In Harmony(25)

“Thanks,” I said, my mouth bone-dry. “I’ll meet you at The Scoop when I’m done.”

“I’ll have chocolate waiting.”

The theater lobby was bustling with auditioners, college age to seniors. I recognized a few people from Harmony, as well as a few college students I didn’t. I spied a couple of older girls hanging out together, talking with their heads bent. Ophelia wannabes, maybe. They gave me a shared glance and turned their backs.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair in a loose bun was behind the sign-in table. She peered at me through thick-rimmed glasses. “Name?”

“Willow Holloway,” I said, my heart pounding.

She made a check mark on her list. “And what role are you reading for?”

“Ophelia. Where are the auditions being held?”

“Through there,” she said, jerking her thumb at the main theater entrance.

“We’re all auditioning together? Onstage?”

“Correct.”

“We’re not being called in a room to read alone? For the director only?”

“Mr. Ford doesn’t do it that way,” she said, her expression placid. “He likes to keep things open and transparent. Break a leg. Next?”

I stepped inside the theater and saw the seats were two-thirds full with prospective Hamlet cast members.

Holy shitballs.

I nearly turned around and walked back out. No way I could perform my monologue in front of all these people. I couldn’t even do it in front of Angie, no matter how many times she’d pestered me over the last few weeks.

If you can’t perform a monologue in front of people, how can you perform an entire play?

“I can’t,” I whispered behind my teeth. “This is stupid. I shouldn’t be here.”

Yet I forced myself into a seat in the back row, near the door. This dumb audition was my best and only plan to dispel the darkness or crack the ice around me. Doing nothing hadn’t worked. I had to try.

And if I humiliate myself, so be it.

I closed my eyes and thought about the opening words to my monologue.

I couldn’t remember them.

I opened my eyes, heart now crashing in my chest. The director, Martin Ford, was setting himself up onstage. I recognized him from the HCT website. A lanky guy with flyaway hair and large eyes. He looked friendly. Welcoming. I still felt like I was going to puke.

My eyes darted around, searching the crowd for anyone who looked as nervous as I was.

My gaze landed on Isaac Pearce.

He stood against the back wall, alone, hands jammed inside the pockets of his leather jacket. Instead of nervous, he looked bored, like he was waiting for the bus. His handsome, chiseled face was expressionless. Then it turned toward me and stared. A flicker of disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe I was there. Then he blinked and his gaze darted away.

“I see you, Isaac Pearce,” I muttered under my breath. “Time to share your wisdom with the newbie.”

I got up and went toward the back of the theater. As I came closer, his stormy eyes flared with surprise before shifting back to neutral.

Holy God, he’s beautiful.

Looking at Isaac Pearce was like window-shopping: sighing over something you desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And yet…the impossibility of my being with him—or any guy—made it easier to be bold.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” he replied, looking straight ahead.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Willow.”

He glanced at me, then away. “Isaac.”

“So.” I put my back against the wall, mirroring his stance. “Last time I saw you, you were punching that asshole, Ted Bowers.”

“Sounds about right.”

“That was two weeks ago.” I lowered my voice. “The rumor mill says you were kicked out.”

He shifted against the wall. “I left. My decision.”

“You weren’t expelled for punching Ted?”

He glanced down at me. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Ted was getting all up in my space and you made him back off. I feel a little responsible.”

Isaac shrugged. “No big deal.”

“It was to me,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to thank you.”

“Okay.”

I blinked. “So…Thanks.”

“Sure.”

I sniffed a laugh. “Has anyone told you that you talk too much?”

His gaze slid to me slowly. “No.”

The blood drained from my face as I remembered why Isaac had been held back for a year.

“I’m sorry. Bad joke. I’m just nervous as hell.”

“So am I.”

I glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “Yeah, right. You look calm as…something really calm.”

His lips twitched. “It’s all an act.”

“Groan,” I said, and laughed.

So Mr. Pearce, you have a sense of humor.

“Thanks, I needed that.” I heaved a shaky breath. “I wasn’t expecting us to audition in front of each other. I thought we’d be in a room alone, not in front of a firing squad.”