Upstaged Page 2

  Neeta says, “Ellie, you’re up.”

  I’m frozen to the spot.

  Gregor pulls me off the bench. “Come on, little Orphan Annie. I’ll be your accompanist.”

  “But I don’t have the music for you to play.”

  “It’s all in here.” He points at his temple. “And I’m an exceptional pianist. Because yes, I’m that brilliant.”

  Marissa darts a narrow look at me as Gregor and I go by. Neeta says, “Hey, Gregor!”

  “It’s an emergency,” he says.

  And then I’m in the bright, overly warm audition room. Renée Felix and two other people face me from behind a long table littered with papers and coffee cups. A thirtysomething guy with thick-framed glasses and a beard says, “Welcome. I’m Drew Carrier, the director and musical director of Schooled. What are you going to sing for us today?”

  Three

  I’m singing “Tomorrow” for three strangers. My voice vibrates in my chest, in my head. I stick out my chin when the song tells me to. I grin. It’s hard to grin and sing. Behind the table, Drew Carrier leans forward on his elbows. The leggy choreographer—she was introduced, but I’ve already forgotten her name—squints. Am I hurting her ears? Renée Felix reclines away from the other two, looking artistic director-ish.

  On my next quick breath, I glance to my right, to Gregor at the piano. He’s cheery and attentive for cues. Sandy the dog to my Annie.

  I forgot how quickly “Tomorrow” goes by. But at least I’ve remembered the words.

  I take a huge breath to propel into the song’s wide-open, optimistic finish. I hit the last big note bang-on and hold it—“aaa-waaaayy”—then wrap it up with what I hope is my best downtrodden-but-still-hopeful expression: You have to adopt me. I’m adorable! Gregor’s hands spring off the keyboard in a final flourish. I can practically hear the applause.

  Except there is none.

  Drew pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Charming.”

  “Isn’t she?” Gregor pipes up. “I found her outside. Can we keep her?”

  Renée laughs. The choreographer smiles—barely. Camilla Perez. Her name pops back into my head now that there’s space for it.

  Drew chuckles. “Gregor, I know this will be hard for you, but it’s time to shut up and leave so that…” He shuffles through the papers in front of him.

  “Ellie,” I prompt.

  “So that Ellie can do her monologue.” Drew raises a thick eyebrow at me. “Gregor can be a merciless upstager.”

  “Hey!” Gregor pretends to look offended. “Only amateurs upstage. I simply have charisma. But I can mute it.” He makes a zip-it gesture on his mouth.

  It was less scary doing my song with him in the room. Maybe he’ll be good for my monologue too. “He can stay. I don’t mind.”

  Gregor mimes clapping.

  Renée shakes her head at me. “No, dear, that’s not professional.” She’s pleasant but firm. “He’s a fellow auditioner. It was unusual enough to let him accompany you.” She slides her eyes toward Drew.

  “It gave me a break from having to accompany everyone,” he says, shrugging. “But, of course, you’re right.”

  Gregor throws up his hands and pushes away from the piano. “I surrender. I’m going.”

  “Thanks for your playing,” I say as he passes behind me. “It was great.”

  “Anytime, Snow White. And I know.”

  I watch the door close behind him, then turn back to the table of judges.

  “Let’s hear what you’ve got.” Drew clasps his hands behind his head, settling in to listen.

  “I’ll be doing Mimi from Oranges and Lemons.” In drama last year, Mrs. Mowat said I was so good at this it gave her shivers.

  “An old classic.” Drew nods.

  Hoping classic is good, I look at the floor for a second and take a settling breath. I lift my head, look right at Drew and begin. “It’s not like we knew the truth, Oscar and me. Mama kept the news from us until it was too late. So we shouldn’t be blamed for…for what happened last night.”

  Drew suddenly leans forward. “Okay. Let’s stop there, Ellie.”

  I feel my mouth snap shut. Stop? Is my audition over? What could I have done wrong in thirty seconds? I glance at Renée. Her face gives nothing away.

  “What do you think Mimi wants?” Drew asks. His tone is friendly, but my heart is skittering against my ribs.

  “Wants?”

  “What does she want to achieve by saying those lines?”

  My hands feel sweaty. I don’t want to rub them on my jeans and look dorky and nervous. I settle for putting them on my hips. “Mimi wants to achieve…uh, I think she’s saying, to Papa—”

  “Good. You know who she’s talking to. Monologues aren’t addressed to the air. Or to the people you’re auditioning in front of. Are they?”

  Oh crap, I shouldn’t have stared at Drew. “No.”

  “They’re addressed to someone specific.”

  “Right.” Someone specifically not the director.

  “So. Mimi.” Drew rolls up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. “What are you hoping Papa thinks when you tell him what you and Oscar did?”

  I’m hoping Drew thinks I have enough of a brain to cast me in a lead role. But I try to put myself in Mimi’s place. “That it wasn’t our fault. I mean, it was our fault, but Mimi—I want Papa to think it wasn’t. So that Oscar and I won’t get sent away. I don’t want to be sent away.”

  “Yes!” Drew hits the tabletop. “High stakes. Do it again with that in mind.”

  Camilla stretches her neck from side to side. I remember that I’m the last person to audition today. They all must want to be done.

  I straighten my shoulders and start the monologue again, without staring at Drew. I focus on a spot slightly above him and conjure in my head an image of Papa, suspicious and distrustful. Drew doesn’t interrupt this time. I even feel myself tear up toward the end and have to swallow hard before my final line: “Papa, please tell me you understand.”

  Silence.

  I take a step back, as if leaving Mimi, then look at Drew. I’m pulsing. Just like Gregor declared when he came out of his audition, I nailed it.

  Camilla gives Drew a Well? look.

  “Nice,” he says.

  That’s it? Nice doesn’t land the big role. When Drew doesn’t go on, I have to fill the silence. “Thank you. That was a really interesting audition. I mean, you made it interesting. For me.” I wish Gregor could come back to play some exit music.

  Camilla picks my résumé off the table and scans it. “I see you have no dance background, Ellie.” Her voice is sweet yet somehow hard. Crunchy candy.

  I want to shout, Did you not just hear me sing? Did you not just see me act? But I keep positive. “I was Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and Sandy in Grease, and in Wicked I played Galinda, so I danced in all of those. All the solos and most of the other numbers.”

  “Those aren’t dance-heavy shows.” Camilla folds herself into a cross-legged position on her chair. “Have you taken any classes outside of school? Some basic ballet, maybe?”

  I decide to try some humor. “The only dance school in my old town was in the mall attached to the main grocery store. Not very glamorous. And the woman who ran it was this scary ex-Soviet ballerina, so I was afraid to go.”

  Camilla grimaces and tilts her head. “So, no?”

  Bye-bye humor. “No.”

  “Okay,” she says, like it’s not okay.

  Drew clears his throat. “Nicely done, Ellie.” He gathers up his notes and taps them into a pile, newscaster style.

  Renée stands and smooths her plum-colored skirt down her hips. “Thanks for trying out, Ellie. It’s going to be an exciting show. Now Drew and Camilla need to put their heads together to see who gets callbacks.”

  “That’s when the dance audition happens,” Camilla says. In case I’m too dumb to figure out that she only gives the people who might be cast a chance to prove they can dance. Or not.

&nb
sp; Drew says, “We’ll be in touch later tonight to let everyone know one way or the other.”

  I’ve tanked the audition.

  “Thanks so much,” I manage to say, then bolt from the room.

  Gregor’s gone. Neeta looks up from her laptop, snaps it shut and makes a beeline for the audition room. “Thanks for auditioning. They’ll let you know,” she says, brushing past.

  One way or the other.

  I’ll be other.

  Four

  I slump in front of the TV, alone with a bowl of reheated pasta. Dad’s stuck in a work dinner with his boss. American Idol plays a mash-up of the season’s worst auditions—the deluded, tone-deaf people who get eliminated three bars into their songs. I turn it off. This is a lousy way to shake off my post-audition unhappiness.

  I go to the kitchen and dump out what’s left of my pasta. My cell buzzes from the coffee table. It’ll be Drew, telling me I’m not getting a callback. Don’t pick it up, I tell myself. Pretend the audition didn’t happen. The phone keeps vibrating, like a trapped wasp. I stare at it until it goes still.

  Good. That’s the end of that stupid idea. I’m not ready for the Youth Works Theater Company. I grab an apple from the fridge.

  Just as I take a bite, my phone starts up again. I chew, swallow. There’s no avoiding the truth, I guess. I pick up the phone without looking at it.

  “Hello?” I try to sound calm and mature.

  “Ellie?”

  “Cassidy?”

  “You’re there! Thank goodness, because if I couldn’t tell you right this minute I’d explode.” Her voice is high-pitched with excitement. “I got Maria! Can you believe it? I mean, I sort of knew I would, but I sort of worried I wouldn’t. And omigod, Jared’s playing Tony. He said he’s even going to dye his hair black for the part. Won’t he look even hotter than he already does? I am so, so happy he and I are going to be the leads.”

  I sink onto the couch. “Wow. That’s awesome, Cass.” The chunk of apple sits like a rock in my stomach. “Congrats.”

  “Thanks.” Silence. Maybe she’s finally taking a breath. “I wish you were still here.” She’s quieter. “Guess where I’m calling from.”

  Against my will, I smile. “Top bleacher by first base.” The baseball diamond is where Cassidy and I have always gone to share our most important secrets or news, even in the middle of winter.

  “I knew you’d know. And that weirdo from the apartment on the corner still lets his basset hound poop in center field. It’s circling as I speak.”

  I laugh, but if I hear too much about my old neighborhood right now, I’ll probably cry. “So when do you start rehearsals?” Not that I really want to hear about that either.

  “Day after tomorrow. I’m so excited. Except Tessa Gorsham’s playing Anita. Talk about miscasting. She’s about as fiery as a dictionary.” Cassidy’s back in high-pitched babble mode. My cue to cut things short.

  “Cass, my dad’s just walked in, I should go.” I go over and open our balcony door to make a fake, Dad-coming-in sound.

  “Hi, Mr. Fisk!” Cassidy calls. “Okay, talk soon.”

  “Yep.”

  “I miss you. Bye.” If her voice gets any higher, it’ll crack my phone.

  I press End.

  She didn’t ask me a single thing about what’s going on in my life. Just as well.

  I realize I’m staring off into space only when a movement catches my eye. On a balcony across the way, a guy waves an oven mitt over a smoky barbecue. He looks up, smiles and waves the mitt at me. “I’m such an amateur,” he shouts cheerfully. I slide the door shut. I’ve pulled the blind down halfway when my phone buzzes again. For a brief, weird second I think the balcony guy has somehow figured out my phone number. Then I remember who it probably is.

  I clear my throat. “Hello?”

  “Is this Ellie Fisk?” Drew asks. His voice sounds younger on the phone.

  “Speaking.” I wonder how many calls he’s made today. How many people he’s disappointed.

  “You did a great job at the audition. We’d like to see you at the callback. Tomorrow at three o’clock, at the church. I hope you’re available.”

  Air rushes into my lungs. I dance on the spot and let out a silent scream. Then I calm myself down enough to say, “Totally. I am totally available. One hundred percent available.” Maybe not so calm.

  Drew laughs. “Good to know. Bring jazz shoes, if you’ve got them, and wear stuff you can move easily in. Camilla will teach everyone a routine. The dance audition is a group thing.”

  “Great.” Thank goodness I don’t have to be in a room alone with her.

  “See you tomorrow,” Drew says. “One hundred percent, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  I let happiness settle over me. I did not tank my first real audition ever. I did a great job. I grab my apple and my laptop. Time to find a place to buy some lucky jazz shoes, pronto.

  * * *

  “Kick ball change, kick ball change, chaîné, and chaîné, and—no, no, you’ve got to keep the spacing even between dancers. Allie”—Camilla points at me—“pick up your turns. You were too far behind Marissa.”

  It would be nice if Camilla actually got my name right. But I guess it would also be nice if I had known that a chaîné was a type of turn before she started yelling the word at me. Marissa casually practices the combo I just messed up.

  Drew, at the piano, says, “Where should we take it from?”

  “From the grapevine, everyone.” Camilla snaps her fingers to make us hurry.

  The five other kids and I scurry back to our original spots. We’re the first group to do the dance. Twenty-three additional would-be cast members sprawl on the audition-room floor in front of us. They’re stretching and warming up, but they’re also watching our every move. Learning from any mistakes.

  Camilla smacks her rock-hard thigh as she counts, “And one and two and…”

  Drew starts up on the piano again.

  I say the steps in my head, making sure not to move my lips at the same time.

  “Keep smiling,” Camilla shouts. “It’s not a death march. Yet.”

  I smile. On the second chaîné, I glance over to make sure I’m close enough to Marissa.

  “Heads up.” Camilla slaps the bottom of her chin to demonstrate. “Better. Final turn, and land it.”

  Drew hits the last chord. Yes! That time felt solid. I’m hoping the next group of six will get called up so I can be done. My new jazz shoes are killing me.

  “Once more, just to see if you can get it right twice in a row,” Camilla says.

  Moving back into position, I catch Gregor, out on the floor, sighing loudly. He says something to the tall black girl beside him. She laughs and hits him playfully on the arm, the way good friends can. Am I the only person here who doesn’t know anyone?

  “And one and two and,” Camilla calls again.

  I’m grapevining, I’m kick ball changing, kick ball changing, I’m smiling, I’m chaîné-ing, heads up, I’m—

  I bash into Marissa. “Omigod, I’m sorry.”

  She hasn’t fallen but only because she’s grabbed on to the dancer beside her for balance.

  “Are you okay, Ilona?” Marissa asks the girl.

  Ilona looks miffed but says, “No biggie.”

  “Sorry,” I repeat. Heat spreads up my neck and face, a tide of embarrassment. “I didn’t want to be too far from you, but I guess that was too close.”

  “You think?” Marissa flicks her bangs out of her eyes, then asks Camilla, “From the top again?”

  Camilla snaps the waistband of her leggings like a metronome. Maybe that helps her think. “No. This group can leave.” She turns to the waiting actors. “Next six up.”

  Marissa strides away, snatches the water bottle from her dance bag and takes a long drink. She doesn’t leave but stands beside an athletic-looking guy near the back of the room and starts whispering furiously. He nods his big blond head in agreement as he stretches his q
uadriceps.

  I change out of my jazz shoes, stuff them in my backpack and hurry toward the exit.

  “Hey, Ellie.” Gregor leans over as I pass by. “If you can hang around until we’re done, Shantel and I are going for coffee and gossip,” he says, gesturing to the girl beside him. “You could come with us.”

  Shantel leans across his legs. “He gossips. I intelligently analyze our fellow actors.”

  “In other words, you gossip,” Gregor says, putting his face beside hers.

  “Oh, snap!” Shantel pushes his head away with one finger.

  For a second, I want to go and listen to their rapid-fire joking so I can forget about my callback. Then I picture having to watch everyone else be way better dancers than me.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But my dad’s meeting me, so I have to go.”

  Camilla calls, “Silence, minions!” without turning around.

  Shantel and Gregor clamp their hands over their mouths in exaggerated fear. Then he whispers, “Okay, see you at the first rehearsal, Snow.”

  I doubt it.

  Outside, the late-afternoon light is low. There’s a chill in the air. Cars drive by, people walk by, the whole busy city goes by. Everybody knows exactly what they’re doing and how to get where they’re going.

  I lied when I said I was meeting Dad, but I decide to change that. I take out my phone.

  Dad sounds tired. “Hey, El, just finished at the gym. How was the callback?”

  “Have you found a good Chinese food place in this city yet? I need emergency chicken fried rice.”

  “Hang tight,” Dad says. “I’ll be there in five.”

  Five

  At the King’s Bowl restaurant, our middle-aged waiter’s face transforms from bland to excited as he finishes taking our order. “This City This Morning!” he announces, like that’s Dad’s name. “I watch you when I’m getting dressed.”

  “That’s awkward,” I say under my breath.

  Dad shoots me a look. “Fantastic,” he says to the waiter, deploying his best TV smile. “I hope I get your day off to a good start.”