A Tale of Two Centuries

Luckily, Marilyn Kent saves me from making a further awkward fool of myself. The side doors to the theater bang open and conversation around me stops. Briskly walking across the floor to the lamplit table, the click-clack of heels punctuating each precise step, Marilyn commands every eye on stage to follow her progress like the world-famous director she is. And it’s not until after she takes her seat, sets down her clipboard, and takes a long sip of water that she lifts her head to survey her awaiting cast. When her shrewd gaze lands on me, she pauses.

My mouth goes dry, as if suddenly filled with the puffs of white cotton Cat keeps in the bathroom. I fight the urge to blink, scared to miss a twitch or tick that will give me a clue as to what she could be thinking, and curse my burning eyes.

What if Ms. Kent doesn’t know about Maggie’s magic solution, or worse, doesn’t care? Could my first—and potentially only—touch of spontaneity result in her asking me to abandon my dream and leave the workshop?

Finally, her mouth curves into a faint smile. And when she calls out, “Let’s begin,” my heart stops its attempt to leap from my chest.

One of the young assistants looks at her clipboard. “Reid and Alessandra, you’re up first.”

Relieved, and to be honest, a little light-headed, I walk to center stage. Lightheadedness turns to full wooziness as, between Marilyn and her various assistants, I am beset with thousands of minute details: where to stand, where to look, when to enter, what my character is feeling. The past few rehearsals were spent sitting around a table reading our lines, but this is the first time I’m actually onstage, surrounded by the beginnings of an actual set. I glance out into the dark audience where I know Cat and Lucas are watching, needing just an ounce of her unending strength.

As overprotective as she can be, my cousin is my rock, the one thing that remains constant and familiar as I continue acclimating to this crazy world. And she’s always been my number-one fan.

Convinced she’s imparted all she can for now, Marilyn calls us into place. I chance a quick wave out into the audience, and a lone whistle answers from the darkness. With renewed confidence, I take my mark.

…

Standing atop my makeshift balcony, reciting the lines I now know by heart, I realize I am no longer the same aspiring actress from my audition. With my new hair, new clothes, and new attitude, it is as if I have taken on two separate roles: the one of Juliet, and the side of me that Austin has let loose.

When Reid and I conclude the third run-through of our scene, Ms. Kent nods in approval. Reid squeezes my hand as we exit the set.

“You are a natural,” he tells me once we reach the wings. He folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head. “I knew you were good during the read-throughs before, but man, it’s like you were born for this. On the one hand, I’m glad to hear the rumor mill was right for once. In Hollywood, that’s not normally the case. But then on the other hand, you’re forcing me to bring my A game.”

Catching enough of his meaning to understand, I shrug a shoulder and give a teasing grin. With a friendly pat of his arm, I say, “I’m sure by opening night you will find some way to keep up.”

Reid’s eyes widen as if I surprised him—I know I continue to surprise myself daily. But before he can issue a retort, an intern grabs him for an interview. It is with obvious reluctance that he leaves, stopping halfway to the exit door to shoot me an amused grin, and I laugh at his retreating back. This twenty-first century role is getting easier by the day. Proud of my accomplishment, I turn to watch the next performance.

“No way in hell it’s coming close to yours,” Jamie says, appearing out of the darkness. “You were awesome out there. Kendal was practically spitting nails at all the praise Kent gave you.” She wraps me in a hug. “It totally made my day.”

Filled to near bursting with the praise I’ve spent years yearning for, I squeeze her tightly, then turn to watch the actress in question. Kendal may have wanted to play Juliet for the workshop, but her assigned role could not fit more perfectly. She is portraying Katherina from Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, a description that appears apt for both girls. In fact, I’d think the Bard had her in mind when he wrote the play… except that Ms. Kent does not appear quite as certain.

“No, no, no,” she says after correcting Kendal for at least the tenth time. Marching onto the stage, face pinched in frustration, Marilyn stops in front of her. With hands on her hips, she says, “Miss Matthews, there is no question that you play the bitch role with flair, but there’s more to Katherina than PMS. You must dig deeper. What is she feeling in this scene?”

The entire theater grows deathly quiet to hear how Kendal will respond. Jamie has confided that Kendal has a reputation for not always handling criticism gracefully, a trait I have witnessed for myself in our drama class. Tuesday’s class was all about improvising, a skill with which our teacher’s pet seemed to struggle. The fact that I didn’t, and in fact earned praise from Mrs. Shankle, only solidified my place as her enemy.

Hayley reminded me after class that auditions for the musical begin next week and pushed me again to try out for Tiffany. Figuring Reyna would send me back long before the final production, I told her no. But standing here in my new clothes with my new hair and receiving such praise, I’m tempted to change my mind.

On stage, Kendal’s hands flex and then unclench, and I can’t help but feel a tug of sympathy. Despite her horrid behavior toward me, I take no joy in watching our director publicly scold her. Had she not been so talented, perhaps it would be a different story, but she is. Her impressive ability to unleash anger with a moment’s notice and project her voice to the rooftops is inspiring, and it is apparent, at least to me, that she is trying her best.

She answers Ms. Kent in a voice so soft I can scarcely hear it, but what little I do hear sounds strained. She shifts her weight, and the spotlight hits eyes glazed, shockingly, with repressed tears.

Marilyn sighs and dismisses her, promptly calling for the next set of actors, and as Kendal strolls off stage, her shoulders droop in disappointment.

Jamie looks at me and flattens her lips in an uncomfortable grimace. “That was not as much fun as I would’ve thought.”

I nod in agreement, and when Kendal draws nearer to where we wait in the wings, I take a step out of the shadows. “Good job out there.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wary from being caught so distressed. Behind us, Marilyn begins the onslaught of details for the next scene, asking the actors, “As you enter the Forest of Arden, what do you think you are feeling?” and Kendal ignores my compliment, choosing instead to twist around and watch.

I exchange shrugs with Jamie, unsure of how to proceed or what else I can say, but I needn’t have bothered worrying. A moment later Kendal turns and meets my sympathetic gaze with one of pure scorn. “I know,” she tells me, her voice ringing false with confidence.

Then she saunters away with a dismissive lift of her nose, knocking my shoulder without apology as she passes.

Chapter Eighteen

I walk into French class ten minutes before it is to begin, still reeling from drama. Even though I am sure to be gone long before the musical actually begins, and even though it is unheard of for anyone to outshine Kendal in Mrs. Shankle’s eyes, I gave in to Hayley’s good-natured badgering and agreed to try out, not for one of the nerds, as was kindly suggested by the class pet, but for Tiffany. My hand shook as I signed the audition list, amidst Hayley’s whoops of victory, Austin’s quiet smile, and Kendal’s fierce glare, but the wave of unprecedented confidence that overcame me was amazing.

Weaving through the crowded aisles to get to Lucas, I smile at the lingering sensation and ignore the whispers that follow in my wake like pups nipping at my heels. It has been the same all morning. These are not the same whispers that trailed me when I first arrived, the ones about who I was, why I bolted at every look, or the way I spoke so strangely. These are curious, appraising, and even openly admiring. And though I do not loathe receiving such attention, even while still being quite unsettled by it, I’m completely without recourse for how to respond. For at least the tenth time since the school day began, I find myself asking what the modern me should do.

Lucas raises his head from a sketch and grins at my approach. I stop at the empty desk beside him and with