by Alex Flinn
. . . for saying I should call Jarvis.
We talked for an hour, until it got too late, and he said I should rest up for dance tomorrow. I love how he worries about me. I feel so much better about auditions and singing and life.
“When we’re given a gift, you have the responsibility to understand its value.” Jarvis says my talent is a gift. According to him, I have a responsibility to share it with the world.
Somehow, that made me feel better. I’m not fighting against my classmates. Instead it’s our mission to spread music and theater to the world.
“That makes me sound like Spider-Man.” I made my voice gruff. “‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
I was joking, but Jarvis said, “You do have power. You’re so talented, Jackie. You don’t understand how talented you are.”
When he said it, I believed him. I remembered the show in December, when he said I was “astonishing.” He said it like it was a regular word people use all the time.
“I’m so glad you called, Jackie,” he said. “I missed your voice so much.”
“I missed yours too.” I miss more than his voice. I wish he was here, so I could see him, touch him.
We talked longer. He’s all worried about Carnegie Mellon. Since he hasn’t heard from them, he’s realized now that that’s the only place he wants to go. He wants to be in Pittsburgh, at the school Andrew Carnegie built. “Did you know he gave away ninety percent of his fortune?” he asked me. “Did you know he came from nothing and became the richest man in the world? And he believed the wealthy were morally obligated to help others? Did you know he gave money to cities to build over 2,000 libraries?”
I didn’t know any of that. I also didn’t know that the City of Pittsburgh has over 440 bridges or that Carnegie Mellon offers a BS in artificial intelligence, the first in the country.
I agreed it was cool. “You’ll get in,” I told him.
“And you’ll get a part,” he said. “Don’t let them get in your head.”
It made me feel better to worry together. I wish he was here.
I still didn’t tell him about my mother. I couldn’t. But at least I told him about me.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 13, 9:17 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Callbacks
Dear Mr. Smith,
Dance call went well. I’m attaching a screenshot of the callback list.
Spoiler alert: I got called back for major parts! The Witch and the Baker’s Wife. That still probably means I’ll get a smaller part (managing expectations), but some people (coughBrookecough) only got called back for smaller parts.
Phoebe got called back for Cinderella. Nina got called back for Red. David and Owen got called back for pretty much everything. I think David will be the Wolf, which is what he wants. OMG, I’m getting to be like my odds-making classmates.
Going to call Jarvis now and tell him.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 3:47 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Live, on-the-scene coverage!
Dear Mr. Smith,
I’m at callbacks! I’ll give you a live play-by-play.
There are about 30 of us here. Phoebe is frozen solid next to me. I think she’s doing deep breathing exercises. She’s in the zone. We practiced together, though.
Harry’s talking now. I just looked at Brooke, and if looks could kill, I’d be puking up blood right now. I smiled back. I turned to Nina (who’s on my other side) and whispered, “I hope you get something!” She said she hoped I did too.
To audition for the Witch, I’m doing a section of her rap song from the opening number. If you’re not familiar with Into the Woods, the Witch is the one from Rapunzel. The rap is about how she took a baby from a couple who stole from her garden, and it’s basically a list of vegetables. It’s hard not to get tongue-tied, saying things like, “Rooting through my rutabaga, raiding my arugula. . .” especially when you’re trying to sound like both a rapper and an old witch at once.
And especially when you’re worried about people hating on you.
I remember what Jarvis said about not letting other people get in my head.
I’m going to volunteer to go first!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 4:09 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I went first
Dear Mr. Smith,
Can you believe it? I went first! I figured the other performances wouldn’t get in my head that way.
I thought about the Witch. She’s old, old and ugly, but she was once beautiful.
And she’s lonely. She only has Rapunzel, who only loves her because she’s her captive. How would that feel? She wants desperately to keep Rapunzel with her. But she also wants something else, something the Baker and his wife can get her.
I know what it’s like to feel lonely and unloved.
I know what it’s like to feel ugly. You might say I’m not, but when the only people you’ve trusted in life have always rejected you, you feel ugly anyway.
This year, with you and this place and Jarvis, I’m starting to feel pretty again.
So I stood up there and tried to put all that love and tragedy and pathos into it.
Into a song about lettuce.
When I finished, no one applauded. I guess maybe people don’t clap at callbacks?
But Nina nodded reassuringly. Phoebe didn’t say anything. She’s still . . . breathing.
I didn’t look at Brooke.
Now Ava’s doing the same song. She’s great! Of course she is. She already got into NYU.
Would it be wrong if I say I think I’m a tiny bit better for this part?
No, she’s better. And also taller and more commanding. She has a beautiful voice and might be able to do other songs, like “Stay with Me,” better than I can. And she’s a senior.
I’m going to stop for a while now.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 4:47 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: On to the Cinderellas!
All the Witches have gone. Tbh, I feel Ava and I were the best, but I know he’ll give it to a senior.
The Cinderellas are up now. Harry yelled at everyone to hurry.
Phoebe’s breathing must have helped because she was flawless, singing “On the Steps of the Palace.” It’s a hard song with weird accompaniment.
No one else was as good as she was. She’s just meant to be Cinderella.
I hope she gets it. When she sat in her seat, I reached out and gave her a little pat. She looked at me funny.
Now, the Bakers are going. Oh, wait . . .
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 5:05 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Still auditioning
Dear Mr. Smith,
Ethan Connover, one of the seniors, tried out for the Baker. He was definitely the best. After he was done, Harry said, “Jackie! Come here and stand by Ethan!”
I obeyed. I heard a few people behind me whispering. But I had no idea what it meant. When I got up, I saw that Ethan is short. Shorter than all the girls trying for the Baker’s Wife except me and Nina (who is really short, short enough to be Red).
Then he called up all the wives in succession, to stand next to Ethan.
I remember reading once that when actors like Tom Cruise do movies, everyone else in the movie also has to be short.
Now he’s going to have us read in groups.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 8:35 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: And now, we wait . . .
Dear Mr. Smith,
Harry had us read in groups of two or three. Me as the Baker’s Wife with Ethan as the Baker. Ava as the Baker’s Wife with David as the Baker. And on and on unti
l he’d used every possible combination.
He called me up a lot. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.
At one point, he called Phoebe up, and then 3 other girls, including me, and told us to stand around her. Then he swapped Ava for Phoebe.
When I sat down, David whispered, “Stepmother and stepsisters with Cinderella.”
The script describes the Stepmother and stepsisters as being “beautiful of face.”
Do you think I’m beautiful of face?
AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I can’t think about this anymore.
Oh! I heard a loud noise in the room next door.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 14, 8:42 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I’m okay
Dear Mr. Smith,
It was Phoebe, running into her floor lamp.
“It got in my way,” she said.
“She punched it,” Daisy said. “I saw her!”
“It had it coming,” Phoebe said, smiling.
Close to 24 hours before I am out of my misery. Harry always puts up the cast list late on Friday, to give people a chance to calm down before he sees them. Smart man.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 15, 12:14 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: 6 more hours
The hours are crawling like the old ladies on scooters at Publix.
To: [email protected]
Date: January 15, 6:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I’M IN THE PLAY
Dear Mr. Smith,
I’m Cinderella’s Stepmother!
At 6:00, Harry put up the cast list and fled campus through a back door to a waiting unmarked car.
By 6:05, everyone was on the phone to their parents, laughing or crying. I even heard Phoebe shrieking, “Yes! Yes, I got it! Cinderella!” And telling her mother to book plane tickets.
Everyone except me. I have no family to call. I texted the cast list to Jarvis. He tried to call me, but I came back to my room to send this first.
When Phoebe got off the phone, I hugged her. “I’m your stepmother! I get to boss you around!”
I was jumping up and down until I noticed she wasn’t. I stopped. “What?”
“You’re actually happy for me?” she said. “Like, not sarcastically?”
I said yes, of course. She’s my friend.
“That’s literally never happened to me in my entire life.”
“You deserve it,” I said. Maybe this will boost her confidence for when we go to Detroit to audition for that summer program.
I’M SO HAPPY! It’s a good part for my first-ever play. Obviously, Harry thought I was funny and “beautiful of face.” I get to be in most of the group numbers. All the major female parts except Cinderella went to seniors, so that’s fair. Nina is a stepsister, Lucinda, and understudy for Red Riding Hood. David is the Wolf.
I’m also the understudy for the Witch, who is Ava Tamargo.
Brooke didn’t get a part. She was crying about having to tell her parents. I’m not saying that adds to my gratefulness for being Stepmother, but I’m not not saying that either.
Karma is a thing.
The play is April 1–3, and 8–10 (with both matinee and evening performances on the Saturdays), btw. Make your travel plans.
I’m going to call Jarvis to tell him, because he might actually come!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 19, 7:13 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: The BIG DAY
Dear Mr. Smith,
Yesterday was a holiday, so no musical theater class. Good thing too, since I didn’t have to suffer the baleful glances of the uncast.
But today, there’s a read-through after school!
I can’t wait! Getting this part is proof that I BELONG, that my admission wasn’t a fluke. I feel like I got invited to join an exclusive club!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 19, 7:10 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: The BIG day gets bigger!
Dear Mr. Smith,
OMG! This has been the best day so far!
When we met for the run-through, Harry congratulated us all on our parts. “It was a tough decision, as there were many talented students. You should all be very pleased with yourselves.” Then he talked about how there are no small parts, only small actors.
In the play, I get to order Phoebe around, telling her she can go to the ball if she completes all sorts of herculean tasks, like picking lentils out of ashes. I tried to be snotty and mean. I sort of channeled Phoebe’s New York friends.
After rehearsal, Ava came up to me. I didn’t think she was talking to me at first, because she’s kind of a superstar, and I’m a lowly junior. But she said, “You were incredible in auditions. I was scared you’d get the part! You’ll definitely get a lead next year.”
I said I was excited to get a part at all—which is true.
She asked me to walk with her to dinner. She said maybe we could practice together, and she’ll give me tips for college auditions next year, kind of like a big sister. She was so nice!
And then I walked into the cafeteria and saw Brooke and another girl who didn’t get a part. They were giving me death stares, and when I passed them, I heard Brooke say something about “show her.” I wondered what she meant.
Ava heard them, too, and said, “When you’re good, you’re going to have haters.”
Sigh. Still, if it has to be a competition, I’m glad I’m winning for once!
Also, we had chicken divan again for dinner. It never gets old for me!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: January 19, 10:47 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Motivation
Dear Mr. Smith,
I’m trying to think about my character’s motivation: What makes a Wicked Stepmother into a Wicked Stepmother?
Since Jarvis knows everything about theater, I asked him. “What do you think the stepmother’s motivation is, for being so mean to poor Cinderella?”
I’ve had my share of mean moms in my life, so it was hard to be sympathetic.
He said, “I guess she’s worried about her own daughters. She sees they’re not as good as Cinderella, and she thinks no one will love them if there’s a prettier, sweeter girl around. So she has to take her out of the equation.”
That made sense. It also made my character sound like a nicer person, someone who did things out of love instead of just a villain. I thought of my aunt April, who said she couldn’t take care of me anymore because she had her own kids. It made me feel so unlovable at the time.
“I like that. She’s just a loving mom,” I said.
Jarvis said, “I might be getting a stepmother soon.”
“Your dad’s girlfriend that you spent Christmas with?” I asked. “It’s that serious?”
I could almost hear him shrug. “Wendelin, that’s her name. I don’t care. I’m going away to college anyway, and the apartment’s so big, I probably won’t even notice her when I’m home. She might even make it look less like a museum.”
I didn’t tell him it looked more like a law firm.
He said, “She’s kind of young, though.”
I asked how young, and he said, “Well, not that young. Maybe thirty. But they might have more kids or something.”
“Would that be terrible?” I asked.
He thought about it and said, “No. It’d be kind of cool to have a little brother. I could teach him to play video games. Maybe he’d come visit me at college.”
“You’d be a good big brother,” I said.
“You think?” he asked.
“You’re a good cousin. Phoebe loves you, and she’s not someone who warms up to everyone. Everyone likes you.”
He thought about it a second, then said,
“Sometimes it’s lonely, having everyone like you.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. I’ve never had too much love.
“Because, if everyone likes you, it’s because no one really knows you. They don’t know you well enough to know your flaws.”
I got it. I know what it’s like to try to be perfect. Every time I went to a new school or foster home, I tried not to be a burden.
“What do people not know about you?” I asked him.
He tried to laugh it off, but I said, “Tell me something embarrassing about yourself.”
“Something embarrassing . . .” He thought a second, then said, “I sucked my thumb until I was almost 10 years old.”
I said I couldn’t picture that. He seemed so confident and self-sufficient.
“Yeah. The doctor called it self-soothing. I didn’t do it in public. But, every night, when I tried to sleep, I would start. Or I’d go into the boys’ room at school.”
“Did you wreck your teeth?” I asked.
He laughed. “Yeah. They stuck out like a window air-conditioner. The dentist told my parents I had to quit, so they bribed me with going to sleepaway science camp. That worked for a while. But when my mom died, I started again. Sometimes I still miss it.”
“I still like you,” I said.
“Okay, here’s another one,” he said. “I’m really jealous. When you told me about that guy, Preston, making a move on you at that party, I kind of wanted to go back and kick his teeth in—except he’s probably bigger than I am. But this caveman instinct definitely got hold of me.”
“You didn’t do it, though,” I said. My mother’s had a ton of boyfriends who would have.
“No, I have self-control. But even at Thanksgiving, when you mentioned your friend Daisy’s twin brother, I wondered if he was handsome.”
I laughed. “He is . . . but . . .” I didn’t finish the sentence. Danny wasn’t the one I wanted. I said, “But I like you.” I wished he was here. I decided to tell him something embarrassing about me, even though he hadn’t asked. So I told him about growing up poor and the Goodwill clothes and the free lunch. “I never wanted to go over to anyone’s house after school because then I’d have to invite them to my house, and I couldn’t.” I didn’t tell him part of the reason I couldn’t was because my mother or whatever boyfriend she had that week might be passed out on the sofa. But I did tell him about being here on scholarship, and how different I felt from my classmates all the time, how I worried that it would all get taken away from me. It all came rushing out even though I was kind of trying to push the words back in.