Beyond Clueless (8 page)

But eight seconds into it, I clicked it off. “OK, maybe not.”

Not that Jimmy heard it; he was busy doodling a heart
motif on his history notebook, lost in his thoughts. Geez Louise, why was everyone around me so lovesick all of a sudden? What about
me
? Whom did
I
have to swoon over?

I pulled a Twix bar out of my bottom desk drawer—I’d been saving it for a self-pity party just like the one I felt coming on. Then I double-clicked on Streisand’s “What Kind of Fool,” because I knew that Jimmy hated it.

B
ut I didn’t have to pity myself for long. No, sir, I was about to swoon, too.

Hard
.

On Wednesday, I was buzzing with nerves all throughout the day, thinking about the auditions. Needless to say, I really, really, really, really wanted to be in the musical. Acting is the one thing that I’m actually good at. Not sports, not grades, not being all sexy and boyfriend-y. Nobody really paid much attention to me at school, but if I could just show everyone that side of me, it would change everything. I’d be Marty, that girl who was really great in the musical. (OK, I know that probably doesn’t sound so great to most people, but at least it’s something.)

But if I didn’t even get into the musical, I’d just be . . . yeah.

I would
not
be able to stomach sitting in the audience, watching other girls perform onstage, let alone any of my gay boys. Even if no one else noticed or cared, I’d be humiliated for myself. I mean, when I was eleven, I staged a full reenactment of
Chicago
with dolls and stuffed animals—yes, disturbing in retrospect—for Jimmy and my parents. Last
year, I used my birthday money to buy a Carol Channing–autographed theater program on eBay. I know all the words to basically every musical worth seeing, and a lot of the bad ones, too. I
had
to get a part.

So when I met Xiang at her locker after the last class, I was practically levitating with stress. I thought I was hiding it pretty well, but she looked at me uncertainly.

“Are you gonna be OK?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be fine.” It was a bit mortifying to have Xiang see me like this, but there was only so much I could do about it. I took a deep breath, but it only made me feel even more light-headed. We floated out to the parking lot, where we saw Jimmy, Derek, Oliver, and Kirby standing around, looking lost.

“Oh, good, you got here in good time!” I shouted as we approached.

But I didn’t stop. I just glided on past the boys toward Jerry Hall, and the boys grabbed their bags and hustled after us.

When we walked into the theater, I was relieved to see that there weren’t as many girls there as at the meeting the week before—not yet, at least. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there were still a lot of them, probably thirty or so. Maybe the process of finding a song and a monologue had weeded some of them out? There were only about a dozen boys so far, and clumps of them huddled in various corners.

Actually, it was weird to see boys in Jerry Hall—or anywhere at Our Lady, for that matter. I had gotten used to the
girls’ club feel of the place, and now it seemed like they were invading our space.

Jenny McCafferty was sitting on the edge of the stage, hollering, “Ladies, sign up here! Gentlemen, your sign-up sheet is on stage right! That’s over there, for you theater newbies.” She waved her arm broadly, as if she were directing 747s on a tarmac. “Have your sheet music ready, if you have it! And please, please,
please
make sure the pages are in order! I’m saying that for your benefit, of course.” She did some sort of a pantomime of shuffling papers wildly and then gave a fake-sounding laugh. Xiang and I looked at each other, pitying. It was so bad, it wasn’t even worth mocking.

But Jenny didn’t seem perturbed by the awkward silence, and she plowed on. “OK, here’s how this works. I’ll be sitting over there by the entrance with the sign-up sheet, so late stragglers won’t interrupt the process. When I call out your name, go to the piano and give Christy your sheet music. If you have sheet music, that is.”

She motioned toward a pale girl sitting at the piano.

“Then go up onstage, introduce yourself, and work your magic.” And she actually did a jazz-hands motion. “If you don’t have a monologue prepared, as you should, there are a few emergency monologues you can read that I’ve put in a pile right here. Callback lists will be e-mailed out tonight or tomorrow morning, and callback auditions will take place on Monday—same time, same place.”

I signed my name and e-mail address on the list, and our group settled in a far corner of the theater, near where Xiang
and I had sat before. But I couldn’t actually sit down in my buzz-y condition; I just sort of hovered above the group. I noted that Sister Mary Alice and Mrs. Murray, the musical director, had set themselves up in the second row, smack in the center, with their clipboards at the ready.

Kirby held out his hand to Xiang. “Hi, I’m Kirby.”

“Oh, right!” I gasped. “I totally forgot. I’m sorry. Boys, this is Xiang. Xiang, this is Kirby, Oliver, Derek, and Jimmy.”

Xiang wiggled her hand in a quick wave, then said to Kirby in her high, babyish voice (not again!), “I didn’t see you sign up with the others. Aren’t you auditioning, too?”

At that moment, I literally smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. I turned to Kirby. “Ohmigod, you’re actually here! I didn’t even think about it—you’re totally auditioning! We convinced you!” (To be fair, I wasn’t noticing much of anything, as I was focusing on trying to respond to the earth’s gravitational pull.)

Kirby smiled and shook his head. “Naw, I’m just here to provide immoral support.”

“Boooooooo,” I countered with an exaggerated frown and a double thumbs-down. “It’s not too late!”

“Oh, leave him alone. That’s exactly why I’m here, too,” squeaked Xiang. “So, are you all freshmen?”

“Jimmy and Derek are,” Oliver replied, “but Kirby and me are both sophomores. Kirby drove us here, actually.”

For a moment, I felt the buzz dim a bit. They were
sophomores
? Kirby could
drive
? I had simply assumed that they were our age. Huh.

More people streamed into the theater, and I was back to vibrating—with a vengeance. I hated being this nervous. Each time someone walked in, my inner self kicked an inner wall.
Crap. More competition
. The separate groups in the audience were starting to coagulate into one big crowd.

And then
he
walked in.

My mental kick froze, and I registered his appearance: OH. MY. GOD.

My right arm flailed out instinctively, hitting Xiang.

“Ow!” she yelped, recoiling from my blow.

“
That’s the guy!
” I hissed. “
That’s the guy from the mall!”

“What guy?” she asked, rubbing her left arm and glaring at me.

“You know!
The guy with the stinky grandmother!”

She turned and peered thoughtfully at him but then shrugged. “If you say so.”

Mall Guy made a brief scan of the crowd, then bent over Jenny McCafferty’s list. For once, McCafferty seemed a bit subdued as she watched him sign his name. I thought I could sense a slight hush over the theater as he walked from the sign-up sheet to the other side of the stage, and it seemed as though heads throughout the audience tracked him like flowers following the sun.

Then I heard Kirby whistle softly behind me; he, too, was gawking at the guy. But who could blame him? Mall Guy had a lanky, tall build and shiny black hair that swept past eyes that were dark and soulful, even from fifty feet away. Jimmy grabbed my hand and squeezed it, raising his
eyebrows toward the newcomer. I responded by fanning my face with my other hand.

Mall Guy had come in with a friend, a barrel-chested guy with painfully spiked hair who chewed gum in an exaggerated, rolling motion. They settled on seats just at the edge of the stage, along the aisle.

I turned and saw Oliver reach out and wipe Kirby’s chin with his hand.

“Looks like you’ve got some drool there, buddy.”

After a few more people meandered in, Jenny stood and let out a piercing whistle.

“OK, people! Shush! We’re gonna get started now!” I somehow managed to lower myself into my seat. Jenny made a big show of checking the sign-up sheet. “The first person to go is . . . Maria Kilkenny.”

A big girl wearing bright orange socks hurried over to the piano. She gave Christy her music and climbed up onto the stage. I breathed a sigh of relief that they were going in order—how many names were ahead of mine? Thirty-five or so? God, that seemed like a long time—sitting and waiting, feeling like this . . .

“Hi, um, I’m Maria Kilkenny. I’m a freshman here, and I’m going to sing ‘There’s a Fine, Fine Line’ from the musical
Avenue Q
.” Ooh, excellent choice, I thought to myself. And then she opened her mouth—and I almost died.

She was amazing. She was, like,
professional
amazing.

I got chills listening to her. Then her monologue, something from
Sophie’s Choice
, was friggin’ perfect. I mean, one
minute we were watching a stocky Oaks girl in orange socks, and the next thing we knew, Meryl Streep was standing on our stage, remembering the Holocaust.

Then I just felt sick. Was everyone going to be this good? Suddenly this whole audition thing seemed like a really dumb idea.

But that sinking feeling was buoyed by the next person to audition, a little guy wearing a St. Augustine’s Prep letter jacket. He basically croaked his way through “Music of the Night” . . . or at least I think that’s what it was supposed to be. And his monologue, taken from one of the court scenes from
A Few Good Men
—well, let’s just say it wasn’t
convincing
. Halfway through, Xiang put on earphones and took her algebra problem set out of her green bag.

Fortunately for those of us still watching through our fingers, none of the following people were that bad. Also fortunately, they weren’t nearly as good as that Maria Kilkenny girl. There were some funny monologues and some pretty decent singers, and the choices weren’t bad—well, except for a Disney song or two. A few people missed cues and forgot lines, but I was impressed (or
de
pressed, I should say) by how good everyone was.

There was this one senior, Kate O’Day, who really stood out. Tall, skinny, and blessed with long, straight auburn hair, she could have been a supermodel, and she carried herself like one. She sang “Popular” from
Wicked
, a song she was perfect for, since it’s all about being pretty and, well, popular. Her monologue was from the montage at the end of
the movie
Clueless
, when Alicia Silverstone realizes that she loves her stepbrother. Side note: No matter how much I love that movie (with all my heart and soul), or how cute Paul Rudd is in it (very extremely), the quasi-incest still creeps me out.

Kate did a good job, but I could tell she was angling for the Cinderella role, and I found that annoying. Anyway, her clique of friends cheered her in an obnoxious way—not so much to praise her performance but to intimidate everyone else.

And then, eventually, Jenny called my name.

My stomach did some gold-medal gymnastics as I clumped down the steps to the stage. I got up there but then realized I was still holding the sheet music. (Note to self: Follow self-evident instructions.) I heard Jenny heave an exaggerated sigh, and I didn’t have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes. Christy smiled sympathetically as I hustled to get her the music, and I tried to pretend that I still had a scrap of dignity as I remounted the stage.

Big breath, big breath.

“Hi, I’m Marty—Martha—Sullivan. Uh, I’m a freshman here. And I’m going to sing ‘I Can Hear the Bells’ from the musical
Hairspray
.” Sister Mary Alice watched me impassively. I cleared my throat, and Christy started to play. (A little slow for my taste, but, hey, what could I do?)

It went OK, I guess. Could have been worse.

When I finished, Mrs. Murray scratched furiously at her clipboard with her pen, her lips pursed. Sister Mary Alice
kept her eyes on me, her face a complete blank. Then I realized that Xiang and the boys were clapping and cheering at the back of the theater, and a hiccup of a smile made its way through me. Then my eyes wandered over to my left, where I saw Mall Guy looking at me with a lopsided grin. He had his arms raised in the air, clapping. I held his gaze, and my smile blossomed into full-on beaming.

Then it was time for my monologue, which also went fine. I ended up choosing Clarence Darrow’s final argument in
Inherit the Wind
, which I figured was both theater-y and unconventional, since I was crossing gender lines. When I finished, I raised my head and gave a quick smile. My corner of friends broke out in cheers again, and I scuttled off the stage, but not without a sidelong glance (or two) toward Mall Guy. He was just so . . . magnetic.

Next up was Jimmy, and as my nervousness trickled down into calm, he slowly made his way to the stage. I hollered a solid “Whoo!” of support from my seat, but I could tell he was bracing himself for disaster.