Chapter 20
ISAK
“I still can’t get over how good he is,” I whisper to Zanita as we loiter near the side door to the main theater. It’s after school, and most students are headed to their cars, the buses, or walking home.
She leans into me. “I know.”
Last week, we were standing backstage in the green room, waiting our turns to audition, when we heard Lachlan introduce himself.
Listening to him sing was an epiphany.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. I guess I figured I would’ve heard his singing voice by now. I would’ve known that he sang in the shower or something.
His voice didn’t just blow me away, it energized every cell in my body. It lit me up and made me want to scream. Why doesn’t he sing all the time? If he has this kind of gift, he needs to share it with the world. Although I suppose that’s what he was doing by auditioning.
It seems like he could make rocks weep—like Orpheus in the myth. Those very rocks that everyone says he can flirt with would be attracted to him. Even the most stoic person wouldn’t doubt that he’s got talent.
I’m in so much trouble. My crush has multiplied.
I can’t say any of that to Zanita.
My audition was the normal level of nerve-racking. My voice cracked on the song—an old musical theater standby—but I made it through, battling past the noise in my head that quoted the online drama from the last time I was onstage. That noise can shut up.
“How long until they post the cast list?” I ask, checking my phone.
“Any minute,” she says.
As we wait, we’re joined by others who tried out. I don’t know why they still do it this way—post the list on a door instead of online. Maybe it’s to give people a little privacy from online trolls or something. Or maybe it’s just extra dramatic.
About fifteen minutes after school lets out, twenty or so drama kids are milling around, waiting for Ms. Laurent to post the list. An anxious energy sizzles through the group.
Lachlan Doyle strolls up, Albrecht College baseball cap smushing his golden curls. He bites his lip. He’s nervous, too.
Before I can open my mouth to say something, the door cracks open, and Ms. Laurent steps outside, two pieces of paper in her hands along with some Scotch tape.
She smiles at us. “This was really hard, everyone. So many of you would be great in so many roles. But here we go. I did favor seniors over younger students, because the others will have more years to participate. No understudies. If someone gets sick, we’ll figure it out. ”
She tapes up the lists and says, “Congratulations to everyone who auditioned!” then books it back into the theater.
We race up to look at the list like the tide coming in.
Zanita looks at me and squeals. “Oh my god, Isak! You’re Forest!”
Holy shit. My heart races. My fingers shake. I’m one of the two leads. I bounce from foot to foot. “Yes!”
Zanita has the very cool villain role.
“The Queen of Darkness is going to rock this,” I say, high-fiving her.
Other people’s reactions are varied, but generally pleased. A few are disappointed because they didn’t get cast, but they’re mostly freshmen.
I’m so excited, I have to look at the list three times to read the remaining names, but I finally see that right below mine is Lachlan Doyle.
And he’s playing Billy. Oh, shit. My stomach dives to the ground.
Billy’s the character Forest falls in love with. They kiss onstage. Spots explode behind my eyes, and my mind goes blank. It simply stops working. All the noise around me feels muffled, like I put on noise-canceling headphones. My muscles freeze.
I have to kiss Lachlan, the boy I have a crush on, the boy I sneak off to secretly do naughty things with, onstage. In front of the whole school. In front of any members of the paying public who want to come. He has to act like he’s falling in love with me.
I glance at Lachlan. Judging by his expression, he’s stunned, but I can’t tell if he’s happy or scared. I whisper, “Congratulations,” anyway.
He snaps a photo of the sheet and wrenches a smile across his face. “Congrats to you, too.” He looks around. “And to everyone else.”
Does he realize what he’s gotten himself into?
There’s a loud bang, and I wince and look up from the Browser History script I’ve been studying ever since I found out OMG I’m playing Forest. I’m curled on the couch with Mom, who’s watching the latest episode of “her show,” a period drama that’s based on one of her favorite books.
As usual, in honor of the subject matter, she’s drinking her tea out of a dainty cup, complete with saucer.
She sighs and pauses the TV, since it's hard to follow the dialogue over the sounds coming from next door. “Sounds like they’re going at it again.”
We sit in awkward silence for a moment. She plays with my hair, and I move to encourage her to do it more. It doesn’t fix anything, but it’s comforting.
The screaming next door escalates. Every other word is an f-bomb, and it sounds like at least three of them are involved. None of the voices sounds like Lachlan’s, though.
“I know we’ve had this conversation before, but I just wish there were something we could do,” I say.
“I … it’s hard when we’ve been neighbors so long,” Mom says. “And there’s never been any physical violence. Raised voices is just the manner in which they communicate.” She should know; she’s been listening to them holler at each other for five decades.
“We assume there’s no physical violence,” I point out. Not that physical violence is the only kind that can cause harm, but it’s the one most likely to get attention from outsiders.
More screaming from next door. The volume increases. It’s like the hate is hanging in the air, forming a choking cloud that spills over to our house.
“Do you think we should call someone?” she asks, biting her lip.
“I’ve wondered that, but would it do any good? Like the cops are going to do anything against the mayor.”
“I know. I’ve always figured it would be a waste of time and maybe even make things worse.”
“True.” I bite my lip. “It still sucks.” I pull out my cell phone and look at it, debating how brave I am—or how miserable.
“Would I call the regular line or 911? Or is there anyone else who could help them?” I shake my head.
“I have such mixed feelings about this. You hear these horror stories about what happens when people call 911. And we’re not, like, the demographic that’s likely to get shot or whatever—hi, white privilege—but I still don’t want to deal with the police.
I don’t want to be some kind of snitch, anyway, but it’s so awful over there.
I don’t know what to do.” I sigh. “Sorry. I keep going around in circles about this.”
“That’s because abuse is a repetitive cycle. It keeps going until something happens to stop it.”
Abuse. Is that what this is? Ice runs down my spine. “I want to stop it.” I want to save Lachlan. I’ve seen the look in his eyes. The one that says he’s terrified of going home.
I’d be terrified, too, if I had to face that every day. It’s awful enough experiencing it from a distance.
“Me, too.” Mom opens her mouth to say more, but then a car drives away from next door. It’s not Lachlan’s Porsche.
And now it’s quiet.
For a few moments, we wait in tense silence, listening, until Mom gives me another once-over and unpauses the television. And I go back to reading the script, daydreaming about what it might be like to be onstage with my crush.
How is Lachlan doing? Is he okay? Can I do anything to help him?
“Lachlan doesn’t deserve to be there,” I mutter. “He’s nice. He just wants people to like him, so he flirts with everyone.” I blush. “So everyone feels good around him.” Except for me—I feel out of control when I’m around him.
Mom took me to see a musical when I was a very little kid.
I don’t remember much about it, except at one point, an actor got strapped to a pinball machine that spun out over the audience while they sang.
I’m not sure if the swooping I feel is me being the actor or a pinball in the machine, but that’s what happens when Lachlan lays those hazel eyes on me.
Mom gives me a mom look.
“What?” I ask, unable to keep the defensive tone out of my voice.
“Nothing.”
I roll my eyes. “Please say what you’re thinking, so I don’t have to guess.”
“I was wondering if you have a little crush on Lachlan. That’s all.”
My cheeks heat. “Maybe?” I say. “It doesn’t matter even if I did. I have no real chance with him.”
No chance with him outside of the closet.
Mom puts a hand on her hip. I love that she’s ready to defend me at a moment’s notice. “Why do you think that? You were such good friends when you were little.”
“He’s totally out of my league. Plus I don’t even know what his sexual orientation is.” Technically. While I do know some things about Lachlan’s sexuality, I don’t know how he labels himself.
“I can’t speak to his orientation, but don’t sell yourself short. You’re out of his league.”
There’s no one I love more in this world than my mom. I know that makes me a mama’s boy, and I really don’t care. “I appreciate the support, but in this case, I’m sorry, but you’re just wrong. He’s the most popular guy in school, and I’m … not.” I suck my cheeks in.
“Give yourself more credit,” she says gently. “From what I hear from your friends, with the way you dress and present yourself, you’re an icon at that school.”
I scoff.
“You’re going to be an icon beyond that, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had people copying you and wanting to dress like you and be like you.”
An image flashes in my mind of me in an Ad/VICE post, holding the hand of my huge blond jock boyfriend. I shake my head to dislodge that thought. “Maybe,” is all I say.
I pick up the script again but set it down almost immediately when Mom asks, “Are you excited about the musical?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I’m also … scared.”
She purses her lips.
Rubbing my forearms, I sigh. “I love the script. There’s even gay kissing—in high school.”
Kissing Lachlan Doyle, the guy I have a crush on. The guy who has so much going on under the surface.
“That’s refreshing.”
“I know, right? But I’m putting myself”—I wave my hands—“out there again. If I’m crew, if I screw up, it’s visible, but the audience won’t know who did it. If you’re the actor onstage and make the set fall down or forget your lines, everyone knows it’s you who messed up.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, honey.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “It really sucked, Mom.”
“I know, but I also know how much you love performing. You shouldn’t let mean people take that away from you.”