Leading Ladies #2 (3 page)

The school nurse usually posted the list of students who were out sick after lunch. I ran to check it before my next class, and yep, Ivy's name was there. During study hall, my last class of the day, I sent her a quick text telling her to call when she felt better. If I got caught texting I could easily get detention, but there was a substitute teacher acting as warden today, so people were quietly breaking the rules. I took advantage of the situation to send Evelyn a little e-mail, too. A “can't talk now, but miss you, more soon” kind of thing, but it was something.

After the last bell rang, I went to the auditorium. I was excited and intrigued to be sitting in on the first day of audition workshops. Like most students, I always showed up for Drama Club productions. Last year's showcase of
The Sound of Music
had really wowed me, with huge, painted flats that slid in and out to change scenes, gorgeous costumes for the von Trapps hand sewn by someone's mother, and a breakout performance by a guy named Bart, who'd been cast as Baron von Trapp. Now, here it all was happening right around me. I'd never gotten so much as a peek behind the scenes, and I was psyched to have an official
4 Girls
reason to spy. There seemed to be a circus of activity in every corner, and people were milling about, huddled in little groups or stretched out with their feet up on the seats. All at once I heard the sound of enthusiastic clapping.

Tally's friend Buster Hallowell had climbed to the top of a ladder set up on the stage. He was perched on the second to top step, about fifteen feet in the air, holding on to the ladder with one hand as he leaned in the opposite direction. His hand stretched toward a purple sweater dangling from a pipe hung over the stage.

“Buster, you're going to break your neck!” Tally yelled. She was standing in the center of the crowd, clutching her friend Audriana Bingley by the arm. The rest of the crowd showed their approval with wild hoots and applause.

“You've almost got it,” Audriana called. Tally smacked her on the shoulder.

“Don't encourage him!” she shouted.

“Who
encouraged
Martin to throw it up there in the first place?” Audriana retorted. “I need my sweater back!”

Near the edge of the stage, a girl wrapped in a scarlet muffler and wearing matching fingerless gloves stood with her hands on her hips, a disapproving look on her pale face. Her lips were moving, but it wasn't until the clapping died down that I could hear what she was saying.

“—can strain your vocal cords,” she said. “My coach says never to shout, not even if there's a fire or a disaster. Save your voice and let someone else do the yelling.”

Valerie Teale. Of course. Note to self: Do not stand next to this girl during an emergency.

“Buster, come on,” Tally cried even louder. “Get down off there!”

His fingers were not more than a half inch from reaching the sweater. He leaned out a little farther, and I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.

He really is going to fall
, I thought.
And it's going to be bad.

“Buster!” Tally squealed.

In a quick movement, Buster reached forward and swung his hand out. Before I could even catch my breath, he was climbing down the ladder like a monkey, the purple sweater clutched in his hand and a triumphant smile on his face.

Buster tossed the sweater to Audriana. Then he made a deep and lengthy bow to the still-applauding onlookers.

“In the footsteps of the Great Farini and the Flying Wallendas, I give you the Hovering Hallowell!” Buster declared, pointing to himself and bowing again.

He froze midbow, his gaze at the back of the auditorium. Tally and Audriana turned to look at what Buster was focused on. The whole crowd instantly fell silent as if they'd all simultaneously received the same direction.

I turned to see what had gotten everyone's attention.

A man was striding down the center aisle. He was slender, with a thick shock of jet-black hair and little, round glasses perched on his long nose. He wore jeans and a dark-gray turtleneck, a navy-blue sweater draped over his shoulders. As he swept past me I got a slight whiff of cologne—the scent a mixture of oranges and nutmeg. He climbed up the little stairs on the right side of the stage. At the same time, the students all filed off the stage on the opposite staircase, again as if they'd received a telepathic command. By the time the man reached center stage, they were all sitting quietly in the first few rows of seats. Even Tally was silent and at attention.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, his voice deep like a pleasant rumble.

“I am Gideon Barrymore. In the theater”—he paused here to let the word
theater
sink in—“there are no secrets. So some of you may already have heard that your drama teacher, Ms. Whelan, has unexpectedly had to vacate her position to attend to a pressing personal matter.”

I could see Tally nudging Buster and nodding wildly. I guess that explained the State of Shock Tally had been in at lunch. Ms. Whelan was like the center of the Bixby Middle School theater universe.

“As luck would have it, I have just finished an engagement in Manhattan, and as a personal favor to Ms. Whelan, I'm very pleased to be stepping in for her in the great tradition of all understudies who come unexpectedly to the fore in the commitment to an age-old adage—quite simply, the show must go on.”

There was a buzz of excitement rippling through the auditorium at the mention of New York. Tally was leaning forward in her seat, watching intently as if Brad Pitt himself had just descended to the stage on a fluffy cloud of golden glory.

“Know this,” Mr. Barrymore continued, “in the theater there are no levels of distinction, no most important versus least important. I have seen performances in remote hamlets such as your own that rival any I have witnessed on Broadway. As such, I will be treating each of you not as students, but as peers and equals. I will not coddle you or give you any greater or lesser courtesy than I would show any veteran of stage and screen. I consider us all professionals here, and I have great expectations that this showcase of
Annie
will rank among the most memorable that this little school has ever known.”

Wait!
The disappearance of Ms. Whelan and the pep talk by her last-minute replacement would be perfect for the article! I fumbled in my bag, feeling around for my
4 Girls
notebook, but it wasn't there. Feeling panicked that I was letting good material slip away, I grabbed my cell phone, addressed a text message to myself, and began typing some snippets of Gideon Barrymore's remarks.

“I presume you have all brought the audition sides that Ms. Whelan distributed, since actors must always come prepared. I'm going to pass around a clipboard, and I want each person to write their name, contact information, and three—yes, I said three—parts in
Annie
that you would be interested in playing. We will—”

I was glad Mr. Barrymore paused. I was typing on the tiny keyboard as fast as humanly possible, and I was still back on the part about him being fresh off the big stage in New York.

“Excuse me? You—what is your name?”

I was almost done now. Just a few more sentences.

“There are certain offenses I simply will
not
tolerate in the theater.”

Part of my brain registered that somebody was about to get in trouble for something. Bummer for them. I just needed to finish one sentence, then hit send.

“Put that thing down!” Gideon Barrymore barked.

I had that sudden, awful moment where I realized that somebody was definitely in big trouble. And that somebody was ME.

I looked up. Sure enough, Mr. Barrymore was glaring at me—his eyes blazing. I could feel that every person in the room was looking at me, too. My hand opened, and my cell phone clattered to the floor.

“That is the first and last time anyone gets a free pass for using a cell phone in my theater. Are we all absolutely clear about that?”

Everybody seemed completely clear. I was about to throw up I was so embarrassed. There was no way I could try to explain right now. I tried not to cringe, waiting to see if he was going to yell at me some more.

But it was like a shark attack when a great white suddenly turns and swims away after just one bite. Mr. Barrymore went straight back to business, asking for a volunteer to walk the clipboard around. I was left in my seat with a big bite taken out of me, and my cell phone possibly broken at my feet. I was too scared to check, let alone breathe.

I sat there for the next fifteen minutes, silent and still, while the students who planned to audition filled out their forms. I was afraid if I got up to leave, Mr. Barrymore would notice me and have something else to be outraged about. Nobody came over to talk to me, not even Tally. I couldn't blame her—I'm sure she wanted to make a good impression on Gideon Barrymore, and she wasn't going to do that by associating herself with a Rude and Offensive Cell Phone User like me.

“That is all for today,” Mr. Barrymore said finally. “When we reconvene here tomorrow after school, we will begin the audition workshop. I expect each of you to be prepared—know your lines, understand the character you're reading for—give me
depth
.”

With that, Mr. Barrymore turned on his heel and walked down the stairs two steps at a time. Then, in an encore performance of his entrance, he strode up the aisle and disappeared through the door at the back of the auditorium.

In under two seconds, Tally was standing over me.

“Isn't he amazing? Paulina, does he hate you now? Will he ever forgive you? Will you ever forgive
yourself
? How amazing that he was in a show on Broadway! I'm so excited! Do you feel like you're going to
die
?”

I didn't answer any of Tally's questions—I don't think she ever really expected people to. Audriana appeared behind Tally and grabbed her arm.

“What parts did you sign up for? I can't believe he made us pick three!” Audriana said. She had put her purple sweater back on. Her light-brown hair had been recently cut and hung in a perfectly straight line just at her chin. Her bangs were flawlessly even. Audriana always seemed to be thought out in advance, organized. The opposite of Tally, in other words.

I picked my phone up and shoved it in my bag, not checking to see if it was broken or not. My priority was getting out the door. I had just had more than enough of The Theater for one day.

“Annie, Miss Hannigan, and Grace Farrell,” Tally was saying. “What parts did you put down?”

“Annie, Miss Hannigan, and Grace Farrell,” Audriana replied.

“Why did you put down Annie, Aud? You don't want the lead.”

“I don't know,” Audriana said with a shrug. She looked a little taken aback by Tally's comment, but Tally didn't seem to notice. “I just did. I've got nothing to lose by auditioning for it.”

“You'd be perfect for Miss Hannigan,” Tally declared. “You're so great at comedy—you're the perfect sidekick!”

“I don't know . . . I get tired of being the sidekick,” Audriana said.

Tally squeezed Audriana's arm. “You're hilarious,” she said. “Just what a leading lady needs standing beside her.”

Audriana looked like she wasn't so sure she wanted to BE hilarious anymore. I wondered if changing roles in the theater was as hard as changing roles in life. Sometimes I wished I could still be the Girl Unnoticed that I'd been with Evelyn instead of one of The Four like I'd become since we'd launched the magazine. It had been hard . . . but good, too, I think.
Maybe Audriana is ready for that, too
, I thought.
The hard, but good
.

“My mother is picking me up,” I told them. “I should go.”

“Did you hear Valerie Teale talking about that stupid voice coach again?” Tally asked, apparently not even hearing me.

“She probably made the whole thing up,” Audriana replied.

Figuring they wouldn't miss me since they weren't even listening to what I was saying, I left them to their exchange and slipped out the side door. I cut across the playground and doubled back toward the parking area where my mother was supposed to meet me. I scanned the lot for her car, muttering to myself when I couldn't find it. I've tried everything I can think of to get rid of this embarrassing talking-to-myself habit, but nothing works. Midmutter, I realized someone was standing beside me.

Oh great.
It was Mr. Barrymore. I don't think he heard me or even saw me. He was rummaging around in a beat-up-looking briefcase kind-of-a-thing as he walked. I could probably avoid him altogether by bending down to tie my shoe or pretending to be on my phone. Then I remembered our first Phone Incident and vetoed that idea.

This is ridiculous
, I told myself.
If I'm going to write about
Annie,
I can't be terrified of the director.