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Authors: Sophie McKenzie
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getting anxious about,’ she said to Grace. ‘It’ll be over soon, then you can phone Darren and tell him all about it.’
‘Darren said he didn’t like the idea of me being in a play at a boys’ school,’ Grace said.
Emmi rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that’s his problem, isn’t it?’
I squeezed Grace’s hand sympathetically, but the truth was I had no idea what Grace saw in Darren.
He was geeky and spotty – while Grace was sweetly pretty, with her wide blue eyes and perfect skin.
Plus, I was pretty sure he didn’t have a passionate bone in his body. Mind you, looking at Grace’s pale, anxious face, I wasn’t sure she did either.
The thought depressed me. It seemed entirely possible Grace would go through her whole life never feeling an overwhelming, die-for-you love.
Lots of people probably didn’t.
Not me, though. Please. Not me.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the lines I’d picked for my audition.
The room fell silent. Mr Nichols cleared his throat.
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21/12/2011 11:48
‘I think we’ll start with a simple visualisation,’ he said. ‘Please, everyone, find a space to stand, then close your eyes and imagine a busy marketplace in old Verona. Observe the bustle, the townspeople in their long gowns, all going about their business.
Take time to smell the freshly baked bread, to squeeze the soft fruits on the stalls, to feel the warm sun on your back . . .’ He droned on.
I sighed. This was exactly the sort of rubbish Ms Yates was into. I let my mind drift back to my ideal guy.
A minute or two later and Mr Nichols made us visualise walking into the centre of the marketplace and sitting in a circle on the ground.
‘Now if you’d all open your eyes and find a seat . . . we’ll start the auditions by going round the room,’ he said.
There was a scramble for seats. I found myself perched on the arm of a sofa, next to Emmi.
‘Okay, let’s get going,’ Mr Nichols said, suddenly brisk and businesslike. ‘Please give your name before you begin.’ He looked over to the door.
‘James, tell the boys we’ll be up in about half an hour. And shut the door on your way out.’
With a swift glance at Emmi’s elegantly crossed legs, James backed out of the door. We all looked at Mr Nichols.
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‘A volunteer to start?’ he said.
Everyone looked at their laps. Then I felt Emmi raise her hand beside me. ‘I don’t mind going first,’
she said.
She sashayed over to the open space in the middle of the room. She faced Mr Nichols and smiled – a coy, shy smile. God, she hadn’t even started and she was already acting.
Ms Yates nodded approvingly. She, like most of our teachers, loved Emmi because she was always prepared to speak out in class and because she was polite – at least to the teachers’ faces.
She did a speech from the play – the beginning of the scene where Juliet is on her balcony and Romeo sneaks over to talk to her. She was good . . . She moved around naturally, and put loads of expression into her voice. But for all that, she never really sounded like she meant anything she was saying. I watched Mr Nichols. He was concentrating intently on her, his eyes following her as she moved. At the end she looked up at him from under her eyelashes.
He nodded and smiled at Ms Yates.
Great.
After that we went clockwise round the room.
Grace was next. Unlike Emmi she didn’t move into the middle of the room. Instead, she stood where she was and recited her poem in a loud, clear voice.
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She was actually quite good. A bit stiff maybe, but she put loads of expression into what she was saying and at least she remembered all the words. Asha Watkins forgot her poem, while Maisie Holtwood refused to even start. Two more girls just stood there, staring shyly at the carpet as they did a bit from the play.
On and on it went. After twenty minutes Mr Nichols was looking
‘Darren said he didn’t like the idea of me being in a play at a boys’ school,’ Grace said.
Emmi rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that’s his problem, isn’t it?’
I squeezed Grace’s hand sympathetically, but the truth was I had no idea what Grace saw in Darren.
He was geeky and spotty – while Grace was sweetly pretty, with her wide blue eyes and perfect skin.
Plus, I was pretty sure he didn’t have a passionate bone in his body. Mind you, looking at Grace’s pale, anxious face, I wasn’t sure she did either.
The thought depressed me. It seemed entirely possible Grace would go through her whole life never feeling an overwhelming, die-for-you love.
Lots of people probably didn’t.
Not me, though. Please. Not me.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the lines I’d picked for my audition.
The room fell silent. Mr Nichols cleared his throat.
Acting Friends CS5.indd 87
21/12/2011 11:48
‘I think we’ll start with a simple visualisation,’ he said. ‘Please, everyone, find a space to stand, then close your eyes and imagine a busy marketplace in old Verona. Observe the bustle, the townspeople in their long gowns, all going about their business.
Take time to smell the freshly baked bread, to squeeze the soft fruits on the stalls, to feel the warm sun on your back . . .’ He droned on.
I sighed. This was exactly the sort of rubbish Ms Yates was into. I let my mind drift back to my ideal guy.
A minute or two later and Mr Nichols made us visualise walking into the centre of the marketplace and sitting in a circle on the ground.
‘Now if you’d all open your eyes and find a seat . . . we’ll start the auditions by going round the room,’ he said.
There was a scramble for seats. I found myself perched on the arm of a sofa, next to Emmi.
‘Okay, let’s get going,’ Mr Nichols said, suddenly brisk and businesslike. ‘Please give your name before you begin.’ He looked over to the door.
‘James, tell the boys we’ll be up in about half an hour. And shut the door on your way out.’
With a swift glance at Emmi’s elegantly crossed legs, James backed out of the door. We all looked at Mr Nichols.
Acting Friends CS5.indd 88
21/12/2011 11:48
‘A volunteer to start?’ he said.
Everyone looked at their laps. Then I felt Emmi raise her hand beside me. ‘I don’t mind going first,’
she said.
She sashayed over to the open space in the middle of the room. She faced Mr Nichols and smiled – a coy, shy smile. God, she hadn’t even started and she was already acting.
Ms Yates nodded approvingly. She, like most of our teachers, loved Emmi because she was always prepared to speak out in class and because she was polite – at least to the teachers’ faces.
She did a speech from the play – the beginning of the scene where Juliet is on her balcony and Romeo sneaks over to talk to her. She was good . . . She moved around naturally, and put loads of expression into her voice. But for all that, she never really sounded like she meant anything she was saying. I watched Mr Nichols. He was concentrating intently on her, his eyes following her as she moved. At the end she looked up at him from under her eyelashes.
He nodded and smiled at Ms Yates.
Great.
After that we went clockwise round the room.
Grace was next. Unlike Emmi she didn’t move into the middle of the room. Instead, she stood where she was and recited her poem in a loud, clear voice.
Acting Friends CS5.indd 89
21/12/2011 11:48
She was actually quite good. A bit stiff maybe, but she put loads of expression into what she was saying and at least she remembered all the words. Asha Watkins forgot her poem, while Maisie Holtwood refused to even start. Two more girls just stood there, staring shyly at the carpet as they did a bit from the play.
On and on it went. After twenty minutes Mr Nichols was looking
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