Inevitable and Only(16)
“Yeah, sure!” The enthusiasm in his voice surprised me, and I looked up.
Bad move. His dark shiny curls fell over his ears and forehead in an adorable mop. He tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes and smiled at me. Did he realize that was total movie star behavior?
“Great! Awesome!” I blurted. “So I’ll go pick up tickets after my next class, unless you want to, I mean, not that you have to pay for mine, I can definitely pay for my own ticket, I’m definitely a feminist, you know?” That was definitely the most words I’d ever spoken to Farhan.
He was still smiling at me. “Um, I’m not really sure what you just said.”
“Oh.” I took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“I have study hall next period, so I can go get us tickets. Okay?”
“Sure!” I nodded vigorously and willed my mouth to stay shut.
“Okay, see ya later then.” And he slung his backpack over one shoulder (adorable), turned, and walked away.
Just like that, I had my very first date.
Drama was next. I made it out to the Shed somehow, although all I wanted to do was find Raven and tell her everything that had just happened. The sky was a perfect September blue; the maples at the edge of campus were just starting to hint at their fall plans. And I had a date. With Farhan Mazandarani. Who I’d had a real (sort of?) conversation with for the first time ever. Who had smiled at me and tossed the hair out of his eyes even after I verbally vomited all over him.
Gross. I reminded my brain never to use that phrase again.
I pushed open the door to the Shed and my stomach contracted.
Auditions.
I’d completely forgotten, even though Robin had reminded us on Friday.
“Class, let’s center,” he called, already perched in lotus pose on the stage. “We’ve got a lot to get through today. Those of you who would like to try out for Much Ado About Nothing will be doing so during this period, while any other would-be thespians not in this class will be auditioning after school. We begin rehearsals next week. Before you sign up for an audition slot, please take one of these handouts and make sure you can commit to our schedule.” He waved a sheaf of papers. “Shakespeare is a rigorous lifestyle, people. This is not an extracurricular for the faint of heart. If you’re only hoping to pad your college application, please waste another teacher’s time.”
Someone was crabby today.
And I hadn’t prepared for this audition at all. My bookmark was still very close to the beginning of my pocket Much Ado.
Well, I’d just have to try to remember something about the characters from seeing the play with Dad at the Shakespeare Theatre in DC, and wing it. At least my reactions would be authentic today—Meisner would approve.
After we centered, Robin split us up into two groups. Those who weren’t auditioning—only four of the sixteen students in the class—took copies of The Crucible to the small classroom behind the theater and started a read-through. We’d be working on scenes from that play next week.
The rest of us were given “sides,” photocopies of the scenes we’d be reading for the audition.
“Come downstage to read, stay upstage while you’re waiting your turn,” he instructed, hopping off the edge of the stage and perching on the armrest in the first row of seats.
Half of us milled slowly to the back of the stage, and the rest stayed at the front, everyone surreptitiously glancing around to see if anyone knew what we were supposed to do.
Robin clapped his hands. “Downstage means closer to me. Stage directions are from the perspective of the actor, people. Stage left—your left. And downstage got its name from the early days of theater, when the stage actually tilted slightly downward toward the audience. Capeesh?”
He called the first pair forward and they began to read a Beatrice-Benedick scene, but he stopped them almost immediately.
“You’re both moving around too much. No moving around for now, unless it feels absolutely necessary. We’ll work on blocking and stage directions later. For today, just read.”
He stopped the next pair and repeated the same direction. “For the love of the Bard, people, the most colorful stage direction Shakespeare ever wrote in any of his plays was ‘Exit, pursued by a bear.’ Unless a bear is pursuing you at this moment, stay still.”
I could tell the others were starting to get nervous. Shuffling their pages, shifting their weight from one foot to the other. I took a deep breath and tried to listen to the pair who were currently auditioning—Sam Shotwell and Rina Crane, a junior who’d been in drama the previous year and was totally rocking her audition, flinging her arms and tossing her head to emphasize the emotion she was putting into the words. Actually, she looked totally ridiculous. Trying way too hard.
I started shifting my weight from one foot to the other, too.
Then Robin called my name. I crossed to the front of the stage—I mean, downstage—and faced my partner, Zephyr Daniels. He was a senior who’d taken drama before as well, and he’d had the lead in the winter play last year. His gangly frame disappeared into an oversized brown leather coat, a shade or two lighter than his skin, and his hair stuck up all over his head in little twists. He was staring down at his pages, his shoulders hunched, mouthing words silently.
I read the first lines: “I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick: nobody marks you.”