What You Always Wanted (15 page)

PAUL BRATTER: Ryan Hodges

CORIE BRATTER: Rica Castro

Rica wedges herself between Brian and me to snap a picture of the list with her phone. Then she turns on me with the same vindictive smirk that she had while watching me overdose on allergy meds and pave her road to stardom.

“I was really hoping you'd get the part of the mother. You've got the loopy thing mastered.”

I'd really like to punch her pretty little face, but I refrain from all forms of comebacks. She nailed the audition, and I didn't. There's nothing I can do about it now, even if it was largely her fault.

“And not even an understudy,” she continues. “Well, I'm sure you could help with makeup or something. You seem to have a flair for”—she motions toward the star on my cheek—“theatrical application.” She takes my stunned silence as an opportunity to keep piling it on. “That upset, huh? Maybe you should go cry about it to your boyfriend.” A hand flies up to her mouth as if she surprised herself. “Oh, that's right. He's dead.”

Gasps sound off all around me like a tidal wave, one of them my own, even though I have no clue what she's talking about. It just
sounds
mean. More than mean.
Malicious
.

I feel a hand clasp mine and look over to find Sarah's face twisted in concern. Then it clicks. The first day of school. Two truths and a lie. I called Rica out in front of everyone, and now she gets to put me in my place in front of even more everyones.

The spark in her eyes is unnerving. She truly believes she just stuck a dagger in my heart, and she's thriving on it. The idea that someone I go to school with can be so hateful is pretty debilitating. I've got nothing. No defense, no words at all.

Sarah's hand squeezes mine tighter, and Brian gently touches my shoulder.

But I do have friends.

Brian takes a step forward to put himself between me and Rica. “At least Maddie's capable of loving someone other than herself.”

Burn. Major burn. Below-the-belt burn.

I grab his hand with my free one and tug on it, signaling that I want him to stop. This isn't the way. I mean, what Rica said was inexcusable, but I don't want my friends to turn into her for my sake. The phrase “kill them with kindness” pops into my mind, and I suddenly know what I need to do to get her off my back, at least for now.

I lift my eyes to meet Rica's and conjure a weak smile, keeping my tone as genuine as possible. I am, after all, a great actress. “Congratulations on getting the lead. I know you'll do an awesome job.”

Bingo.

She doesn't give me the gasp I was hoping for, but her cheeks redden and the spark in her eyes is doused. We maintain eye contact until I'm certain she sees me as a big, watery blur. There's real emotion somewhere under that witchy exterior, and I just tapped it.

Still holding hands with Sarah and Brian, I turn and lead us down the hallway. None of us says a word until we round a corner, out of sight and earshot from our impromptu audience.

“You guys,” I begin, nervousness buzzing in my ears. “I have to clear something up, now that I feel mostly confident you won't think I'm completely insane.”

Brian laughs. “Well, we already do, so . . .”

“Funny.” I fake a smile. “Really, though, when I said the only guy I've ever loved is dead—”

“That was a lie, too?” Sarah asks, crossing her arms.

“Technically, no.” I pause. “It's just . . . I don't want you guys to go on thinking my boyfriend died or something. The guy I'm
hung up on . . . I've never actually met. He died before I was born.” I bite my lip and wait for a reaction.

They both stare at me for a moment, then Brian laughs. “So what if we do think you're completely insane?”

“It's not that insane.” Sarah jabs him in the arm. “He's a movie star, isn't he?”

Brian's eyes widen. “Ohhhhh. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Was that sarcasm?” I ask.

“No, for real. I couldn't quite wrap my head around you having been in love but never kissing anyone.”

“Right. That.”

So I divulge my big secret. I tell them about Gene Kelly. How I've seen all his movies so many times I know them by heart. How he's ruined me because I don't just want to be randomly kissed, I want it to be epically romantic.

They stare at me again. I shift my weight from one leg to the other.

“Yep.” Brian breaks the silence. “Insane.”

“I think it's adorable,” Sarah says before patting the top of my head. “And maybe a little sad.”

“Well, real-life boyfriend or no, what Rica just did was reprehensible,” Brian says.

“Ugh. I can't believe Ryan has to kiss that serpent,” Sarah says, taking out her ponytail to redo it. She yanks her hair with such fury, the elastic band snaps and drops to the floor. “Not only do I have to watch it happen, but then I'll be thinking about it when he kisses me! With the same lips! What if her poison is contagious?”

“You should buy him some Listerine or something,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood, and glad we're done talking about me. “ ‘Congratulations on landing the male lead, babe. Now go sterilize your mouth.' ”

“It's not like he's gonna make out with her,” Brian offers. He shoots me a pointed look. “Stage kisses don't count as real kisses, do they?”

“Maybe not to the actors, but it doesn't make it any easier to watch when it's your boyfriend.” Sarah grabs a wooden pencil from her bag and uses it to secure her hair up from her neck. “Ugh, why is it so hot in here?”

Brian and I exchange pity glances.

“You're the student director,” Brian says, leaning against a locker. “Take out the kissing bits. Problem solved.”

“Like the other directors would ever go for that,” Sarah huffs. “Besides, who's going to believe a play with non-kissing newlyweds?”

Now I cut Brian a look warning him to let go of whatever remark his brain is working on. He bites his lip and drops to tie his shoelace. Today his sneakers are the color of traffic cones. Not my favorite.

“Well, I'm gonna go eat before lunch is over,” Brian says, standing and adjusting his backpack. “Y'all coming?”

Sarah shakes her head. “I can't eat now. I need consoling. I'm gonna see if Ryan can get out of his advisory period.”

I open my mouth to respond, but my name is called from behind me. It's Mrs. Morales. Usually I'd be happy to chat with her, but since my failure of an audition, the plan has been to get to class just before I'm considered late and leave as soon as
the bell rings to avoid the possibility of an
I'm so disappointed
speech.

“Can you walk with me for a minute?” she asks.

“Um, sure.” I wave to Sarah and Ryan as they go their separate ways, leaving me to face the lecture alone.

She sets the pace slowly through the empty hallway. Every second she waits to speak, the worse I imagine what it is she's preparing to say.

“How's your tap dancing?” she finally asks.

I study her face in an effort to gauge her sincerity, sure at any second she'll say,
“I'm just kidding. I really wanted to tell you how much you tanked your chance to play Corie. Get out of my theatre program.”

“My tap dancing?” I repeat, mostly to stall. My tap dancing is elementary, at best, and I know that's not the answer she's looking for. “I've taken some classes back home, and I'm definitely interested in learning more. I found a dance studio close by, but they said I couldn't start until the first of the year.”

She moves her clipboard from one hand to the other and hugs it against her chest. “Well, next month we're going to hold auditions for
Crazy for You
at the playhouse. Have you seen it?” I shake my head and she continues, “It's a fairly tap-heavy musical, so we're looking for people who either have experience or can catch on easily.”

My heart flutters. She's not chewing me out; she's asking me to audition for a
real
musical production at the community playhouse!

“I'm confident I can catch on to anything if I practice it enough.” I keep myself from skipping the rest of the way down the hall.

“I believe you could.” She smiles. “I know Monday was hard for you, and—”

“I'm
so
sorry about Monday,” I dare to interrupt. She just
has
to know. “I took too much allergy medicine and it knocked me out. I feel like a dope.”

Mrs. Morales raises a hand to stop me from explaining. “Angela told me all about it. And you would have made a great Corie, but you know what? I think you'll like being a part of the musical more.”

“
Would
I?” A musical! My mind races with audition preparation. So much to do!

“Maybe things aren't so bad after all?” She winks and I want to hug her.

“Things are almost perfect,” I say, grinning like a fool.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She grips the door handle to the black box theatre and twists to face me before opening it. “Angela told me you're looking for a job. I've got one for you if you want it.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My very first job! And it's at a theatre!

I'm now
the
office girl of the Fernwood Community Playhouse, handling online ticket sales, coming up with new marketing ideas, making sure the rooms are clean and tidy, checking inventory of toilet paper, and doing a variety of other things I have no clue how to do yet. But I love it. I love the people, the atmosphere. The buzz that comes from the creation of entertainment that works itself into the carpet and the walls and the very foundation of the building. You can't help but be energized and inspired by this place.

After a few weeks of learning the ropes, I come to realize something: Mrs. Morales practically lives here. No wonder they're always ordering takeout. Jesse's at the playhouse more than I knew, too—he helps design and build the sets, in addition to being the resident handyman. I hoped to learn more about him, like his performance history, but it's like some huge secret I don't
understand. Over a month of hitching rides from him and I've learned nothing concrete aside from the stats of his favorite Major League players. I'm itching to see him dance or hear him sing. Anything. I want a glimpse at just one little morsel of talent. He would be a million times hotter. Why doesn't he get that?

The playhouse itself is a combination of vintage and modern. It was actually a house once upon a time—more like a mansion—and was converted to a theatre in the 1950s. Dark burgundy upholstered walls, ornate chandeliers, a one-person ticket booth, and a concession area take patrons back in time the moment they cross the threshold. Thankfully, the expansion in the 1990s left the original charms but added a much bigger stage footprint, more seating, and a series of rooms in the back and along one of the building's sides, which are now used for rehearsals, meeting spaces, storage, and prop-making.

Mrs. Morales lets me use whichever room is empty to practice my tap dancing after work and has promised to have someone show me some new steps soon. Considering auditions for the upcoming musical are in a couple weeks, I wish this help would come sooner rather than later. I don't generally get nervous about auditions, but after that disaster at school, I need to work my tail off to make up for it. There are no guarantees.

Grabbing my tap shoes from the bag I keep in the closet-like space off Mrs. Morales's office, I search the hall for a room with an open door. There's always some group or other having a meeting, or a dancer renting out one of the mirrored rooms. I have to be careful not to burst in on anyone.

As I pass one of the closed doors, I hear music playing—a song I don't recognize—and intricate tap work following the
rhythm in perfect sync. The song is stopped and starts over, and the taps continue, intense and dizzyingly complicated. Even if I knew all the names, I wouldn't be able to pick anything out, as one sound multiplies into a waterfall of flowing steps. Whoever's in there tapping like that needs to be my teacher. I would work here for free in exchange for learning how to dance so well. But that wouldn't be smart. I still need a car.