Read Online My Senior Year of Awesome by Jennifer DiGiovanni - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer DiGiovanni
Ads: Link
out Lady Gaga songs to exercise our lungs.
“How bad do we sound?” Jana asks. I catch the fear in her eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” I say, but I know she recognizes my fear as well.
In the choir room, Leslie fine-tunes her vocal chords with perfectly pitched Sound of Music do-re-mi’s. Every eight notes, she does some funky type of snorty breathing and sips from a water bottle before restarting back at do-si-do. Jana attempts the same maneuvers, but her tra-la-las sound more like a tone-deaf baby frog.
“I think we’re in over our heads,” she whispers when the freshmen choirgirls shoot her dirty looks.
“Hey, Sadie-girl! Hey, Jana!” Leslie waves us over when she notices us standing apart from the hard-core drama crowd. “I’ve already told Ms. Cutler that both of you want to audition for Audrey II. She thinks it’s a great idea because the part really calls for more than one person.”
“Why would you need two understudies?” I ask.
“Come again?” Leslie frowns, confused. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She cradles her face in her hands and forms an o with her mouth, suddenly comprehending our miscomprehension. “Audrey II isn’t an understudy role. Have you not seen the Little Shop of Horrors movie?”
She enunciates every word like this is completely unfathomable.
“Uh … no,” I reply, as a sweep of terror hits me. The play has the word “horror” in the title. I hate scary stuff. In fact, I pointedly avoid any form of blood and guts, even fake blood and guts. Geez, doesn’t everyone in this town already know I barely survived fetal pig dissection?
Just then, Ms. Cutler claps her hands to gain our full attention. Her carroty curls are piled into a messy bun secured with what looks like chopsticks. Heart-shaped purple glasses frame her pale blue eyes, one of which occasionally wanders in the wrong direction.
“Attention, people. And Derek,” she says, to the tune of laughter. Jana looks at me helplessly. Missing inside jokes is a bad sign. Breaking through Ms. Cutler’s circle of favorites to nab a choice role depends on our ability to scale a mountain of kiss-up, wanna-be Audrey IIs. “Let’s begin. Mrs. Bitty, hand out the parts, please.”
To set the mood, Ms. Cutler punches a button on the remote in her hand and party music blares from speakers mounted on the wall. Mrs. Bitty, Ms. Cutler’s silver-haired assistant and utilitarian piano player, shuffles around the room passing out sample dialogue sketches. She squints at a page titled “Audrey II” and holds it out in front of Jana and me. Together, we shy away.
“Which one of you wants the speaking part?” Mrs. Bitty cackles, revealing a toothless grin.
“Can we both talk?” Jana asks.
“No,” Ms. Cutler booms, cutting the music as she speaks. Everyone directs their eyes to Jana and me. “Handling the robotic animation will be enough of a challenge for one person. We need someone to provide a voice-over through an offstage mic.”
“I’ll do the offstage part,” Jana says. “I get stage fright.”
“Awesome.” Derek Jonas chimes in from across the room. Derek has starred in every school play during our time at Harmony High School. By sheer number of upper-class males present tonight (just him, unless a bunch of senior guys are hiding in the band closet), it looks like he’s a shoe-in this time around as well.
“Give Audrey II some Latina flair, Jana,” Derek says. “Say the lines real fast, and mix in some Spanish words, like Shakira.” He breaks into some sort of flamenco dance and snaps his fingers high above his head.
“Can you sing like Shakira?” Ms. Cutler raises her orangey eyebrows above her purple glasses. “Mrs. Bitty, play a few bars.”
“Stop!” Panic consumes Jana’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Cutler, but I’m no Shakira.”
“But you do a really excellent impression of her,” I add, helpfully. Jana’s at her screwball best when surfing along on a sugar high. I wonder how many Hershey
“How bad do we sound?” Jana asks. I catch the fear in her eyes.
“We’ll be fine,” I say, but I know she recognizes my fear as well.
In the choir room, Leslie fine-tunes her vocal chords with perfectly pitched Sound of Music do-re-mi’s. Every eight notes, she does some funky type of snorty breathing and sips from a water bottle before restarting back at do-si-do. Jana attempts the same maneuvers, but her tra-la-las sound more like a tone-deaf baby frog.
“I think we’re in over our heads,” she whispers when the freshmen choirgirls shoot her dirty looks.
“Hey, Sadie-girl! Hey, Jana!” Leslie waves us over when she notices us standing apart from the hard-core drama crowd. “I’ve already told Ms. Cutler that both of you want to audition for Audrey II. She thinks it’s a great idea because the part really calls for more than one person.”
“Why would you need two understudies?” I ask.
“Come again?” Leslie frowns, confused. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She cradles her face in her hands and forms an o with her mouth, suddenly comprehending our miscomprehension. “Audrey II isn’t an understudy role. Have you not seen the Little Shop of Horrors movie?”
She enunciates every word like this is completely unfathomable.
“Uh … no,” I reply, as a sweep of terror hits me. The play has the word “horror” in the title. I hate scary stuff. In fact, I pointedly avoid any form of blood and guts, even fake blood and guts. Geez, doesn’t everyone in this town already know I barely survived fetal pig dissection?
Just then, Ms. Cutler claps her hands to gain our full attention. Her carroty curls are piled into a messy bun secured with what looks like chopsticks. Heart-shaped purple glasses frame her pale blue eyes, one of which occasionally wanders in the wrong direction.
“Attention, people. And Derek,” she says, to the tune of laughter. Jana looks at me helplessly. Missing inside jokes is a bad sign. Breaking through Ms. Cutler’s circle of favorites to nab a choice role depends on our ability to scale a mountain of kiss-up, wanna-be Audrey IIs. “Let’s begin. Mrs. Bitty, hand out the parts, please.”
To set the mood, Ms. Cutler punches a button on the remote in her hand and party music blares from speakers mounted on the wall. Mrs. Bitty, Ms. Cutler’s silver-haired assistant and utilitarian piano player, shuffles around the room passing out sample dialogue sketches. She squints at a page titled “Audrey II” and holds it out in front of Jana and me. Together, we shy away.
“Which one of you wants the speaking part?” Mrs. Bitty cackles, revealing a toothless grin.
“Can we both talk?” Jana asks.
“No,” Ms. Cutler booms, cutting the music as she speaks. Everyone directs their eyes to Jana and me. “Handling the robotic animation will be enough of a challenge for one person. We need someone to provide a voice-over through an offstage mic.”
“I’ll do the offstage part,” Jana says. “I get stage fright.”
“Awesome.” Derek Jonas chimes in from across the room. Derek has starred in every school play during our time at Harmony High School. By sheer number of upper-class males present tonight (just him, unless a bunch of senior guys are hiding in the band closet), it looks like he’s a shoe-in this time around as well.
“Give Audrey II some Latina flair, Jana,” Derek says. “Say the lines real fast, and mix in some Spanish words, like Shakira.” He breaks into some sort of flamenco dance and snaps his fingers high above his head.
“Can you sing like Shakira?” Ms. Cutler raises her orangey eyebrows above her purple glasses. “Mrs. Bitty, play a few bars.”
“Stop!” Panic consumes Jana’s face. “Sorry, Ms. Cutler, but I’m no Shakira.”
“But you do a really excellent impression of her,” I add, helpfully. Jana’s at her screwball best when surfing along on a sugar high. I wonder how many Hershey
Similar Books
