Me and Miranda Mullaly (5 page)

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I can't understand
this obsession Lichtensteiner has with toilet paper, but it's starting to get on my nerves. Again, here I am strolling the hallway on my way to class, the epitome of a model student who is turning over a new leaf, and Lichtensteiner comes out of nowhere and stops me and starts talking about toilet paper. I'm starting to get sick of it.

Anyway, I rush off to the auditorium for these tryouts or auditions or whatever they're called. Mr. Wexler, who's a little bit too excited about the whole thing, if you ask me, tells me and Chollie we can audition first and then head off to basketball practice. Why Chollie wants to be in the play is beyond me, but who cares.

So anyway, here I am up on the stage. Of course, I
don't really know what they expect me to do. I'm thinking maybe it won't be that bad. It can't be worse than the student council speeches. But since I lost my chance to be on student council with Miranda Mullaly, I really have to get into this play, even though, like I said, it's not my thing. I mean, who really wants to be in the play with nerds like Duke and Ralph and my sister? But when I see Miranda sitting out there in the audience, I figure I can hold my nose and go for it.

Even though people don't think I get nervous, since I fool around in class sometimes, my knees are shaking. I'm nervous and I know I look nervous, too. And unlike Duke Samagura, who probably dreams all the time about dancing and singing, I haven't been in anything since elementary school, which is when they make
everyone
go up onstage. And you don't have to try out in elementary school. So, to tell the truth, I'm fairly nervous.

Sharon is no help, either. She gave me the lyrics but she didn't help with the melody or tune or whatever it is. And of course I'm not going to spend my night singing with my sister. She did say to “wow them,” but even that doesn't make much sense to me.

But it all doesn't matter because there I am, up onstage, and everyone's waiting for me to sing. Mr. Wexler, who's wearing this weird red hat, and Miss Kerrigan, an
English teacher who's a real nut about English class and big words, are sitting out there with legal pads, serious as can be.

I channel my inner Andy Samberg and rap out “Hey There” to the tune of “Lazy Sunday.” It's harder than it looks, but I think I do a pretty good job, rapping like I've been rapping my whole life and trying my best to “wow them.”

By the time I'm done, I'm sort of out of it. Sometimes, when I'm really nervous, things kind of slow down and my vision gets blurry. Weird, right? So as I'm rapping I can't see too far in front of me, which is a good thing because I really don't want to do it in front of the whole school anyway.

Slowly, everything starts working again. My vision gets clear and sounds become sharper and the world goes back to regular speed. And what do I see? Mr. Wexler, the old bugger, has a big smile on his face and he's clapping. So is Miss Kerrigan. She's clapping along with him.

So all in all, I guess it went pretty well.

But just in case, I jump off the stage and rush off to basketball practice, keeping my eye out for that lunatic Lichtensteiner.

What a day.

I skipped out a little early from art class to toss some toilet paper on the walls of the second-floor bathroom. No one saw me, and the world's worst art teacher, Mr. O'Reiley (a huge joke who thinks the garbage my classmates create should hang in the Louvre
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), never even noticed I left class.

I was the first to get to the auditorium, but good old Mr. Wexler, who'd donned a red beret (a nice touch, I thought), was already there, sitting in the middle row alongside Miss Kerrigan.

With great excitement and enthusiasm, I took a seat to their right. But I waited and I waited and I wasn't sure what was going on. Being a man of action, I approached the two so they would know I was not playing games. You really don't want to go into an audition not ready to go. And I was ready to go.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wexler. I'm ready when you are.”

“Great, Duke, super. Just take a seat and we'll call you.”

This was not the reaction I was expecting. Still, Mr. Wexler was in charge, so I took my seat. More and more
students trickled in. After a few minutes it was obvious Mr. Wexler was waiting for someone.

“What are we waiting for, Mr. Wexler?” I asked.

“I told some of the basketball players they could audition before practice began. Oh, here they are now.” Mr. Wexler smiled as Chollie Muller and Sam Dolan walked down the aisle. It was disgusting.

Mr. Wexler turned to Miss Kerrigan. “Isn't this fantastic?”

If I were a vengeful person I would return to Penn Valley in five years and put sugar in Mr. Wexler's gas tank. What a moron. No, Mr. Wexler, it isn't fantastic. Theatre is not something one just throws oneself into for a lark or on a whim. It's a passion. It's a way of life.

I had no choice but to sit and watch these two massacre the great lyrics and melodies from a timeless work of art. For a person with a brain and respect for theatre, it was torture, pure torture.

At first I was so angry my hands were shaking. But once I saw Chollie Muller try to audition, I laughed it off.

“From the top,” Mr. Wexler said, handing him the lyrics.

Chollie just stood there with the stupid “Huh?” expression he wears every second of the day.

“From the top,” Mr. Wexler repeated, a little too kindly, in my opinion. This was an audition, for heaven's sake.

“The top of what?” Chollie managed to ask.

It took every ounce of self-control to not yell out, “Fraud! Fraud! He doesn't love musical theatre. He doesn't even know what it is. He has no respect for the art or the artist. Get that bum off the stage!”

Somehow I kept control. It helps to have class. And Knuckles and Moose.

“We need to hear your voice. Can you sing that song?” Mr. Wexler asked.

“I don't know how it goes.”

“Can you sing something?” Mr. Wexler asked, leading him along.

Chollie shrugged. You would've thought Mr. Wexler had asked him a question about nuclear physics.

“How about ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb'?” Mr. Wexler asked.

Like a three-year-old, Chollie nodded. Mr. Wexler pointed to Mrs. Lambert, and she accompanied Chollie as he sang “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

Everyone thought it was great fun. I couldn't believe it. Even Ralph Waldo, my chief rival for the role of Sid, yelled, “Encore!” and meant it! And when I looked back, Miranda had a smile on her face. Incredible.

Mercifully, Chollie was done. Next up was Sam Dolan.

Unlike Chollie, Sam was ready to go. “I'm going to perform ‘Hey There,'” he told Mr. Wexler, as if he'd been auditioning his entire life.

Mrs. Lambert started to play the accompaniment on the piano.

“Oh, I won't need the piano,” Sam said.

Mr. Wexler raised his eyebrows as if he was very impressed. I was about to be sick.

Then Sam snapped his fingers and started rapping the lyrics to “Hey There” as if he were one of Cassandra and Neal's subjects.
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I was shocked, utterly shocked. This is how civilizations crumble.

Personally, I thought Sam Dolan should have been tossed from the auditorium, and I smiled to myself imagining Knuckles and Moose dragging him off the stage. But my revelry ended when I saw Mr. Wexler applauding, eating it up like a pig at a trough.

“Well done, Sam! Well done, indeed. Very interesting interpretation,” Mr. Wexler gushed.

Sam left and the travesty was over. And I left as well, needing a moment to collect my thoughts, breathe deeply,
count to ten, and shake the disgraceful auditions from my mind.

After pacing the halls and mentally preparing for my audition, I walked back to the auditorium to the sound of the mellifluous voice of Miranda belting out “I'm Not at All in Love.” A smile broke over my face, my anger receded. At last, true talent! I was ready once again for the audition of a lifetime.

It was quite a shock, however, to see that the heavenly singing came from Sharon Dolan, Sam's younger sister. She finished and the crowd cheered as I searched for Miranda. But she was gone.

No matter, for we would be onstage together soon enough.

I was called up next. And I proved I am not made of sugar candy,
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nailing my audition with a crowd-pleasing rendition of “Once a Year Day.”

Yours truly, in my opinion, single-handedly restored some sanity to the asylum otherwise known as Penn Valley Middle School.

Boy, do I feel really good about everything.

Trying out for the play isn't easy. I'm really sweating up there onstage with everybody watching. And it's weird sweating when you're not running around. I sort of feel like I'm in trouble, but all I really have to do is sing a song. There are tons of people watching and waiting for their turn to try out, but it's all okay when I see Miranda Mullaly in the back. And what's so hard about singing “Mary Had a Little Lamb”? Mr. Wexler even has someone playing the piano for me. If you haven't ever sung a song like that out of the blue, a little background music helps a lot.

Billy says it's because I'm in love, and he teases me a bit when I tell him. But I don't care at all because I feel so good.

Basketball practice is a little different.

The big championship game is next week. This is it. It all comes down to this one game and we're all sort of nervous. Even Coach. He's really off his game, having us run drills, then changing his mind and having us run gassers, which is really just us sprinting back and forth on the court. Then he's blowing his whistle again and having us break presses and run fast-break drills.

No one's ever seen Coach this wound up, and he is the most wound-up guy in the school, at least whenever we play against Cedarbrook.

I think we're going to be okay. We really need to just get out there and play.

Billy feels the same way I do. He tells me to relax, which is of course easier said than done. But actually, since I have Miranda in my life and the pressure of trying out for the play, I'm not thinking about basketball every minute of the day, which might be a good thing.

To: Tom

From: Miranda

Date: January 11, 2016 8:46 PM

Subject: I Miss You!

———————————————————————————

Tom,

I can't thank you enough for your words of encouragement last night about the auditions. You were right, I needed to have the right attitude. I was positive and confident and assured. And all because of YOU!

I sang “I'm Not at All in Love” and feel I hit the notes right about where I wanted. There's a seventh-grader who nailed it. But I doubt Mr. Wexler would give her the lead. An eighth-grader deserves the role and I will be confident because that's your advice.

I'm so happy you know so much about theater. You can't believe some of the auditions that I had to sit through! I won't bore you with the details besides telling you the “star” of the basketball team auditioned. He sang “Mary Had a Little
Lamb” because he didn't know anything else.

Ugh! I can't wait to get out of middle school.

Why do you have to be so far away?!

Big big hugs!

Miranda

To: Erica

From: Miranda

Date: January 11, 2016 8:57 PM

Subject: Ugh!!!!!

———————————————————————————

E

I think today was the worst day of my life. I can't believe I messed up my audition. How could I possibly forget the lyrics?!

BTW—am I crazy or was it totally unfair that Mr. Wexler had Chollie Muller and Sam Dolan audition before the real auditions began?!

I hope you know that you were awesome today. No matter what roles we get I know we're going to have great fun. And we get to make fun of Mr. Wexler's berets!

Also, sorry I haven't been at lunch (science project!) but we'll catch up in the cafeteria tomorrow. I promise.

M