Authors: Shaunda Kennedy Wenger
"Like a puppet on a string," Roz says encouragingly.
I almost want to hit her for talking me into doing this, and I would, if I had any control over my body, which I don't. Because if I did, I wouldn't be walking like this--not with my legs and arms swinging out with each step....
I mean, what does Wren think she's doing? Does she really think people walk like this? This is Roz's solution? Handing myself over to a nitwit of a ghost?!
"Of course," Wren says, pressing her hands--
my hands
--to my hips.
I slap my hand over my mouth in surprise. I hadn't expected Wren to read my thoughts, to
respond
to them with her own.
And my voice.... It has an Irish lilt to it.
Wren nods my head, answering my thoughts once again.
"I hadn't counted on this being so invasive," I mutter more at Roz, than Wren.
"And I hadn't counted on yer clothes hugging so tight," Wren retorts.
"Well, you're not wearing your ratty nightgown anymore, so you can stop walking like you are!"
"Myr!" Roz says, wiggling her hands by her ears in frustration. "One of you talking is more than enough. You've got to trust Wren to do the work. You've got to let her do everything for you. If you go in there fighting it, especially when Wren is trying to walk--" she takes a step back as she looks at me, shakes her head, "then Diggs will think you skipped down to Bill's Pub and Brewery."
"Okay, okay. Just give me a second. Both of you."
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly let it out. I try to imagine letting go of my body. Letting go and stepping away.
Amazingly, after a moment, it feels like I do, although I don't step, exactly. I float. Barely. A little, off to the side. Yet, somehow, I'm still hinged. I'm separate, but not.
I can see myself standing here, but at the same time, I know it's not me.... It looks like me. But it's Wren. This is so weird. What makes it Wren?
She moves my arm, and a second later, as if there's a time-lapse, I feel her moving it for me.
Well.
I'll say this.
Nothing I've ever done compares.
This
is detachment on a whole new level. In a whole new dimension. Because I'm seeing how I look from the outside. How everyone else sees me. And I'm not sure I like it.
Wren swivels my hips. "I think we're ready for a dance on me trotters."
What
?
Before I can find a way to stop her, Wren opens the door and marches us in.
Chapter 18
The weight of thirty stares falls on me, as I re-enter the gym, making me forget about staying let-go. Muted snickers rattle my ears. My heart catches in my throat. And suddenly, I find myself struggling, once again, to breathe.
I have to do this. I can do this.
"No, ye don't," Wren hisses. "Yer supposed to be leaving that to me."
Oh. Right....
"Myri," Diggs says, shifting in his seat to look at me. "I'm so glad you're back. Feeling refreshed, I hope? Would you like another shot at your lines?"
Wren nods my head, as she takes me a bit less swaggery toward the stage. When we pass Diggs, I feel myself turn and bend at the knees.
Was that a curtsy
?
This is followed by an excited little hop.
Please, don't do that.
"I would love to be reading my lines, with all the thanks of a thousand souls, although I've only got me one," Wren says with a giggle.
And drop the Irish accent!
Wren tips her head, and turns a small circle, looking at the banners, the bleachers on the far wall, the shiny wood floor.
And stop looking like you've never been here before!
She smiles at Diggs. "I'll be ready, now that all the nerves are stopped jumping in me gullet."
Stop talking like that!
"Err, great," Diggs says, arching his brow. "No apologies necessary. Duey? Would you mind taking the stage?"
"Sure." He jumps up from the floor, lifts his blue baseball cap, and puts the visor at the back of his head, leaving tufts of brown hair sticking through the band at the front.
Wren takes in a quick breath, which makes me take in a quick breath, which makes us cough and splutter.
That there would be Duey?
Ye-aah! Now, follow him to the stage
.
But don't
skip!
We careen to a stop in front of him.
Wren brings my hand to rest on my chin, as she looks out at Diggs. "Would there be a script-thingy handy?"
Duey turns his mouth up in a grin, takes the script from his pocket, steps closer. "Just take a deep breath," he whispers, turning his back to the gym. "Follow my lead, and we'll both get through this.... Unless you want to ditch me again. Twice in one day would be a first, although I'm always up for new things. I just don't think an F should be yours." He stands back and shows me another smile.
With a short, nervous laugh, Wren darts a glance in his direction. She pats my sides, straightens my shoulders. "Don't y' be worrying yer head over a silly thing such as that."
Right.
"Now, where were we,..."
The bakery scene! Page 3!
"Oh, yes." Wren flips to the right page and reads the scene's description. "The run-down bakery. Where Prince Bastian meets Nelle, who's been living alone as a cursed, hunch-backed, half-human goat.... Oh, my." She looks out at Diggs. "Should I be hunching me-self over for this? Like an ill-begotten goat?"
He laughs, I presume, at the way I sound. She hasn't bothered to soften the Irish accent. "Uh, no. Reading it will be fine."
She looks at Duey, or rather, we look at Duey, who smiles and takes a half-step forward.
"Is no one here?" He pauses, and then turns away, as if he doesn't see me.
"No. No, there be no one," Wren replies, making my voice raspy, while throwing it off to the side, as if she were hiding behind a barrel, like the script says.
"Surely, you're mistaken," Duey replies.
"No. But I dare say it's been a hundred moons since anyone has crossed my threshold. What is it y' could possibly seek in a place as low and empty as this?"
"The one attached to that sweet voice."
Wren huffs like the script says. "Sire, either yer brain has grown daft, or else cast under the spell of a bad fairy, if y' thinks me craggy voice, weighted with the age of a hundred years, sounds sweet to human ears. T'would be better if y' left, and never returned."
Duey shakes his head. "I have no way, nor desire, to leave this place. The skies have grown dark. The air, heavy with foreboding. Please, my maiden, believe me when I say I can hear the kindness in your voice. Take mercy and offer me some bread, if not some company. For it has been many a day I've been lost in the forest. My stomach has grown weak with hunger. My heart, weary with loneliness."
Tucking the script under my arm, Wren begins moving my hands in front of me, as if hastily stacking a tray with food. A few moments later she shoves the imaginary tray forward, then opens the script again. "`Tis only hard bread I can offer today." She pushes forward an imaginary pitcher. "And water. But yer belly won't be thanking me for it. Despite me efforts to knead the yeast through, me loafs refuse to rise. Forgive me, but `tis the best I can do."
Duey pretends to take a bite. A tough bite, but one that shows growing pleasure at the taste. When it comes to acting, he's actually pretty good.
"Who makes such fine food? The taste belies its sight. It would be lovely with a spot of tea. Show yourself. Come sit with me a while. We'll heat a kettle by the fire."
"Y' don't know what y' ask. Please, eat and be on yer way!" Wren tips my head, as if spying on Prince Bastian from behind an imaginary curtain. "There be evil lurking in these woods!"
Finally, with a spin, a bow, and a flirty wave, Wren gives us quick leave of the stage.
• • •
"That was great!" Roz says.
Only Roz would have the courage to sneak back-stage, when she's not even supposed to be here.
Wren lets out a long-winded breath from my mouth. "Well, I'd trade all the gold of Ireland to know what Duey'll be thinking."
We turn to see him give a thumbs-up, as he makes his way off the other side of the stage. Even though I'm not completely connected to my body, I feel the full force of my stomach going queasy.
"Okay, that's it. Time for you to leave." I stretch my arms up to shake Wren free, squeeze my eyes shut.
With a slight fluttering from my belly--as if we're being pulled apart like string cheese--Wren appears before me, looking like the ghost she's always been.
"Feel better?" Roz asks, draping her arm across my shoulders.
"Like I've been bathed in the breath of life," Wren says.
I brush at my arms, making sure all of me is still here, give Wren a hard squint. "She was asking me, Genius. And we're never doing that again."
Chapter 19
I'm hanging my jacket in my locker--and still humming, of all things (something I've done since last Friday)--when Roz and Elise come running down the hall. Elise reaches me first. "I can't believe it, Myr! You did it!"
"Did what?"
Roz slides behind and gives me a push. "Come on! You'll see!"
They pull me with them, not caring how many kids we bump along the way. At the end of the next corridor, they push me head-long through a crowd of students gathered around the bulletin board outside Diggs's door.
"It's the cast and crew list," Elise says.
"Yeah, so?"
"Wellllll, check it out!" The sound of Roz's voice makes me believe I'm about to read the best-news-ever. I mean, why would she be happy, if not to show I've gotten what I wanted. A behind-the-scenes assignment. Maybe Diggs teamed me up with my mom. It'd make sense for him to put us together. And if that's the case, I'd be more than happy to help. Happy enough to do ALL the work. Let her stay home.
But my name isn't among the list of assignments for costumes.
Confused, I look back at Roz and Elise, who hook arms with Cass, as she steps between them. They jut their chins at the list, urging me to look again.
I re-read--slower this time--going up from the bottom. No, I'm not with the set crew, nor hair and make-up. Nor lights and music.
Is there another page?
No. Just this one.
The color slowly drains from my face. My skin goes cold and clammy. My eyes slowly move their way to the top.
I'm not a tree.
Not a soldier.
Not a townsfolk 3, 2, or 1.
Not the witch's cat.
"Here!" Roz says, jumping over me to plant her finger near the top of the list. "Here you are! Somehow, someway... you're Nelle!"
Oh,
no
.
A thousand pricks of electricity burst over my skin.
She's right.
How can she be right?
But there it is. Second from the top, under Prince Bastian, who's being played by Duey, I see it. My name. In black letters. Next to the character of Nelle.
I read it again.
Nelle: Myri Monaco
.
"Isn't it awesome?!" Cass says, pumping her fists with a squeal. "You got the lead! You beat Brittley!"
Chapter 20
"Nonsense!" Diggs says, turning from his computer. "You were wonderful!
Wonderful
!"
My face scrunches up in disbelief. "Were we even at the same audition?"
"Of course! Of course, we were!"
"But I can't act. You saw me. I ran out of the theater. When I get in front of people for presentations, or anything involving speaking, I choke up."
"No, I don't think so."
"But I will. I know I will."
"You won't. You'll be perfect."
"I'd rather be perfect at something that doesn't involve speaking. If I have to be in the play, cast me as a tree."
Diggs shakes his head, gives a wave of his hand. "All this talk about trees.... It'd be foolish to waste your talent."
"No, it wouldn't! I'd love that."
He grimaces. "Myri, listen. I'll admit, you started with a few jitters, but that's normal. It didn't last long. After you came back to the stage, you carried Nelle's role off perfectly. I loved the nuances, the accent, the mannerisms, how everything flowed so smoothly together.
"You stepped so completely into character. It was as if you weren't even there. And that, my dear, is rare, for someone so new to acting. You have natural talent. And it would be a crime, if I didn't reward it." He pauses, looks at me warmly. "You have a gift, Myri. You let yourself fade away and allowed Nelle, our heroine, to shine through. It was amazing to watch. It took my breath away. It still does, when I think of it."