D Is for Drama (5 page)

My eyebrows rose. That was Ilana's handwriting.

She's quiet but good!
Someone else wrote
in pink pen.

Maybe if she gestured more with her
hands?
Another person suggested in blue.

Forget it
, wrote Ilana.
This
isn't Mime-y Poppins
. She won't work as a lead.

I frowned at the assessment. Bree
was
quiet, but
if she had a microphone, she'd be fine. Ilana needed to give her some credit.

I shifted that assessment to the back and looked at the next one for a boy
named Max. Again, the first comment was from Ilana.

Does he have to shout everything? Although . . . between him and Brie, we'd have a normal-sounding
person.

“Awww!” I said out loud. At a look from my algebra teacher, I
added, “Curse you, stupid equation!”

The teacher frowned but turned away, and I went back to reading
Max's assessment.

But he's cute!
commented the judge with
the pink pen.

Plus, he's funny
, added the blue.

Yeah, and he could shatter glass with his voice
,
wrote Ilana.
Make him a village kid.

I glanced at Ilana, who was giving her makeover pitch to a girl in orange
lipstick. Considering what she'd said
about not having
control, she seemed to be calling a lot of the shots on casting.

I read the other assessments, and the pattern was the same. Thoughtful
comments from her co-judges and thinly veiled insults from Ilana. Every rejection was
for some reason that
might
make a little sense if it
wasn't so incredibly shallow.

At the bottom of the pile, I found mine.

Cute! She'd be good as the housekeeper
,
wrote Ilana.

The
housekeeper
? I snapped my head up to glare
in her direction.

Ilana hadn't suggested me for Mary Poppins at all!

I returned to the page to see what the others had to say.

We already have that role filled
, wrote Pink
Pen.
How about Jane Banks?

Or even Mary Poppins?
suggested Blue Pen.
Sunny's a pretty good singer.

I felt a momentary surge of satisfaction that at least
someone
had considered me for a lead role.

But then I saw Ilana's next comment.

Jane Banks can't be Asian with white parents.
It's not normal. And an Asian Mary Poppins would just be weird.

“What?!” I shouted. “Are you kidding me?”

The math teacher scowled and pointed at the door.

“That's enough for one class. Principal's office,”
she said.

I knew there was no chance for redemption, so I grabbed my stuff and
headed toward the door. On my way out I slapped the audition assessments on
Ilana's desk.

“See you at Chase's practice” was all I said.

MY WALK HOME
after school was a blur, each step turbo-fueled by anger.
I'd never felt more betrayed than I did by Ilana at that moment. A few times came
close, like when my parents told me swearing killed the dinosaurs, but at least
they
hadn't done it for shallow, evil reasons.

Plus, the principal still remembered me from his wigtastrophe, so
I'd gotten Saturday detention for the second time that year, which would
not
please my parents. Asian Bad Girl was a role they
wouldn't have me play unless it came with the chance for an Emmy.

I wanted to get home to an empty house, but to my ultra irritation, I
smelled kimchi the second I opened the front door. While I normally love Korean food,
spicy pickled cabbage is
not
a soothing scent, and it could
only mean Grandma was still lingering.

Sure enough, only a few seconds passed before she
stepped into the living room and beckoned me to the kitchen. I followed, dropping my bag
on the counter.

A huge glass jar sat on the dining table, packed with red chili juice and
white cabbage. Two steaming bowls of rice waited beside them.

“Your parents are out meeting a friend,” she said. “They
may have a surprise for you soon.”

“Oh.” I didn't have the heart to act excited.
“That's nice.”

Grandma handed me a bowl of rice and a fork to spear the kimchi.
“You don't like surprises?” she asked.

“Not unless it's Ilana Rourke's head on a stick.”
I stabbed a piece of cabbage and ate it straight from the jar.

Grandma watched me. “I don't understand.”

I shook my head and mumbled around a mouthful of rice. “It's
not important.”

I swallowed a second bite of rice to tone down the spiciness of the
kimchi. The sides of my nose had started to sweat. Grandma nodded and sat down, scooping
some cabbage from the jar for herself.

“How was school?” she asked. The look on her face was
genuinely concerned, so I forced a smile.

“Fine,” I said. “The usual eighth-grade
hijinks.”

“Ah. And what did you learn about the
play
?” asked Grandma.

I stopped chewing. In all the madness over Ilana and my one-girl show,
I'd forgotten to create an alibi.

But it
was
my show. Why couldn't I just
make up a schedule?

“We meet after school, and rehearsals start Thursday,” I told
Grandma.

My lips tingled, and my tongue felt like it was on fire. I tried to cool
it with a sip of water, holding it in my mouth.

Grandma leaned forward. “Spicy, isn't it?”

I nodded and gulped half the glass of water.

“That's what happens with Truth Kimchi,” said Grandma.
She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin while I wiped at my forehead with a sleeve.

“Truth Kimchi?” I repeated.

Grandma narrowed her eyes wisely. “Ancient recipe. Every time you
lie, it gets hotter,” she said.

My stomach gurgled uncomfortably. “Well, it's not that
hot,” I said. To prove it, I slid another piece of fiery cabbage in my mouth.
Grandma took two pieces and ate them solemnly, watching me.

“Your eye always twitches like that?” she
asked. “And your nose leaks?”

I sniffed deeply and opened my eyes wider, blinking rapidly. “Just
allergies,” I said. Tiny fireballs threatened to shoot from my mouth.

Grandma smiled widely and shoveled a stack of kimchi into my bowl.
“Eat this. It clears sinuses.”

I looked down at my bowl and laughed nervously. If Grandma kept up the
questions, the Truth Kimchi was going to burn a hole through my stomach.

Of course, there was always the possibility she was tricking me.

“I don't believe this is really Truth Kimchi,” I said,
though the words were garbled with my tongue pressed to a napkin.

“No?” asked Grandma. She reached under the table and produced
a bottle of thick golden liquid. “Then this isn't really
antidote.”

She poured a little into my empty water glass, and I sniffed at it before
taking a sip. After a few seconds, the burning sensation in my mouth subsided. I
breathed contentedly and let her pour the rest.

“Now that we know you are lying, why don't we start
over?” asked Grandma.

I slunk down in my seat, red-faced from both the
kimchi and embarrassment. My brain worked overtime, trying to figure out how I could
talk about Ilana and my one-girl show without admitting I wasn't the star of
Mary Pops In
.

Grandma leaned closer. “I know you're not the star.”

My glass slipped and hit the table. That was one secret out of the
way.

“Yes, fine,” I said, righting my glass. “I'm just
an extra, but it's the biggest part I've ever gotten. And when you guys
thought it was the biggest part
period
, I couldn't
correct you.” I focused on my glass and swirled the golden residue around the
bottom. “I didn't want you to be disappointed again.”

“Sunny.” Grandma covered my hand with hers. “We are
disappointed only if you give up,” she said with a smile. “Because you try,
we are always proud.”

My eyes watered again, but it wasn't because of the kimchi.
“Thanks, Grandma,” I said.

She squeezed my hand and let it go. “So you didn't get the
part,” she said. “Did the committee give a reason?”

I made a face. “That's why I'm mad at Ilana. She's
supposed
to be my friend, but she wouldn't cast me
because ‘an Asian Mary Poppins would just be weird.'” I snorted and
rolled my eyes. “Crazy, right?”

Grandma rubbed her chin with a finger and shook her
head. “Not crazy. Disappointing.” She got up and carried the kimchi jar into
the kitchen.

I turned to watch. “What's that mean?”

Grandma's eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Ilana is a good actress but
she judges people. I hear her talking after last year's show.”

My forehead wrinkled. “You did? Where was I?”

“Hugging people and giving them rashes,” said Grandma with a
frown.

I rolled my eyes. “
Sorry
. What did Ilana
say?”

Grandma hesitated then sighed. “She says the heavy girl with the
pretty voice takes up too much stage. And the boy with the stutter makes the show last
an hour longer.”

I winced even though the verbal jabs hadn't been directed at me. I
knew the kids she was talking about, Anne Marie and Cole. They were really sweet and
definitely didn't deserve that.

“Maybe we should move,” I told Grandma. “To a city where
nobody judges.”

Grandma laughed and poured the kimchi down the drain. “That is
make-believe. No matter where you go, there is judgment. Too rich, too poor, too young,
too old . . . even
in your magazines.” She
nodded at one that had slid out of my backpack. “You think the cover shows heavy
people?”

I glanced at the copy of
Style Now
. A gorgeous,
slender girl smiled up from the front cover.

“That doesn't make it right,” I said.

“I agree,” said Grandma, filling the jar with water and soap.
“But it is the way things are.”

I tossed the magazine on the counter. After all the hard work I'd
put into my audition, that answer was
not
the right one.

“If nobody else wants to change things, then
I
will,” I said. “Tell Mom and Dad I'll be back in a few
hours.”

Grandma looked up in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“To confront Ilana.” I burped and made a face. “After I
brush my teeth.”

She nodded, and I started for the staircase, then paused. “I guess
the Truth Kimchi really works. You should have kept some.”

Grandma smiled. “There is no Truth Kimchi. Just extra hot
peppers.”

I smiled back. “You tricked me!”

“I
outsmarted
you,” she said,
holding up a finger. “Big difference.”

“How?”

“If I trick my granddaughter, I'm mean,” said Grandma
with a wink. “If I outsmart her, I'm wise.”

I laughed and ran upstairs to prep for my showdown with Ilana. If things
were gonna get
West Side Story
, I'd need my toughest
pair of boots and my skull T-shirt. Granted, it was a skull decorated with pink
rhinestones, but the message was clear.

Nobody messed with Villager Number Two.

SIX

O
NE BUS RIDE LATER I
was climbing into the bleachers at the ball field. Ilana was sitting with a few girls, cosmetic case on her lap, and as soon as she spotted me, she nudged the girls on either side of her. They stopped talking and eyed me warily.

I nodded at Ilana's friends. “Would you mind leaving for a second?”

Ilana whirled around to give them a
don't you dare
look, and they glanced at one another nervously.

I crossed my hands over my chest. “Or I can show you a new face kick I learned in Tae Kwon Do.”

“Bye!” one of the girls blurted, and fled the stands. The others scrambled after her.

I didn't really know Tae Kwon Do, but people seemed to think “Asian” equaled martial arts expert. I could have told the girls I was a ninja, and they would have believed it.

Ilana watched her friends bail, then laughed nervously. “You know, I promised one of them a makeover, so I should . . .”

She got up to leave, and I stepped in her path.

“Sit.”

“Right.” She dropped back onto the bench.

“I saw those mean things you wrote about people in the audition assessments,” I said.

Ilana had the nerve to look offended. “Not mean. Truthful. And why do you care? I didn't say anything bad about
you
.”

My eyes widened. “You said I couldn't be Mary Poppins because I'm Asian!” I exclaimed.

People sitting nearby glanced over. Ilana blushed and tried to defend herself.

“An Asian Mary Poppins isn't believable,” she said.

I clapped a hand to my forehead. “Mary Poppins uses an
umbrella
to fly around London and hops into chalk drawings. How is
that
any more believable?”

Ilana turned up her nose. “It's understood that she's a little different.”

“Then why not make her Asian?” I asked.

“Because that's a
lot
different!” said Ilana. “People want what's familiar.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We're talking about
Mary Pops In
. A musical where ‘A Spoonful of Sugar' is now ‘A Canful of Cola.'”

Ilana waved my argument away. “That's nothing.”

“Ilana, come
on
!” I cried. This time, it was loud enough for some of the players to hear, including Chase.