Let’s talk about the incident that happened at the theater during dress rehearsals. What was the atmosphere like?
It was tense. Some of the cast were sour about the selections for the main roles. There was talk of roles being bought.
Bought? From Mrs. Reese?
It was no secret Reese played favorites. But why she chose Victoria Zell as Lady Macbeth was pretty much beyond anyone’s guess.
Victoria was not a favorite of Mrs. Reese?
Not really. There was a core group of us who lived for the stage, and she wasn’t part of that.
Was Z?
No…but his tryout was singular. No one thought he bought his way in, but they certainly thought she might have.
—Police interview with Quincy Laughlin, senior at St. Ann’s
It was the week before Halloween, and my mother had put purple lights all over the fence on our side of the duplex. They cast an eerie, supernatural glow on the yard. My dad had taken to putting the trash cans where I always put my backside, but I moved them out of the way and slid down into my place against the fence. Then I told you I’d gotten the part.
You, of course, were shocked. It was like the Little Mermaid going out for track. You stuttered, “W-why?”
I told you that it was for the grade. I told you that I needed all the help I could get in English, which was true. “I can’t believe I got it though,” I said. “Parker auditioned, and I even beat her out.”
“Parker Cole? The principal’s kid?” you asked. You’d heard me complaining about how perfect she was, how the entire world revolved around her. Usually when I did, you would try to boost my mood with compliments. But this time, you just went, “Huh.”
The shock in your voice kind of annoyed me. “What?” I snapped, chewing on my Juicy Fruit.
“It’s just so unlike you, Vic,” you said. “You don’t usually step out like that.”
I said, “Well, maybe I wanted to try something different.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “And it turns out I’m good at acting.”
You were silent for a long time, taking it in, I guess. “Wow, my girlfriend. The actress.” Another long silence passed. Then you said, “Of course you’re good at it, Vic.”
We stood up. I came around the side of the fence and you hugged me. That’s when you said, “Is that why you’re running every morning?”
“What?” I didn’t think you’d noticed. But you must have seen me from your bedroom window, leaving the house early each morning.
“To try something different.” You leaned against the picket fence, the little twinkling, purple lights casting an unnatural glow on your pale face as you scratched at your temple. “Because correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you telling me that the only reason to run is when something with pointy teeth is chasing you.”
I laughed. You were right. I had said that.
You took me by the hand and made me twirl like a dancer as you inspected me. I’d lost maybe fifteen pounds by then. “Trying new things is definitely working for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, blushing. “I actually like running. I’m lifting weights too. I like not feeling weak.”
I made a bicep and you felt it. “Impressive. Let’s face it. I have a hot girlfriend.”
Hot. I’d never imagined I’d be described as that.
You smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes. Like you knew I was growing apart from you, and there was nothing you could do to bring me back.