recommendation letter.
His hand taps the papers on his desk. The top one is a letter with the school’s letterhead at the top and his signature at the bottom. It looks exactly like the other three that I have at home in my scholarship folder. My recommendation letter.
“I’ve been working on your letter,” he says, resting his hands on his gut. “It isn’t finished yet, unfortunately.”
My eyes narrow. “It kind of seems finished to me.”
He shoves it into a manila folder with my name on it. “Well it isn’t.”
“Is there anything you need from me?” I don’t hide the confusion from my voice.
He leans across his desk, with his hands flat on the metal desktop. “I’m going to be honest with you, Wren. Sophie’s unexpected resignation has put a lot of stress on the school. It’s the middle of the school year and we can’t find a replacement theater arts teacher.”
“Okay?” What does this have to do with me? If he thinks he can ask me to make her change her mind, then he has obviously never dealt with my aunt.
“We can get a substitute for the class, but they won’t know how to direct a play. This play can’t get cancelled. We’ve already sold out of tickets for the show, and unfortunately the school has spent that money.” He throws his arms in the air. “The show must go on, if you will.”
I nod. If the play isn’t cancelled then I still get to see Derek.
“You have the most experience in theater.” He clasps his hands together in front of his chest and waits for my reply.
“So what, you want me to direct?” I laugh at my ridiculous suggestion.
“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“I don’t know anything about putting on a play.”
“It’s your choice.” He runs his hand over the folder on his desk. He doesn’t have to say it, because I know what he means. If I don’t direct the play, then I won’t get my last recommendation letter. I won’t get the scholarship and I won’t go to AIL. I’ll end up working three jobs to pay for community college for their third-rate Introduction to Interior Design certificate and I’ll never get my dream job. I’ll have to work at a chain of BBQ restaurants picking out stuffed deer heads to mount on the walls. No one will want me to decorate their dream homes. No one will ever feature one of my rooms in a prestigious magazine.
I push myself out of my chair. I focus on the good things like how I’ll get to see Derek every day, and try not to think about the bad things like how I don’t know a damn thing about directing a play. “Yes, sir,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
I sit in the center of the stage, my legs dangling off the front carelessly as if the entire world isn’t resting on my shoulders. Like my future in interior design isn’t hanging on by a shred of hope that I can actually pull off directing this stupid play. I came in here right after school, fifteen minutes earlier than the time I had told the rest of the cast members in my carousel of text messages this morning. I wanted to be here early so I could prepare myself mentally.
I’ve spent the first two weeks of rehearsals slacking off with Greg backstage, sketching sets with Derek or ditching rehearsal altogether under the guise that I was working on sets from home. So when everyone starts to filter in from the back of the auditorium, my freak out meter goes from Mostly Freaked Out to Explosively Freaking Out. I have no idea what to do.
But apparently, my cast members do. Ricky, who plays Jeremy, hurls himself up on stage in one swift motion and then leans over and offers a hand to Gwen, who takes a ladylike approach to climbing up here. Everyone else either hops on stage, or takes a seat in the front row. Greg gives me a wink as he climbs up next to me and heads backstage.
“So where’s Barlow?” Ricky asks. His script is rolled like a diploma and shoved in his back pocket. I stand and turn around, facing the stage like a conductor. For
His hand taps the papers on his desk. The top one is a letter with the school’s letterhead at the top and his signature at the bottom. It looks exactly like the other three that I have at home in my scholarship folder. My recommendation letter.
“I’ve been working on your letter,” he says, resting his hands on his gut. “It isn’t finished yet, unfortunately.”
My eyes narrow. “It kind of seems finished to me.”
He shoves it into a manila folder with my name on it. “Well it isn’t.”
“Is there anything you need from me?” I don’t hide the confusion from my voice.
He leans across his desk, with his hands flat on the metal desktop. “I’m going to be honest with you, Wren. Sophie’s unexpected resignation has put a lot of stress on the school. It’s the middle of the school year and we can’t find a replacement theater arts teacher.”
“Okay?” What does this have to do with me? If he thinks he can ask me to make her change her mind, then he has obviously never dealt with my aunt.
“We can get a substitute for the class, but they won’t know how to direct a play. This play can’t get cancelled. We’ve already sold out of tickets for the show, and unfortunately the school has spent that money.” He throws his arms in the air. “The show must go on, if you will.”
I nod. If the play isn’t cancelled then I still get to see Derek.
“You have the most experience in theater.” He clasps his hands together in front of his chest and waits for my reply.
“So what, you want me to direct?” I laugh at my ridiculous suggestion.
“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“I don’t know anything about putting on a play.”
“It’s your choice.” He runs his hand over the folder on his desk. He doesn’t have to say it, because I know what he means. If I don’t direct the play, then I won’t get my last recommendation letter. I won’t get the scholarship and I won’t go to AIL. I’ll end up working three jobs to pay for community college for their third-rate Introduction to Interior Design certificate and I’ll never get my dream job. I’ll have to work at a chain of BBQ restaurants picking out stuffed deer heads to mount on the walls. No one will want me to decorate their dream homes. No one will ever feature one of my rooms in a prestigious magazine.
I push myself out of my chair. I focus on the good things like how I’ll get to see Derek every day, and try not to think about the bad things like how I don’t know a damn thing about directing a play. “Yes, sir,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
I sit in the center of the stage, my legs dangling off the front carelessly as if the entire world isn’t resting on my shoulders. Like my future in interior design isn’t hanging on by a shred of hope that I can actually pull off directing this stupid play. I came in here right after school, fifteen minutes earlier than the time I had told the rest of the cast members in my carousel of text messages this morning. I wanted to be here early so I could prepare myself mentally.
I’ve spent the first two weeks of rehearsals slacking off with Greg backstage, sketching sets with Derek or ditching rehearsal altogether under the guise that I was working on sets from home. So when everyone starts to filter in from the back of the auditorium, my freak out meter goes from Mostly Freaked Out to Explosively Freaking Out. I have no idea what to do.
But apparently, my cast members do. Ricky, who plays Jeremy, hurls himself up on stage in one swift motion and then leans over and offers a hand to Gwen, who takes a ladylike approach to climbing up here. Everyone else either hops on stage, or takes a seat in the front row. Greg gives me a wink as he climbs up next to me and heads backstage.
“So where’s Barlow?” Ricky asks. His script is rolled like a diploma and shoved in his back pocket. I stand and turn around, facing the stage like a conductor. For
Similar Books
