“Dot,” he repeats, making note of it on the paper.
A boy—Zayne, I presume—stands. All I can see is the back of his head, his undercut topped with short dreads as he makes his way toward Mr. Saltzman.
Carlton offers my knee a final comforting squeeze like a sendoff, and I make my way forward, following Zayne. We stop in front of the door that leads to the classroom adjoining ours. The audition room.
Mr. Saltzman smiles warmly at me. “You must be new here, Dot. Welcome.” He extends his hand and I shake it. His friendly gray eyes, framed by those stylish square glasses, do little to ease my nerves.
“Hi.” I try not to glance behind me at the classroom full of theater students still waiting their turn to audition. I can practically feel the heat of Carlton’s gaze on my back. After the summer we had together before school began, the feeling of it has become somewhat familiar.
Unable to resist, I look over my shoulder.
Just as I expect, he meets my stare. The corner of his full mouth lifts, and I can’t help but smile in return.
“If you’ll both follow me next door, we can begin the audition,” says Mr. Saltzman, holding the door open for us. The boy standing next to me nods. I take a peek at him, and my eyes almost fall out of my face. He’s tall, with velvety brown skin and strong cheekbones. Lean muscle stretches the arms of his grey v-neck sweater. Long lashes frame his warm, deep eyes, and there’s a hint of sweetness in the air surrounding him. I look away before he can notice me ogling him and follow Mr. Saltzman to the classroom next door.
The room is empty, save for the three of us. As we walk in, dust particles stir in the air, catching the light filtering in through the tall, narrow windows. Mr. Saltzman leans against one of the heavy, wooden desks, crosses his ankles, and hands each of us a script. “We’ll be reading a scene from the middle of the play,” he says. “Dot, I’ll have you read for the character Catherine at the top of page twenty-six. Zayne, you read for Heathcliff.”
Zayne walks to the front of the classroom, so I follow him. We stand before the whiteboard, which is covered in a half-erased chemistry formula. I flip through the Wuthering Heights script to the correct page, my stomach a bundle of nerves. Why amI even doing this, again? I’m not an actor. I’ve never acted in anything before. Yet, here I am, standing in front of the acting teacher, auditioning for a play at a new school where I hardly know anyone.
Just get through this audition,I tell myself,and you’ll fit right in with Carlton and his theater friends. Besides, you’ll probably get cast as a tree or something.No biggie.
When my family first moved to Cambridge from our small, rural Massachusetts town, I’d been worried about starting over at a completely new school and having no friends. So, when the cute guy in my new neighborhood told me we’d be going to the same school, I latched onto him immediately. Anything to avoid being a loner, which is why I couldn’t resist when he invited me to check out the drama club to see what he and his friends were all about.
But now that I’m actually here, it’s more nerve-wracking than I was prepared for. I take a deep breath.
The boy—Zayne—reads his lines with concentration, sounding dark and broody. I want to laugh for some reason, even though I’m kinda impressed.
When it’s my turn, I blink myself back to attention and fumble with my script. “Don’t you know…uh.” I clear my throat, scanning the words on the paper for where I’m supposed to speak. “Don’t you know I’ll always come back?”
Zayne stares at me with narrowed brows, and I feel my cheeks get hot. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m new at this.”
He ignores me, reading the rest of his lines. Shoot. Wasn’t supposed to break character yet.
Zayne takes my hand, and I jolt in surprise. Is this part of the scene? “Come away with me then, as we planned,” he murmurs, staring deep into my eyes. His expression is entirely focused on my next words.
My heart pounds in my chest. Wow, this guy is good. I glance at my lines on the paper in my other hand. Something about how seriously he’s taking this makes me want to try a little harder. “I can’t,” I read. “I’m frightened.”
“Of what?” Zayne’s frown deepens and he leans in so our faces are almost touching.Oh, wow…“Of poverty?”
I blank again because he makes the question sound like he’s asking it, not his character. But then I remember all my lines are written down, so I check what my character says next. “You’re asking me to risk my reputation.” I crack a smile when Zayne’s lips turn down at my response because this is actually kinda…fun. “Once a woman loses her reputation, she has nothing.”
He scowls. “The old Cathy would never have said such a thing.” He forms a fake grip around my arms and pretends to shake them. I swallow down a giggle. From Mr. Saltzman’s view, it probably looks like Zayne has an iron grip on my arms, when really he’s barely touching me.
“The old Cathy didn’t know any better.” I turn my nose up in the air.
Zayne searches my face. “If you’ve become indifferent to me, at least do me the favor of releasing me.” The words are anguished. Tortured. I almost believe him.
Line…what was my next line? I scan the page and meet his stare again. “I’m as trapped as you are.”
As we continue going back and forth, the weirdest thing happens. I stop bumbling my lines and let myself really fall into the whole thing. It’s like everything else melts away and I can’t deny how good it feels to stop being Dot, just for a moment.
This is the most at ease I’ve felt in ages, going back and forth with Zayne like this, throwing myself into the dialogue, the face expressions, the hand gestures.
And when we’re finished, Mr. Saltzman looks…impressed. He claps for us. “Outstanding, you two.”
It’s because of Zayne. Not you, Dot. He carried that entire audition.
But it feels good to pretend anyway—just for the moment—that Mr. Saltzman is also impressed by me, too.
