“Yale!”
“Boston—BU!”
“Boston—BC!”
And where they were (eventually) going.
“NYC!”
“New York!”
“Off-off-off Broadway!”
“Hollywood, baby!”
At the very end of the narrow corridor, she found her room. Sierra pulled her dark hair from her messy ponytail, deep breath—Let me be the first one here—and peeked inside: a leggy blonde lay on one of the twin beds, talking on FaceTime. One half of the room was fully decorated: pictures, theater programs and show posters from NYU productions tacked to the walls; fluffy floor pillows set out; books on the shelves.
Sierra knocked and the blonde looked up from her screen. “Oh, I think my roommate might be here.” She eyed Sierra up and down as a girl’s voice on the other end signed off.
Sierra smiled cautiously, remained still, like in airport security lines when they pull you aside to wave that metal-detecting wand over you.
“Talk later, love ya,” the blonde gushed at the screen, clicking off. She grinned now, as though assessing Sierra’s threat level to be low: “Ohmagod, I’ve been dying to get off that call, thank you.” She tossed her phone on her fuchsia comforter. “You must be Serena!” She bounced off the bed, slipped on strappy sandals. She wore jean shorts and a tank top.
“Right, sort of, it’s Sierra, hi.” She smiled, set her bag on the unclaimed bed.
“Sierra, totally, hi.” The blonde shook her head, then surprised Sierra by embracing her. “Harlow. Hunter.” She said her name like it should already mean something. “C’mon.” She took Sierra’s hand. “Let’s go check out the competition.”
* * *
“Welcome to Chamberlain.” Nicholas Blunt, himself, stood at the center of the bare stage. Sierra sat beside Harlow, who had insisted on the front row, though it felt exceedingly close. “You are this summer’s acting apprentices. Congrats. You are—” he glanced at the papers in his hand “—thirty, yes, thirty of the finest collegiate thespians from across the country.” He rolled up the pages, folded muscular arms, looked out. “Listen, this summer is going to move—so fast it’ll give you whiplash, every day is a work day here...”
“Nicholas is kind of hot for an older guy, right?” Harlow whispered, proposing it in the manner of a scientific hypothesis. “Like a hot dad on a CW show?”
“I think he’s hotter than that,” Sierra offered in the same hushed tone, watching him. He was probably mid-to-late forties, since he’d been just twenty-nine when he’d made The Tempest, but he seemed younger. “He’s like a sexy HBO prestige drama, midlife-crisis-type of a guy.” They returned their attention to his words.
“The professional company has three productions from late June through just after Labor Day on this main stage.” He stomped the last words for emphasis, and Sierra sat straight up. “Name them. Alex—” He called on a boy a handful of seats down from them in the center of the front row.
“Romeo and Juliet opens at the end of June. Midsummer Night’s Dream—July. The Tempest—August.” Alex’s crystal voice projected across the vast space.
Nicholas walked along the stage, stopping in front of them. “...and our four accomplished company members this summer. Name them—” He scanned their row as Sierra’s stomach dropped, her throat too dry to produce words. This man had been nominated for an Oscar—how was she going to make it through the summer if she felt this nervous? “You—” He pointed at Harlow.
“Chase Embers, Matteo Denali, Danica Rainier and Charlie Savoy,” Harlow answered, proud, fearless, with a gleaming smile.
Nodding in approval, Nicholas Blunt moved on. “Romeo opens here in three weeks,” he said like a drill sergeant. “This year there’s no break. The shows run back-to-back-to-back, which means rehearsing one show while performing another.” A collective gasp broke out in the audience. “I know,” he answered. “This will only affect most of you in terms of the backstage work. Mornings you’re in drama workshop with Professor Bradford. Afternoons you’re in your backstage concentration—set construction, lighting, costumes, props...”
“I’m props, you?” Harlow asked softly while Nicholas continued.
“Costumes.” Sierra had grossly exaggerated how much she had helped her mom’s alterations business at the family resort during off-season.
“I heard that’s a lot of extra work,” Harlow said, dismissive.
Sierra just smiled, refocused her attention on the director.
“...so you’ll also be called on for everything from picking up trash after shows to delivering food to actors at late-night rehearsals,” Nicholas went on. “Assorted odd jobs.”
“I’ll deliver myself to Chase Embers’s place for an odd job,” Harlow whispered, which was something Sierra—and half of the room—might be thinking but would never say within earshot of Nicholas Blunt.
“I know we don’t have to talk about professionalism,” Nicholas said, as though he might’ve heard. Sierra froze, felt her eyes bulge. “Late afternoons and evenings are for rehearsals.” He paused, giving everyone time to absorb that and to ascribe the full weight of their loftiest dreams onto him. “A select few of you may earn roles on the main stage with the professionals. But everyone’s got a chance to get noticed. August 20. The culmination of your summer. This could be the most important date in your career.”
August 20. Black Box Showcase. Auditions tomorrow. Sierra had the date burned in her cerebral cortex.
“Talent scouts, casting directors, New York theater, Boston theater are invited to the Black Box Showcase. This is the show put on entirely by you, the apprentices. The directing and writing apprentices will be at your auditions tomorrow. They’re staging it. Three one-acts, interspersed with monologues. Every one of you will have a part. So, make us notice you tomorrow, be unforgettable.” Nicholas nodded, as though this would be a breeze. “Someone in here might get an agent from it,” Nicholas said gravely. “Or get cast in a professional show or be asked to audition for a film that will change your life—”
For a beat, Sierra forgot that this summer would be an artistic cage match and that she sat in a room of to-the-death competitors. Instead, she chose to feel hopeful. The key to stratospheric success lay here, in this building, somewhere. She just had to figure out how to seize it. She watched Nicholas Blunt, like he might telepathically impart these secrets to her.
“And, if that’s not inspiring enough, we’re taking a trip to New York to see Abby’s Road on Broadway later this summer.” Cheers erupted.