Renée wraps up her welcome speech with, “It’s time to open our scripts—and our hearts—and start our journey through the world of Schooled!”
Totally hokey but also totally exciting. We all applaud. Even Marissa.
“You heard the boss-lady,” Neeta says. “Let’s do this!”
She waits for us to settle, then reads out the first stage directions. “Lights up. Headmistress Winterbottom’s office at Moberly Prep School. The headmistress shakes hands with a new student, Hannah.”
About six chairs over from me, a willowy girl called Claire flips her long blond hair over her shoulder. In a plummy voice, she says, “Welcome to Moberly Prep, Hannah. I hope you are as proud to be here as we are to have you. Our first black student. The world is changing. Moberly must change too. You are helping us as much as we are helping you.”
Across the circle from Claire, Shantel, playing Hannah, says, “I can’t wait to get started, ma’am.”
Drew paces behind the table, script in hand. I remember Mrs. Mowat at Rossmere sweeping across the stage when she gave us directions. Maybe all directors hate sitting still when they rehearse.
“Headmistress and Hannah freeze.” Neeta’s high voice projects easily. “Tight spotlight on Hannah’s head. She turns to audience.”
“Hang on,” Drew says before Shantel can say her line. “The dorm set gets slid in behind Hannah here. Actors who are in the next scene, you’ll be doing this set change. It’s a quick one. One of our rehearsals will focus strictly on set changes. Okay, keep going, Shantel.”
“How could I know what I was really starting? The first black student. Was Moberly Prep making a mistake? Was I?” Shantel already sounds in character.
Neeta continues, “Hannah steps away from Headmistress Winterbottom, who silently exits.”
Shantel goes on: “I learned a lot at Moberly. Most of it wasn’t about academics. But I sure got schooled.”
“Lights up on dorm room.”
There’s the sound of all of us turning our script pages together. I see Piper’s song coming up. Cue crazy heart fluttering.
Neeta reads, “One bed is tidily made up, the other appears to be piled with clothes and blankets. Hannah puts her suitcase down at the foot of the tidy bed. She steps toward the other bed.”
I shift forward on my chair, hold my script out in front of me and swallow.
Neeta: “Suddenly, blankets fly off. Piper jumps up and stands on her bed.”
“Welcome to your dorm!” I declare.
“Nastier,” Marissa says under her breath.
I whip my head to look at her, thrown off by the interruption. But she stares at her script, giving nothing away.
Drew interjects, “And we go into ‘Welcome to Your Dorm’ with Piper and the girls.” He points at me, and I enjoy the feeling of everyone looking my way. Well, everyone except Marissa.
“We’re not going to sing through the songs today,” Drew says. “But I’ll play a few bars to give a sense of the mood of each number.”
He sits at the piano and bangs out a high-energy, rapid tune. I can’t wait for the chance to sing it.
Drew talks over his playing. “Piper’s leaping between the two beds, going around poor Hannah. In the second-to-last verse, one of you ensemble ladies will be coming in the window, one from under the bed, singing. A mini-swarm. Should be a fun, frenetic number. Camilla’s got some great stuff worked out for the choreography. Good show opener. Okay, song ends, then Piper will say—”
“Come on, shorty. You don’t wanna be late for field hockey, do ya?” Do I sound nasty now?
“Great,” Drew says.
We move on to the next scene, one with Gregor’s and Brayden’s characters.
I sink back in my chair. So that’s it for my big solo: two lines, one of which I apparently read wrong, and a song that’ll give Camilla the chance to have me flinging around the stage.
I glance at Marissa’s script in her lap. She’s penciled all sorts of notes beside Piper’s song. She notices me looking and makes a show of turning the page and leaning away from me. If Piper’s supposed to be nasty, I’m thinking Marissa might be a natural.
* * *
During the break between reading the first and second acts, I go into the ladies’ room, a drafty, two-cubicle thing. One of the cubicle doors opens and a girl about my age comes out. She’s longlimbed and sunny-looking, with pixie-short hair. “Oh, hey. You’re Piper, right?”
“One of them anyway. I’m Ellie.” Bathroom small talk always feels weird to me, but the girl doesn’t seem to mind.
“I’m Rachel,” she says, looking at me in the mirror as she washes her hands. “This is my first play with Youth Works. Have you done a bunch?’
“No, I’m new too.” I inch toward a cubicle.
“You’re kidding.” She yanks three paper towels out of the holder. “And you’ve got a big role like Piper?”
“I wouldn’t call it big.”
“A solo? That starts the show? I’d call that big. I’m in the ensemble. All of the fun, none of the pressure. I hope I get picked to be in your number. I’d love to be the girl coming in through the window. That’s about as big a role as I’d want.” Rachel crumples the towels into the hinge-topped garbage can beside the sink. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.” She breezes out the door.
The garbage can’s lid squeaks slowly to a stop. I watch it and think: I’m annoyed at sharing a good role with Marissa when I could be like Rachel, happy at the prospect of being in the ensemble and climbing through a window—if I’m lucky.
Neeta calls, “Two minutes, people.”
Just enough time to adjust my attitude.