Jack & Louisa: Act 1 (6 page)

We began with a set of drills. One by one, Coach Wilson had us dribble a ball to an orange cone, circle it, and run back. I watched as other boys completed the drill with varying degrees of skill. My first attempt was a little clunky. I accidentally kicked the ball too hard and had to chase after it before turning around and bringing it back.

Coach Wilson then split us into two groups: half took turns shooting, the other half acted as goalies, trying to block. I delivered a solid kick, but it sailed right into the arms of Garett, a kid from my homeroom.

Next came my turn as goalie. I uttered a sigh of relief as a kid approached the ball. He was the smallest guy on the field. I recognized him as the boy on the receiving end of Tanner’s Jell-O bomb. I spread my feet and put my hands in front of my chest like I’d seen the other boys do. Like a flash, his ball whipped straight past me and into the upper right-hand corner of the net. Judging by the faces of the others, they were just as surprised as I was.

“All right, let’s do sprints now,” Coach Wilson announced. “I want you to run as fast as you can from one end of the field to the other. I’ll be timing you.”

Come on, Jack, you got this
, I said to myself, shaking out my legs. I knew if I kept sucking, my chance at a normal middle-school life was back to zero. We stood single file, waiting for Coach Wilson’s call.

“Yer mark. Get set.
Go!
”

“Yer mark. Get set.
Go!
”

“Yer mark. Get set.
Go!
”

Before I knew it, I was next. Coach Wilson gave me the final
Go!
and I launched into a dash for my life. I flew down the field taking long, controlled strides (guess my ballet training was paying off). I charged with a force I didn’t even know I had. With every heaving breath, the doubts I’d been swallowing seemed to release themselves into the crisp September air. I neared the chalk line, confident I’d done all I could do. Two more steps and “
OOoffff!
”

My knees clipped the grass as my body was thrown off balance and tumbled to the ground. I felt my face smash against the cold earth. I blinked open my eyes. A crowd of boys stood frozen, hands like visors over their brows, staring at me.

“You okay, son?” Coach Wilson called, jogging my way.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, clumsily getting back on my feet. I looked down at my shirt, a giant grass stain across my chest. I was totally embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled to him. If my sucky performance in the drills hadn’t sealed the deal, this was certainly the final nail in the coffin.

“What are you sorry about?” he said, smiling. “Do you know how many times you’re gonna get knocked down in this game?” He brushed a clod of dirt from my shoulder.
“It’s the getting up that’s important
.
”

I hesitated for a moment, considering what he’d just said, then jogged back with him to the group. “Even with your fall,” he said, looking back at me, “that was the fastest time today.

“All right.” Coach Wilson clapped as he neared the bleachers. “The last thing we’re doing is a scrimmage. Bowen through Jasperson, red team. Johnson through Trumble, you guys are blue. Grab a pinnie,” he said, pointing to an overflowing laundry bag. I joined the huddle of boys reaching into the heap and pulling out a blue or red mesh jersey, Coach’s words still ringing in my head.

“Mr. Wilson?” I asked, glancing over at our green minivan. “Can I run to my car? I think I left my water bottle in there.”

–LOUISA–

There it was—that twisted-mop feeling in my gut. I had never felt it quite as strongly as I did upon entering the lobby of Shaker Heights High on Friday afternoon, where it seemed like the entire town had come to audition for the Players’ production of
Into the Woods
. It was a madhouse—grown-ups, children . . . even a dog was there (though I didn’t exactly know why—maybe that Labrador was auditioning for the Wolf?). There were pairs of people reading scenes by the vending machines, people signing in at a table by the trophy cases, people windmilling their arms and rolling their heads from side to side by the main office. I didn’t remember the auditions for
The Music Man
being this crazy.

“Were the auditions for
The
Music Man
this crazy?” asked a familiar voice behind me, clearly reading my mind. I turned to see the closest thing to a celebrity the Players had: Denise Zook. Tall and imposing, she wore an eggplant-colored wrap dress and dark-chocolate knee-high boots. She scanned the room with her ice-blue eyes like she owned the place.

“Hi, Denise,” I murmured, feeling very small. Even though we had acted opposite each other only a year ago, I was still totally intimidated by her.

“Do you know if the girls’ locker room is open?” she asked.

“I don’t, sorry.”

“I like to do my vocal warm-up in one of the shower stalls. Good acoustics, you know?”

“Sure.”

I got the sense she was talking
at
me, not
to
me.

“I’ll check with Barry,” she said assertively. “He’ll let me in even if they’re off-limits to everybody else.”

I had no idea who Barry was, but that hardly mattered. She would find him and get what she wanted; that’s what it meant to be Denise Zook.

“Bet you’re glad they decided not to do
Chess
”
were Denise’s parting words as she strode off, confident, beautiful, and terrifying. At this point, auditioning for the Players was just a formality for her. Everyone knew she’d be cast as the Witch in
Into the Woods
, just like everyone had known she’d be cast as Marion in
The Music Man
, Reno Sweeney in
Anything Goes
, Sally Bowles in
Cabaret
 . . . She was really good, and no one believed that more than she did.

I found myself wishing for an ounce of that trademark Zook confidence as I spotted a girl about my age, her face framed by golden ringlets. She was arranging a red-and-white-checkered napkin across a perfect-looking wicker basket, making it clear she was a contender for Little Red Riding Hood.
Props
—why hadn’t I thought of that? I nervously touched the ends of my French braids, which Mom had crisscrossed with precision then sprayed solidly into place.

On the ride here, I had felt buzzy with excitement. Now I just felt overwhelmed.

It didn’t matter that my audition sides were in perfect order or that my lines were highlighted in green (green for trees, trees are in the
woods
). It didn’t matter that I knew Little Red’s song, “I Know Things Now,” backward and forward, that I’d practically been singing it in my sleep for the last week. It didn’t matter that Jenny had read my scenes with me so many times that she almost knew the lines better than I did. And it certainly didn’t matter that I wanted the part more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life—because there was a chance that’s how all of the other girls felt, too. The only thing that mattered was the audition itself. All the dreaming and preparation wouldn’t mean much if I didn’t succeed when it counted.

“Lou?” My dad’s voice surprised me. I’d forgotten that he’d been parking the car. My parents and I had agreed that it was better for Dad to accompany me to the auditions, even if it meant him having to leave work early. Mom tended to get as nervous in these kinds of situations as I did, while Dad managed to remain cool.

“You having thought flurries?” he asked, tucking his keys into his pocket.

“Yeah,” I admitted, allowing myself to smile at his observation.

Dad had coined that phrase a few years back, in response to the way I froze at the entrance of Cedar Point, this huge amusement park on Lake Erie. I was so overwhelmed by the number of roller coasters and other rides that I couldn’t speak. That’s when Dad said it looked like my brain was caught in a little storm—“thought flurries”—and it seemed like such a perfect description that the phrase had stuck.

“What’s going on?” Dad asked, placing a reassuring hand on top of my head.

“I’m wondering if I should have brought a picnic basket,” I said, eyeing Miss Props-i-Locks with concern.

“Do you want one? I can run home and grab ours from the basement,” Dad offered.

I considered taking him up on it when I suddenly flashed back to camp, where Avery, my favorite acting instructor, had stressed the importance of “trusting your preparation.”

“It’s natural to doubt yourself in an audition environment,” she’d said. “You enter a waiting room and immediately see people who are
like
you, but maybe a little bit taller, maybe a little prettier, a little younger. But none of them
are
you. And if
you’re
the one who’s supposed to get the part, then why sabotage yourself by changing something at the last minute?
Trust
the work you’ve done, and your talent—and most of all, your uniqueness—will shine through.”

Thank you, Avery
, I thought, silently dismissing Props-i-Locks.

“No, it’s okay, Dad,” I said decisively, “it would only distract me.”

“All right, then,” he said. “Why don’t we get you signed in?”

We crossed the lobby to the table by the trophy cases, where an overly friendly woman wearing a name tag announcing “Hello My Name Is
GINA!
” asked me for my name. As I spelled
Benning
, I glanced up to see a huge trophy in the case behind her boasting a Shaker Heights High Soccer Champions label. And of course I pictured Jack, who must have been at this very moment running back and forth on our school’s playing field, burying the memories of his theater life with each kick, each . . . shuffle? (Listen, if I knew proper soccer terminology, I probably wouldn’t have been handing my head shot and résumé to “Hello My Name Is
GINA!
”)

I uttered a small sigh as I thought of my failed attempts at convincing Jack to audition with me. At least he’d had a sense of humor about my antics. While he might not have become my new best friend, he hadn’t become my new worst enemy, either. Still, I wished he were there. As I left
GINA!
to fill out a personal-information form, I saw only a handful of boys who looked like they were there to audition for the role of Jack. A couple of them looked downright miserable—one had clearly been dragged there by his mother, who if I were to guess by her excessive makeup, costume jewelry, and hoop skirt, was there to audition for Cinderella’s Stepmother. Another boy couldn’t stop hiccuping.

“Lou? Did you grab a pen?” Dad asked, leading the way toward a bench.

“Uh, I forgot,” I said, my eyes darting back and forth across the lobby. It seemed like the number of people had
doubled
since our arrival. My breathing became shallow as my twisted mop got—
twistier
.

“You okay there, Lou?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m wondering if your thought flurries might have just become a blizzard.” Dad chuckled, reaching for a pen from his inside jacket pocket.

“It’s just . . . ,” I began, taking a seat on the bench, “this is intense.”

Dad smiled.

“And exciting.”

He sat next to me while I filled out my form.

“How long till you’re up?” he asked casually.

“They’re seeing Little Reds at five forty-five,” I said, looking at the clock above the lobby doors. “So in, like, fifteen minutes.”

I had already warmed up at home, but the thought of just sitting still for fifteen minutes in the middle of this chaos, where you could practically smell the desperation, made me extra tense. Dad, sensing my agitation, made a suggestion.

“Why don’t you take a walk? Don’t worry about me. I can watch the Reds game,” he said, holding up his phone, “or should I say the
Little Reds
game?” He winked at me, proud of his joke.

“Yeah, okay.” I laughed and got up from our bench.

The auditions were being held in the auditorium to the left of the lobby, so I walked to the right, toward the gymnasium, where it was quieter. I turned down an empty hallway, where rows of lockers and a humming water fountain greeted me with complete disinterest. I felt better immediately. I could hear my own breathing begin to slow and deepen. Props-i-Locks, Denise,
GINA!
, and the Labrador all melted away as I closed my eyes and summoned the lyrics of the opening number of
Into the Woods
. They expressed perfectly what I was feeling:

“I wish

More than anything

More than life

More than jewels

I wish . . .”

They reminded me why I was here and what I wanted to do when it was finally my turn.

After about ten minutes of focused concentration, I was ready to reenter the fray. As I headed back toward the lobby, I stopped in front of the water fountain for a quick drink. Bending down to take a sip, I heard strange-sounding footsteps turning the corner down the hallway:
clack, clack, clack
. And in an instant I knew it was him, even before I stood up and saw with my own eyes that I was right.

He was still in his soccer clothes, still out of breath, holding black dress shoes with a pair of gray pants and a button-down shirt draped over his bare arm. Grass and mud stains blotched his knees, and his soccer cleats made him appear wobbly on the concrete floors. In his other hand he held the sides I’d printed out for him, highlighted in green.

“Hey,” Jack said, panting.

(The last thing I wanted was to ruin this movie-perfect moment by saying something that would scare him away, so I just said “Hey” back.)

“Have you auditioned yet?” he asked, half gasping. I wondered whether he had run directly from our soccer field to the high school.

“I’m about to,” I said, “in just a few minutes.”

Jack nodded but didn’t speak. I touched the ends of my braids.

“I was about to make the team, I think,” he finally said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But then . . .” He paused. Even though I was more than twenty feet away from him, I could tell he was unsure about the choice he’d just made. He looked like he might bolt at any second, so I needed to proceed with caution.

“Listen,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “You’ve got as good a shot as anyone here, Jack. And no matter what happens, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Only if you want me to.”

I could see Jack absorbing what I’d just said, his shoulders lowering slightly.

“Okay,” he said, nodding tentatively. “Cool.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand that held the audition sides, and I noticed he’d scribbled some notes in the margins. Like someone who cares would do.

“Do you know where the boys’ room is? I need to clean myself up.”

I pointed behind me.

“Keep walking; it’s on your left.”

Jack walked toward me and stopped when we were shoulder to shoulder.

“Thanks, Lou,” he said. It was barely a whisper, but I still felt my cheeks get hot because he’d finally called me Lou.

“You’re welcome. You’re gonna be great.”

I hesitated for a second, then squeezed his elbow and resumed my walk back to the lobby.

As I got closer, I could hear
GINA!
announcing, “If you are here to audition for Little Red Riding Hood,
please
line up to the
left
of the auditorium doors. I will be collecting your information sheets
before
you go in. Thank you!”

Suddenly Jack’s voice bounced off the metal lockers with a zing.

“Wait! Lou!”

I turned around.

“Break a leg, okay?” Jack was smiling, and I realized I’d never seen him do that before. It was sort of dazzling, and I saw instantly the Broadway star he was meant to be.

“Thanks!” I called back, grinning like an idiot. “I will.”

• • •

I hadn’t had that many auditions in my life—a handful, really—but I’d had enough to know what a good one felt like. As soon as I set foot on the stage inside the auditorium, it was like something magical happened to me. The twisted mop untwisted. I felt lighter and stronger. I felt like a track runner who knows that no one is going to pass her on the last stretch before the finish line. And I felt like everyone in the auditorium leaned toward me, and I leaned toward them, and then everything that I wanted to say and sing burst out of me like a summer storm.