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Authors: Carly Syms
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have the nerve to tryout. I'm just gonna show him he's wrong, that's all."
Lana's eyes narrow ever so slightly when I mention his name. "Oh, you know Russ?"
I shrug noncommittally. "Depends on your definition of 'know,' I guess. I met him yesterday."
"And he's already telling you you're not good enough for the play?" She shakes her head. "Sounds about right."
"It's a long story," I say at last, realizing I don't want to throw Russ under the bus with people he obviously already knows. An awkward moment passes between us and I pray Mary will call my name and save me. "So, uh -- were you the girl who tried out yesterday? That song about finding someone?"
Lana returns her attention to the mirror in front of her and pulls out an earring. "You saw that? Hopefuls aren't supposed to see the other auditions."
My turn to feel my cheeks flush. "Oh! Sorry! I, uh, I had no idea."
"I kind of figured as much. But just so you know for next time. Auditions are private. Mary thinks it gives people courage." She glances around, then leans in closer to me. "Me? I think it's dumb. If you can't perform in front of your castmates, how are you supposed to put on an actual show?"
I'm not sure what to say to that and I'm trying to think of something else to talk about when Mary shouts my name from the other side of the curtain.
"That's you!" Lana says cheerily. "Good luck."
I shuffle from behind the thick red velvet curtains and out to the center of the stage. Bright, blinding lights beat down on me from the second-floor balcony and I squint out into the audience, trying to find Russ, but the lights make it impossible to see more than ten or fifteen feet in front of me.
"Okay!" Mary's voice filters into my brain even though it takes a second for my eyes to adjust and find her. She emerges into view a little to my left and claps her hands. "I've got your song queued up! Are you ready?"
I swallow hard and nod meekly. "Okay," I whisper.
"Deep breath," Mary calls out, and I watch as she walks over to a boom box and presses a button. Seconds later, the opening notes to "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" fill the auditorium.
Just breathe, just breathe. This is just about getting back at Russ. It's only for a few minutes. I try to calm myself in the few seconds I have before I need to get it together and sing.
I let out some air, tap my foot to get into the rhythm, open my mouth and let it rip.
"Take me out to the ballgame! Take me out to the crowd!" I stumble as the words croak out my dry throat and swallow before proceeding.
I don't have to be good to prove Russ wrong. I just have to do it.
But as I continue to sing, the words come out easier and easier, and I stop thinking about what's coming next and start to move around the stage. And when I get to the end of the song, the part about three strikes and you're out, I don't know what comes over me, but something possesses me to line up behind an imaginary home plate and swing an imaginary baseball bat toward the fences in time with the song.
Part of me is shocked when the song comes to end. It's been a few minutes since my audition began, but it's gone by much faster than I thought.
The other part doesn't really want to admit that I kind of enjoyed it.
"Bravo, bravo," Mary says with limited enthusiasm. "Thanks, Emma. The cast list will go up on the bulletin board outside the auditorium before the final bell tomorrow."
"Okay," I squeak out. "I'll be there. Thanks."
And with that, I dart to the safety of backstage where I can clear my head and figure out what the heck is going on with me.
CHAPTER NINE
The note waiting for me on my locker after fourth period sends chills racing up and down my spine.
I never knew how ominous six words could be until now. Is it possible for handwriting to be ominous, too? Because it feel like even the loops and swirls of Coach Morris' letters are screaming out at me to brace myself for what's coming next.
I fold
Lana's eyes narrow ever so slightly when I mention his name. "Oh, you know Russ?"
I shrug noncommittally. "Depends on your definition of 'know,' I guess. I met him yesterday."
"And he's already telling you you're not good enough for the play?" She shakes her head. "Sounds about right."
"It's a long story," I say at last, realizing I don't want to throw Russ under the bus with people he obviously already knows. An awkward moment passes between us and I pray Mary will call my name and save me. "So, uh -- were you the girl who tried out yesterday? That song about finding someone?"
Lana returns her attention to the mirror in front of her and pulls out an earring. "You saw that? Hopefuls aren't supposed to see the other auditions."
My turn to feel my cheeks flush. "Oh! Sorry! I, uh, I had no idea."
"I kind of figured as much. But just so you know for next time. Auditions are private. Mary thinks it gives people courage." She glances around, then leans in closer to me. "Me? I think it's dumb. If you can't perform in front of your castmates, how are you supposed to put on an actual show?"
I'm not sure what to say to that and I'm trying to think of something else to talk about when Mary shouts my name from the other side of the curtain.
"That's you!" Lana says cheerily. "Good luck."
I shuffle from behind the thick red velvet curtains and out to the center of the stage. Bright, blinding lights beat down on me from the second-floor balcony and I squint out into the audience, trying to find Russ, but the lights make it impossible to see more than ten or fifteen feet in front of me.
"Okay!" Mary's voice filters into my brain even though it takes a second for my eyes to adjust and find her. She emerges into view a little to my left and claps her hands. "I've got your song queued up! Are you ready?"
I swallow hard and nod meekly. "Okay," I whisper.
"Deep breath," Mary calls out, and I watch as she walks over to a boom box and presses a button. Seconds later, the opening notes to "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" fill the auditorium.
Just breathe, just breathe. This is just about getting back at Russ. It's only for a few minutes. I try to calm myself in the few seconds I have before I need to get it together and sing.
I let out some air, tap my foot to get into the rhythm, open my mouth and let it rip.
"Take me out to the ballgame! Take me out to the crowd!" I stumble as the words croak out my dry throat and swallow before proceeding.
I don't have to be good to prove Russ wrong. I just have to do it.
But as I continue to sing, the words come out easier and easier, and I stop thinking about what's coming next and start to move around the stage. And when I get to the end of the song, the part about three strikes and you're out, I don't know what comes over me, but something possesses me to line up behind an imaginary home plate and swing an imaginary baseball bat toward the fences in time with the song.
Part of me is shocked when the song comes to end. It's been a few minutes since my audition began, but it's gone by much faster than I thought.
The other part doesn't really want to admit that I kind of enjoyed it.
"Bravo, bravo," Mary says with limited enthusiasm. "Thanks, Emma. The cast list will go up on the bulletin board outside the auditorium before the final bell tomorrow."
"Okay," I squeak out. "I'll be there. Thanks."
And with that, I dart to the safety of backstage where I can clear my head and figure out what the heck is going on with me.
CHAPTER NINE
The note waiting for me on my locker after fourth period sends chills racing up and down my spine.
I never knew how ominous six words could be until now. Is it possible for handwriting to be ominous, too? Because it feel like even the loops and swirls of Coach Morris' letters are screaming out at me to brace myself for what's coming next.
I fold
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