Chapter 18
ISAK
“I have news,” Zanita chirps, as she lowers herself to sit beside me in the quad.
“Oh?”
“Malik says that he talked to Lachlan Doyle after English today. Lachlan’s going to try out for the musical.”
My heart speeds up. Zanita doesn’t know about our arrangement. No one knows I’ve ever gotten off with Lachlan. I’ve kept my promise to him.
I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t know he could act.” Not onstage, at least. I dig in my bag, finding my Haribo and offering her some, which she declines.
Lach acts all day, every day around everyone, but he’s playing Lachlan Doyle, the student body president. I don’t know what the real Lachlan is like, other than the glimpses I get in the dark.
“Acting is easy.”
I huff and pop a gummy cola bottle into my mouth. “Not really.”
“I told him, oh, maybe two weeks ago that he should try out.”
I give her an incredulous look. “Why?”
“Because you have a crush on him, and maybe if you spent more time with him”—she waves her hands—“things would work out.”
I open and close my mouth a few times, but I can’t form any words. Too many jumbled thoughts all at once: Why did she do this? OMG yes. OMG FUCK no! What would it be like if he was in the show? I want to get back onstage. I can’t get back onstage. What if this all goes to hell?
What if it doesn’t?
“So, if he auditions, will you?”
Isak Hammond should stay far away from the theater and never act again.
I bite my lip.
Deep down, I love performing. I loved every part of being in the productions I was in before the, uh, last one I was in. I love the rehearsals and the improv, honing the craft until I get it just right. I love the costumes and riffing off other cast members.
After reading the script and daydreaming about it, I’d been thinking I should try out. After all, how many times am I going to be in my senior year of high school?
I know I should stay far away from Lachlan—there’s only so well I can conceal my feelings—but the masochistic part of me would love to be near him for more time than English class and an occasional hookup.
Even if he only has a few lines, he’ll still have to come to the rehearsals for the scenes he’s in.
“Okay, fine.”
Zanita launches herself at me, her black-lipsticked lips stretching into a genuine smile. “You will? Yes! Best thing ever!”
Is this going to backfire spectacularly? Signs point to yes.
At home, I tell Mom I’m auditioning for Browser History, and she beams as she stirs the beef stew she’s got simmering in the Dutch oven.
“That’s fantastic news! I knew you liked being on the stage.”
“It is fun.” Which is true, but it’s only part of why I like acting. The real reason is that I don’t want to be myself sometimes, and it’s a relief to play a role. I can try on how it feels to be someone I’m not, like a bully or school principal.
“Let’s make sure you feel as comfortable as possible trying out. I’ll help you after dinner.”
Mom spends the evening practicing lines with me, and we pick out an audition song. I’m lucky to have her support. Then I grab my phone to do my Linguikk Spanish lesson for the day.
Later that night, I sit on my bed, toying with the silver-painted rock. I stare out the window at the Doyle house and count my blessings. Guiltily.
I flinch as I walk into the dark, familiar space of the empty main theater for the preliminary meeting, an image of sets tumbling down like dominoes while everyone laughed flashing in my brain. My cheeks burn as I remember how many times people shared Becky’s post. So many taunts from strangers.
Isak Hammond’s the worst actor to ever step on a high school stage.
My breath comes out with difficulty, and I feel shaky. I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t normally have problems when our class uses this space, so my body must’ve received the memo that this situation has bigger stakes.
If I try out and fail, then I’ve, you know, failed, which sucks in a mostly private way.
If I try out and make it, though, I’ll be opening myself up to public criticism again. And I still can’t go a day without hearing some of those nasty words in my head.
It would’ve been better if he hadn’t shown up at all.
No. I’m okay. I love this place. I love the empty velvet seats and the black-painted floors. The feeling of possibility. I love performing with my friends.
Isak’s performance was embarrassing.
That’s enough. I can do this. And this is just an informational meeting, anyway. I’ve just got to take it one step at a time.
I make my way down to the group of students in the seats near the stage and find a spot in the third row. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement.
“I’m so excited there are queer leads,” Jody says.
“I know, right?” I say, craning my neck to look around.
Lachlan isn’t here. My belly feels heavy. I guess Zanita got the information wrong, or he changed his mind.
As I think that, there’s a noise in the back of the theater, and the doors open. A familiar silhouette appears, and then Lachlan makes his way down to the front.
Oh, shit. He’s really trying out. My mouth goes dry, and I bite down on a smile.
People around me murmur. “What’s he doing here?” Jody mutters.
Malik nudges them. “Don’t be like that.”
“What? He doesn’t belong with us.”
Zanita tuts. “He’s nice.”
“But still,” Jody insists. “He’s never been interested in drama, has he? Can he sing? Has he even been in choir?”
“Does it really matter?” Zanita whispers. “The director usually casts a popular kid for a walk-on role so all their friends will come see the show. It’s a great way to fill seats.”
“Jody, just give him a chance. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Malik says.
It’s a weird reversal. In this room, Lachlan’s not popular.
By being so normal, he’s … different. We’re all used to being the weird kids who dress funny and do things for attention …
or the ones who disappear in the corners, not wanting to be seen and only showing up onstage in the form of a fictional character.
I have to admire Lachlan for attempting something outside his comfort zone.
He sits in the first row, off to my side.
But people are whispering behind me.
“Does he know he has to sing?”
“I mean, it says ‘Spring Musical Tryouts’ right there. Unless he can’t read, I think he should be able to guess that it involves singing.”
“Who does he think he is? Is he going to take over drama, too?”
I suck my cheeks in and crack my knuckles. “Shut up,” I say out of the corner of my mouth. “It’s bad enough that we have critics outside the drama community. Don’t pick on people who are trying something new. We should stick together.”
I get a few miffed looks, but no one says anything else about Lachlan’s presence.
Is it my imagination, or are his ears pink? Did he hear me?
Ms. Laurent claps her hands. “Okay, welcome, everyone. You’re all here for Browser History?
” We all nod. “Before we get started, I want to make sure that all of you understand the amount of time involved in putting on a production like this. We can’t have you missing rehearsals, and it’s a huge time commitment: Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday from final bell until six, plus Saturdays from nine to, oh, maybe three or four.
That’s to start with. When we get closer to the shows, rehearsals will go later.
If you’ve done this before, you know how tiring it can get. ”
“Understood,” Jody says. “We love doing it.” A few others murmur their agreement.
She passes out forms for us to complete with our names, heights and weights, schedule availability, and so on.
She also projects a list of character names on a screen so we can write down which roles we want to try out for, but it’s hard to decide without knowing the script that well.
So I put down that I’ll play any character: any age, any gender, any amount of time onstage.
If the casting team can see me in a role, then I can do it. I hope.
“We have everyone who wants to be part of the show sign a contract,” Ms. Laurent says.
“Take it seriously, because we’re relying on you.
You have major responsibilities: You must keep your GPA up and not have too many absences from class.
You’ll be expected to be here for all rehearsals that have scenes you are in.
If you’re not in that day’s scenes, you’re excused, although you’re welcome to come anyway and help with stagecraft—like building scenery, making props, working on costumes, and so on. ”
“Sounds like fun,” Lachlan chirps.
“Of course he’d be into it,” someone mutters behind me. “He’s got the most school spirit of anyone I know.”
I frown. A tiny part of me had hoped Lachlan was here for me.
But wait. My stomach clenches, and my heart starts beating faster.
It’s not me, but it’s not school spirit, either. He’s here for one reason: so he doesn’t have to go home.