self-pity party just like the one I felt coming on. Then I double-clicked on Streisand’s “What Kind of Fool,” because I knew that Jimmy hated it.
B ut I didn’t have to pity myself for long. No, sir, I was about to swoon, too.
Hard
.
On Wednesday, I was buzzing with nerves all throughout the day, thinking about the auditions. Needless to say, I really, really, really, really wanted to be in the musical. Acting is the one thing that I’m actually good at. Not sports, not grades, not being all sexy and boyfriend-y. Nobody really paid much attention to me at school, but if I could just show everyone that side of me, it would change everything. I’d be Marty, that girl who was really great in the musical. (OK, I know that probably doesn’t sound so great to most people, but at least it’s something.)
But if I didn’t even get into the musical, I’d just be . . . yeah.
I would
not
be able to stomach sitting in the audience, watching other girls perform onstage, let alone any of my gay boys. Even if no one else noticed or cared, I’d be humiliated for myself. I mean, when I was eleven, I staged a full reenactment of
Chicago
with dolls and stuffed animals—yes, disturbing in retrospect—for Jimmy and my parents. Lastyear, I used my birthday money to buy a Carol Channing–autographed theater program on eBay. I know all the words to basically every musical worth seeing, and a lot of the bad ones, too. I
had
to get a part.
So when I met Xiang at her locker after the last class, I was practically levitating with stress. I thought I was hiding it pretty well, but she looked at me uncertainly.
“Are you gonna be OK?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be fine.” It was a bit mortifying to have Xiang see me like this, but there was only so much I could do about it. I took a deep breath, but it only made me feel even more light-headed. We floated out to the parking lot, where we saw Jimmy, Derek, Oliver, and Kirby standing around, looking lost.
“Oh, good, you got here in good time!” I shouted as we approached.
But I didn’t stop. I just glided on past the boys toward Jerry Hall, and the boys grabbed their bags and hustled after us.
When we walked into the theater, I was relieved to see that there weren’t as many girls there as at the meeting the week before—not yet, at least. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were still a lot of them, probably thirty or so. Maybe the process of finding a song and a monologue had weeded some of them out? There were only about a dozen boys so far, and clumps of them huddled in various corners.
Actually, it was weird to see boys in Jerry Hall—or anywhere at Our Lady, for that matter. I had gotten used to thegirls’ club feel of the place, and now it seemed like they were invading our space.
Jenny McCafferty was sitting on the edge of the stage, hollering, “Ladies, sign up here! Gentlemen, your sign-up sheet is on stage right! That’s over there, for you theater newbies.” She waved her arm broadly, as if she were directing 747s on a tarmac. “Have your sheet music ready, if you have it! And please, please,
please
make sure the pages are in order! I’m saying that for your benefit, of course.” She did some sort of a pantomime of shuffling papers wildly and then gave a fake-sounding laugh. Xiang and I looked at each other, pitying. It was so bad, it wasn’t even worth mocking.
But Jenny didn’t seem perturbed by the awkward silence, and she plowed on. “OK, here’s how this works. I’ll be sitting over there by the entrance with the sign-up sheet, so late stragglers won’t interrupt the process. When I call out your name, go to the piano and give Christy your sheet music. If you have sheet music, that is.”
She motioned toward a pale girl sitting at the piano.
“Then go up onstage, introduce yourself, and work your magic.” And she actually did a jazz-hands motion. “If you don’t have a monologue prepared, as you should, there are a few emergency
B ut I didn’t have to pity myself for long. No, sir, I was about to swoon, too.
Hard
.
On Wednesday, I was buzzing with nerves all throughout the day, thinking about the auditions. Needless to say, I really, really, really, really wanted to be in the musical. Acting is the one thing that I’m actually good at. Not sports, not grades, not being all sexy and boyfriend-y. Nobody really paid much attention to me at school, but if I could just show everyone that side of me, it would change everything. I’d be Marty, that girl who was really great in the musical. (OK, I know that probably doesn’t sound so great to most people, but at least it’s something.)
But if I didn’t even get into the musical, I’d just be . . . yeah.
I would
not
be able to stomach sitting in the audience, watching other girls perform onstage, let alone any of my gay boys. Even if no one else noticed or cared, I’d be humiliated for myself. I mean, when I was eleven, I staged a full reenactment of
Chicago
with dolls and stuffed animals—yes, disturbing in retrospect—for Jimmy and my parents. Lastyear, I used my birthday money to buy a Carol Channing–autographed theater program on eBay. I know all the words to basically every musical worth seeing, and a lot of the bad ones, too. I
had
to get a part.
So when I met Xiang at her locker after the last class, I was practically levitating with stress. I thought I was hiding it pretty well, but she looked at me uncertainly.
“Are you gonna be OK?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be fine.” It was a bit mortifying to have Xiang see me like this, but there was only so much I could do about it. I took a deep breath, but it only made me feel even more light-headed. We floated out to the parking lot, where we saw Jimmy, Derek, Oliver, and Kirby standing around, looking lost.
“Oh, good, you got here in good time!” I shouted as we approached.
But I didn’t stop. I just glided on past the boys toward Jerry Hall, and the boys grabbed their bags and hustled after us.
When we walked into the theater, I was relieved to see that there weren’t as many girls there as at the meeting the week before—not yet, at least. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were still a lot of them, probably thirty or so. Maybe the process of finding a song and a monologue had weeded some of them out? There were only about a dozen boys so far, and clumps of them huddled in various corners.
Actually, it was weird to see boys in Jerry Hall—or anywhere at Our Lady, for that matter. I had gotten used to thegirls’ club feel of the place, and now it seemed like they were invading our space.
Jenny McCafferty was sitting on the edge of the stage, hollering, “Ladies, sign up here! Gentlemen, your sign-up sheet is on stage right! That’s over there, for you theater newbies.” She waved her arm broadly, as if she were directing 747s on a tarmac. “Have your sheet music ready, if you have it! And please, please,
please
make sure the pages are in order! I’m saying that for your benefit, of course.” She did some sort of a pantomime of shuffling papers wildly and then gave a fake-sounding laugh. Xiang and I looked at each other, pitying. It was so bad, it wasn’t even worth mocking.
But Jenny didn’t seem perturbed by the awkward silence, and she plowed on. “OK, here’s how this works. I’ll be sitting over there by the entrance with the sign-up sheet, so late stragglers won’t interrupt the process. When I call out your name, go to the piano and give Christy your sheet music. If you have sheet music, that is.”
She motioned toward a pale girl sitting at the piano.
“Then go up onstage, introduce yourself, and work your magic.” And she actually did a jazz-hands motion. “If you don’t have a monologue prepared, as you should, there are a few emergency
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