Chapter Sixteen
I rush through the theater door fifteenminutes past three, fifteen minutes after rehearsal begins. When the door thuds closed, everyone onstage turns to me. Mr. Roland must have announced I quit. That would explain the silence in the room, the stares following me as I rush onstage. Or maybe everyone is staring because I had the audacity to walk into rehearsal fifteen minutes late. As Mr. Roland explained during the first rehearsal, he has a low tolerance for people who waste his time.
I stand beside Cole and then ruffle through my bag quickly, my hands shaking. I pull out the script and meet Mr. Roland’s intimidating gaze. Taking in a deep breath, I muster the confidence to hold his stare. After a moment, he arches his eyebrow and tilts his head slightly, a clear question I answer by nodding. He lowers his single brow, straightens his head, then turns to the rest of the group, who were quiet throughout our wordless exchange.
“Let’s run through the first scene!”
Everyone scurries to take their rightful positions.
“I thought he ran you off yesterday,” Cole says, nudging me with his elbow. “Glad he didn’t.”
“Thanks.” I smile, then frown while considering something. “Did everyone think that too—that Mr. Roland ran me off?”
“Not me.” Ara appears suddenly, her arms folded over her chest. “I just thought you were smart enough to realize you can’t pull this off.” Her eyes shift over me—up and down, then up again. “Guess you weren’t.”
At this point, I can cross out the one rule I really thought I could keep.
Rule #4: Don’t make any enemies or start a rivalry.
I have an enemy. It’s a fact, but it’s hard to accept because I’ve never been the kind of person to go looking for trouble. Some people feed off drama and tension and just plain madness. I don’t have the nerve to throw up my fists or the skill to select the right words and structure the perfect insult. But for the first time in my life, because I am so irritated by Ara, I wish I had both the nerve and skill and even an appetite for drama. A combination of all three would definitely shut her up. But since that isn’t the case, I do what I did to every mean girl back in Nigeria—act like they’re insignificant. Nothing upsets a mean girl more than making them feel irrelevant—like their words and actions left no dent in your self-esteem… even if it does. It’s all about perception.
I turn to Cole and force what is hopefully a believable smile. “Let’s get started on this musical.”
If Ara had a reaction to me being dismissive, I don’t notice. I only hear the quick patter of her shoes as she rushes off stage.
During rehearsal, I complete the first scene without embarrassing myself. Studying the script on the drive back to school helped a lot. I remember some lines and glance at the script for a quick reference when I don’t. No one laughs. Mr. Roland only watches quietly, his hand cupping his chin, one finger tapping his lips. He keeps that position as we move on to the next scene. He gives Cole and the other actors instructions or criticism but says nothing to me. I’d be stupid to mistake his silence as a good sign. I didn’t become a brilliant actor overnight. My acting is… well, tragic. It was yesterday, and it still is today. If I’m going to improve, I’ll need his direction. But I get nothing from him.
When rehearsal ends, everyone gathers their things and leaves.
“You coming?” Cole asks, with his bag hanging from his shoulder.
“Um…” I look from him to Mr. Roland, who is talking to his assistant, Cheryl. “No. You go ahead.”
“Okay. Cool. See you around.”
Once he climbs off the stage, I take in a deep breath and walk toward Mr. Roland. My heart pounds as I get closer.
“Um… Mr. Roland. Hi.”
Slowly, he turns away from Cheryl. “Enore. Hello.” After the dry, clipped greeting, he turns to Cheryl again, continuing his conversation as if I’m not standing by, waiting for his attention.
Not only is this man arrogant, but he’s petty too. Yes, he let me back into the musical without calling me out for quitting in front of the cast. But he’s clearly still upset about yesterday. He probably expects me to grovel. And I’m seriously considering falling on my knees and kissing his velvet loafers. Who would have thought I would trade my dignity for a high school musical? It’s a steep price. But maybe the end justifies the painful, demeaning means.
“Enore.”
Mr. Roland’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“You’re still here. Why?” He waves goodbye to Cheryl, who’s walking away, then turns to me.
“Well… um… um.” I sigh, unsure of what to say.
Just wondering why you didn’t give me any feedback during rehearsal. I could really use it. In fact, I need it.
The words make perfect sense in my head, but I can’t get them out as I squirm under his daunting stare.
“Yes, Enore?” He arches an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I blurt out. Maybe this, a simple apology, will suffice. To some degree, he deserves it. I was rude to him. But in that case, I deserve an apology too. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that or quit.”
And you shouldn’t have been so blunt and insensitive.
Rather than say what’s in my head, I wait and hope he sees how he messed up, too. The wait is long. The tension doesn’t leave that one arched eyebrow. It looks like he’s both petty and stubborn.
“If you’re going to be a part of this musical, you must take it seriously,” he says. “You can’t quit on a whim because of one bad rehearsal. You must be committed. Because next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”
I intend to walk away and move on from this conversation, but the word forgiving makes me pause. He just had to throw that in there. And because I’ve recently become a little uninhibited, I just have to respond.
“Forgiving?” I say. “You completely ignored me during rehearsal. You didn’t give me any feedback. It’s like you were punishing me.”
“Well, as I recall, yesterday you mentioned not liking my approach. And now you need it. Which is it, Enore?”
I’m tempted to really give him a piece of my mind. But it’s pointless.
Mr. Roland is who he is. I can’t control how he acts, only how I react. That’s what I imagine my father would tell me at this very moment. He would likely throw in a Nigerian proverb for good measure too—just so his advice really hit my core. I imagine he would say something like, he who beats the drum for the madman to dance is no better than the madman himself.
I inhale a deep breath and release it. “I would appreciate your feedback during rehearsal, Mr. Roland. And of course, carry on with any method you think is suitable for high school students who are likely dealing with anxiety, peer pressure, and a hundred other things you couldn’t possibly know or understand.”
Slowly, his high eyebrow drops. I doubt I’ve gotten through to him, but it feels good to get a slight reaction out of him.
“Well, bye. See you tomorrow.” I grip the bag strap on my shoulder and climb down the steps, grinning.
I’ll count that as a small victory.
When I walk through the theater door andinto the hallway, I see Sybil leaning against a locker and looking through pictures on her camera. When the door clicks closed, she looks up and beams at me.
“Enore. Hey. I’ve been hanging around, waiting for rehearsal to be done.”
I frown, confused. “Um… why?”
“The interview for the school paper. I was supposed to interview you yesterday after rehearsal. You were supposed to meet me in the newsroom but never showed.”
“Oh. Right.” I rub my forehead. “That completely slipped my mind. Yesterday was…” I sigh when the memory materializes in my head. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries. You’re here now. Got twenty minutes to spare?”
Esosa and Adrian already left; neither of them had after-school activities to keep them back. Adrian offered to wait for me. After his dad reprimanded him for leaving us yesterday, it was the sensible move. But I told him to go ahead. Davi already offered to take me home, and I’m looking forward to the drive, to being alone with him again.
“I have some time,” I tell Sybil. “I’m riding home with Davi, and he should be done with football practice in a few minutes, so we can talk.”
“Cool.” Her lips, coated in a cherry red gloss, stretch in a broad smile. “Where would you like to do this? Any preference?”
“Well, I would love some fresh air.”
“Okay. Outside, then.”
When we step out of the school building, we sit on a wooden bench that’s below the flight of stairs.
“Okay.” Sybil pulls her phone out and opens a voice recording app. “Let’s do this.”
The interview feels conversational, and I suppose that’s because Sybil is good at her job. While asking about preparations for the musical, she lifts her camera to my face. The long lens isn’t intimidating like it was yesterday. I don’t shy away when she snaps multiple pictures. After, she extends the camera to me and shows the portraits she captured.
“These are really good,” I say.
“The camera loves you.”
I look at Sybil closely, suspiciously. Something about this doesn’t make sense. Sybil and Ara are friends. Ara hates me. But here Sybil is, being nice to me. In fact, all Ara’s friends have been nothing but nice to me. I’m not familiar with this dynamic. If I didn’t like someone, for whatever reason, Tolu wouldn’t like that person either. It’s petty, yes. But she’s my best friend, and it’s a matter of loyalty. So, it’s either Ara’s friends have no loyalty to her or they’re up to something—maybe a ploy to befriend me while secretly scheming to subject me to a major public humiliation. I’ve seen Carrie—the original and the 2013 remake. There’s no way I’m getting doused in pig’s blood.
“You okay?” Sybil asks while searching my narrowed eyes.
“Um…” How do I resolve my suspicion without sounding like a paranoid idiot? Honestly, there might be no way around that. “I’m just wondering. You’re Ara’s friend.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, I’m sure she hates me because I got the lead in the musical, but here you are interviewing me for the paper, further promoting the fact I got the role instead of her. Shouldn’t you be siding with your friend, hating me right along with her?”
Sybil watches me blankly—no written expression on her face. And then, gradually, her red lips tilt into a smile, and she bursts out laughing. “Okay. First, I’m a journalist.” She stops laughing, but a smile stays on her face. “I gotta keep my readers informed, no matter what. That’s why I’m interviewing you. Second, Ara is one of my best friends. And if it was serious, a life-or-death situation, I would have her back.”
It was my understanding that in high school, everything is life or death.
“Besides,” Sybil goes on, “Ara didn’t even want the lead role, so she can’t possibly hate you for getting it.”
I frown, remembering what Davi said during his conversation with Ara yesterday.
I don’t know why you’re so upset about the musical, especially since you don’t even…
He hadn’t finished the sentence, even when Ara pushed him to. While I listened to their conversation a few feet away, I tried to fill in the blanks without success. But now, it’s clear. From everything Sybil said, I select the words that perfectly complete Davi’s sentence.
I don’t know why you’re so upset about the musical, especially since you don’t even want the lead role.
I suppose I have solved that mystery, but I’m still confused. Ara’s actions continuously prove she’s upset about not getting the lead role.
“Look.” Sybil touches my arm. “If my best friend fought tooth and nail for this role, wanted it more than anything in the world, and you got it instead, this interview might happen, but I wouldn’t be the ray of sunshine I currently am. But she didn’t want it. And we all know that—me, Bethany, Davi, Zane, and Blake. All of us.
“You got the lead role because your audition was incredible. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched that audition video. You deserve this, Enore.”
Okay. I’m starting to believe there might not be a ploy to publicly humiliate me in the works. Sybil’s genuine smile pushes that suspicion out of my mind.
“So,” I say, determined to solve a new mystery—the one about the girl who fights for something even though she doesn’t want it. “If Ara doesn’t want the lead, why is she acting like she does?”
“Well, it’s… complicated. Can’t really say much about it.”
“Oh. Okay.” I guess that mystery will remain unsolved.
“Hey.”
My head snaps up when I hear the distinct bass of Davi’s low voice. He’s standing in front of Sybil and me, but I’m not sure when he showed up. His hair is damp from the shower I guess he might have taken in the locker room. There’s a fresh spicy scent coming off him. I breathe it in and exhale.
“Hi.”
For a few seconds, our eyes remain on each other. I’m tempted to leap up and kiss him, though Sybil’s presence holds me back.
“Hey, Syb,” Davi says, finally looking at her.
“Hey, yourself.” She stands with her phone and camera in her hands. “We’re all done here.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “We could speak for a few more minutes if you have more questions.”
“Nah. I’ve got everything I need. It’s gonna be a great piece. Thanks again.” She waves and turns toward the school. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Davi and I walk to his car in the parking lot. When our seat belts are fastened, he drives out of the school premises with low music playing on the radio.
“So,” he says once we’re on the road. “How was rehearsal?”
“Good. Definitely better than yesterday.”
“Did Mr. Roland give you a hard time?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
He glances at me, smiles, then takes my hand. He doesn’t let go as he drives the short distance to my house. When he stops the car in the driveway, he looks at our joined hands.
“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks. “On a date? This weekend?”
I stare at him with wide eyes, grinning with all my teeth. It’s possible I look like an idiot, but I don’t know how to hide my excitement.
“So…” He laughs. “Is that a yes?”
I nod until I find my voice. “Yes. That’s a yes. I would love to.”
“Cool. Great.”
When he leans into me, I pull back.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“It’s just…” I sigh. “My mom. She could be around here somewhere.” If she caught me kissing a boy, all hell would break loose.
“Right.” Davi nods. “Got it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he says. “And I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” This is my cue to step out of the car, but I’m not ready to let go of his hand and leave him yet. “Thank you for today. For…” Something tight builds in my chest, a heaviness that forms whenever I think about my father. “Yesterday was really hard. I woke up this morning unsure of how I would get through the day. But you made today bearable. You made everything better. Thank you.” And because I feel prompted to express my gratitude more deeply, I disregard the possibility of my mother lurking somewhere in the background, and I lean forward and kiss him. He’s surprised at first, but then he recovers from the shock and pulls my face closer to his. We break away from each other, breathing deeply.
“Okay.” This time, I don’t linger. I have to go before our lips smash together again. “See you tomorrow. Bye.”
I rush out of the car, and as I walk toward the pathway that leads to the guesthouse, Davi calls me. Gripping the strap of my bag, I spin around. His face is visible through the lowered passenger window.
“I had the same thought this morning,” he says. “I wondered how I would get through the day. But you made everything better.” He smiles; it’s the kind that brightens his whole face. “Thank you.”
Even though I want to, I don’t ask questions. I don’t pry into the parts of his life he clearly isn’t ready to reveal.
Today it’s okay if we end things just like this.
With a smile.