Rule of Three (10 page)

Mr. C asked her to act like a spoiled princess.

She doesn’t even have to act for that one!
I wrote, passing my notebook to Olivia.

When the cold reading was over, it was time for Alex to do her song. I explained to Olivia about the Top Ten Songs Not to Sing list. “Here it comes,” I whispered. “Time for Mr. Cannon to roll his eyes and stick his finger down his throat like he’s puking.” I mimed Mr. Cannon throwing up, and Olivia almost lost it.

“Mr. Cannon,” I heard Alex say. “I just need a quick costume change. It will only take two seconds — I promise.”

“Costume change?” I said. “I never thought about a costume. Were we supposed to have a costume?”

“What’s her costume?” Olivia wanted to know.

“How should I know?” I said, zeroing in on my cuticle and biting it.

“She’s
your
sister.”

Alex glided onstage looking like the goddess Psyche in pink butterfly pajamas and fuzzy slippers, a fuschia feather boa draped around her neck.

I sat up straight.
Was that dripping wet hair?

When Alex sashays onto a stage, it makes everybody sit up a little taller, lean in a little closer. She has a way about her. My dad calls it stage presence. It means smiling, looking out over your audience, and keeping going even if you feel like you’re about to hurl.

Oh, and something about good posture, too.

I could never do what Alex did. I would (a) die of embarrassment in my pajamas, (b) slump like a camel, and (c) trip on that feather boa for sure!

“What happened to her hair?” Olivia asked.

But before you could say
moat swimmer,
Alex made a show of squeezing shampoo from a bottle into her hand. She exaggerated lathering it up on her head until it was all foamy and sudsy, and just as I was beginning to wonder if my sister had seriously lost it, she started singing: “‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair.’”

At first, she sort of half spoke, half sang, then she pantomimed actions, which had everybody laughing. She even threw in a few funny dance steps in her slippers.

Brilliant, really. Because as I watched her and I was laughing, I almost forgot about her singing, which wasn’t half bad. Way better than Fluffernutter (Jayden Pffeffer). Over the years, I had seen my sister as Annie, as Dorothy, as Beauty, as Mushroom in the Rain. I’d even seen her in an honest-to-goodness, for-real shampoo commercial when she was like three.

Stage presence. Alex sure got extra helpings when they passed that around.

There were three auditions to go after Alex. Then, just like that, it was over, and Mr. Cannon was up onstage, making an official announcement.

“I realize that it’s customary to wait and post a list with callbacks, but since you’re all here and we have some extra time, I’d like to ask a few of you to stay behind. If I call your name, please come see me.”

I shifted in my seat, dropped my notebook, sat on my hands.

“The rest of you are free to go. Cast list will be posted outside my office on Wednesday at three p.m. Thanks for coming in, everybody. Great job, people.” He went down the list on his clipboard, calling out names.

Nathan Holabird. Jayden Pffeffer. Allen Albertson. Zoe DuFranc. And Stevie Reel.

“That’s you!” squealed Olivia beside me.

I couldn’t trust my own ears. “Are you sure he said Stevie Reel? Not Alex?” I asked.

“No. You. Go, girl!” said Olivia.

My heart was thumping through my stolen shirt as I scurried up to the stage. But it pounded even harder when I got to the front of the theater and saw the back of Alex rush up the aisle and disappear out the door marked
EXIT.

COMEDY LOST

Starring Alex

Me
:
(Standing with back against wall in hallway, willing myself to breathe, breathe, breathe.)

Scott
: Hey, Shakespeare? You OK?

Me
:
(Don’t freak out. Don’t. Freak. Out.)
Sorry. I’m just freaking out because I realized I lost half of my favorite necklace. It’s kind of a good-luck charm. And then when Mr. Cannon didn’t call me back . . .

Scott
: That doesn’t mean you didn’t get the part. Cannon isn’t even done auditioning. He doesn’t even know himself yet. Nothing’s decided.

Me
:
(Snapping.)
Don’t you get it?
(Calm down! Be nice!)
He doesn’t even have to think it over. He knew right away exactly who he wanted for callbacks — Stevie, not me. Who can compete with that voice? What was I thinking, going out there in my pajamas with dripping wet hair? I must be nuts. There’s only one word for me. Starts with L, ends with O-S-E-R.

Scott
: You were great up there today. You nailed it. I know you were all super-scared, but it was good. And funny.

Me
:
(You’re just saying that ’cause you like me.)
You’re just saying that.

Scott
: No way. I mean it.

Me
: You mean it? Really?

Scott
: Look, I’m out here in the hall with you, aren’t I?

Me
: So?

Scott
: So, I’m not in there.
(Nods toward theater.)

Me
: So . . .

Scott
: Duh. I didn’t get a callback either.

Me
: Oh, sorry! I’m such a jerk face! I was only thinking about myself, and I forgot —

Scott
: No biggie. Don’t sweat it. I really screwed up a couple times on the cold read and had to start over. Maybe I should have tried out for Dauntless, like you said.

Me
: How come?

Scott
:
He’s
a doof;
I’m
a doof . . .

Me
: Not you, too. What a pair, huh?
(Squeezing out a hunk of wet hair.)

Scott
: Hey, got an umbrella? You’re dripping on me!

Me
:
(Doing it again, on purpose this time.)
Well, don’t worry. You’re going to make a great Sir Harry.

Scott
: Thanks.
(Stares at floor.)

Me
:
(Glancing toward door.)
What do you think they’re doing in there? I mean, what is
my sister
doing in there? Besides stealing not just my shirt but maybe the lead away from me!

Scott
: OK, Princess Freakerella. You have got to get a grip. How could Mr. C not pick you?

Me
: Um, because I can’t sing?

Scott
: Yes, you can. Stop saying that. You’re fine. And besides, who else is brave enough to get up there in pink pj’s?
(Grinning, teasing.)

Me
:
(Punches Scott on arm.)
Thanks a lot.

Scott
: OK, how about this? For real.
(Looking mischievous.)
The opening scene is the swamp princess all dripping wet, right? So . . . Mr. C already knows you look cute wet.

Me
:
(Turning ten shades of red. Enter Stevie. Saved by the door!)

Stevie
: (
Sees Alex in pj’s.)
Hey. Sorry it took so long — I see it’s past your bedtime.

Me
: Ha, ha. Very funny.

Scott
:
(Grinning at Stevie’s joke.)
Hey, Steven. You sang great in there today. Seriously.

Me
:
(Frowning.)
What happened in there anyway? After we left, I mean.

Stevie
: Singing. Lots more singing. You know,
Me-me-my-mo-moo
and all that.

Me
: Well, anyway, Dad’s probably here to pick us up. But I have to go get my clothes and stuff. I left them backstage.

Scott
: I gotta get going, too. Bye, you guys. Later, Alex.

Me
: See you tomorrow.
(Goes back inside theater. Walks down aisle to stage and climbs stairs.)

Mr. Cannon
: Good job today, Alex.

Me
:
(Shielding eyes to look out into audience.)
Oh! Mr. Cannon. I didn’t see you there. I thought everybody was gone.

Mr. Cannon
: Just gathering up my things. Making a few final notes so I won’t forget.

Me
: I forgot my stuff. I’ll just grab it — can’t exactly go home in my pj’s, you know.
(Laughs nervously and disappears behind stage.)

Me
: Got it!
(Comes down off stage.)
You didn’t by any chance find a silver charm, like one of the drama masks? Or did anybody turn one in? It’s kind of important.

Mr. Cannon
: Nope, sorry, but I’ll keep an eye out.

Me
: Thanks.

Mr. Cannon
: Your sister, Stevie? I remember when she stepped in for you, in
Beauty.
That’s some voice, huh?

Me
:
(Dropping stuff and picking it up.)
Yeah. Who knew?

Mr. Cannon
: I don’t know if you had anything to do with it, but I’m certainly glad she decided to try out. We can always use a good soprano.

Me
:
(Twisting and untwisting pajama top.)
Well, we weren’t sure she would. She’s pretty busy.

Mr. Cannon
: Oh?

Me
:
(Go ahead, tell him.)
Yeah. She cooks.
(Just say it!)
I mean, she’s been baking a lot, cupcakes and everything, because um . . .
(Spit it out!)
she’s entering the Cascade County Bake-Off, I mean Cake-Off. It’s coming up in a couple months, and it’s like a really big deal.
(Traitor!)
What I mean is, it takes a lot of work and time and practice and everything.

Mr. Cannon
: I see.

Me
:
(No turning back now.)
So, like I said, we weren’t sure she’d really try out, because of all the time, I mean
(Stop saying “I mean” . . . ),
because she has this other commitment, I mean.

Mr. Cannon
: Well . . . good to know. Thanks, Alex.

Me
:
(Flees up the aisle for the second time that day, bolting for exit.)

At dinner that night (which I did not have to
cook, thank you very much), I had not even tasted one bite of Dad’s famous peanut-butter noodles because I was so excited, chattering on about the audition to my family.

“Then Mr. Cannon asked for callbacks, and I couldn’t believe my ears when he called my name. He had us sing twenty-four bars of ‘Opening for a Princess,’ then something from ‘Shy’ and one I didn’t know. Then he asked me to sing parts of ‘Happily Ever After’ by myself.” I stopped chattering when I saw that Alex had closed her eyes and was breathing hard. But Joey said it for me.

“That’s Winnie’s song!” said Joey.
The lead.

Alex’s fork clattered to her plate. Eating stopped. Chewing stopped. Dad paused his napkin in mid-wipe. It was like church on Thursday, the room got so quiet. Everybody stared at Alex.

“What? So I dropped my fork.” She picked it up, stabbed her noodles, twirled them in a mini-tornado, then stopped halfway to her mouth. “Can we please just talk about something else?” she pleaded.

I fell silent, biting back my enthusiasm. I looked hopefully from Mom to Dad and back. Nobody seemed to know what to say. I guess it was up to me, Stevie the Peacemaker, to say something, anything, that might break the tension.

“Alex was great today. You should have seen her. I don’t know how you can get up there, in your pajamas, and not feel self-conscious. And the song, with the shampoo thing —”

“Yeah, right. My voice was literally shaking.”

“I couldn’t tell. It sounded like you had some good vibrato.”

“I said
[stab],
can we please
[stab]
not talk about it
[stab-stab-stab]
?” She was attacking her noodles again.

“How’re things going at the station?” Dad asked Mom, careful not to cause any more noodle deaths.

Mom looked relieved for the change of subject, but it wasn’t good news. “Ratings are still down. We’re going to finish taping the spring season, but I think it’s only a matter of time till
Fondue Sue
gets the ax. I’m sure they’re not going to renew for fall.”

“Why not?” Joey asked.

“There’s been such an explosion of cooking shows lately, it’s hard to compete.”

“I like that funny guy who goes ‘Bam!’” Joey flicked her napkin over her shoulder, imitating the guy.

“
Iron Chef
is my favorite, hands down,” said Dad. “That Morimoto is one lean, mean cooking machine.”

“What about the woman who does all the thirty-minute meals? I like her Crunchy Chicken Toes. Yum!” I added.

“See? My own family. You’re all traitors,” Mom teased.