Chapter 4 Stevie
Stevie
I pull my backpack out of my locker as a shock of cherry-colored hair flutters into my periphery.
Misty shoots me a megawatt smile over the books clutched to her chest. “Are you nervous? Excited? Crying? Barfing?”
Blinking at her, I force back the bile climbing my throat and mutter an awkward laugh. “Multiple things can be true at once.”
“Shit. You’ve got this. If not, I’ll throw hands.” She schleps the books over to one arm and wiggles her fingers at me. “Natalie is already celebrating, you know. There’s a party at her lake house tomorrow at seven. We should crash it.”
“No thanks.”
“We can egg her Mercedes.”
“Dignity, Misty.”
“Hmm. I’m unfamiliar with that word.” My best friend leans her shoulder against the row of lockers. “I’m just going to put it out there: if Natalie scores the role of Satine, you know it’s because she’s getting freaky with Mr. Hamlin. Not because she earned it.”
My face sours. “Hamlin is married. And he’s pushing sixty.”
“That’s my point. She’s shameless.”
If I’m being honest, Natalie isn’t all that bad. She’s a good performer, and she’s not as foul as some of the girls who go to this school. When she nabbed the part of Belle, she didn’t rub it in my face or kick me when I was down. I appreciated that.
Misty and I stroll side by side to the girls’ bathroom after school lets out for the day, and I give Jameson a high five before he slips down the hallway toward the auditorium.
“Break a leg, Stevie!” he calls out, sending me a two-fingered salute.
I gulp.
That would be my luck.
When we hole ourselves up in the multi-stall bathroom with yellowing wallpaper, Misty grips me by the shoulders as I try not to puke on her. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep breath.”
I inhale a lungful of air.
“Deeper!”
Blowing it out in her face, I wiggle out of her viselike hold and turn to face the mirror. My hands curl around the rim of the chipped porcelain sink, my chest heaving. “I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You’re Stevie St. James, the next big superstar.”
I glance at my reflection, loathing the pink flush on my cheeks.
“Yeah, right. A high school musical is peanuts in the grand scheme of stardom.” My parents have been putting every penny they can into a savings account that will help me obtain a theater degree.
If I drop the ball now, their generosity will be in vain.
I need to prove that I’m capable. Worthy. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after four.”
“Okay. Fifteen more minutes.”
Misty sidles up beside me, fiddling with her giant topknot. “Will you find out if you make it today?”
“We perform a small musical bit first. Then we wait and see if they want us to read lines,” I explain, splashing cool water on my face. “The official list will be posted tomorrow.”
“Oof. I don’t know how you deal with the nerves.
I’m a ball of anxiety just thinking about it.
When I was seven, I had a clarinet recital.
The moment it was time to play, I peed my pants, had a subsequent panic attack, and to this day, I can’t look at a woodwind instrument without traumatic flashbacks.
” She parks a hip against the sink and peers over at me.
“How will you handle possibly performing with Lexington Hall, by the way? You know he’s going to get the part, no matter if he’s actually good or not. God, it’ll be so…intimate.”
My stomach pitches, Lex’s assessment of me funneling through my achy chest.
Underwhelming.
“I’ll manage. He’s nothing special.”
“Are you kidding? He’s gorgeous and famous. I still see that juice box commercial every now and then.” She sighs dreamily. “How cute was he slurping from that twisty straw?”
“He was eight then. All eight-year-olds are cute.”
“Well, look at him now.”
“I do, every day in English class. I don’t know what the fuss is all about.”
“I meant look at him with your eyes. You have those, right?”
Snorting out a laugh, I shake my head at her. “He hardly ever talks to anybody. I can’t imagine him wowing a captivated audience, singing and dancing in front of hundreds of people.”
I suppose there’s always a chance he could be great, considering his prestigious résumé. But that was just a cheesy sitcom when he was a kid, and it doesn’t automatically mean he has a strong stage presence or musical skill.
His retired-actress mother helped get him this far, and his parents’ money will take him all the way to wherever he wants to go. What else does he really need? Schools run on politics and word of mouth. It’s not always about genuine talent.
“Besides, this is high school,” I continue. “The show has been watered down for the age group. Nothing too obscene in terms of intimacy.”
“But there’s a kiss.”
I look up, blinking into the mirror. My pupils dilate, swallowing my pale-green irises. Gulping, I pan my gaze to my taut fingers still gripping the sink. “Two, actually. But they’re small kisses. And maybe he’s a terrible kisser.”
“Sure. That’s realistic.” She nudges my ankle with the toe of her shoe. “Have you kissed anyone before?”
I turn off the faucet until the water runs dry. “Does Danny Meblick in seventh grade count?”
“Oh God, the ferret guy? Yeah, he counts. Barely.” She laughs, plucking her backpack off the floor and slinging a strap over her shoulder. “Maybe you two can practice kissing before the big show.”
“Danny and me?”
“Eww, no, with Lex. Channel the method-acting thing. Kiss him beneath a glimmering full moon and fall deeply in love with him.”
My nose crinkles when she swoons. “I don’t think my talents have peaked to that level yet.”
“Whatever. He’s delicious, and I’ll never forgive you if you don’t take advantage of it.”
Shaking away the rest of my nerves, I regroup and dry my hands before making my way out of the bathroom. I glance over my shoulder at Misty as we move in opposite directions. “I’ll call you after the auditions. Want to come over and study for that chem test?”
She skips away, sending me an eyebrow waggle and a slew of kissy noises. “Yes! Keep me posted.”
Waving goodbye, I traipse toward the auditorium, smiling at my art teacher through the open door of one of the classrooms. Sweat dots my brow.
I hate that I’m so nervous. For the Beauty and the Beast auditions, I was cool and collected.
Confident. I nailed that audition and still fell short.
Those feelings of inferiority and insecurity are now blazing through my chest in fiery waves of doubt, engulfing my courage.
Keep it together, Stevie.
As I turn the corner, commotion in one of the empty classrooms catches my attention. I slow down, peeking through the glass window and doing a double take when I spot Lex pacing the floor, his arms waving animatedly before he kicks a chair and it topples over.
My breath catches.
I should keep moving, keep walking, but something has me rooted to the squeaky tiles. I think it’s the look on his face. The conviction. The candidness oozing off him as he rehearses his lines.
It’s almost…tragic.
And it’s as disarming as the oceanic color of his eyes.
A lump swells in my throat as I watch his lips move, though I can’t make out the precise words. His brow is furrowed, his body brimming with tension. He rakes a hand through his hair, and then…
He falters.
Turns.
My eyes round when he looks right at me through the glass.
Our gazes lock, ensnared in a steel trap. I should walk away. Bolt from the doorway and pretend like he never saw me spying on him. But I can’t move. I’m frozen, pegged in place by the oddly tortured expression he sends me through the window.
It’s so out of place.
Boys with expensive blue eyes, golden hair, and polished boots shouldn’t look so sad. He emanates anger and bone-deep pain, not from the lines he’s rehearsing but from something else. Something I’ll probably never understand.
I can’t manage a smile. I can’t manage anything, not even a blink.
Lex finally breaks contact, dipping his attention to the floor, his throat working as he pivots away from me. The severed connection is enough to spark me back to life, and I inch backward, drinking in a shaky breath as I continue down the hallway toward the theater.
I’m still rattled when I push through the heavy door and enter the auditorium that’s now teeming with students.
It’s a chaotic ten minutes while classmates prepare, reading lines to one another, some more distraught than others.
Mr. Hamlin sends me a nod as I take a seat in one of the fold-down chairs.
I rehearse the audition song, “The Sparkling Diamond,” over and over in my head.
When I saw this year’s show was going to be Moulin Rouge!
, my eagerness heightened tenfold. It’s always been one of my favorite movies.
The tragedy, the love, the absolute talent emitted from the actors.
Watching that movie with my sister eight years ago made me want to do it too, so the moment the piece was announced, it felt like fate.
I needed to be Satine.
Wringing my hands together, I watch as students take the stage.
A girl named Isabelle goes first. She does okay, nothing spectacular.
A boy walks up the steps next—Micah—and he also performs decently.
I swallow, tapping a foot up and down while trying to stifle my anxiety.
Esther follows, and she totally botches the lyrics, her nerves getting the better of her.
Empathy pinches my chest as my eyes follow her off the stage, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Then it’s Natalie’s turn. My biggest competitor.
As she gets situated, the main door plows open, echoing through the auditorium. Mr. Hamlin glances up, sighing with aggravation when everyone turns to look at Lex as he saunters into the room like he isn’t nearly thirty minutes late.
“Timeliness is certainly not your strong suit, Mr. Hall,” our director drawls. “Take a seat and no further disruptions, or you can see yourself out.”
“You got it, Ham.”