  * * *

  By the time the singing auditions are about to start, I’m high off the generous compliments I’m getting. Kai gives me a hug and says, “Damn, you’re talented, too. I told you, you make me nervous.”

  I smile and say something back about how amazing he was, and Dré’s the first one to give me another bear hug. He’s going a mile a minute about how I was born to act, and I still can’t tell if they’re just psyching me up, or if I was that good. I was there—I know it was good—but I was also not there. I was in the story. I was in character. I see what people mean when they say that now.

  I’m sitting next to Eli when the first guy goes up onstage to sing. “You were better than when we practiced.”

  “So were you,” I say.

  His eyes flicker to Kai, who’s giving me a thumbs-up again. “You’ve got a fan club.” He says it like he’s borderline irritated, and I’m not going to lie, that takes my high to another level. It’s petty and it’s greedy, but after the Eli and Kara hand-holding fiasco, I want him to see how wanted I am.

  I give Kai my best smile. The one where I bite on the corner of my lip and smise. Yes, I am giving him my best Tyra Banks, and I’m not ashamed of how good I feel when Eli takes a big breath and pulls out his phone to do who cares what.

  Kai’s as good a singer as he is an actor, and of course Eli and Dré do well. The girls start, and this time I see Jackie perform. She’s amazing. I wish I’d seen her deliver her lines. When it’s my turn, I’m not as nervous as before. The I have to pee feeling is still there, but it’s mostly butterflies now. It takes everything in me not to close my eyes, so I stare into a really black part of the auditorium and let the lyrics go.

  I start off small and, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t close my eyes, I do. There is a part of the song where I’m begging this guy to stay, and I can’t do that with everyone looking.

  I get more applause, and the spotlight turns off and the houselights come on. I can see everyone standing, and I’m grinning so hard I’m showing all my teeth. Even Cleo is clapping from the curtains, and for the first time, she’s smiling with her teeth instead of that weird, tight-lipped thing she usually does with me.

  Mrs. Gunta waits until I’m back in my seat before closing out the auditions. “You’ve all done a marvelous job.” She pauses and raises her clipboard to read something. “I’ve got a few decisions to make, but the list will be up Monday morning. Remember...”

  “No showboating!” everyone except Dré, Eli, and me yells.

  * * *

  Lennox and Kai invite me out—and everyone else, all these drama kids travel in a pack—and the invitation is extended to Dré and Eli,
too.

  I’m not used to this. Usually I’m the extra wheel in the Dré and Eli show, but this time they’re my plus one. We go to a pizza place on International Drive, the traffic and neon lights adding to my buzz.

  My mom calls me to ask how the auditions went, and I swear everyone at my table can hear her. She’s screaming like I got a part, this is so embarrassing, but everyone is smiling and Rodney is saying, “Yaaasss, Mama James,” from behind me at the other table. I don’t tell him my mom’s last name is Johnson. The moment has passed, and that’s weird. So, I hang up with her and eat my pizza between Dré and Eli. Lennox, Javier, and Jackie sit opposite us.

  Cleo is at a table with some other theatre kids I don’t know, though there is this one girl I recognize from auditions. She was loud—but that’s kinda all she had going for her. She’s staring at me and saying something to Cleo, who then glances at me and shakes her head.

  Okay, cool. I guess we’re doing the we’re not really related thing. I’m used to it ever since middle school when, once, I sat with her at lunch and she turned, looked at me, and dead-ass said, “Um, that seat is saved for my friend.” Yeah, I’m not doing that nonsense with her again. Besides, thanks to her, I ended up sitting with the boy next door and his weird friend with the braces. The rest is history, so she can keep her friends; I’m just here for the songs and possible hookup with a hot Hawaiian.

  Kai’s laughing behind me. I was too chicken to sit with him; even though I’m pretty sure he was saving me a seat, I pretended not to notice. It’s eating me alive, because I can’t go on a date if I avoid the only candidate.

  As I’m sitting between Dré and Eli, I realize this is where I always sit. Smashed between them like a sandwich. It’s comfortable. We’re sharing pizza even though we have our own slices. We always get different stuff and share bites. But right now, I feel like I’m relying on this. What if guys like Kai have always seen me, but I’ve been too smashed up to notice?