“Really?” Her eyes widen and her mouth hangs open. “That’s so different from anything you’ve done.”
“No kidding.” I’ve been cast as the quiet, the serious, the average girl, but I’ve never played a comedic or silly role. And I’ve never been the lead. Both are out of my comfort zone, but I know it’s just what I need to take my acting to the next level. I can’t play the same role forever—quiet, hot girl. Besides, everyone is hot in Hollywood. I need more than looks and a few college plays under my belt to be taken seriously anywhere outside of Valley University. Assuming that’s where I go next. I haven’t made plans that far ahead, but I like to be prepared for anything.
And I grew up on a steady diet of I Love Lucy reruns and cinnamon-sugar toast. Comedic and silly was sort of my whole jam. My mom was not the most attentive parent. When I got old enough to feed myself, she stopped pretending she wanted to be home altogether. She was gone more than she was at home. I’d stay up late, partly waiting for her and partly too afraid to sleep, and I would watch whatever late-night TV I could get. My cell phone bill rarely got paid, but with a decent antenna, I could manage a few channels even when the cable got shut off.
I got pretty good at taking care of myself. Lucy, and others, kept me company and helped me feel less alone. I probably learned more life lessons from TV parents than my own mother. All but the most important one—not all mothers want to be a mom.
“I was thinking about reading a few lines for the middle sister,” Mila says. “She doesn’t say a lot, but she’s on stage quite a bit.”
“Are you worried about memorizing the lines?” I settle in with my script. Another thing I like about Mr. Hoffman; he gives us the script in advance of auditions. I’ve had it memorized for a week, but it’s still comforting holding it in hand.
“Absolutely. It took me three days to learn my audition piece. I have no idea how you do it.”
“It’s easy. I promise. You’ll be able to recite the entire play forward and backward before we’re done with rehearsals. Don’t be afraid to try for a bigger part.”
With that, we go silent, reading over the script and prepping. My audition time is before Mila’s so eventually I stand to gather my things.
“Good luck,” she says.
“Thanks. Same to you. Looks like I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Hope so.”
When it’s my turn, I head out to center stage. The lights are on throughout the theater today, giving it a completely different feel than our performances where the audience is darkened, and the spotlight illuminates the action.
“Reagan.” Dr. Rossen glances down at her clipboard. “When you’re ready.”
Nerves I haven’t felt in years make my voice shaky as I begin my audition. But no matter how anxious I am, there’s a sense of peace standing center stage that I don’t feel anywhere else. It’s anonymity while still being my most true self.
Mr. Hoffman has a great poker face that never gives away his thoughts, but he has a slight tell in how quickly he writes. If he enjoyed it, he furiously scribbles as if he’s trying to get every feeling and thought down before he forgets. If he didn’t feel it, he takes his time—the pen moving slowly across the paper.
I close my eyes for just a moment, breathing between words, slipping farther into character until I become someone else. The youngest sister is sassy and crass. She moves with a carefree demeanor. She’s free of inhibition and wounds. She holds nothing back because she doesn’t know just how cruel the world can be yet. She isn’t the official lead, but her character will steal the show if done right.
If only it were as easy to apply some of those carefree characteristics to my real personality. I’m fully confident I can pretend to be anyone, but when I’m me—well, it’s not as easy to fake confidence.
When I finish, I pause and hold my breath before I let my gaze land on Mr. Hoffman. He has his pen up to his mouth, poised between his teeth. Neither he nor Dr. Rossen speaks for several seconds and the theater goes quiet. Too quiet.
He puts the pen down to his paper but doesn’t write.
What does it mean when he doesn’t write anything? I’m guessing nothing good.
He shifts in his seat. “Okay, thank you, Reagan. Let’s take five, everyone, and then we’ll resume where we left off.”
I step down from the stage, heart racing.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask, approaching them slowly.
Without answering, they give me their attention.
“I know that it was a little rough, but I can do this.”
“This being that role?” Mr. Hoffman asks.
I nod.
“I’m surprised you went with that character. I think you’d be a good fit as the older sister or any number of other parts.”
The oldest sister. The serious one of the three. A role I could perform without thinking.
“I really want a chance to prove I can do something different. This is the role I’m interested in.”
His brow furrows. “Okay.”
I back away, not sure if I helped or ruined my chances of being cast. “Thank you for your time.”
I meet Dakota at the track after both of our classes are done for the day. She’s already running when I step through the gate. While I wait for her to come around, I stretch off to the side. She’s moving at a ridiculously fast clip for as many laps as she’s probably already done.
She was a runner. Is a runner, I guess, but she’s no longer on the track team. She quit after freshman year.
“Hi. How was the audition?” She stops and checks her watch. She times herself to make sure she hasn’t lost her edge. According to Dakota, just because she’s not competing doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be able to on a whim. She’s one of those people who could tell me she’s decided to try out for the Olympic team, and it wouldn’t seem all that crazy.
She lets me set the pace as I fall in beside her, a much slower jog than she’s capable of. I’m here solely because I know I need to do something to offset my other unhealthy habits. I dislike exercise only slightly less than giving up junk food.
“He didn’t write anything. I think I shocked him.”
“Shock can be good.” Her red ponytail sways with each bouncy step. Who has bounce in their step when jogging?
My feet shuffle along the ground. “I hope so.”
I push down that uneasy feeling reminding me that it’s entirely possible I’ll be working backstage on this one. “Why were you so late getting in last night?”
“You mean after you were outside getting cozy with Adam and then freaked out and ran home?”
“I already told you, we were pretending, and I was tired. Don’t turn this around on me.”
“Sadly, my whereabouts aren’t as exciting as you and Adam flirting. I went with Maverick and Jordan on a taco run that lasted forever. A lot of people want tacos at two in the morning. So… did you finally tell him?” Dakota asks with a smile that takes over her face. My friends are entirely too invested in my crush on Adam. For almost two years I was able to hide it from everyone, and those were much easier times when no one was dissecting every interaction I had with him.