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Authors: Carly Syms
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firecrackers from my eyes. "I have never been scared a day in my life," I say with a heck of a lot more gusto than I actually feel.
"Then do it."
The words are simple and he says them quietly, like they don't need any extra emphasis because they already carry enough weight.
I mash my lips together. "What's the point? It's not like I'm about to join the play if I get a part."
He laughs. "Emma, you just said you have no business being on stage. You're probably not even going to get anything if you're really that bad."
"Are you trying to say you think I can't do it?"
Russ shrugs, and there's a shimmer in his eyes that makes me think he's been playing me this whole time. "Prove you can."
I drop my backpack. "You're not going to think this is so funny when I get up there and show you exactly what I can do. Game on, Prince Russ."
He tries to hide his smile, but it's not going so well. "I'd love to see that," he says with no hint of sarcasm. "Go kill it."
I start to march up to the stage when I realize I have no idea how any of this works. I stop and turn back around and catch him staring at me with an amused look on his face.
"Over there," he says, pointing at a table set up on the floor in front of the stage. "Mary will get you set up with everything you need."
I nod and sigh, the bravado I've been feeling just seconds ago already fading as I wonder what the heck I'm getting myself into.
But I do know one thing is absolutely true.
I'm not about to turn back and give Russ the satisfaction of being right.
***
Russ hasn't been kidding.
Mary gives me everything I need and then some. She'd had me choose a song to perform -- "Really, anything works, darling. Even 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,' if that's where your mind is" -- and that's why I'm currently standing backstage humming "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" under my breath.
It's not about to be the big, fun, romantic production I just watched with Russ and that other girl, but who really cares? It's not like I'm serious about this. I just need to get out there and get this over with and prove to him that I'm capable of trying out for some silly school play.
Which I am.
This is no big deal.
So why is my stomach full of raging butterflies again?
"Your first tryout?" The girl's voice startles me out of my trance and I glance over and see the same redhead who had been sitting with Russ at lunch earlier today.
Not that it means a darn thing anyway.
I offer a small nod of the head. "Yeah," I admit. I try to keep my answers short, because I'm suddenly afraid that if my mouth is open for too long, my nerves might make me accidentally throw up all over myself.
She gives me a reassuring smile. "It's no big deal," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've been doing it for years."
"It's probably easier for you, then."
She thinks about that for a second. "Yeah. You're probably right." She takes two steps towards me and holds out her hand. "I'm Lana."
"Emma."
"Yeah, I know," she says quickly. "The volleyball player."
My forehead creases. I don't expect her to who know I am, and it surprises me that she does. I mean, I know I'm popular, and I know I've been popular throughout high school, but it's starting to get kind of unsettling, realizing how many people know me and I don't know them.
It kinda makes me feel a little icky, actually, when I stop and think about it.
"Uh, right. Yeah, that's me."
Lana nods. "What are you doing here, anyway? Isn't it the middle of your season?"
I hold up the cast on my wrist and Lana's cheeks immediately turn bright red.
"Omigod!" she exclaims. "I'm so sorry! I'm so rude. Ugh, forget I said anything."
"No, no, it's fine!" I say, taken aback by her strong reaction. "It just happened the other day. Done for the year."
The blush still rages on her face as she tries to recover. "So you're doing this to fill the time?"
"Not even. Russ seems to think I don't
"Then do it."
The words are simple and he says them quietly, like they don't need any extra emphasis because they already carry enough weight.
I mash my lips together. "What's the point? It's not like I'm about to join the play if I get a part."
He laughs. "Emma, you just said you have no business being on stage. You're probably not even going to get anything if you're really that bad."
"Are you trying to say you think I can't do it?"
Russ shrugs, and there's a shimmer in his eyes that makes me think he's been playing me this whole time. "Prove you can."
I drop my backpack. "You're not going to think this is so funny when I get up there and show you exactly what I can do. Game on, Prince Russ."
He tries to hide his smile, but it's not going so well. "I'd love to see that," he says with no hint of sarcasm. "Go kill it."
I start to march up to the stage when I realize I have no idea how any of this works. I stop and turn back around and catch him staring at me with an amused look on his face.
"Over there," he says, pointing at a table set up on the floor in front of the stage. "Mary will get you set up with everything you need."
I nod and sigh, the bravado I've been feeling just seconds ago already fading as I wonder what the heck I'm getting myself into.
But I do know one thing is absolutely true.
I'm not about to turn back and give Russ the satisfaction of being right.
***
Russ hasn't been kidding.
Mary gives me everything I need and then some. She'd had me choose a song to perform -- "Really, anything works, darling. Even 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,' if that's where your mind is" -- and that's why I'm currently standing backstage humming "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" under my breath.
It's not about to be the big, fun, romantic production I just watched with Russ and that other girl, but who really cares? It's not like I'm serious about this. I just need to get out there and get this over with and prove to him that I'm capable of trying out for some silly school play.
Which I am.
This is no big deal.
So why is my stomach full of raging butterflies again?
"Your first tryout?" The girl's voice startles me out of my trance and I glance over and see the same redhead who had been sitting with Russ at lunch earlier today.
Not that it means a darn thing anyway.
I offer a small nod of the head. "Yeah," I admit. I try to keep my answers short, because I'm suddenly afraid that if my mouth is open for too long, my nerves might make me accidentally throw up all over myself.
She gives me a reassuring smile. "It's no big deal," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I've been doing it for years."
"It's probably easier for you, then."
She thinks about that for a second. "Yeah. You're probably right." She takes two steps towards me and holds out her hand. "I'm Lana."
"Emma."
"Yeah, I know," she says quickly. "The volleyball player."
My forehead creases. I don't expect her to who know I am, and it surprises me that she does. I mean, I know I'm popular, and I know I've been popular throughout high school, but it's starting to get kind of unsettling, realizing how many people know me and I don't know them.
It kinda makes me feel a little icky, actually, when I stop and think about it.
"Uh, right. Yeah, that's me."
Lana nods. "What are you doing here, anyway? Isn't it the middle of your season?"
I hold up the cast on my wrist and Lana's cheeks immediately turn bright red.
"Omigod!" she exclaims. "I'm so sorry! I'm so rude. Ugh, forget I said anything."
"No, no, it's fine!" I say, taken aback by her strong reaction. "It just happened the other day. Done for the year."
The blush still rages on her face as she tries to recover. "So you're doing this to fill the time?"
"Not even. Russ seems to think I don't
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