Rule of Three (9 page)

D-day. Day of the Audition.

I was in the kitchen that morning before school, gulping down a cupcake over the sink when Dad caught me.

“Stevie, honey. First rule of acting? Eat a good breakfast.”

“Can’t. In a hurry. Too nervous,” I said between bites.

“Just remember to breathe,” Dad said for like the one-millionth time.

“Bye, Dad. Mwa.” I air-kissed him, then picked up my backpack and headed out the door.

“Have a nice trip!” Dad called after me. The Reel family equivalent of
Break a leg.

Mom drove us to school that day. After we dropped Joey off, Alex and I were especially quiet in the car. I tried to hum my song inside my head without actually moving my lips or making a sound.

I couldn’t help glancing over at Alex, wondering if she was silently practicing her song in her head, too. “Your lips are moving,” I reported.

“So?” She scrunched her nose at me, chipmunk-style.

“For your information, when you do that, you look like Alvin the Chipmunk.”

“Girls. Don’t start.” Mom pulled up to the curb in front of the school.

“Mom, don’t say it,” I pleaded.

“Don’t say what?” she asked innocently.

“You know, the speech,” I said.

“May the best man win and all that,” said Alex.

“And remember,” I added, imitating Mom, “no matter what happens, you’re sisters.”

“Oh, and sisters last a lot longer than any old play,” said Alex. “Sisters are forever.” I chimed in on that last part, so we both said the same thing at the same time.

“Very funny,” said Mom. “This may surprise you, but I did not have a speech prepared.”

“Yeah, right,” Alex and I said at the same time again, cracking up. It felt good to be on the same side for once. To be laughing with my sister.

As I headed down the hall to the sixth-grade lockers, Alex called after me, “Good luck, Sailor!” I couldn’t help wondering if it was a dig. But I don’t think so. Even though she called me
sailor,
I thought I caught a glimpse of the old Alex somewhere in there.

Forget about concentrating. The morning was over and I barely remembered it. Lunch was a blur. And my Something-Black-from-Alex’s-Closet audition-shirt that I’d ripped off from Alex’s closet seemed to mock me every time I opened my locker. I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt about Alex. It wasn’t just the shirt. I was partly responsible for the fact that she’d picked a song that was going to make the drama coach go
Gag me with a spoon.

At the end of the day, Olivia came up behind me as I slammed my locker shut. “Are you OK?” she asked. “You look a little green.”

“I think I’m going to throw up. Why didn’t you talk me out of this? Tell me I’m nuts. I can’t act. What was I thinking? Acting gives me hives! Do I have hives? Be honest. Are there ugly red hivey splotches all over my face? There are, aren’t there?”

Olivia leaned in and inspected my face up close. “OK, Stevie. You are officially and completely splotch-free. No red marks, except for maybe a touch of strawberry sticky stuff from that Fruit Roll-Up you had at lunch.” She pressed her thumb to my cheek and rubbed.

“Ouch!” I exaggerated massaging my face.

“OK, you have
got
to chill. Take a deep breath.”

“I wish everybody would quit telling me to breathe when I can’t breathe.”

“Relax,” Olivia said. “Nobody else has a voice like yours, so just be you.”

Just be you. Just be you,
I repeated to myself.

“Remember that song we used to sing in first grade with Miss Tamuchi? ‘This Little Light of Mine?’”

“‘I’m gonna let it shine,’”
I sang.

“Exactly.”

ONCE UPON AN AUDITION

Starring Alex (but really Stevie)

Me
:
(Sitting in the audience with Scott and other Drama Club kids, waiting for my name to be called.)
Are you nervous?

Scott
: Are you?

Me
:
(Giggling.)
No fair. I asked you first. But, yes, I’m nervous.

Scott
: Look, my hands are sweating.
(Touches hand to mine!)

Me
: Yeah, but you’ll be great. You always get up there and nobody can tell. Except for when you keep wiping those sweaty hands down the sides of your pants.

Scott
: I do not!

Me
:
(Smiling.)
Just kidding. I wish you were trying out for the prince, though.
(So we’d finally get to kiss!)

Scott
: Prince Dauntless? No way. He’s a total geek.

Me
: I know, but . . .
(But then we’d be together, in all the same scenes.)
you wouldn’t have to play him that way.

Scott
: Yah-huh. That’s his character. Even Mr. Cannon said he’s like a bumbling idiot.

Me
:
(Say you don’t care. Say that’s the part you want. Say it’ll be fun.)
You never know — it might be fun to play a bumbling idiot for a change. You know, kind of slapstick.

Scott
: No way. I’d much rather be Sir Harry. You should try out for Lady Larken. Then we’d be in all the same scenes.

Me
: (
Heart leaps — he wants to be in all the same scenes!)

Scott
: So we could practice together and everything, I mean.

Me
: Oh.
(So that’s all he meant.)
Shh! Here she comes.

Scott
: Here who comes?

Me
: My sister! I told you she was trying out.

Scott
: (
Leans forward in his seat.)
Oh, yeah. The one who cooks, and bugs you, and is always getting in your stuff? She was good that time in
Beauty and the Beast
.
(Glances over at me and sees my frowning face.)
I mean, she was OK, I guess.

Me
: (
Whispering.)
She’s never done a cold reading before. She looks scared, like the microphone might bite her.

Scott
: Everybody’s nervous at first.

Me
:
(Sliding down in seat.)
Mr. C said to act like a spoiled princess. She sounds like a squeak toy — you know, for dogs.

Scott
: Ouch.
(Watches Stevie flail around onstage.)

Me
:
(Half-covering eyes.)
What was that?

Scott
: She’s pretending to slip on a banana peel.

Me
: Oh. I thought she was an octopus caught in a snowstorm, with all those arms flying everywhere.

Scott
: That’s harsh.

Me
: It’s time for her song. Wait till you hear this. I actually feel kinda bad for her. She’s going to sing this really stupid song about this sailor that our mom sang us when we were little.

Scott
: Weird. I thought you said she has a really good voice.

Me
: Yeah, but this song is so lame. It’s like a tongue twister!

Scott
: Think she’ll get through something like that onstage, under the spotlight, when she’s all nervous?

Me
:
(Duh.)
We’ll see!

Mr. Cannon
: Stevie, go ahead and give your sheet music to Mrs. Kowalick and she’ll accompany you on piano. Tell us what song you’ve chosen, where it comes from, and why you picked it.

Stevie
:
(Clearing throat.)
Hi, um. I’m going to be singing . . .

Me
:
(Squinting.)
Hey, is that my . . . ? I think she has on my black shirt! What a little —

Scott
: I can’t even hear her.

Me
: Told you. Microphonophobia!

Mr. Cannon
: We can’t hear you, Stevie. Your feet should be on that line there. Stand right on the yellow tape and speak directly into the mike. OK, start again.

Me
:
(Covering eyes.)
She doesn’t even know to stand on the tape. I can’t watch. Tell me when it’s over.

Stevie
: I chose this song because it means a lot to me. It’s a song I remembered that my mom used to sing me when I was little.

Mrs. Kowalick
: Ready?
(Nods to Stevie.)

Stevie
:
(Swallowing.)
“You’ve got to give a little, take a little, and let your poor heart break a little . . .”

Scott
:
(Looks at Alex curiously, one crinkled eyebrow raised.)

Me
: Huh?
(Sitting up straight, nervously sliding drama mask charm back and forth on chain.)

Stevie
: “That’s the story of . . . that’s the glory of . . . love.”

Scott
:
(Nudging me in the elbow and whispering.)
Hey, she’s good.

Stevie
: “You’ve got to laugh a little, cry a little . . .”
(Hush falls over room. Not a person speaks. Not a chair squeaks. Not even a hiccup.)

Me
: Wow.

Stevie
:
(Holding microphone stand,
closes eyes and leans back.)
“Yes, and always have the blues a little . . .”

Scott
: Microphon-o-phobia, huh?

Stevie
:
(Slow and sweet.)
“That’s the story of . . . that’s the glory of . . . love.”
(Holds note and draws it out.)

Me
:
(Get goose bumps, swipe at tear with back of fist.)

Scott
: A stupid song about a sailor, huh?

Me
: I don’t know what to say.
(I’ll get that Joey for not telling me!)

Scott
: Wow. She was amazing. It’s like, she takes your heart, and, I don’t know, squeezes it or whatever. Wow.

Me
:
(Gripping Tragedy charm on necklace.)
That’s my sister. Voice of an angel.

Mr. Cannon
: Take five, people.

Me
:
(Opening hand, looking at charm, realizing Comedy is missing! Looking all around on floor.)
`Scuse me. Sorry. Can I get past?
(Drama Club people mumble: That’s Alex’s sister? Wow. Who knew she could sing like that, huh?)
Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. I gotta go.
(Retracing my steps up the aisle.)

After my audition, my heart was still
thumping, and the knot in the middle of my chest didn’t melt right away. I kept turning the experience over and over in my mind as I sat in the audience with Olivia, who had promised to be my One Friendly Face at the audition. 

“Stop biting your nails,” Livvie said. “You’re making
me
nervous.”

Alex was somewhere in the back of the theater with all her Drama Club friends, but it was so dark back there, I couldn’t tell which propped-up pair of flip-flops on the seat backs was my sister’s.

Now that I had officially tried out for a part in a play, I had become Instant Drama Critic. Livvie and I must have sat through twelve or thirteen auditions, whispering stuff and scribbling notes back and forth.

Max Somebody: Lose the hat, dude. Eye contact!

Jayden Pffeffer: Great actress. Singing voice like a seagull.

Girl singing “Jingle Bell Rock”: What were you thinking?

Then I heard Mr. C call Alex’s name. She came onstage in this emerald-green knee-length dress thing she had on over jeans, her dark, glossy curls shining in the spotlight, her sea-green eyes smiling. For her cold reading, she read from the script as easily as if we were sitting at home around the breakfast table reading the cereal box.

Mr. C asked her to act like a bossy mother. Court jester. Mute king. Bumbling idiot. Alex did it all.