Chapter 2 #3
Zeb’s always more fervent than me in his rants, but from what I’ve gleaned about Tarun, he’s not wrong.
But when I look over his shoulder and see Tarun passing by with a plastic water bottle in his hand, he meets my eyes.
It’s a look that says, ‘I heard everything your friend just said,’ and I open my mouth to do some damage control, but he’s already closed his eyes and hurried away.
Zeb looks up at me, reading me like a book. ‘He heard all of that, didn’t he?’
I nod, turning to look for him. Maybe I should catch up with him, but Zeb shrugs.
‘Did I lie?’ Zeb asks, and I guess he didn’t.
‘And that’s break over,’ calls out Elaine to the room. ‘Let’s get back to it.’
The people pleaser in me curses that we’re going back to rehearsals with this weird energy of bitching unresolved between Tarun and us, but maybe I need to not worry about things like that. Maybe I need to be more ruthless.
I’ve got a competition to focus on, and Marty’s right. I can’t have a repeat of last year.39
Tarun
By lunchtime, I don’t think I’ve processed a single thing we’ve done since break. I’ve been too busy playing what Olly’s friend said about me over and over again. That I don’t belong here: taken the place of someone who knows fecking 47th Street or whatever it was that Olly was talking about.
I pick up a cheese sandwich from the lunch spread and search for somewhere to eat.
I want to sit with Oisín, but he’s chatting again to the posh boy who is treating this competition like ‘Musical Theatre Love Island’, wiggling his eyebrows at a pretty brunette girl.
The same boy who Oisín told I’m only doing shows to flirt with girls, when Oisín knows he’s more my type than any girl.
No, not the right time for us to have our chat.
But Olly and his gang are in the other direction, and I’m going nowhere near them. I don’t need to hear any more about what a fraud I am. I know that well enough myself. My insides are swimming, my hands beginning to shake…
‘Tarun!’
I spin around and the forever smiley Ella waves at me. She’s sitting with the other two from our dance group earlier and beckons me over. They seemed nice… Better than panicking alone.40
‘Hey!’ says the ginger boy as I sit down with them. ‘We’ve danced together but not been introduced – I’m Andrew and this is Philippa. It’s Tarun, right?’
‘Aye. It’d be fairer to say you three danced … I just wobbled around behind you.’
‘You were great!’ Ella says with sincerity. ‘We all have different strengths. I can somersault but ask me to follow a cake recipe and I’m hopeless.’
‘Yeah, well … I’m not sure I have any strengths,’ I say, the little spark of hope that maybe performing could be my ‘thing’ dampened after this morning.
‘Come off it,’ says Philippa. ‘We’ve been picked out as thirty of the best performers in the UK!’
‘Yeah, we have,’ Ella hypes, wiggling her fingers at me until I reluctantly join her. ‘Some self-belief please.’
From the corner of my eye, Olly is visible, getting to his feet and pulling a girl up from the ground. They must have finished their lunch as they start practising the routine Elaine set with the ‘Dancers’ this morning.
‘That Olly is such a hard worker, isn’t he?’ comments Andrew.
‘Do you not think it’s a bit much?’ I ask. ‘Like, I get the enthusiasm and all, but there’s a line isn’t there? Just seems like he’s showing off and sucking up…’
A crease appears on Ella’s forehead. ‘I imagine he’s desperate for Saturday to go well for him. He’s eighteen, 41isn’t he? So this will be his last chance to use the Larrys as a springboard.’
Maybe she’s right, but I shrug, deciding it’s best not to share any more ill will towards everyone’s favourite musical-theatre giant.
It’s clear that for him and his group you have to be a certain level of musical-theatre obsessed and confidently yourself – whether that be about your sexuality, passions or level of ‘star quality’ – to belong. I’ll never be enough for them.
We spend the afternoon putting the songs ‘on their feet’, and I stay near Ella, Philippa and Andrew.
Even though I don’t share their belief that I deserve to be here, they’re kind.
Elaine gives me steps that are even simpler than the rest of the ‘Movers’ group that I was put into, and I mostly keep my head down, focusing on just doing my best not to show myself up.
Oisín and Olly’s group of ‘Dancers’ practise fast-paced, spinning choreography for a song that I know (a surprise, having been convinced by know-it-all Olly that I didn’t know a single song from a musical).
Thankfully, the most I’m expected to do in ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’ is stand and click at the side, but even that has risks of going wrong.
Like when I’m told to walk – while still clicking – from the back of the marked-out stage and go to the front.
I’m meant to go on the third chorus, but the song repeats itself so many times that I worry I need to go every time we sing. 42
Nerves are building, and when I hear the beginning of a chorus hit, I go for it.
When the dancers leap right into my path though, it’s clear I’ve miscalculated.
Olly crashes into me and we land as a jumble of limbs on the floor, all seventeen feet of him on top of me.
And I’d been doing such a good job of avoiding him as well.
‘Sorry, do we have a blocking clash?’ he asks, making me even more embarrassed as I pull myself out from underneath him and he scrambles to his knees. ‘We might need to work that out.’
‘No, it was my fault, in the wrong place as ever,’ I blurt out, getting onto my feet.
‘Oh…’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get better at staying out of your way.’
He opens his mouth to answer back but I run to where I’m meant to be, the music still playing underneath us, before he gets a chance.
I need this day to be over so I can have an evening to myself to figure out what I’m going to do.
I can’t carry on pretending I fit in here.
Especially not when there are people like him reminding me how ashamed I should be about taking the place from someone deserving.
Maybe I should just quit the competition before I embarrass myself any further.
By the end of the day, we’ve finished both ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’ and our other group number, ‘You Will Be Found’, which only requires us to stand and sing with 43deep feeling – something that’s a lot more natural for me than dancing.
I’ve also watched the song in my limited musicals education on YouTube, so I pick up the harmonies without sending my anxiety spiralling.
Once Elaine announces she’s done with us, Sabrina comes in with a list of who we’re sharing hotel rooms with. I’m not even going to get a chance to hide away after rehearsals!
My heart sinks as Oisín is called out first to be sharing with Andrew.
It would have been good to have a one-on-one chance to chat with him: see where we stand with each other.
Olly’s friend Zeb is with Hugo and Nate the Assistant Stage Manager who’s the only person in this room who looks grungy like my friends from school.
Sabrina’s list goes on and on with no mention of me.
I glance around, trying to do the maths on who’s left to share with.
‘Jasmine Peters with Gabrielle Jiang.’
The answer dawns on me at the same time as Sabrina reads from her list. ‘And finally, Tarun Attri, you’ll be with Olly Redmond.’
No, no, no. From across the room, our eyes meet for a second before we both look anywhere other than at each other.
I’m sharing a room with a boy who speaks a musical-theatre language I’m too stupid to understand; who knows 44I’m just an understudy from the ensemble; who doesn’t care two jots what people think about him being gay and confident; and who agrees with his friend that I’m a thief with no right to be at this competition.
Of all the people, why did it have to be him?