Always Never Yours(18)

I didn’t realize it until that Midsummer Night’s Dream performance, but theater was never just an outing for my family. It was a time when we were a unit. No matter how briefly, no matter how ugly things were when we got home. There’s something about theater, an immediacy that brings stories to life in a way nothing can tarnish. You can put down a book or pause a movie, but a play is breathing right in front of you—it refuses to be stopped. It’s why I joined drama freshman year, and it’s what I’ve held on to ever since.

I pull up a campus map on my phone and head toward the directing department. My interview is in Professor Salsbury’s office, which looks like it’s next to a black box theater, a small performance space with only a couple of rows of chairs and without a backstage. Once I step inside the building, I glance into the theater, where a couple students are putting blocking tape on the floor.

I hear them swapping notes on scenic interpretation in theater shorthand, and for a moment I feel like I’m exactly where I belong. It doesn’t matter where my parents live. This is everything I need. This will be my home.

Feeling a rush of confidence, I knock on Professor Salsbury’s door and walk in when he calls, “It’s open!”

He’s sitting at his desk, poring over a play. His rumpled gray oxford looks like he slept in it, and he doesn’t seem much older than a student himself. “Hey, Megan, it’s great to meet you!” he says with disarming enthusiasm.

“Uh, yeah, uh, thank you for having me.” I take a seat opposite his desk. “I brought a résumé, if you want to have a look . . . ?”

“Prepared!” He reaches for the paper in my hand, his eyes lighting up. “I like that.” He studies it for a moment, and I feel myself relax at his approving expression. “You’ve directed an impressive diversity of material. For someone your age, especially,” he continues. “I notice you’ve met the lighting and set design requirements—great experiences to have.”

“They were,” I jump in. “They really helped me decide how to direct Twelfth Night.”

He nods, briefly glancing up at me. His eyes return to the page. “You’ve done a musical—West Side Story, a favorite of mine—and a couple of experimental pieces, but it looks like a lot of your work has been in Shakespeare.”

“He’s the best,” I say. “Really original opinion, I know.”

He laughs and sets the résumé down. Then he looks me right in the eye. “So why directing, Megan?”

I’m ready for this question. “Because theater feels like home. It’s the one place where I’m part of something that can bring people together or transport them,” I finish decisively.

“It’s clear you love theater.” He studies me, his voice growing more serious. “But I want to know why you’re a director.”

“I’m really not a natural actor,” I say. “I never feel comfortable or genuine or creative when I have an audience.”

Salsbury gives me a gentle smile. “Well, you’ll have to get used to it to some degree. We do have an acting requirement, which I see you haven’t fulfilled yet.”

“Not to worry,” I reply lightly. “I’m getting through it.”

“Getting through it is one thing.” His smile falters. “The requirement is there for a reason. Uncomfortable though it is to have an audience, learning how to inhabit a role will give you a deeper understanding of the emotions you’ll need to bring out in every scene. It’ll make you a better director. Even Shakespeare probably learned a thing or two from performing in his own plays.”

My stomach sinks. Not just because Salsbury’s eyeing me with a new uncertainty—because I know he’s right. It seemed easy to brush off Jody’s criticism in rehearsal and tell myself I don’t care. But if I want to be a real director, I can’t dismiss performing on stage just because it makes me uncomfortable.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in Stillmont’s Romeo and Juliet, would you?” His question surprises me. The professors here don’t seriously keep tabs on every local high-school production, do they?

My hands start to sweat, and I fold them in my lap. “I’m, um . . .” No point in hiding it. “I’m Juliet.”

Salsbury’s eyes light up once more. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing your performance.”

“You—what?” I stutter.

“In December,” he answers. “You know, the high-school feature at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. A group of faculty members and I go every year.”

Of course. Of. Course.

Just when I thought the Juliet situation couldn’t possibly get worse. It was enough to play a lead in front of Jody, my entire school, and the ardent Shakespeare enthusiasts who attend the festival. Now I have to go on stage knowing I’m being evaluated by the faculty of my dream university. I remember Anthony telling me Juilliard people would be there, critiquing him, but acting is what Anthony’s good at. It’s what he’s spent countless hours perfecting. I’m going to look ridiculous, and everyone there from SOTI will be watching.

I force a smile. “I . . . look forward to seeing you there,” I manage.





SEVEN