by Seven Steps
5
I ran into the auditorium just as some blond girl on stage was yelling about someone named Stanley Kowalski.
A round, dark-skinned woman wearing a colorful head wrap sat in the front row, looking at her watch from time to time. I recognized her as Mrs. Simpson, the new drama teacher. A few other kids were scattered amongst the seats too, but I didn’t recognize any of them.
I slowly walked to the front of the auditorium, my eyes steady on the girl and her riveting, if not a bit over the top, performance. There was no doubt that she was going to get the lead part. She had to. She was amazing.
Not that I held out any hope for a big part. Actually, the smaller the part, the better. Then, I wouldn’t have so many lines to learn.
The girl finished her performance, and I clapped along with the rest of the audience.
“Excellent performance, Charlotte. You really moved me.”
“It’s Char-latte,” Charlotte corrected. Yes, she pronounced it Char-latte. As in the drink.
I snickered. Full of ourselves much?
CharlotteChar-latte smiled and gave a deep bow, then blew a kiss to the audience and jogged off stage.
“Do we have any other auditions before we move forward?”
“Me!” I cried out. Maybe I was a little too excited, but I didn’t care. I needed that extra credit more than I needed what little shred of dignity I had left.
Mrs. Simpson turned around as much as her round body would allow her.
“Hello. And you are?”
“Hi. I’m—”
“Well, come around here, child. No need to make me break my neck to see you.”
I grimaced and walked around to the front of her.
She pushed up her thick glasses and squinted at me.
“I’m Sophia Johnson, from film club. I was told there would be extra credit for whomever got a part in the play.”
She wrote my name on a paper on her clipboard, then looked back up at me.
“Well, we’re happy to have you. Do you have something prepared?”
I could feel eyes watching me and stuffed my hands in my jeans pocket. The words Spring Fling sent snickers skittering through the auditorium. My ears heated up and I cleared my throat, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“I haven’t prepared anything,” I said. “In fact, if you want to put me on stage crew, that would be fine. Stage crew still gets the extra credit, right?”
Mrs. Simpson pushed her glasses up her nose. I wondered how bad her vision had to be for her to wear such thick glasses.
“Yes, they do, but stage crew is full, dear. There are only acting roles left. And most actors come to auditions prepared.”
My spirits sank. I could feel my extra credit fading away. Along with my chances of passing the eleventh grade.
“But you’re here now, so let’s see if we can find someone for you to put on.”
Someone for me to put on? What did that mean?
I watched as Mrs. Simpson rooted around her inexplicably large bag and pulled out an enormous binder. She opened it, flipped through a few pages, then tore one out and handed it to me.
“Here,” she said. “Try this on for size.”
I scanned the paper.
It was a scene from Romeo and Juliet. I’d seen the Leonardo DiCaprio version of the play before, but I had to admit this scene looked completely foreign to me. Did she really expect me to do Shakespeare on the fly?
This would be more embarrassing than the Spring Fling.
I slowly walked to the stage, each step heavier than the next.
What had I gotten myself into?
“Any time today, dear.”
Someone snickered, but Mrs. Simpson didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy settling into her chair.
Crap. I was in a room full of the very same people who’d laughed at me the last time I was on stage, and I had to do Shakespeare in front of them?
Unrehearsed Shakespeare.
This was going to be awful.
“Tick tock, dear,” Mrs. Simpson said.
I frowned and picked up my pace ever so slightly.
How was I going to pull this off? Especially after Char-latte’s amazing, and clearly rehearsed, performance.
I felt like a dead man walking as I climbed the stairs and stood in the middle of the stage. I bit my lip and touched Dad’s gold necklace, hoping it would give me some of his courage. Dad died fighting in Afghanistan sixteen years ago. Mom said it happened in the heat of battle. He was a valiant, brave man. I needed some of that bravery right now.
I cleared my throat and started what felt like an emotionless and awkward read through of the surprisingly foreign script.
The lights were so bright that my neck started to sweat. My palms were already wet with perspiration, and my hands shook. A quiet terror took up residence inside of me. Before, I was confident and comfortable on stage. Now, it felt like I was standing in front of a firing squad.
I squeezed the sheet between my damp fingers, picking up my reading pace.
“…All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished. There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, in that word’s death. No words can that woe sound.”
My gut twisted. I was certain I’d mispronounced half the words and speed read through the rest.
God, this was so embarrassing!
I read the last word, then dropped my head and nearly ran from the stage, sinking into the nearest chair.
No one clapped like they had for Charlotte. Not even Mrs. Simpson.
I kept my eyes forward, terrified to see her expression.
“Well, that was different,” I heard her say.
Humiliation filled me, making me want to vomit.
I glanced at her, then firmly placed my gaze in front of me again.
“I was nervous.”
“I could see that.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, ready to walk out of this auditorium and never return.
“Why don’t you come over here and sit next to me,” she said. “We’ll talk.”
I followed her direction and waited patiently as she turned her body to me and dropped her voice so only I could hear.
“Why are you here, Sophia?” she whispered.
I sighed. “I need the extra credit,” I replied.
“No. Why are you really here?”
I gave her a confused look. “I need to be in this play to pass the eleventh grade.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you what brought you here. I asked you why you stayed.” And with that, she turned from me and started rooting through her bag again.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said loudly. “I will post the call sheet tomorrow morning.”
A few people shouted their thank yous before the sound of feet scuffling toward the exit echoed through the room.
It felt awkward, sitting so close to her after I’d done such an awful job. And her cryptic words had left me completely oblivious of where I stood. Was she going to give me a role or did I just embarrass myself for nothing?
I blew out a frustrated breath and faced her again.
“Mrs. Simpson, I know I bombed up there. Like, big time. But if you can give me a role, any role, I’d be so grateful. Even if it’s a tree or a rock or something. I just… I really need this.”
Mrs. Simpson’s gaze didn’t look up from her bag.
“Good night, Sophia,” she said.
My heart sank.
My plea had gone unanswered.
This was it. I was going to be in the eleventh grade for the rest of my life.
My chest shook with emotion.
“Good night,” I whispered.
Heavy-hearted, I turned and walked away, trying to figure out how I was going to face my mom. What would she say when she found out I was going to get left back? How much more could she take from me?
6
I’d dodged a bullet. Mom had stayed home from church last night because she wasn’t feeling well. She’d been
holed up in her room all day, which gave me time to intercept the report card in the mail and bury it in the bottom of my underwear drawer.
This morning when I woke up, she was still sleeping, so I got to leave the house argument free.
It was a win. A small win, but a win nonetheless. At the very least it gave me more time to figure out how to break the news to her that I would be spending an extra year in high school.
I walked with Purity to history class, my mind deep in thought.
“You could get a tutor,” Purity suggested. “I’m sure Bella and Cole would love to tutor you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I already bailed on our band. If they have to tutor me, it’ll just make everything weird.”
“Why? They’re your friends.”
“I know. I just don’t want to be the friend who lets everyone down and the dumb friend. That’s way too much right now.”
“Sophia, no one thinks of you as dumb and you definitely didn’t let anyone down. We’re all just trying to be there for you. You should let us.”
I shrugged. I knew my friends loved me, but this whole situation was embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than the football team’s rumors about me. And I was tired of being embarrassed. I wanted to make someone proud for once.
We passed a buzzing group of teens standing around the announcement board. I recognized some of them from the auditorium the day before.
“What’s going on?” I asked, stopping in my tracks. “What’s everyone looking at?”
One of the boys, short with glasses and a cute face, turned to me.
“The cast list is up for the play.”
I gasped. “Already? Auditions were yesterday.”
Purity’s hip bumped mine. “Why do you care about the play?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I tried out.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You tried out without telling anyone?”
I grimaced. “It was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”
“This is good, right? It means that you’ll be back singing on stage before you know it, right?”
I grimaced. “It’s not a musical.”
“But you’ll still be on stage performing. Maybe it’ll help you get your mojo back.”
I was doubtful of my mojo ever returning, but I didn’t want to kill the hope she had in her eyes.
“Maybe.”
“What role did you try out for?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what play it is. The teacher just handed me a paper and I took it.”
“Why would you try out for the play when you don’t know what it is?”
“Because if I get a part, I get extra credit.”
She scoffed. “God knows you need it.” She elbowed me good-naturedly. I elbowed her back.
“Yeah, well, where were you when I needed help with my Spanish homework?”
“Probably doing my French homework.”
“Whatever, P.”
I squeezed through the crowd, making my way to the yellow sheet of paper everyone was gawking over.
“Seriously?” someone cried out. “This cannot be happening!”
A blond head of hair standing at the front of the crowd shook angrily.
“Who is this? Does anyone know who Sophia Johnson is?”
I swallowed.
“Me,” I said. “I’m Sophia Johnson.”
The crowd parted, leaving just me and the blond girl in the center of it, staring at one another. I recognized her now. She was the one who gave that awesome audition yesterday. Charlotte. She looked so earnest on stage. Now, her cheeks were red, and her gaze honed on me like a sniper rifle.
“How did you get the lead role? You sucked!”
My mouth dropped open.
I was about to give her a huge slice of my mind when what she said finally hit me. Did she just say I got the lead role?
My anger and curiosity dueled, and the curiosity won out. I rushed to the board and examined the list. Sure enough, right at the top, was my name next to the role, Hermia. Beneath my name was Charlotte Coppola’s with Helena next to it.
I’d gotten the lead role. How?
“I’m going to the principal and complaining. This is a travesty!” She stepped closer, her cheeks shaking in fury. “Don’t think that I don’t know what’s happening here.”
I tried to focus on her, but my head was spinning.
The lead role? How did I get the lead role?
She smirked. “Just because you and the director share, shall we say, certain features doesn’t make nepotism okay.”
My anger flared. “Are you saying that I got the role because the director and I are both black?”
She glared holes through me. “I’m just saying it’s mighty suspicious that a girl with no theatrical training and a horrible audition got the lead role over me. Me! I’ve been getting the lead role in school plays since I was five.”
Granted, even though I didn’t think I deserved the lead role, I also didn’t take kindly to someone suggesting that I was part of some racial conspiracy. I lifted my chin, giving her a proud expression.
“Well, maybe it’s time for someone else to step into the limelight,” I said.
She shook her head. “Not you.”
“According to the board, it’s definitely me.”
I felt the hate come off Charlotte aka Char-latte in sickening waves.
“We’ll see about that.”
Then she turned and pushed her way through the crowd. I watched her blond head bob down the hallway toward Principal Mann’s office to complain.
Someone clapped me on the shoulder and congratulated me, but, honestly, I didn’t feel that victorious. I just felt confused.
Yes, I’d gotten the best of Charlotte, but she was sort of right.
My audition was way worse than hers.
Why had I been selected as the lead?
“Wow, Charlotte really took a hard right into Loser-ville,” Purity said from behind me.
“Yeah,” I said softly.
“Some people just can’t handle being told no.” She took my hand. “Congrats on the lead, though. We have to celebrate.”
The third period bell rang overhead.
“Meet us in the bathroom in ten minutes?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. Excitement I should have been feeling too.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
She giggled and rushed off to class, leaving me alone in the hallway.
What would the principal say? What would the rest of the cast say? What if it was a mistake and I really didn’t get the lead role? But what if I had? I’d done plays before, and we did a short film in film club, but that was before the Spring Fling. Before the entire school had laughed at me. Before I’d lost my nerve.
Could I pull off being the lead in the school play?
I had no idea. And that was the worst feeling of all.
7
After Purity spilled the beans that I had gotten a part in the play, something I wasn’t yet ready to advertise, Jasmine insisted on joining the play too in a show of support. And, since she was already well-known for painting the school mural this year, Mrs. Simpson was more than willing to let her head up the set design crew, even though she’d already told me there were no more non-acting spots available. Jasmine would even get extra credit for it.
It was completely unfair. Mrs. Simpson told me there were no stage crew spots left. She’d lied. But why? Why force me to get on stage when I obviously didn’t want to?
Not that there was anything I could do about it now since I’d already gotten a role.
When Jasmine took over the small set design team, she brought Cole, Bella, and Ollie on board with her. Which meant that my friends would now be backstage every day while I was front and center onstage, trying not to screw everything up.
It was a blessing and a curse. I was glad I wasn’t facing the rest of the cast by myself, especially since Charlotte was already pretty upset abou
t my presence here, but I was also nervous about what my friends would think of me when they saw my performance.
If I struggled to learn my lines, would they think I was an idiot? Granted, they already knew I wasn’t the best student, but they didn’t know how horrible at school I actually was, and this play threatened to expose me.
I swallowed.
Being alone and friendless was my worst fear. I’d already dealt with it for the first fifteen years of my life. Just the thought of going back to sorry state was a fate worse than death. Of course, my friends had never given me any reason to doubt them. Still, I felt it was best not to tempt fate, since it already seemed to have it out for me.
As soon as we walked into the auditorium, Jasmine, Ollie, Bella, and Cole wished me good luck and headed toward the stacks of plywood that would soon become the new set pieces.
This left Purity and me to walk down the center aisle toward the stage by ourselves.
Purity must’ve noticed my heavy steps, because she put her hand on my shoulder and smiled.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re probably better than most of the people here. Why else would Mrs. Simpson have picked you for the lead?”
I avoided my friend’s eye, staring at the stage looming before me.
If Purity had been at the auditions, she would’ve thought differently. Very differently.
We decided on seats in the second row and eyed the rest of the cast.
I recognized a few of them. Yariel Morris and Minnie Baumstein sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the stage. Yariel was a tall, Hispanic boy who wore his hair long on top and short at the sides. He’d recently been kicked off the football team, but no one knew why. Minnie was also tall for her age, with a round face, dark hair, and cool blue eyes. She used to be a cheerleader, but the day after Yariel got cut from the team, she quit the cheer squad. Now, she sat shoulder to shoulder with him, watching him tap away on his phone.
In the middle of the stage stood CharlotteChar-latte, along with Sinopa Moses and Victoria Bailleul. The three of them looked like an ad for a diversity commercial. Charlotte was the blonde, Victoria the brunette, and Sinopa was just ethnically ambiguous enough to stand for every ethnicity. I didn’t know Victoria really, but Sinopa and I were in government class together. She was super smart, but judgy. She gave a speech on her Native American heritage a few months back. When I told her that I liked it, she sneered at me and walked away. That was our first and last interaction with each other.