Cut the Lights (2 page)

We elbow into the crowd. Sonata is there already, congratulating Lorna. Apparently, she'll be directing a play she also wrote. Impressive. I can see over the heads to the sheet taped to Mr. Ty's door. Before we get near, Lorna claps both Ratna and me on the back. “Way to go, you two!”

My mouth goes dry. “We made it?”

Ratna looks stunned, and then a grin widens her tiny face.

“You're the only grade tens on the list.” Lorna smirks like she has a secret. “So if you need any directing tips, Briar, I can…”

“I'm fine,” I say quickly. I don't need anyone's help.

Lorna looks down her long nose. “Of course you are.” She turns away.

“We did it!” Ratna squeals before she disappears to read the list.

I watch her laugh with the others. Lorna hugs Sonata.

I straighten my glasses. Ratna's work is done. Mine is only beginning.

Two

The next day after classes. A drama room in the basement of Whitlock. Dark curtains. A purple carpet. Looming black wooden boxes of various sizes to use for staging. Spotlights heat up the low stage.

Mr. Ty stands in the hall, sending in actors one by one. I'm beside Lorna at the end of a row of seven directors fidgeting in chairs while watching auditions. We're all on edge, hoping to land the perfect cast. The room smells stale. The auditions feel stale too.

Each director takes a turn asking an actor to cold-read a page from his or her script. One actor blocked his face with the script while reading. Another droned in a flat, emotionless voice. A grade-nine girl came in a fairy costume with sparkly wings—totally unprofessional, especially when she was asked to read the part of a ship's captain. Now we're listening to a senior girl give a long speech about why she's an amazing actor. I hike my glasses higher and picture her dressed in funeral black at her own hanging.

“Thanks for auditioning,” I interrupt, even though she hasn't read one line from the script. I'm starting to wonder how I'll ever get a decent cast.

The girl stops abruptly, her hand flying to her throat. “But I didn't—”

“You'll be informed of any callbacks,” Lorna adds. “The final list will be posted in a few days.”

The girl flounces out of the room, her hair swinging.

“You can call her back, Lorna,” says Samuel, a long-haired director who always wears plaid shirts with jeans. “She's all yours.” He smirks.

“But you two would be perfect together.” Lorna's smile is fake-sweet. “I insist you take her.”

I shift uneasily, picturing lightning bolts sparking between Lorna and Samuel. Any director is a bit of a control freak, but seven in one room competing for actors is asking for trouble.

Luckily, Mr. Ty sends in the next actor pronto. It's a grade-eleven guy named Mica. He's pudgy and pale, with a face that shows how nervous he feels.

I perk up. Physically, he'd be a great male lead for my play if Sonata were my female lead. She's leggy and graceful—taller and thinner than him—and the contrast would be perfect. I have three parts to cast: a clueless husband, his demanding wife and the star she wishes on.

Mica heads to center stage. Ratna creeps up behind me—she must have snuck in with Mica.

“How's it going?” she whispers.

I lean back in my chair. “Better now. Mica could play opposite Sonata.”

“You think he's a good choice?” Ratna eyes Mica doubtfully.

Lorna glares at me. “Sonata in your play? Dream on, Briar.”

I ignore them both and give Mica my full attention. It's my turn to direct the audition, and he'll be reading from Ratna's script.

“Hi, Mica.” I keep my tone friendly to put him at ease. “You'll be reading from
Wish Upon a Star
by Ratna Kapur.” Behind me, Ratna makes a happy, squeaking noise in her throat.

“Not a very original title, Ratna,” I hear Lorna whisper. “You may want to rethink.”

“It's about a young wife who wishes upon a star to make improvements to her workaholic husband. It's very funny,” I say a little too forcefully, glancing sideways at Lorna, daring her to contradict me. “You'll be reading the husband's monologue about his wife, Sylvia. The setting is a nineteen-fifties kitchen at night. Your wife is asleep in the next room, and you want a midnight snack.” I pause, deciding to see what he can do on his own before directing him further. “Any time you're ready.” I keep my expression neutral, even though I'm jittery too.

Mica takes a minute to read the script over and then begins.

“‘I'm sure Sylvia didn't mean to burn the steak.'” He rubs his stomach as if he's hungry. “‘She had a hard night. Really.'” He pleads for us to understand. “‘Her car broke down. The dog threw up on her new shoes. I didn't mean to be late for dinner...'”

In the stage lights, his eyes take on the color of strong tea. He doesn't stumble over his words. In fact, he sounds like he reads aloud often.

“That was great,” I say when he's done. But would he have chemistry with Sonata? Would people believe they were married?

“Thanks.” Mica ducks his head as if he isn't used to taking compliments.

“Can you read it again, but this time imagine that your wife has just thrown one of her fuzzy slippers at you for no apparent reason?” I hold my breath, hoping for magic.

“Uh, okay.”

Mica repeats the lines.

This time, his voice is full of doubt. His eyebrows pull together. He looks confused.

My heart thrums. I catch a glimmer of Martin Wright, Sylvia's husband in the play.

“Thanks for auditioning.” I break into a smile, resisting the urge to offer Mica the part right away. I'm supposed to negotiate with the other directors for actors. Still, I have a good chance of casting him, since they'll want the more attractive male actors.

Ratna auditions next—I didn't know she was on the list. She's not bad, although she's obviously more comfortable writing than performing.

After Ratna leaves, I ponder who I could cast as the Star. I want her to be blond and impish, like Tinkerbell. Ashley, another actor who sometimes works with Lorna, might be good.

Then Sonata walks in. Her straight, dark brown hair tumbles down her back. Her olive skin glistens under the lights. She claims the stage with each step. I'm already impressed.

It's Lorna's turn to direct. Her play, titled
Please, Mr. Bank Manager, Save My Mother
, is about two sisters who attempt to rob a bank to get money for their mother's cancer treatments.

“‘Put your hands up and no one gets hurt...'” Sonata begins.

She seems to make eye contact with every one of us. Her posture is flawless. She speaks like she means to gun us down. By the end of her monologue, I'm ready to fork over money for her fictional mother's treatments.

I catch my breath. She's perfect. I have to cast her as Sylvia. But Lorna's sure to want her, and maybe the other directors will too. What to do?

Sonata heads offstage. I stand, knocking my chair over with a loud thud. “Can you do evening rehearsals?” I blurt out.

“Pardon?” Sonata pivots on one foot like a dancer, squinting against the stage lights.

“Briar!” Lorna's eyes are hot coals.

My blood pulses faster. “Because I'd love you to play the lead in
Wish Upon a Star
.” I fumble in my bag. “If you'd just read it, I promise you'll want the role.” I jog closer, holding out the script.

Sonata's eyes find Lorna's before she extends a long-fingered hand to take the script. “Bold move.” She smiles. “I like that.” Then she exits stage right.

I hurry back to my seat. Samuel is laughing at Lorna's pinched face. A few others are frowning.

“That was amateur.” Lorna turns on me, nostrils flaring. She looks me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time. “Why are you wearing those stupid glasses, anyway?”

“Because I can.” I right my chair and take a seat, my heart pounding.

Three

Monday at lunchtime. A medieval jousting field. (At least, you could picture it that way.)

The seven Fringe directors stand on either side of the table, ready to battle it out for the actors they want to cast. Mr. Ty should be at the head of the table as judge, but he refuses to attend because he wants us to work it out ourselves. Lorna is facing me down. I'm glaring right back. Between us is a large chart listing all the plays and actors.

“I want to cast Sonata, Mica and Ashley.” I talk loudly enough to be heard over the bickering of the other directors, their voices thick with their own arguments.

Across the table, Lorna comes back at me, full throttle. “You can't have Sonata or Ashley.” She leans in. “I'm casting them.”

I imagine Lorna lowering her visor and urging her horse into a gallop, her jousting lance aimed at my head.

“Sonata wants to be in my play,” I say, my palms slick with sweat. “She told me so.”

“She didn't say that!” Lorna's voice trembles. I picture her lance slipping out of her hands.

“She found me after media studies and told me that she loves the script. It ‘speaks to her', she said.”

Lorna's face goes scarlet. Her lance crashes to the ground. “It doesn't matter what Sonata wants. Mr. Ty will settle this.” She spins on her heel and marches into the hall.

I follow, breathless. What if Mr. Ty sides with Lorna?

When someone grabs at my shoulder, I jump.

“Whoa, Briar. Calm down.” Samuel raises his hands. “I just wanted to warn you—”

“About what?” I snap. My stomach is a mess of knots.

“I'm not sure you want Sarah in your cast.” He flips his long hair away from his face as if he expects me to admire it.

I stare at him, confused. “You mean Sonata?”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean Sarah—that's what she was in middle school, before she changed her name and got so full of herself. I'm just saying…you may not be glad to get her.”

“Thanks for the warning, Samuel.” I hurry to catch up with Lorna, my shoes squeaking. I don't want her to get to Mr. Ty first.

“I'm not kidding, Briar.” Samuel's voice echoes down the empty hallway. “Why do you think most of the directors don't want to cast her?”

I pick up my pace.

Because they can't handle her, I think.

Mr. Ty's office. Minutes later. Several half-drunk mugs of coffee, piles of scripts, a papier-mâché rhinoceros head and some pirate hats clutter the room. Posters of Shakespeare and past school performances decorate the walls.

Lorna is already yammering to Mr. Ty. “Not only have I had to endure two days of auditions and callbacks with a bunch of amateurs, Briar doesn't even know how to negotiate for actors! She gave Sonata her script and begged her to take the lead! Like it's up to Sonata?” Lorna stomps her foot. Her eyes blaze. “Is Sonata suddenly a director?”

Mr. Ty swivels in his chair, his hands flat on the desk, his calm dark eyes flitting between us, his straight black hair gelled into spikes. “Lorna,” he begins, his tone soothing, “you know I'm more of a learning coach than a teacher. I prefer to nurture independent thought in my students rather than dictate solutions.”

Lorna hardly takes a breath. “You have to settle this, Mr. Ty. Briar is trying to take two of my actors—Sonata and Ashley—and everyone knows that they always work with me. I wrote this play with them in mind. They're perfect for the roles—”

“Didn't you ask me to settle a dispute between you and Sonata during last year's Fringe?”

Lorna gapes. “Yes—I mean, no. It wasn't a dispute. It was a…misunderstanding.”

“I recall that Sonata refused to follow your stage directions and you asked for help.” Mr. Ty turns to me. “I see nothing wrong with sharing a script with an actor.”

Lorna gasps. I straighten my shoulders.

Mr. Ty continues. “Why don't you tell me about your casting plans, Briar?”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and explain how I like the physical differences between Sonata and Mica, and how blond, waif-like Ashley is a perfect fit as the Star.

“Interesting ideas.” Mr. Ty nods. “Briar, did you try to work this out with Lorna?”

“Of course,” I say. “We talked in the directors' meeting. Lorna says I can't have either actor.” I try to sound level-headed. What if I don't get Sonata and Ashley?

“Yes, and you've come to me for a ruling.” Mr. Ty strikes a regal pose and waves an imaginary scepter. “Well, if I must…” He pauses to study Lorna and then me, lingering on my red cat's-eye frames. “Sonata will work with Briar this year.”

A weight lifts off my chest.

“What?” Lorna's voice breaks. “Why?”

Mr. Ty raises one finger. “Because you directed her last year.” He raises another. “Because you two have a history of conflict.”

“But Mr. Ty, you said that casting is eighty percent of the play's interpretation, so I need to choose actors who are right for my vision.” Lorna's fingers are clenched. “Maybe Sonata could do both plays?”