Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters (16 page)

Hot or not, that guy thinks he is way too awesome.

I definitely shouldn’t have turned around.

24

Audition day for
Fiddler
arrives before I have time to blink, but since I spent two whole hours last night practicing the song from
Wicked
in front of my bathroom mirror (when not procrastinating by reenacting the run-in with the newspaper guy, only with me sounding less like a dolt), I feel pretty confident about the whole audition business. I also decided it would actually be best
not
to listen to the original version of the song or look it up on YouTube, so I wouldn’t be influenced by anyone else’s dramatic choices.

The school day finally grinds to a halt and I head to the drama building with Em. It seems that Cassidy auditioned at lunch because she had a voice lesson right after school, and afterward she loudly proclaimed in history class that she
definitely
will be getting a lead role in the show. Well, we’ll just see about that, Ms. Freshman Theater Wannabe.

Em and I sit down in the hall outside the theater to wait for our turns; she closes her eyes and I can see her lips moving as she mentally rehearses her song. I sort of pretend to do math homework while going over my song in my head at the same time, which I think makes me look less nervous. But after seeing how nervous everyone else is, it’s suddenly occurred to me that this play audition thing might be the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life and I should definitely head home immediately.
What was I thinking?
Maybe I’ll go over to the
Reflector
office and offer to organize their photo database. Or start a Save the Manatees Club. Anything, really, but stand up alone on a stage and sing in front of people.

Mr. Zinner comes out and calls Em’s name. I squeeze her hand and she goes into the theater. Now it’s just me and a bunch of people I don’t know. Waiting. I’m just about to start hyperventilating when JoJo comes dashing down the hallway.

“JoJo, what are you doing here?” I slide over so she can sit down next to me.

“I decided to audition after all. Why not?”

“What? I just saw you last period and you didn’t say anything! When did you decide, like five minutes ago?”

“Yeah,” she says, grinning. JoJo Andover strikes again. “What did you decide to sing?”

“This song called ‘Defying Gravity,’” I tell her. “It’s from—”

“From
Wicked
?”

“Yes! Why, have you seen it?”

“Yeah, my mom knows the makeup designer or someone and we got house seats. But Kels, did you listen to the album or anything? That’s a
really
hard song.”

I sigh. “JoJo, I played it about a million times on the piano. It’s not really that hard.”

She looks at me like,
Okay, it’s your funeral
.

“Maybe I’m just very musical. Has that ever occurred to you?”

“Well, at least your tooth looks normal again. So that’s good, right?” I thwack her on the arm. “Sorry! You’ll be great. I have total faith in your amazing musicality!”

Em comes out and Mr. Zinner calls for JoJo to go in. “How was it?” I ask Em.

“Not so bad, actually. You know, you just stand on the stage and sing and they say thanks and that’s it. No big deal, really.”

But a few minutes later, JoJo comes out, shaky, pale, and looking like she’s about to vomit. And before I have a chance to ask how it went, I am summoned.

I walk to the piano and hand over my music, then climb up onstage. I try to pretend that this is actually a reality show that I’m watching instead of the most terrifying moment of my life. It helps a tiny bit.

Mr. Mackler, the music teacher, kind of gives me a funny look when he sees my song selection, which is annoying, but whatever. Does no one have faith in me? Geez.

He starts to play the introduction. I have to say, the song sounds a lot more complicated with all those extra notes in there. I feel this huge gush of nerves in my stomach, and I realize I’m not entirely sure where to look while I’m singing. At Mr. Zinner’s combover? At the empty chairs out in the audience? Do I pretend I’m talking to someone on the stage?

Then it’s my cue … I come in for my first note, but for some reason the guy’s playing it, like, an entire octave up from where it belongs. I stick to the way I’d practiced it—nice and low. I keep going, throwing in some arm movements for good measure (and distraction?), but I’m thinking,
Is it possible I practiced this an octave below where it should be? No. That’s ridiculous. Right?
I soldier on. Hmmm. The end sounds like it should be much bigger than I thought with Mr. Mackler playing the piano all high and swirly like that with big chords and arpeggios and things.
Ugh, just let me out of here already!

Finally, it’s over; Mr. Zinner and the others sort of look at one another and then at me. Are they smiling? Is that an at-me or a with-me smile? Not sure. I quickly mumble thanks and bust out of there. And just like that, my first theatrical audition is over.

Em is waiting outside. “How’d it go?”

I grimace. “Not sure. I think I might have stunk, actually.”

“Oh, come on—I’m sure you were awesome! You think we might both get cast?”

“I dunno,” I reply. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, though. Hey, where’d JoJo go?”

“Bathroom. She thought she was going to puke and didn’t want an audience.”

“Em, I seriously don’t think I’ve ever seen JoJo nervous before!” I shove the
Wicked
score into my backpack.

“I know. So, should we check on her?”

“Well, I
have
seen JoJo mad. So, no—definitely not. Better to call her later.”

Em laughs, linking her arm through mine, and we head for the subway station.

When I get home, I go onto YouTube immediately. There are about a thousand entries for this song, with a whole bunch of different actresses singing it. I click on one.

Gulp. Um, JoJo was right—the song is impossibly high and
hard
. No wonder Mr. Mackler looked at me funny! I sang the whole song an octave down from where it belongs—and maybe
two
octaves below at the end. Why didn’t he stop me? I am mortified.
Mortified!

This revenge plan may not turn out as well as I had hoped.

25

A week goes by. Nothing. Evidently we are going to be kept in suspense about the cast list for approximately forever.

Every time I walk past the bulletin board between classes, I see Ned Garman frantically checking it. He and his drama groupies go racing up to the board like the Holy Grail is going to be thumbtacked there if they just keep looking every five seconds. I’m tempted to stick up a random piece of paper just to watch them hustle over to read it.

But I have to admit—I’m curious, too.

On Friday, as we walk to second period together, Em and I brainstorm about what to do this weekend to take our minds off the cast list anxiety. We’re almost to our classroom when Cassidy comes dashing past us in tears, followed closely by Jordan Rothman. Everyone in the hall turns and stares at them, of course, and then the whispering starts. Not like there isn’t some kind of scene every day around this place, but it’s different when it’s someone you know.

Em and I look at each other—we know the cast list hasn’t gone up yet, so there’s only one other possibility. “You think he came clean about Lori?” she asks.

“Are you kidding? I bet she caught him red-handed! Or … lipped. Or whatever.”

“Poor Cass.” Em looks like she’s going to cry, too.

“Oh, sweetie. Are you … thinking about, you know, James?”

Well, that was definitely not the right thing to say. Em’s eyes fill up with tears.

“No. I mean … well, a little.” She sniffs, pulling herself together. “I just feel so bad for Cass. She’s so crazy about Jordan. We should probably go see if she’s okay, don’t you think?”

“You go. She’ll just think I’m there to say ‘I told you so,’ and anyway … she hasn’t exactly earned my sympathy the last couple of months.”

“Yeah, I know. But maybe now you guys can patch—”

“One thing at a time, Ms. Peacemaker. Go forth and bring cheer to the wounded. But do feel free to mention that I
did
actually tell her so … you know, if it comes up.”

Em gives me a disapproving look and heads after Cassidy.

The hours drag by … Econ, pointless … Math class, boring … lunch, disgusting … English, endless … and
then
! At the very end of the day, there’s something on the bulletin board!

The entire free world crowds around the new and official-looking piece of paper attached by assorted thumbtacks.
Even if I don’t get cast,
I think,
I will be happy for Em and JoJo if they do. I will be supportive
.
Or at least I will fake it to the best of my ability.

Em wriggles up to the front and gets a peek. She gives me a thumbs-up over her head. Seriously, again with the thumbs-up?! What does that even
mean
?

I spy Ned Garman leaning against a locker across the hall and feigning nonchalance, but he is definitely not
that
good an actor, because he looks over at the board every three seconds and is practically hyperventilating. Julie is with him; she seems to have forgotten about me lately and I don’t want to remind her that I exist. I duck behind a tall kid with a puffy coat to stay out of her line of vision.

Two sophomore drama girls break away from the crowd and come screeching over to Ned and Julie. Apparently his brilliance is unwavering: Ned’s been cast in the starring role of Tevye the Milkman.

I see Cassidy, who seems to have recovered from the Jordan-related events of this morning, push up to the front. She takes a good, long look at the list and storms away from the board, looking pissed off. This is clearly not her day.
Sweet.
Um, I mean,
Oh. That’s too bad.

Finally, I can’t take the suspense for another second. I push my way up to the board and look at the bottom of the list first, where the chorus members are listed—there’s Em and Cassidy. My name isn’t there. I feel a tug of despair in the pit of my stomach, but I try to ignore it.

Then I look up at the main list. JoJo is the fourth name on there, as Hodel. That’s the daughter with her own song—a major part. Wow! And … Oh my God. My name is on there, too, and it’s near the
top
!

I actually got a part!

Okay, okay … so, who am I? I look on the character name side … in the row with
Kelsey Finkelstein,
it says
Lazar Wolf.

What the heck is a Lazar Wolf? Am I playing a wolf? Is that a Native American name? I don’t remember any Native Americans in the movie version of this show at all.

I’m about to call JoJo to congratulate her—and ask her if she has any clue what my part is—when Julie Nelson, with Ned in tow, looms up in front of me like the terrifying gorgon that she is.

“Oooh, Kelsey,” she croons. “Looks like you have a play now, too, not just a soccer team. Isn’t that great, Nedward? You can be in Kelsey’s play!”

Thank you, Julie. Thanks so much.

I smile weakly at Julie and say congrats to Ned (who is still trying to look world-weary but obviously can’t wait to go squealing through the streets with the news of his greatness), then I look at my phone and pretend to be composing a very important text message in the hopes that Julie will go away.

She doesn’t go away. Instead she sneers, “Seriously, two freshmen with lead parts this year … what was Zinner thinking? Well, I’m sure you’re
super
excited about yours.” Then she looks at Ned and they both snort with laughter in a very obnoxious way.

“Yeah, thanks, that’s really nice of you. Um … I don’t actually know who—”

“You don’t? Oh, no wonder you don’t seem excited yet!” Julie practically shrieks. “Well, Ned, why don’t you tell Kelsey about her role—after all, you two have a big scene together, right?”

“Yes, a pivotal one,” Ned says pompously. “My character’s dramatic arc in Act One centers in part around—” He shuts up when he sees Julie glaring at him. He clears his throat. “Lazar Wolf is the butcher who asks for Tevye’s eldest daughter’s hand.”

Julie starts cracking up. So do several drama groupies who have stepped away from the cast list to eavesdrop on Almighty Ned.

I’m still lost.

“I didn’t know there were women butchers in … um, olden times. Was that in the movie?” I inquire.

“No, it’s much better than that,” Julie chokes out. “They must’ve run out of guys, or maybe they just saw something
really
special in you, because Lazar Wolf is”—she gasps for air—“the fat old butcher. A
male
butcher. A big, fat, old man. And you’re playing him. Hahahahaha!”

Hahahahaha!

Wait.
What?

26

Julie is still crying with laughter as she drags Ned off. The groupies follow them, bowing and scraping. Meanwhile, I am rooted to the spot, aghast at the news.

How could this have happened? I can’t play a man! Certainly not an old fat butcher! Is this because I sang so low at the audition? Did they think I was actually a guy?

There is no way I am being in this play.
No. Way.
I mean, why?! Is God punishing me because I made three mistakes during my bat mitzvah service two years ago? Surely I can tell Mr. Zinner that I made a huge error auditioning in the first place and that I want out, right?

I storm out of school without waiting for any of my friends. By the time I get home, I’m still not sure if I should write a heartfelt resignation letter to Mr. Zinner or suck it up and try to get excited about the fact that I did sort of get a lead part. I hang up my bag and am about to holler up the stairs to see if anyone is around when the front door opens and my sister and my mom come in. Travis is munching away on a humungous ice cream cone.

“Mom, what are you doing home from work so early?” I ask suspiciously.