I can’t tell if his singing is very good or not; without him mic’d up, I have a hard time discriminating his voice from the piano, no matter how much he projects, and I’m pretty sure he’s not even projecting.
But he looks great onstage. He’s tall andstatuesquewell proportioned, and after a couple of bars he seems to relax into the song. His shoulders unclench, and his body loosens, and it’s like he’s leaning out into the audience, pulling us in.
And even though I can’t make out the words, I can just tell. He’s good. My heart beats in time with the bass notes on the piano; the hairs on my arm stand up as I notice Liam’s Adam’s apple jiggling from his vibrato.
Wow.
I glance back at Dr. L, who’s leaning in too, lips parted slightly in surprise. The corner of her mouth has turned up a bit. She doesn’t have any obvious tells, but after two years of shows, I’ve started to pick up on the more subtle ones.
Mr. Cartwright, on the other hand, has no poker face whatsoever. He’s bobbing his head and beaming at the stage in wonder.
I can’t watch them for long, though, not with Liam onstage, drawing my attention like a magnet. His eyes meet mine for a second—in the stage light, they sparkle like a summer sky—and my heart skips a beat, because there’s nothing more awkward than having someone sing right at you. It’s too intense.
The music finally ends. Mr. Cartwright and Dr. Lochley sit back, stunned. Onstage, Liam relaxes, breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and it’s like someone turned down the dimmer on the sun. The theatre seems darker and colder, now that he’s not singing. I give a little shiver.
Mr. Cartwright recovers first, pushes his glasses up his large nose. He’s white, but his nose could give Dad’s Iranian nose a run for its money. “Thank you, Liam.”
Dr. L says, “What’s your monologue?”
Liam scratches the back of his neck. “It’s a poem, actually. I heard that’s somethingsomething?”
Dr. L nods, her eyebrows quirking up. Poems are allowed, but not many people do them.
Liam meets my eyes again before he starts reciting, and I can’t make out a single line. I pull out my phone and use the app to turn up the sensitivity on my hearing aids. When I look back up, Liam’s looking right at me as he speaks, and it’s still intense—his eyes really are aspectacularridiculous shade of blue—but less than when he was singing, so I let myself lock eyes with him. Just so he knows I see him.
Auditioning can be really lonely. Not that I’ve done it since first year. Being a techie is way better.
Halfway through, the air in the theatre changes. I don’t know how he does it, but we’re all leaning in again, like he’s cupped water in his hands and all of us are thirsty. My skin buzzes with the sensation, and suddenly I’m aware that my shirt tag is sticking up again, but I ignore it, holding my breath as Liam finishes.
“One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To somethingsomethingsomething not to yield.”
My chest flutters as I finally exhale.
That was a killer audition.
I glance toward Dr. Lochley, and she’s got an eyebrow raised, which is even more powerful than a lip quirk.
“Thank you, Liam.”
“Thank you.” Liam cracks his usual smile, and the difference is stark, like he’s pulled on a coat, hiding all that talent shining within.
I sit there, staring at him, too stunned to move, until Mr. Cartwright says, “Jackson? Next?”
“Sorry.”
My feet are leaden as I escort Liam out. He asks me something but I don’t catch it.
“Huh?”
“Sorry.” He waits until we’re by the door, his face lit by the glow of the exit sign. “How’d I do?”
Amazing.“Well, you didn’t fall off the stage, so that was good.”
He laughs and reaches behind me to tuck in my tag. He’s got little beads of sweat along his hairline, and the scent of chlorine off him is stronger than usual. It’s not bad, though. He just smells aggressively clean.
