MEGAN CLENDENAN is a freelance writer and editor. When she’s not writing, she spends her time running or biking through her local mountains or trying to play her violin. She lives in North Vancouver, British Columbia, with her family and their two incredibly fuzzy orange cats. Offbeat is her first novel. For more information, visit meganclendenan.com.
One
Finally the bell rings. Lunchtime. I make a dash for the door, determined to get ahead of the crush and stake out a corner seat in the noisy little lunchroom. By the time Char shows up, I have the page loaded up on my phone and have made it halfway through a bag of chips.
“Char, check this out!” I thrust the phone under her nose.
“Hi, Ava. Hang on,” she says. She sets down her lunch bag and pulls out its contents one by one. Then she arranges the various containers to her liking and settles into her chair. Slooooowly.
“Charlotte. Just look, will ya?”
She takes my phone, peers at the screen, pretends to adjust her glasses. “Your phone screen is so small—what am I looking at?”
I fake-smack her, but halfheartedly. I’m too excited. “It’s a casting call for that summer theater. Mill Pond Farm? They’re doing a play about kids. They want kids to audition!”
I’ve been taking drama classes and acting in school plays since I was little, but this is a chance to spend the summer with an actual professional theater company. Ever since I stumbled across the ad, I haven’t been able to think of anything else.
“That’s cool,” says Charlotte coolly, handing back my phone. “Are you going to audition?”
I stare at her. “No, I showed you because I’m not interested. YES, I’m going to audition! Of course. But Char, you should too.”
“Haha.” She’s only giving me half her attention. “I’m your friend who doesn’t act, remember?”
“No, look.” I scroll down and start reading aloud. “Mill Pond Farm depends on our volunteers! Would you enjoy helping with production, front of house or concession sales? If so, please attend the volunteer-information session following either audition time.” I pin her with my eyes. “The costumes you made for Bye Bye Birdie last year were brilliant! And admit it—you enjoyed it, even if I did have to talk you into it.”
Char looks thoughtful. “Yeah, that might be cool. But it’s the whole summer.”
“Yeah, but it’s the summer on a beautiful farm. It’ll be a blast. And”—I lean in, because this is the real reason I want her to sign up, the thing that might persuade my parents to let me do it—“if we’re both going, we can stay at each other’s places when our families are away.”
She chews her food, saying nothing. I wait, trying not to look desperate. Finally she looks up at me.
“I’ll think about it.”
Typical Char. But it’s good enough for step two.
* * *
I need a calmer, more Charlotte-like pitch for my parents. I want them to see this as a reasonable, logical thing to do, not some crazy teen impulse. Especially my father, the insurance accountant. PleasepleasepleaseDaddy? doesn’t work with him, as I’ve learned the hard way.
Think, Ava.
It’s a great opportunity…That sounds mature and logical, right?
Almost like a summer job…Yeah, he’ll like the sound of that. No need to add only without the money.
Keeping my skills up for school…Hmm, maybe not that one. That might lead to talk of my math and science marks from last term.
I resist the urge to blurt it all out during dinner. I stick to my plan, which is to catch them at 8:40, twenty minutes before their favorite TV show comes on. For some reason, they never record it for later—they watch it on regular TV, every Tuesday night, with a bowl of popcorn. It’s like a lame date, I guess. Anyway, my cunning plan is to talk to them when there is just barely enough time available. They will be half distracted as we near the nine o’clock mark.
It works, kind of. They have a ton of questions I can’t answer. Is there any transportation provided? What kind of supervision do they have for kids and teens on-site? How late would I get home every night?
I do, at least, have an answer for one: “What about our camping trip?”
“I would have to miss it. But I can stay with Charlotte,” I assure them. “And she’s going to volunteer for the theater, so maybe she can stay with us when her mom goes away?”
“Let’s go back to our trip,” says my mom. “Summer goes by fast, and, as you say, this will be like a job. It’s a real commitment—you can’t just walk away mid-August if you decide you want a bit of vacation after all.”
“I know that!” I’m irritated now and not hiding it very well. “I know what’s involved in putting on a play. This will be better for me than a camping trip.” Understatement. I loved our summer campouts when I was little, but spending two weeks crammed into a tent with my parents and little brother, playing endless rounds of rummy, has seriously lost its appeal.
In the end we make a deal. I will audition, and if I’m offered a part, I can only accept it on the condition that all my parents’ questions are answered to their satisfaction.
I escape to my room and do a little happy dance on the bed. Then I text Charlotte.
They said YESSSSS!!!
I lie awake for a long time, thinking about the audition. What should I wear? What will they ask me to do? What should I prepare? I try not to think about how awful I’ll feel if I don’t get in.
Offbeat Page 8