The Year of Living Awkwardly

by Emma Chastain

  Saturday, February 4

  As usual, I revealed my flawed soul to Tris, and as usual, he didn’t judge me.

  Am I terrible for being happy Hannah didn’t get called back?

  I should want the best for her, but I’m too mad to be nice

  Don’t be mad, she’s like a cult victim

  Is she though? What if she knows Reese is awful and doesn’t care because she wants to be popular so bad?

  This is Hannah we’re talking about remember?

  Yeah OK I guess she would never do that

  She’s just clueless

  Maybe Tris is right, but at some point being clueless is the same thing as being evil.

  Sunday, February 5

  Callbacks are tomorrow. I’m so nervous, but that’s OK: I can channel my fear into energy. Getting parts isn’t just about singing and acting. It’s also about psychological fortitude. I have to be able to take everything in stride: Reese trying to get in my head, a less-than-wonderful first audition, the pressure of living up to my previous success. Last year I didn’t have to hide my stress under a performance of happiness, because I wasn’t stressed. I was a freshman with nothing to prove. This year is different. This year I do have something to prove. So I’ll prove it. It’s a new and bigger acting challenge, and I’m up for it.

  Monday, February 6

  It went well, I think. I belted out “A Cockeyed Optimist.” I didn’t embarrass myself doing the choreography. I’m pretty sure I hid my revulsion toward Rob during “Some Enchanted Evening.” I might have been a touch over-the-top doing the drunk scene, but I got laughs. It wasn’t like last year, when my mind emptied out and I felt like I was actually a rebellious nun and Josh was actually my handsome but rude boss; I was thinking hard the whole time. Thinking about showing Reese she can’t get to me, about proving to Grady that my voice is amazing, about letting everyone know I deserve the lead, about redeeming my crap performance at the first auditions. I felt tense. Did it show? I don’t think it did. The more worried I felt, the more I tried to project sunshine and lollipops.

  Izzy was good. Really good. I can’t tell if she’s acting or just being herself, but she comes across as simultaneously daffy and sincere in a very Nellie-ish way. And when she finished reading with Rob, Tris whispered to me, “Are they going out?” which unfortunately I know for a fact they are not, because I saw Rob and Gloria Lingley holding hands a week ago, so what Tris was really noticing was their convincing onstage chemistry, dammit.

  Tuesday, February 7

  The cast list is going up tomorrow. My callback performance might not have been the greatest, but I am perfect for the part, and Miss Murphy knows that.

  I need to get through the next few hours, and then everything will be fine. Once I have the lead and everyone sees how great I am as Nellie, they’ll forget all about my lame auditions.

  Wednesday, February 8

  Reese rushed up to me today and said, “Are you OK? I’m so sorry.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. Her eyes flickered, and for one second you could see the glee behind her performance of concern.

  “Didn’t you see? The cast list is up. You’re an ensign. Bessie, I think?”

  Bessie? Who in God’s name was that?

  “I’m an ensign too!” said Reese. “Dinah Murphy. It’s not a huge part, but I’m happy with it. I have a bunch of lines. I guess you could say I’m the lead ensign!”

  “What about Tris?” I said.

  “You are so sweet, thinking of him instead of yourself. He’s Lieutenant Cable. Izzy’s Nellie, which totally makes sense. She’s amazing, right? Hannah’s in the chorus. So is Grady.”

  “Great,” I said. My lips felt numb.

  “So you’re going to do the show? You’ll take the part?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said. You told me about this two seconds ago, you scheming monster.

  She gave me a hug. Her cheek was cool and her hair felt clean. “You’re being so strong,” she said into my ear. “It must suck to be the lead one year and a chorus girl the next.”

  I was still trying to come up with a response when she pulled away and left, giving me a sad wave while making a pouty face.

  Thursday, February 9

  Miss Murphy was normal in class today, but I couldn’t look at her. I know it’s not 100% rational, but I’m furious. Fine, so Izzy was better than me at callbacks. Doesn’t my experience count for anything? Doesn’t the fact that the director is dating my dad count for anything?

  There’s no way I can take this little nothing part. It would be too humiliating, hanging out with the kids who can’t really sing, being a peasant after I was the queen. On the other hand, I’ll never see Tris again unless I do the show. Or Hannah, or the other kids.

  On top of everything else, it’s Carnation Day tomorrow. Like I need another reason to be depressed! At least I can count on Hannah and Tris for a few pink carnations.

  Friday, February 10

  I can hardly even enjoy it, because I’m so upset about the musical, but something nice happened today: I got 55 carnations, 25 white and 25 red (I counted) from a mystery person, plus 10 pink (five from Tris and five from Hannah). Everyone stared at me in homeroom, and then everyone continued staring at me all day long, because I couldn’t fit the flowers in my locker and wound up carrying them from class to class, which made me feel ridiculous but which I also loved, because of course everyone said, “Wow, who are those from?” and “Is that a school record?” Reese rushed up to me between classes and said, “Everyone’s talking about your flowers! Can I see? Amazing! You didn’t send them to yourself, did you? Just kidding!” I have a feeling they’re from Dad, but I’m going to tell myself I really do have a secret admirer. It made the day exciting; every time I passed a cute guy in the hall, I thought, Was it you? The whole thing was almost enough to make me forget about the show for minutes at a time.

  Saturday, February 11

  I’ve decided: I’m going to turn down the part. It’ll be awful, sitting at home while all my friends are at rehearsals, but better that than watching everyone pity me or revel in my downfall.

  Sunday, February 12

  Miss Murphy stopped by today. She must have warned Dad beforehand that she wanted to talk to me alone, because when I heard her Jeep pull into the driveway and yelled up to him that she was here, he yelled, “Be right down!” and then never showed up.

  After I opened the door for her, I said hello curtly, then turned on my heel, walked to the kitchen, and pretended to be absorbed in my homework. She followed me, set her bag on the island, took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, and sat down to watch me. After a few minutes I couldn’t take the awkwardness and looked up at her. She looked back at me steadily.

  “Do you want some water or something?” I asked in a rude voice.

  “I don’t blame you for being upset,” she said.

  “I’m not upset,” I said.

  “OK.”

  I had planned to speak to her as little as possible for the rest of my life, but I found myself saying, “It’s so unfair. I would be the perfect Nellie. I feel like I am her.”

  “I agree,” she said, nodding.

  “Wait, what?”

  “You’re right. That part is made for you.”

  “Then why am I Bessie-What’s-Her-Butt?”

  She cocked her head. “Why do you think you are?”

  It was so annoying that she was in English-teacher mode. I said, “I know Izzy was better than me at the audition. And at callbacks.”

  She opened her hands like, There you go.

  “But you know me!” I said. “You know I would have been amazing!”

  “It can’t work that way,” she said. “I have to cast shows based on what I see at auditions.”

  “Reese got to me,” I said miserably. “She messed with my head. She told me everyone knows about you and Dad.”

  Miss Murphy looked alarmed. “Chloe, I’m so sorry to hear that.”<
br />
  I felt a little beam of hope shoot through my body. “If you’d known, would you have given me the part?” Maybe it wasn’t too late!

  She looked down and made a triangle with her thumbs and index fingers. “No.” The beam of hope clicked off. “I wish Reese hadn’t done that to you, and I feel awful that I was the cause of your distress, but knowing what got to you is irrelevant, in a way. The only relevant event is your audition.”

  “Was I that terrible?” I said.

  “You weren’t terrible at all.”

  “But Izzy was better,” I said. She didn’t respond, but she gave me a sympathetic look.

  “It was so easy last year,” I said. “I just did my best. I wasn’t thinking. This time, I could feel myself thinking. And then I was acting on top of the thinking.” My auditions last year were like a pure mountain waterfall. This year they were like a polluted river people push old cars into.

  She laughed. “Welcome to being an actor. Forget singing, dancing, line reading—getting out of your own head is the real challenge.”

  “I was trying to, so hard, but I couldn’t,” I said.

  She squeezed my hand. “You’ll figure it out. This isn’t your last shot.”

  I didn’t squeeze her back. I wasn’t mad at her, exactly, but I didn’t want to sit around holding hands with her either.

  “So what do you think?” she said. “Will you take the part?”

  “Bessie,” I said. “Not even a featured role.”

  “That’s the way the cookie crumbled this year,” she said. Sometimes she reminds me of Noelle.

  “Yeah, OK, fine,” I said.

  She stood up and put her jacket on with a flourish. “Excellent!”

  So that’s that. Months of humiliation to look forward to.

  It hurts to say it, but I know I have no reason to be angry. Miss Murphy couldn’t give me the lead. It’s my fault, not hers. Izzy was better—Izzy was great—and Miss Murphy did the right thing, casting her.

  Monday, February 13

  We had our first rehearsal today. Miss Murphy started out by saying the show has its heart in the right place and was extremely progressive for its day. In fact, legislators in some states were so outraged about Rodgers and Hammerstein’s defense of interracial marriage that they tried to ban the show unless they removed “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught.” (R&H refused to take it out.) But, she said, although the show wants to be about the evils of racism, it’s also itself racist. All the point-of-view characters are white. Bloody Mary can come across as a caricature, Liat is presented as exotic, sensual, submissive—all these offensive stereotypes about Asian women—and Bali Hai, the island, is supposed to be a spiritual balm for the souls of overly rational Westerners, which is more exoticism. She said it’s important to her to present Bloody Mary and Liat as real, three-dimensional people, and to bring them forward in the production. She said every member of the cast is responsible for analyzing the script and noting any problematic elements we find, so we can address them. And she wants to have a panel discussion before the last weekend of shows to talk about the musical’s achievements and failures.

  Tuesday, February 14

  That wasn’t the worst Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had! Tris came over after school, and we ate cheap chocolate from a heart-shaped box, watched Titanic, and cried. Then we looked at our phones to find out why Rose didn’t just share her raft with Jack, then we checked out pictures of young Leonardo DiCaprio, and then we read a history of his friendship with Kate Winslet. (He walked her down the aisle at her latest wedding!) And then, because we had our phones out and it was so tempting and so easy, we stalked Mac and Roy and found a picture of Mac at a party, shirtless, wearing a football helmet and sunglasses, and a picture of Roy kissing a cute guy who looks like Tris. I got out a step stool and put our phones on top of a kitchen cabinet, to make them annoyingly difficult to reach, but it turned out to be pointless, because Tris’s mom arrived to pick him up and I had to get his phone back down immediately.

  As soon as Tris left, Hannah texted me.

  Happy Valentine’s Day!

  Same to you! Are you and Zach doing something fun?

  He’s taking me out to

  dinner tonight.

  Cool have fun!

  If someone stole my phone and read this exchange, they wouldn’t think anything of it. Only I know how fake and uncomfortable my side of it is. Those exclamation points! The TWO “funs”! Ugh.

  Wednesday, February 15

  I never should have taken this tiny part. I go to rehearsal and Hannah talks to me for two seconds before running over to Reese. Tris comes to hang out with me whenever he can, which is not too much, because he’s a lead, so Miss Murphy needs him all the time. Grady and I are constantly waiting in the same section of the auditorium but not looking at each other. Every time I see the side of his face by accident, I hear Reese saying, “Grady said you’re not even that great of a singer.” Miss Kijek rehearses our songs with us, and I can sing my heart out or not try at all and she doesn’t notice either way, which makes sense, because I’m one voice in a giant chorus. It’s nothing like last year, when Miss Murphy’s eyes were on me three hours a day. I used to feel like it was too much pressure, especially when she yelled at me, but now I’d give anything to hear her say, “Chloe, project!” or “Chloe, that’s not your mark!” or “Chloe, more energy! More intensity! More sparkle!”

  Thursday, February 16

  Noelle’s going to Maryland to visit her dad for the break, and she came over to say goodbye after school. When I asked her if she was excited for her trip, she said, “I’m dreading it. I’ll have to sit in his house all day by myself while he’s at work, then sit in restaurants with him at night while he checks his phone every two seconds. He holds it under the table, like I won’t notice that way.”

  It was the first time she’s ever talked about her parents for real.

  “What’s he like, your dad?” I asked.

  “I just told you. Impatient. Rich. Not interested in me. Whatever. It’s only a week. I can stand anything for a week.”

  Before she left, I hugged her for as long as I could, until I could sense her gearing up to say something like, “Chloe, get OFF!”

  I have to stop fretting about the musical thing. Really, it couldn’t matter less.

  Friday, February 17

  Uhhhhhhhh, texts from Mac.

  Hey kid

  I’m off on Monday

  Coming home to see

  some of my boys

  You should come to the

  bowline for drinks

  I stared at my phone for a full minute, squeezing it like a stress ball. What does he mean, come for drinks? Does he remember I’m still barely out of my tweens? Finally I wrote

  Sounds fun

  I’ll try to make it

  I think that was sufficiently devil-may-care, right?

  Saturday, February 18

  Hannah and Zach are going to the Bowline too—according to Zach, alums always meet there for drinks on Presidents’ Day, and I guess the cool high school upperclassmen get to go too. Hannah said she and Zach can pick me up. I’ve spent half of high school so far sitting in the backseat like a child while Hannah and her serious boyfriend sit in the front like my parents. I’m grateful for the ride and everything, but it’s still humiliating.

  Sunday, February 19

  Lying here wide awake at 2 a.m. because I’m so nervous about seeing my ex-whatever, and also because I’m nervous that I’ll look sick and unattractive tomorrow due to lack of sleep.

  Monday, February 20

  It’s the middle of the night but I have to write!

  First of all, when I heard a beep and ran out to the driveway, I saw Zach and Hannah in the front . . . and Reese and Grady in the back. Of course! Duh! Why didn’t I assume they’d be there? The light over the garage door was illuminating their faces, and I thought, Yeah, naturally they’re together. Two beautiful people with the kind of cheekbon
es normal humans need plastic surgery to attain. It’s so obvious, it’s boring. I got in the backseat and it smelled like going out: shampoo and perfume and aftershave and gum and hair product. Everyone said hi loudly and enthusiastically, including me, and off we went. I pressed my knees hard into the door so I wouldn’t risk touching Reese.

  When we got to the Bowline, Reese was in the middle of telling Hannah about this flat iron she wants to buy, and the two of them went ahead with Zach, leaving me and Grady to walk next to each other. Knowing I was about to see Mac gave me confidence. Who was Grady compared to Mac? Some freshman nobody. And yet he had the nerve to talk crap about me!

  I wondered if we’d ignore each other, like we’ve been doing at rehearsals, but then he said, “I like being in the musical so far.” He didn’t sound like his summer self—not even close—but he was being decently friendly.

  “Oh,” I said, making my voice cold.

  “It’s kind of embarrassing, though. Just bursting into song.”

  I’d been planning to give him only one-word answers, but I couldn’t. “All the singers in the bands you like just burst into song.”

  “They’re not pretending to have normal conversations one second and singing the next.”

  I wanted to ask him what he thought patter was, but I was too angry to keep being polite.

  “I know what you said about me, Grady,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  But we’d gotten to the door of the Bowline, so I shook my head and yanked it open without responding.

  The bar area was crammed with current and former seniors and a few underclassmen, and everyone seemed to be drinking, even though I know for a fact most of the kids there were under 21. The music was loud, and people were shouting over it, and yelling whenever anyone new came in, and the adults who were there trying to have a nice dinner looked annoyed. I saw a few of them complaining to their waiters and I wanted to make everyone around me shut up, because I was embarrassed to be part of this big group of unruly teenagers, who were now spilling out of the bar area and into the eating area.