Friday arrived without too much drama preceding it. Penny and Pedro made up. He’d apologized to Matthew, and a whole group of the football players had pooled money to pay for a new bar stool and repairs to the wall. Jack continued to head over to Walden as soon as school let out, while I relieved a still-weakened Afi from his post behind the register or, alternately, found Ofelia in his place.

After school, Penny stopped at my locker. “Don’t forget rehearsals start today.”

Phooey. I had. Plus the fact that I’d even agreed to give it a chance. Penny’s successful angle had been that these were just optional rehearsals so kids had a chance to learn the songs and dance steps before actual tryouts. I’d held my tongue, but honestly — practice to audition? Wasn’t that kind of like begin to get going? Still, I supposed it was cool that everyone got a fair shake.

“So I’ll see you in the auditorium,” Penny said, walking away.

Jack popped his head around my open locker. “What for?” he asked.

Ugh. We’d barely spoken in the past two days, so I hadn’t shared the fact that Penny had sucked me into another of her extracurriculars.

“Penny and I are attending the practice auditions for The Snow Queen. You know, for our project.” I left it ambiguous enough that our participation could be nothing more than note taking and stage measurement.

“Sounds like fun,” he said distractedly. So distractedly, in fact, that I suspected any reply of mine — shaving our heads or becoming circus acrobats — would have received the same reply.

“So you never called last night,” I said.

“Sorry. I stayed late because . . . guess what?”

“What?”

“I got offered an internship. I’ll earn math and science credits for the work I’m doing. Plus, I’ll get out of school two hours early every day so I can log more lab hours at Walden.”

I could tell that Jack expected me to act happy, so I plastered a smile on my face in a big good-for-you facade, but there was something I didn’t like about Jack getting sucked into Stanley’s research project.

“I’ll get to work on Brigid’s field studies.”

Bingo.

“And it’s not just high-school credit. If I attend Walden in the fall, I’ll get three units of university credit as well.”

“But you’re just a high-school student. Aren’t there college kids who should have priority?”

“Just a high-school student?” I could hear the hurt in his voice.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, it’s just that . . .”

“What?”

“It’s so sudden and all-consuming.”

“Brigid is only here for a short time. I have to take advantage.”

Something about the phrase “take advantage” made me recoil. I wondered just who was taking advantage of whom, but judging by the squint in Jack’s eyes, I didn’t dare air the remark. “Congratulations,” I said. “Really. I mean it. And I’m sorry if I didn’t sound supportive before.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Gotta run.” He hurried off so quickly that I wondered if my apology had truly been accepted. I didn’t have much time to dwell; I was cutting it close for auditions already.

There were about thirty kids hanging around in the auditorium when I got there. I’d expected a bigger turnout. I thought back to when my school in LA had done a production of Oklahoma. A friend of mine had been in the chorus, and I attended a sold-out opening day with so many cast and crew on the stage at curtain call I had honestly wondered if we were approaching the real Oklahoma’s census numbers.

Penny waved me over, and I skirted around the small crowd. I noticed Monique, our prom queen and Wade’s former girlfriend, was one of the hopefuls. No longer a victim of Wade’s mind control, she was almost tolerable. Almost. She still had a whiff of entitlement about her. Due to the story Hulda had concocted to explain Wade’s demise, Monique was now the former girlfriend of a hero — a dead one, all the more noble. Or so she thought. At least she now acknowledged others, though her inner circle remained small. Matthew was there, too, with a couple of his fellow band members. Not a huge surprise. The guy loved music.

As we waited, gathering around the back of the auditorium, I heard a voice behind me. “Kat, Penny, I’m so glad you girls are trying out,” Ms. Bryant, our design teacher, said with a warm smile. “As a first-time assistant director, I’m glad to see some familiar faces.” Ms. Bryant was, hands down, my favorite teacher, ever. She was friendly, smart, funny, attractive, and could accessorize like nobody’s business.

“I had a hard time talking Kat into it,” Penny said with a beatific daze in her eyes. We were all a little in awe of Ms. Bryant.

“I’m glad you did,” Ms. Bryant said, rubbing Penny’s arm. “As always, your enthusiasm is infectious.” She walked up the steps to the stage with a flash of toned leg peeking out from under the dark mocha of her side-slitted skirt.

What Penny had said was true, but, still, a little help up from the bus she threw me under would be nice.

“This is going to be a great production,” Penny said, nudging me in the side. “Are you in now?” she asked.

I brushed tire marks from the side of my face. “Possibly.”

“Let’s get everyone onstage,” said Mr. Higginbottom, the speech and drama teacher and the production’s director.

I led Penny to a spot way in the back, well-positioned for hiding and keeping an eye on the rest of the talent pool.

An hour into the tryout, I had to admit it didn’t suck. I’d always loved to dance. Mr. Higginbottom had an over-the-top enthusiasm for all things Broadway. That, paired with surprisingly graceful moves from his burly-chested, triangular frame, had me giggling and having way too much fun to deserve the sweat glistening my forehead. But that was just the dancing; the singing portion was next.

We were sorted into three parallel lines and handed lyrics to the opening number: something entitled “Village Life.” I expressed a sigh of disappointment at the opening words of the song:

Another day of happy lives we villagers embrace,
Lucky are we one and all to live in such a place.

Penny shot me a look — one I deserved. No way would the Blade Runner commando theme I had envisioned for the sets and costumes work.

And dang if the little ditty wasn’t kind of catchy. During the first two run-throughs, Mr. Higginbottom and Ms. Bryant sat in the audience and listened to us as a group. On our third time, Mr. Higginbottom walked between the rows.

“Very nice, Peturson,” he said to Penny. “Breathe, Leblanc, breathe,” was directed at me.

“No offense,” Penny said once we were finished and retrieving our bags and coats from the auditorium seats, “but you’re chirping out the words. I don’t think you open your mouth wide enough.”

Chirping? If only she knew.

“Tell you what,” Penny continued, “if you help me with the dance moves, I’ll help you with a few vocal basics.”

“Am I really that bad?”

“Not bad. Just a little tweety.”

Great. Another bird reference. “All right. Let’s team-tackle this thing.”

My throat was dry, my legs were achy, and I still had a gob of homework to do — nonetheless, focusing on something other than my worries had been a good diversion. The Christmas blizzard still weighed on me heavily and continued to be a taboo topic between Jack and me. Pile onto that my fears for Hulda, and no wonder I welcomed the distraction.