6
Tuesday, January 15, 6:57 P.M.
pedl2METL: how’d i do, dramakween? hmmm? am I gonna be called back, bri?
dramakween: devon, i would tell you but then id have to shoot you.
pedl2METL: hahahaha
dramakween: cant comment on auds. agnst the rules. gtg.
pedl2METL: i’m yr zuko, hands down.
dramakween: there are lots of good parts
pedl2METL: i didn’t try out for them. if i don’t get zuko, I’m out of there.
dramakween: oh great, you’re a diva too
pedl2METL: whoa. didnt mean to piss u off.
dramakween: im not pissed just tired.
pedl2METL: it’s only 7:00
dramakween: i know. i have about 8 hrs of hw & im trying to track down kyle.
pedl2METL: kyle? jesus?
dramakween: he skipped the audition. do u know where he is.
pedl2METL: nope. but i can give u something that will help. (w the hwork. not kyle lol.)
dramakween: something??? what kind of something
pedl2METL: a little gift. i can bring it over.
dramakween: u gotta be kidding
dramakween has signed off.
Enough, Brianna decided.
When it came to the point where Devon was trying to “help” with homework, it was time to take a break. A quick trip to Starbucks to stock up on some caffeine, which at the moment was in short supply at the Glaser house, then back to the grindstone.
As Brianna drove, she hummed a show tune. She knew hundreds of them. There was a song for every mood and every situation.
In her mind now was “It Sucks to Be Me.”
She couldn’t shake the memory of her audition the day before. What a total disaster. She would be lucky if they cast her for anything. And with Mr. Levin allowing Dashiell to be student director, that possibility was out for her too.
No lead, no position at all in the biggest show of the year—wouldn’t that just be super-duper for the old transcript. Now if she tanked on the SATs, she would really hit the trifecta.
She parked in the lot by the mall and jogged to the Starbucks. At the rate she was consuming coffee—along with her mom, the original java addict—three pounds would be about right. One Gold Coast blend, one hazelnut, one espresso. And a latte to go, for her efforts.
“Off the fingertips!” a voice shouted to her right.
Thump.
Pete Newman. Running after a football.
Farther away another voice called out, “Yo, idiot, that’s my car!”
To Brianna’s left, an angry middle-aged guy hustled toward the car, loaded down with shopping bags and eyeing the football smudge on his hood. Just beyond him was a sheepish-looking Kyle Taggart. “Sorry, dude,” Kyle called out, “my fault!”
“Good thing that wasn’t an umbrella pole,” Brianna remarked.
“Oh, crap, you didn’t see me do that, Brianna,” Kyle said. “Yo, where you going?”
“Starbucks,” Brianna replied, heading for the entrance. “I’m taking a latte break.”
Kyle jogged after her and held open the door. “Yeah? They take a latte time and cost a latte money.”
“I didn’t hear that.”
“Later, dude!” called Pete.
“That’s my dad,” Kyle said.
“I thought it was Pete,” Brianna said.
“No! The saying. ‘Latte time’? My dad says it. I didn’t make it up.”
Brianna grabbed the bags of coffee off the shelves and took her place in a long line. “How’s Arthur?” she asked.
“Huh? Oh. Fine.” Kyle nodded and shuffled his feet. “Hey, Brianna? Sorry about that night at the beach. I felt stupid. I was an ass.”
“An ass, a back, legs, arms—you were all of those things. And more.”
“Uh, yeah,” Kyle said, reddening. “Sorry . . . ”
Brianna laughed. “We missed you, Kyle. At the audition. We’re going to have a tough time picking a Danny Zuko.”
“Danny who?”
“Zuko. The lead role in Grease? You’re perfect for it, Kyle. I told you that.”
“Right. Yeah. I remember that. Cool.”
Brianna nodded. “Okay, look. Maybe you’re expecting to come straight to callbacks?”
“Uh . . .”
“Normally you can’t just do that. Everyone has to go through the first round of auditions. But we’ll say you didn’t know, which is true, and Mr. Levin will probably make an exception—”
“Wait, whoa,” Kyle said. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. I can’t do the show anyway. I have practice.”
Brianna was not expecting that. “I thought football season was over!”
“Track.”
“Next, please?” called the barista behind the counter.
“Track? Your ankle is that good?” Brianna said. “Uh, venti double latte with two percent.”
“Same for me, whatever,” Kyle ordered. “I’m not sprinting or anything. Just trying out for javelin. They don’t have anybody for that event.”
Brianna closed her eyes. Javelin. She should have known. “Kind of like a beach umbrella?” she guessed.
“That’s where I got the idea.”
“So it’s my fault.” Sighing, Brianna took her latte from the barista. “And this is okay with you—giving up the chance of a lifetime? You’re an amazing actor and singer, Kyle! Didn’t you hear the crowd cheer after Godspell? Didn’t that . . . do something for you?”
Kyle paid for his coffee and stuffed the change in the tip cup. “It was cool. I liked it. But people cheer at track meets and football games, too.”
“It’s different—”
“Well, if you couldn’t do drama—for whatever reason—and if you joined like the track team for a semester? And you set the record for something, like pole vault? And then, like, you could do drama again—but your track friends told you that you were the greatest pole vaulter ever? Which would you do?”
“The show!” Brianna said, scanning the shop. There were no empty tables and only one stool. “And I get your point. But can’t you at least think it over? I have to tell you the truth, Kyle. You’re letting us down. Me, Harrison, Charles, Reese, Dashiell, the Charlettes—the whole school. Think about it. What’s more important, your place in the history of the Ridgeport Drama Club . . . using your talent for the good of the group . . . bringing joy to hundreds of people who will give you a standing O and never forget your performance as long as they live? Or throwing a stick?”
“Hey, come on, Brianna. There’ll be more plays.” He touched her gently on the arm. “I’ll try out again, I promise.”
His brow was scrunched with concern. All she wanted to do was hug him. And then smack him.
“Let’s get out of here.” She turned toward the door, singing “It Sucks to Be Me.”
“Is that from a show?” Kyle asked, rushing ahead to hold the door open.
“Avenue Q,” Brianna said.
“The one with the puppets?”
Brianna nodded as she and Kyle walked toward their cars. “It must be nice to be a puppet,” she said. “It’s kind of like being a human. Every once in a while someone reaches right up into your guts and twists you all around—but at least when you’re a puppet, you still manage to keep your sense of humor.”
“I think this means you’re not happy,” Kyle said.
“I had a bad audition yesterday. Totally sucked. Plus a bunch of other things. Otherwise I feel just groovy.”
As she stopped before her car, Kyle gave her a tentative smile, his free hand jammed into his pocket. “Maybe you didn’t do as bad as you think. You should call somebody and ask. Harrison, maybe. He’ll tell you the truth.”
“Yeah.” She fished her keys out of her pocket. “That’s not a bad idea, Kyle.”
“I’m not as stupid as I look,” Kyle replied.
“Hug, at least?” she said. “A prize for the loser?”
Kyle held out his cup and reached out to her awkwardly. “This,” he said with a goofy smile, “could be a latte mess.”
Brianna gave him a squeeze. It felt good. “I hate you,” she said. “But I’m sure you’ll be the best javelin thrower in the history of Ridgeport. You could always tell sucky jokes to your opponents. Psychological warfare.”
Smiling, Kyle released her and bounded away toward his car.
Brianna’s hands were shaking as she pulled her keys from her pocket.