Carter Finally Gets It (21 page)

Abby must really be nervous, because normally she’d be laughing at that doofus.

“Well . . . ?” Ms. McDougle says. “Is anybody else still here?”

The helper girl looks panicky as she replies, “No, everyone is gone.”

“Oh well,” Ms. McDougle responds. “I guess that’s it, Avery. Your résumé says that you’ve had a lot of dance training. I think you did really great. Thanks so much for coming.”

Who the hell is “Avery”? I think Ms. McDougle is beyond tired. She should at least listen to Abby sing.

“My name is Abby,” she sheepishly replies.

“What?” Ms. McDougle says absentmindedly. “Right, Abby. Look, we’re out of boys. Thanks for coming, though.”

Abby’s lower lip starts to tremble. Don’t do it, kid. Fight! Demand to sing. You can’t be any worse than the rest of them.

“Okay.” She softly surrenders and drops her head to leave. She walks offstage and looks so sad. Her shoulders start to shake as she steps down.

“Nope. Can’t do it,” I say as I step out into the blinding light. “Would it be okay if I read the Brando part with her?” Man, I really hate to see this chick cry. This is going to suck!

“Sure,” Ms. McDougle replies.

“No,” Abby says with a tear rolling down her face. “It’s not okay. I don’t want to read with him.”

Ms. McDougle ignores Abby’s protest and asks me, “Why didn’t you audition for Sky in the first place, Carter?”

“Oh, um, it’s nice and calm in here, but outside those doors, it’s chaos. A kid growled at me when I got too close to the sign-in sheet. I just want Abby to get to the singing part,” I say.

“No, no, I really don’t want to read with someone who’s not in the theater,” Abby says, all snide.

WELL! Try to do something nice and what do you get? Sass! “Oh, get over yourself, Avery!” I say. “Get up here and read the stupid part!”

She shoots me a mean look and marches back down toward the stage. She may be coming to hit me again, so I don’t even wait for her to get up onstage before I cock my head, point my finger in her face, and fire the first line. “‘I’ll need a lot of personal help from you. Why don’t we have dinner?’”

Her jaw drops, she turns red, and seethes, “‘I think not, Mr. Masterson. Tell me, why are you here?’”

Abby is great! “‘I told you. I’m a sinner,’” I say.

“‘You’re lying!’” she snaps back.

I don’t even have the script in my hand. I’ve seen the scene so many times that this junk is just rattling out of my mouth. I crack a smile and say, “‘Well, lying’s a sin. You need sinners, don’t you?’”

The smile pisses her off. “‘We’re managing.’”

I get close to her face and quietly say, “‘Why don’t you let me help you? I’ll bet I can fill this place with sinners.’”

She pushes me back and yells, “‘I don’t bet.’”

I pick up a script off the piano because I can’t remember what comes next. She’s not looking down at her script. She’s just staring at me. “‘I’ll make you a proposition,’” I say coolly.

She just glares. “‘And what’s my end of the bargain?’” she asks, all snide.

“‘Have dinner with me,’” I respond like a pimp. Oh man, I’m the gangster of love! This is where I trick her into going with me to Cuba. Abby and I go back and forth for a while. Some of the lines are wrong, but the “feeling” is definitely right. I’m being so cool and it’s pissing her off so bad. I think she smiled at me once, though. I like this! I call Abby “doll,” “dame,” “broad,” and “baby.” She hates it, but what can she do? It’s in the script!

I say, “‘Why don’t you change your pitch to, “Come to the mission one and all, except guys. I hate guys!”’”

She tries to say her line. “‘I don’t hate anybody.’”

But I totally cut her off with, “‘Except me. I’m relieved to know that it’s just me personally and not all guys!’”

Oh, it feels good to yell at Abby. And she seems really into yelling at me. I bad-mouth all the guys she’s dated and all the “squares” she’ll date in the future. She yells how she would never have someone like me as a boyfriend. She fumes that she would never date a degenerate, a hustler, or a guy who’s one of the devil’s first-line troops!

I tell her, “‘I’m not interested in what he’”—her boyfriend—“‘will not be’”—like cool. “‘I’m interested in what he will be.’”

The piano starts and I’d forgotten about the singing part. Abby sure didn’t. She opens her mouth wide, and angels fly out: “‘IIIIII’LLLL know when mmmyyy looove cooomes aaalooong . . .’”

Wow, she’s awesome! And she’s not just singing the words, she’s still yelling at me through the song! I miss my part to sing because I’m just staring at her. Dang it!

She gives me a worried look, but I jump in and talk/sing, “‘You’ll know at a glance’”—I’m just talking in time with the piano—“‘By the two pair of paaaannts . . .’” Oh boy, I just sang that one! I didn’t explode, either; I might do another.

She busts in and sings, “‘I’ll knooow by that calm steady voice, those feet on the groouund.’”

I bust out laughing because these lines are cheesy. Abby glares at me, then smiles.

She sings, “‘I’ll know . . .’”

And then we both sing, “‘When my looovvve cooomes aaallllooonnnnggg . . .’”

I sang pretty quiet, but Abby let it go. Awesome. The piano carries out the last note and fades to silence. I guess that’s it. Nobody is saying anything, though. I’m just looking at Abby, who’s staring back at me. I look down at my script, and it says
Sky kisses her
. So I do.
BANG!
No leadoff peck, either. I just give it to her. None of the other hundred kids must have seen this in the script, because nobody kissed anybody all night. She’s not expecting it at all when I crush the script into her boobs. I miss kissing Abby. She’s shocked at first, but then I feel her give in to me. She’s into it because I’m that guy. Gangsta!

We kiss for about a minute, and it’s so nice. I could care less if Ms. McDougle and her helper are uncomfortable and they want to go home. I’m kissing ABBY! We break apart for some reason, and I slowly open my eyes just as she opens hers. That’s a look of love if I’ve ever seen it. Then her eyes get a little smaller and a little more serious. Her mouth crinkles up and her body leans to the left. Then she spins really fast to the right and I hear a loud
SSSLLLAAAAPPP!
and feel a sharp pain in my face. Bitch just slapped me! My jaw drops open from the shock.

“OOOWWWW!” I say as I grab my face. “What the hell was that for?”

Abby may be skinny these days, but she still hits like a heavyweight. She just glares at me. I look down at my script, and there it is, in black and white:
Sarah belts him one across the chops.
Dang it!

Abby drops her crumpled script and says, “Jerk” under her breath.

Now, I know that’s not in the script! The audition must be over. I have no idea if that was good or not, but it was definitely fun. Ms. McDougle’s not saying anything, though. She’s not scribbling. She’s just staring at us . . . kind of mean, actually. I bet she’s mad I kissed Abby. She should be pissed at Abby for clocking me. But Abby definitely sang the song better than any of the other chicks.

Ms. McDougle opens her mouth to speak. I should just say it for her: “That was great, thanks for coming. . . .” But she doesn’t say that. She just stares at us with an open mouth for a minute. Then she starts chewing her pencil like a woodchuck. Well, this is uncomfortable. I guess we should go? I walk past Ms. McDougle and her helper. Abby is behind me.

“Hey, when can I sign up for the light crew?” I ask.

“Oh, shut up, Carter!” Ms. McDougle barks. “You’re both freshmen, right?”

“Yeah,” Abby says.

“If I can squeeze a D out of Mr. Rumpford, I’ll be a sophomore in two months,” I say.

“Shut UP, Carter!” she says, breaking the pencil with her teeth. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Get out of here, both of you!”

Okay, Psycho. Ms. Positive Feedback McDougle seems to have just gotten her ass kicked by Ms. Tired Angry Bitch McDougle.

Abby and I break out quick. “Sorry about that,” I say as the door shuts.

But she’s back to hating me again, and she just stomps away. Dang it! I thought that I was helping Abby by doing the audition and kissing her. I thought those were all good moves, but I’m thinking now that I was wrong.

The next day I sneak toward the drama wing like the theme music to
Mission: Impossible
is playing. I can’t let my boys see me! The light crew sign-up is today, and I don’t want to miss out. I run in so fast no one could have known it was the Race Carter flying past.

I fling the doors open, and about a hundred drama geeks are gathered around a bulletin board fighting to get a peek at the cast list for
Guys and Dolls
. A bunch of kids are hysterically crying. It’s all very dramatic! I can hear them talking . . . because they’re the loudest people on earth. They yell, “It’s all political!” They scream, “It’s ridiculous! It’s absurd! That’s my part! Ms. McDougle is an idiot! My mom won’t stand for this!”

I watched all these kids audition. They couldn’t have expected Ms. McDougle to put them in the show. If they were that bad at the auditions, how God-awful would they be in front of five hundred people?

I see Abby shaking her head and crying. A couple of drama girls are gathered around her, laughing and smiling. Man, chicks are ruthless! She must not have gotten a part. No, wait . . . she’s smiling now. Maybe she did. I have no idea. Girls are nuts. Maybe I didn’t screw her up. I bet she’ll play a Hot Box Girl. They dance in the play and wear slutty outfits.

A few kids are really excited and jumping around laughing right in front of the crying kids. Man, that’s uncool. Go celebrate somewhere else. Anywhere but right in front of the bulletin board. This area is reserved for screwups like me who don’t get to be in the show. High school is cruel no matter what wing you’re in.

I’m getting a fair amount of attention since I walked in here today. It’s kind of unsettling. They’re probably staring at me because my hair is sticking up all over the place these days. Or maybe they’re pointing at me because I ran in here like the building was under attack. Whatever it is, people are definitely looking at me . . . kind of aggressively. Maybe the drama geeks let it slide that I was down here yesterday, but two days in a row is too much. It would suck to have to tell my boys I got beat up by the drama department.

That guy Jeremy prances right up to my face and asks, “Do you know who I am?”

I don’t think he expects an answer, so I just go, “Uhhh . . .”

He bellows, “I am Jeremy, the president of the Merrian High Thespians. I have been the lead in the past three shows. I am not, however, the lead in
Guys and Dolls
. Can you please enlighten me as to why?”

“Uh . . . a-a-are you really asking for my opinion?” I ask.

He seems shocked that I know how to speak, when he narrows his eyes and hisses, “Certainly.”

“Well, you should really think about drinking a little water before you audition. Maybe even take a bottle onstage with you. . . .” I say hesitantly. He nods his head like I’ve just given him some decent info, so I add, “You also don’t seem tough enough to be a gangster, and you sing beautifully but you totally missed the point of the love song . . . and maybe too much hand waving.”

His eyes well with tears, and his confidence drops.

“But hey, what the hell do I know . . . I’m just a freshman,” I say apologetically, because he’s sobbing. “Hey, do you know where the light crew sign-up is?”

His jaw quivers and his lower lip is shaking when he asks me, “Are you Lynn Carter’s brother?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “How’d you know that?”

He takes a deep breath to collect himself and mutters, “Oh, she was just the last person to make me cry.”

“Yeah, she does that. . . .” I say.

A girl stomps up from behind and cuts me off with, “I bet you think you’re pretty cool, don’t you?”

I’m sure she doesn’t expect an answer to her question, so I walk into the drama classroom. Lots of crying in here too. Three girls are sobbing in front of Ms. McDougle’s desk. “A freshman? You can’t be serious. You can’t let a freshman play Sarah! She’s never done a show here before! The drill team is no substitute for THE THEATER!”

Ms. McDougle can only take so much of this. She finally fires back, “None of you were guaranteed parts at all! The freshman gave the best audition. I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I’ve had my heart broken many times over many parts, but that’s also part of THE THEATER. The only fair thing to do is give the parts to the best people at the auditions. And Abby gave, by far, the best audition.”

Did she say Abby? I also think I heard “drill team.”

The drama girl fires back, “Fair . . . FAIR? What’s fair is that you and Abby and this whole production are destined to fail, and I will be there to laugh when it does. Ha-HAA-HAAAA!” (Psycho!)

Abby got the lead! That is so awesome. She won’t get to wear the Hot Box Girl outfit, but she’s probably happier about getting the lead part. What the hell was she crying about in the hall?

As the psycho girl passes me, she stares me down. She’s coming fast. I try to jump out of her way, but she rams me into the wall and barks, “No-talent, freshman jock jerk!” and stomps away.

“Ouch,” I say. “This place is tough on self-esteem.”

Ms. McDougle laughs. “Well, here’s the man now. The boy who’s made my life a living hell.”

“Who’s the man? What’d I do?” I say, walking up.

“How are you holding up? Are you excited?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, all nonchalant.

“I think you’ll be great,” Ms. McDougle adds.

“You think? I mean, I’ve screwed in a few lightbulbs, but I’ve never, like, hung one before; so sure, I’m stoked,” I say. “Where is that sign-up sheet?”

“You’re not doing light crew, Carter,” Ms. McDougle says.

“Why not?” I ask, a bit pissy.

“I think you’ll be a little busy,” she says sarcastically.

“What kind of crap is that? You can’t cut me from light crew. I’m signing up, whether you or any of these drama nerds like it or not!” I say.

Whoops, I just yelled at a teacher. I shouldn’t have done that. McDougle’s my favorite teacher. She’s pretty and she never talks to me like I’m some stupid kid. It almost seems like she respects me . . . or something. That’s probably why I just yelled at her. If she’d just treat me like a punk, like all my other teachers do, I’d never have had the courage to go off on her.

“You’re going to be performing in the play, Carter. You can’t do lights too,” Ms. McDougle says.

“What? I’m what? Nuh-uh!” I say like a dope. “W-w-which, what part? Do I get a costume? Am I gonna play the fat guy?”

“Sky Masterson,” she says, shaking her head.

Sky Masterson? Sky . . . Masterson? Which part is? Wait? “THE FRIGGIN’ BRANDO PART?!” I yell. “You gave the lead part in the spring play to a freshman? Are you crazy?!”

Ms. McDougle just laughs.

“What’s funny? This isn’t funny! I mean, thank you very much, but seriously, no way!” I shout.

Now she’s mad at me. “Get over here!” she yells, and pushes me into a dressing room.

I’m having some difficulty breathing.

“Mr. Carter, a hundred people auditioned for that part and did not get it. You’re being very insensitive!” she yells.

“I’m being? I-I-I’m k-k-keepin’ it real! I can’t do it!” I protest.

“Of course you can! I wouldn’t have cast you if you couldn’t. You were the only guy who got the character of Sky. You and Abby have chemistry. I had to give you two the parts no matter how much crap I’ll get for casting freshmen.”

“So Abby is really gonna play Sarah?” I ask.

“Of course. You two were head and shoulders above the others. It was REAL and passionate. That’s what people come to the theater hoping to see, Carter.”

“They do?” I ask.

“Yes. I hear we have to work on your dancing, though.”

“Naw, I can dance. I just can’t count,” I reassure her.