“Those were only for people who should be happy with small parts?” she asked. “Those didn’t apply to you, because you’re the uncontested star at the school? It’s the lead or nothing for you?”
My throat tightened. “Kate, sometimes I think you miss the whole point of friendship. Friendship is not about trying to find a person’s faults so you can confront the person with them. Friendship is about saying, ‘Yes, it totally sucks that Mrs. Shale made you Jet dancer number four.’ ”
I headed toward my first period class, and even though I walked fast, Kate kept pace beside me. “If it had been the other way around and you were Anita and I was some tiny part, I’d still want to be in the play. I didn’t quit just because I was a dead person in Our Town.”
I kept walking.
“Come on,” Kate said. “You can help me with my lines. It will be fun.”
I’m going to start keeping a list of things people always say but are hardly ever true. After “Things will look better in the morning,” and “You have nothing to worry about,” the next on the list will be “It will be fun.”
It wasn’t going to be fun. It was going to be awful. I didn’t want to see Lauren and Jordan every day or watch Mary be Maria, and when the crowd cheered on opening night, they wouldn’t be cheering for me. But still, I knew Kate wouldn’t understand any of that. She’d only remember that when she’d gotten the small part, I’d told her to be satisfied, and when I got the small part, I’d quit. I’d just have to find some way to get through West Side Story.
“All right,” I said, “I’m officially Velma, Jet dancer number four.”
For the first rehearsal we sat on the stage and read the parts out loud so we could get a feel for the story. Jordan showed up—which almost surprised me, since I figured he’d be too mad at Mrs. Shale to be in the play. Maybe she talked with him and smoothed things over. Or maybe he wanted his dad to come down so badly he’d even overlook loose-lipped drama teachers. I tried to find a chance to talk with him, but every other girl in the production flanked him for the entire rehearsal.
The second rehearsal was a little better because at any given time some of the girls had to be onstage learning their blocking, so Jordan was only surrounded by half the girls. He never glanced in my direction. I know because I checked often enough.
During the third rehearsal it became clear that Mary and Lauren were holding a flirting competition. Mary had an edge because she had more stage time with Jordan—and eventually kissing scenes. Still, Lauren was an old pro at man stealing, which made her a serious contender. She took to applying so much lip gloss it looked like her mouth had an oil spill. She wore tops so tight that if you stared hard enough at them, you’d be able to read the washing instructions tags.
Brendan wouldn’t be happy if he knew his new girlfriend kept flirting with another guy. I hoped it would get back to him—not so they would break up, but so Brendan would tell Lauren to leave Jordan alone.
That’s when I knew I was positively, without a doubt, over Brendan. I wanted him to stay with Lauren.
Jordan didn’t actually encourage Lauren and Mary, but he didn’t discourage them either. He was friendly to everyone. Well, everyone but me. He treated me like a stranger.
Every day I went home and complained about practice and thus came up with overrated saying number four on my list. Mom kept telling me, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Personally, I would have loved to be at a lemonade stand instead of drama rehearsals, but that wasn’t possible. Mrs. Shale had a very strict rehearsal attendance policy. If you missed one rehearsal, she lectured about teamwork and how you had let down the cast. Miss another rehearsal, and your understudy took over.
Velma/Jet dancer number four didn’t have an understudy and wasn’t in most of the scenes, but I still had to attend the rehearsals anyway. Besides the important role of sashaying across the stage with clenched fists during the first song, I also had to learn Anita’s blocking, and to hear any instructions Mrs. Shale gave for the character.
When I was six years old, my cousin tricked me into eating a half a box of bran cereal by telling me a cool prize was hidden in the box. He said I’d find it if I ate enough cereal. Most kids, ones without diabolical relatives that is, couldn’t be enticed to eat cereal with the flavor and texture of kindling, even for a toy.
But I did.
Being an understudy is the same sort of thing. All that memorization and time spent at rehearsal is just choking down bran for nothing. I couldn’t even wish for some sort of accident to befall Kate so I could step in. Kate was my best friend.
By the second week of practices, I’d learned my dance moves, Anita’s part, and Velma’s biggest line: “Oo, oo, ooblee-oo.” Seriously. She said it four different times. Probably the character was supposed to be drunk, insane, or just really stupid. I wasn’t sure which and didn’t care enough to try and discover her motivation.
One day after I finished my homework, I was so bored I took Tye, who played Chino, and helped him work on his part. Apparently Mrs. Shale had chosen Tye for the role of a Puerto Rican gang member because he had black hair, not because he had any acting talent. He said each sentence as though it were a question.
“I’ll help you run lines,” I told him as I took hold of his arm and dragged him to the back of the auditorium. I didn’t give him a choice. Guys are just easier to handle when you don’t overload them with options.
We worked for ten minutes on speaking with anger, then another five minutes on disgust and defiance. Teasing and flirting seemed an entirely new concept to him, just as it had with Jordan. Which makes me wonder if guys even pay attention to what they’re saying when they talk to girls.
“Look, you’re in love with Maria,” I told him. “It’s unrequited love; but you don’t know that until you go to tell Maria that Tony has killed Bernardo, and she’s more concerned about Tony than her brother. You have to show the audience a devastated man. You need to portray Chino as someone who’s capable of killing Tony in the last scene.”
He looked at me blankly.
I held out my hand for the script. “Here, let me show you.”
I read his lines, adding every bit of desolation I’d felt over the last two weeks and a swagger Brendan always used when he was trying to act tough. Which just goes to show you no relationship is a complete waste of time if you can glean acting material from it.
When I finished, I handed the script back to Tye. “Now you try it.”
I didn’t know Jordan was standing nearby until he spoke. He’d broken free from his entourage of girls and was on his way out of the auditorium for something. “You’re good,” he said.
I looked over at him, startled.
“You’re a good actress,” he added, then pushed the auditorium door open and left.
I watched Tye do an impersonation of my impersonation of Brendan’s swagger, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. Jordan’s words kept replaying in my mind, and even though he’d said them nicely, I knew they weren’t a compliment.
For the next few weeks Jordan said nothing to me. Occasionally he looked over in my direction during practice. I figured it was progress. Nothing else interesting happened until Mary had a dentist appointment and missed rehearsal. This meant not only did Lauren get more flirt time with Jordan, she also got up onstage and showed everyone she hadn’t memorized Maria’s lines. Mrs. Shale then pulled out her standard, even-though-you’re-just-an-understudy-you-have-the-responsibility-to-learn-your-lines speech. I’d heard it before. In fact, I’d heard the deluxe version given every year two days before production, punctuated with hysteria because someone in the cast was always still messing up their lines right up until dress rehearsal, and then Mrs. Shale ranted and raved and issued curses on our college applications.
I didn’t even put down my history homework while she continued on.
And then Mrs. Shale’s voice took on a cold edge. “Jessica, are your lines memorized?”
I set my book
down. “Yes.”
“Yes, your lines are memorized, or yes, you finally decided to pay attention?”
“My lines are memorized,” I said.
She waved a hand at the stage. “Then why don’t you come up and show us.” Nodding at Kate, she said, “You sit down, and let Jessica show us what an understudy’s job is.”
I wasn’t sure who she was trying to embarrass with this—Lauren or me—but I had a feeling it was me. Still, I climbed up onstage and ran the scene with Lauren. Lauren had to consult the script. I didn’t.
When I finished the scene, I walked off the stage, went back over to where I’d sat before, and reopened my history book.
“There you have it,” Mrs. Shale said to Lauren. “That’s how well an understudy should know her part. If for some reason Mary wasn’t able to perform on show night, or if she misses another practice and has to step down from her role, you’ll need to be up to speed. Do you understand?”
Lauren smiled happily—too happily for someone who’d just been chewed out—and said, “I’ll learn the rest of my lines tonight.”
Her cheerfulness didn’t make me suspicious. I didn’t even put two and two together when Mary didn’t show up for the next day’s rehearsal.
Mrs. Shale paced around the auditorium for half of practice, shaking her head and mumbling about the irresponsibility of teenagers. When we finished rehearsal, she made the pronouncement: Mary hadn’t even had the common courtesy to let anyone know why she wasn’t at practice. She must not be serious about the play. The part of Maria now belonged to Lauren.
Which is when I realized that the only thing worse than watching Mary stand in the spotlight, kiss Jordan, and catch Christopher Hunter’s attention was seeing Lauren do all of that.
She giggled and clapped her hands together as though she’d just been crowned Miss America.
I’m never going to enter a pageant. I would not be a gracious loser. Instead of hugging the newly crowned winner, I would most likely trip her as she took her victory walk.
And although I didn’t trip Lauren, I did send Jordan psychic messages to absolutely, positively not fall in love with her.
The next day when Kate and I walked into the auditorium, Mary stood in front of Mrs. Shale wailing so loudly I could hear her halfway across the room. “I didn’t miss practice! You canceled it. You called and left a message with my little brother that you canceled practice yesterday.”
Mrs. Shale folded her arms over her black turtleneck sweater. “Mary, we had practice yesterday. Why would I call and tell you otherwise?”
Mary’s breaths came out short and close together. Her face turned a mottled red color. “But someone called my house. My brother took the message while I was at the dentist.” She waved a hand wildly at Lauren. “It was you, wasn’t it? You tricked me into missing practice so you could take my part!”
You’d think after spending the last three weeks in drama rehearsal, Lauren would be able to pull off acting shocked. Instead, she fiddled with her necklace, winding it around one finger. “I did not.”
“You did!” Mary shrieked. “It isn’t fair.” Then in a more desperate tone directed toward Mrs. Shale, she added, “Lauren shouldn’t get my part.”
Lauren jutted her chin out defiantly. Her voice took on an authoritative tone. “Mrs. Shale already told me I could have it. I spent all night learning my lines.”
Mrs. Shale held up her hands and walked between Mary and Lauren, looking back and forth between the two with darting eyes. “Girls, please. We don’t need any of this fighting. Mary, I’m sorry, but you know the rules. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else if I made an exception for you. You missed two rehearsals. Your understudy takes over now, but I’d like you to stay on with the cast as the new understudy for Maria. Can you do that?”
A moment of silence filled the auditorium while Mary clenched and unclenched her fists. “Fine.” With her eyes flattened into angry slits, she turned and gave Lauren such an icy glare it would have taken a blowtorch to unthaw it. “You won’t get away with this.”
Beside me Andre elbowed Tye. “See, I knew sooner or later this play would produce some good drama.”
Eight
For the next week we had to listen to Lauren constantly humming the tune to “I Feel Pretty.” One wouldn’t think a hummed song could carry a lot of gloating in it, but Lauren’s version did. The pretty-fest may have continued indefinitely if Mary—or rather Mary’s father—hadn’t put a stop to it. There are apparently many advantages to having a father who is school superintendent, one of which is that he can drop by during school and talk to your drama teacher, and she will actually care about what he has to say. He can assure the drama teacher that his son did in fact receive a phone call stating drama practice had been canceled, and then discuss the ethics of rehearsal rules and the future of the drama program in general.
So after a week Lauren’s reign as Maria ended, and Mary stood back on center stage as the prettiest of us all.
Andre started referring to both of them as “the Marias”—as in “Hey, one of you Marias go grab me a soda.”
In turn they referred to him as “you jerk”—as in “Go get it yourself, you jerk.”
Lauren said snide things to Mary when Mrs. Shale wasn’t around, as in “You better not miss any more rehearsals, ’cause Daddy won’t be able to save your part next time.” Which had the effect of turning Mary into a paranoid jangle of nerves. She eyed everything Lauren did with suspicion. She waited for the next plot against her. Mary’s friends and Lauren’s friends stopped talking to each other.
And Jordan still treated me as though he couldn’t remember my name.
So all in all we were getting along like any other normal high school group.
The performance dates marched closer on the calendar, and when we weren’t onstage, we painted sets or stood with our arms outstretched while Mrs. Shale fitted costumes against our bodies with straight pins.
With only two weeks of rehearsal left, the school newspaper came out with a page-long, anonymous editorial about West Side Story. Particularly how our play insulted the Puerto Rican population and promoted violence.
I read the story out loud to Kate at lunchtime, then laid the paper neatly on the table. “What do you think about the article?”
She took a sip from her milk carton. “I think the author has some legitimate points.”
I picked up the paper and swatted her with it. “You wrote this, didn’t you, Kate?”
“No,” she said. “Well, maybe.”
I swatted her with the paper again. “Why would you do this? Why would you try to sabotage your own play?”
She scooted her chair out of swatting range. “I’m not trying to sabotage anything. I’m trying to create change. I just pointed out that some people will find the play offensive. It’s racist toward Puerto Ricans. It portrays them as gangster thugs.”
“It portrays everyone as gangster thugs, Kate. It’s about two rival gangs.”
“Which is another offensive thing. It glorifies violence.”
I threw my hands up in the air, giving them something to do besides strangle Kate. “Where in the script does it ever say violence is a good way to solve problems? It shows the damage that comes from violence. Riff, Bernardo, and Tony all die. That’s what makes the play a tragedy.”
“Right.” Kate waved her straw at me as though making a point. “It’s too violent for children, and yet you know they’ll come and see it anyway. It’s needlessly exposing the younger generation to the dark tendencies of humanity. Besides,” Kate went on with straw in hand, “even you have to acknowledge it’s racially insensitive for a drama teacher to fill Puerto Rican parts with white kids.”
Kate always uses sophisticated words when her arguments don’t carry enough weight by themselves. Usually, I let her get away with it, but not this time. “It’s called ‘acting’ because you pretend to be someone else. None of us are singing, dancing gang members either, but that doesn
’t mean we can’t put on a play.”
“I never said we shouldn’t put on the play,” Kate said hotly. “I just think we should be more sensitive about it.”
“Oh, right. We’ll be sensitive singing, dancing gang members. Instead of racial slurs, we’ll insult each other’s fashion sense.” I picked up the newspaper from the table, glared at the article, then let it fall back down. “Why even be in the play if you feel that way? Why don’t you just quit?”
Kate dropped her straw back into her milk carton. “If it takes making that sort of stand—” She stopped talking suddenly, and her gaze shot back over to mine. “You just want me to quit so you can have my part, don’t you? That’s what this whole conversation is about, isn’t it? Well, I’m not going to quit. I can still raise awareness about social injustice while being in the play.”
I leaned across the table toward her. “I’m not trying to take your part. I just . . .” The full impact of her words hit me. “Raise social awareness? Kate, what else are you doing?”
She took a bite of her sandwich, and didn’t answer me.
“How bad is it?” I asked her.
“It’s not bad at all,” she said. “I simply sent a copy of my editorial to the Three Forks News. They’re running a story on it this week.”
The Three Forks News is one of those free newspapers you don’t subscribe to but is thrown on your driveway anyway. It covers events like junior high wrestling and the quilting club. Something as interesting as racial strife in the high school would be front-page stuff.
“Kate, Mrs. Shale and the cast are not going to be happy about this.”
She stopped eating. “You’re not going to tell them it was me, are you?”
I put my head in my hands. A headache was forming in the part of my brain where the logic is kept. “No, but why can’t you ever accept something for what it is instead of stirring up ways to make it wrong? You’re a missile-seeking-a-target, Kate.”