UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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16.

Mr. Kiernan reads the announcements during second-period chemistry: the cast list is up. We’ll be able to check during the long break between second and third. Livia twists in her seat, eyes wide and sure, and reaches across the lab table—to squeeze hands I guess.

I wiggle my fingers in a wave.

When the bell rings, Livia’s up fast. “We should all go together,” she says, but I take my time arranging and rearranging the contents of my backpack. I’d rather wait for the crowd to thin out.

Mandy pushes through the exiting students and flies to us, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Why so slow? I’m not going without you guys!” To me, she says, “Hey, you!” and there’s an acknowledgment in her voice that it’s the first time we’ve spoken since Friday. “Where were you this morning? Peter was wanting to talk flash mob.”

“I was running late,” I lie. “Hold on, I need a piece of gum.”

“I meant to tell you good job after your audition,” Mandy says. “That was pretty . . . intense, but then you ran off.”

The way Mandy says “intense” doesn’t sound entirely complimentary.

“I was weird,” I say. “You did great.” I go back to rummaging.

“Forget the gum. I saw Peter and Hank in the hall.”

Mandy reaches for my shoulder, and I jerk away. “I didn’t ask you to wait,” I say, and immediately regret how harsh I sound. Mandy’s face falls.

“I don’t want to look without you,” she says, her voice hard now too. “It’s more fun if we go together.”

“Okay, sorry. I’m ready.”

Mandy’s giddy again, walking backward to make sure I’m following. “You’re just worried you’re going to have bad breath when you’re jumping up and down and screaming, ‘Hallelujah for me, I got cast!’”

“Right,” I say, letting her draw me out into the hall.

I see Drew before Mandy does. His face is alert and too tense.

Mandy sees the curiosity—the worry—in me, and she spins around to Drew.

They hold eye contact for a few solid seconds, and then Mandy breaks off with her back to us, presses her palms to the wall. “Crap,” she mutters. “Crap. Crap.” She doesn’t turn around when she asks, “Did I even get a little part?”

“I told you she wasn’t going to like you being pushy,” Drew says before putting his hands on Mandy’s back, which is shaking. His words aren’t comforting, but when Livia steps closer to Mandy, he shakes his head to say he’s got it covered.

Livia turns to me. “Come on, we have to look,” and she darts ahead.

Mandy’s audition was good. If she’s not on the list anywhere, then who knows what Nadia wants? As anxious as I am to check for my name, it’s more important to show Mandy I care. I take a step toward her, but Drew wraps his arms around her and rocks her back and forth. He shakes his head at me. “Go on, Caddie. Go look.”

“I’m so sorry, Mandy. I know you wanted it.”

Mandy waves a hand to send me away.

I walk down the hall toward the bulletin board as if pressing through something heavy and wet. The crowd hasn’t dispersed, but it’s spread. People give one another space as they read the list over and over, looking for something they might have missed, memorizing the names.

Livia sees me and smiles big. My heart floods. I’m in the play. I’ll be one of the theater crowd. I’ll be a part of things . . . but Mandy won’t.

April is planted in front of the board with her arms crossed, staring at the list even though there’s no way she’s on it. She turns toward me and her face flinches.

“You’re that new girl. The junior?”

By the time I’m done nodding, she’s mastered her face. She’s easy to read because she’s so much like me, trying to look like she doesn’t care. “Congratulations,” she says. “All the senior girls are going to hate you.”

My heart thuds harder.

Something in Drew’s face made me wonder. I didn’t believe it. It would be unlikely for a new girl to get cast as . . .

Ophelia.

My name’s next to that name. I can’t help raising my finger to the board to trace the distance between her name and mine, to make sure they line up.

“It’s really you,” April says. “It’s a great part. I’d be nervous to play it.”

She’s saying it partly to make herself feel better, but it’s the truth, too. She would be nervous. I am. And happy, and worried, and embarrassed, and a bazillion other things.

“God, don’t cry,” April says.

I blink hard and take a deep breath to calm myself down. I scan the other names, looking for Hamlet.

It’s Peter.

I didn’t need to look. As soon as I saw my own name, I knew. If I hadn’t read with him, I doubt I’d have been cast. I’m grateful he’s not here with me. Whatever real feelings are there, we’re going to be pretending we’re in love. I feel feverish as it is—with Peter standing beside me, I’d catch fire.

All the rest of them made it, one way or another. Hank is Hamlet’s uncle, King Claudius. Oscar is Laertes, Ophelia’s brother who swordfights with Hamlet at the end of the play. Livia is Gertrude.

Drew will be playing my father, Polonius. It’s not a flashy part, but it’s a major role. I wonder if Drew’s happy with it, or if he’s feeling exactly what I am—worried because he got a part and Mandy didn’t.

We have to sign our initials to say we accept, that we’ll be at rehearsals this afternoon and every afternoon.

Signing that paper means opening up to Ophelia’s tsunami of feeling. It means working with Peter, closely, and trying to keep my head. There’s the fear of pissing off Mandy, the fear of becoming the new Macbeth asthma kid, the risk of disappointing Mom, and disappointing Dad for sure.

I want to tell Dad, I realize. I want him to be happy for me, proud, want him to reassure me that this blessing doesn’t mean I’m cursed when it comes to him.

I take my phone out to the courtyard, where the leaves rustle red and orange.

“Y-ello,” he answers, “yes” and “hello” together, all business.

“Dad? It’s—”

“Oh!” It takes him a second to realize. “Caddie. I didn’t even look. I’m expecting a call.”

If he’d seen me on his caller ID, he wouldn’t have answered.

“Can you call back and leave a message, sweetie?”

“I have some news.”

“We’ll talk soon, all right, but I need to take this call.”

“Dad, I—”

“Call me right back and leave a message to remind me.”

Click. And he’s gone.

I call right back, like if I’m fast enough, he’ll still be on the line.

“You have reached the cell phone of Charles Finn.”

Before it can beep, I end the call.