Bit Players, Has-Been Actors and Other Posers: A Must-Read for Fans of Glee, High School Musical and Twilight (10 page)

I was dumbfounded. “You’re-- you’re going with someone else? I thought we were dating. Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?”

“Well, it’s not like we ever officially started dating,” he hedged. I couldn’t speak. “Look, I’m sorry, did I do something wrong when I said yes to Lucey?” I cringed. “I don’t know all your customs. Two girls actually asked me to the dance already,” he said, a little too proudly.

“Customs, Nigel? Customs? It’s not like you’re from Africa, you—you wanker.”

“Easy, Sadie,” he soothed, pissing me off even more. “You know, it’s probably best if we go in a new direction.”

“A new direction?” I had to stop repeating everything he said. “Here’s a new direction for you. Go to hell!” My delivery was off – with tears in my eyes and my voice breaking I came across as distraught more than furious – but the exit line was strong so I stuck with it. I stomped from the room, my burst of anger quickly turning to stabbing disappointment.

(STINGING WITH REJECTION, SADIE WALKS BRISKLY TO THE SCHOOL BUS. SHE IS ABOUT TO BOARD WHEN ADRIENNE RUSHES UP AND PULLS HER BACK.)

ADRIENNE

MR. ELLISON’S IN HIS OFFICE. COME ON, THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO TALK TO HIM ABOUT CDC.

(SADIE FOLLOWS ADRIENNE NUMBLY. THEY WALK TOWARD MR. ELLISON’S OFFICE. ADRIENNE, IN HER EXCITEMENT, DOESN’T NOTICE SADIE’S MOOD.)

(LIGHTS UP ON MR. ELLISON’S CLASSROOM. THE TEACHER SITS AT HIS DESK, ALTERNATELY PUSHING BUTTONS ON A CELL PHONE AND LOOKING AT THE DEVICE LIKE IT’S A STRANGE TOOL FROM AN ALIEN PLANET. HE LOOKS RELIEVED TO BE INTERRUPTED.)

MR. ELLISON

WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU, LADIES?

ADRIENNE

HI, MR. ELLISON. HAVING PROBLEMS WITH YOUR PHONE?

MR. ELLISON

MY FISHING BUDDIES WANT ME TO LEARN HOW TO TEXT SO WE CAN MAKE PLANS MORE EASILY, BUT I CAN’T GET THE HANG OF IT. I DON’T KNOW WHY WE CAN’T USE EMAIL LIKE WE USED TO.

(HE WRINKLES HIS NOSE AND SNIFFS.)

ADRIENNE

HERE, LET ME HELP. LET’S PRACTICE SENDING A MESSAGE.

(ADRIENNE TAKES HIS PHONE AND LOOKS AT IT.)

DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE A MESSAGE WAITING FOR YOU?

MR. ELLISON

(SHAKES HIS HEAD AND MOTIONS TOWARD THE PHONE.)

WOULD YOU OBLIGE ME, PLEASE?

ADRIENNE

SURE. OH, MUST BE A MISTAKE, THIS ONE’S TO JAMES.

MR. ELLISON

THAT’S ME. MAY I?

(ADRIENNE HANDS HIM THE PHONE. HE ADJUSTS HIS GLASSES TO READ THE SMALL WORDS ON THE SCREEN.)

ADRIENNE

I THOUGHT YOUR NAME WAS DONALD.

MR. ELLISON

THAT’S MY FIRST NAME, AND WHAT MOST PEOPLE CALL ME NOW. BUT I HATED IT AS A KID. SOME OF MY OLDER FRIENDS CALL ME JAMES – MY MIDDLE NAME.

(HE HANDS THE PHONE BACK TO ADRIENNE.)

MISS BLACK, WOULD YOU BE SO KIND AS TO CONTINUE MY TEXTING LESSON?

(ADRIENNE PUNCHES IN A QUICK NOTE.)

ADRIENNE

NOW, LET’S SEND IT TO SADIE, OKAY?

(MR. ELLISON SIGHS AND TAKES BACK THE PHONE. HE OBEDIENTLY PUNCHES IN THE DIGITS AS ADRIENNE CALLS OUT SADIE’S NUMBER, AND FOLLOWS HER DIRECTIONS TO SEND THE MESSAGE. SADIE’S PHONE BEEPS. MR. ELLISON SMILES AND NODS AT THE GIRLS.)

SO, WE ACTUALLY CAME TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT CDC.

(ADRIENNE ADJUSTS HER PURPLE JERSEY OVER HER HIPS. MR. ELLISON SNIFFS LIKE HE’S SMELLED SOMETHING HORRIBLE. ADRIENNE LOOKS AT SADIE, SILENTLY IMPLORING HER TO SAY SOMETHING, BUT SADIE IS CLEARLY DISTRACTED.)

CDC ISN’T JUST A CLUB. ESPECIALLY FOR PEOPLE LIKE SADIE. RIGHT, SADIE?

(SHE NUDGES SADIE.)

EVERY SHOW WE DO TAKES SADIE THAT MUCH CLOSER TO HER DREAM OF YALE DRAMA SCHOOL. WE CAN’T GIVE UP ON HER DREAM. CAN WE, SADIE?

(ADRIENNE KICKS SADIE’S FOOT IN FRUSTRATION AT HER SILENCE.)

T
HE WORDS YALE AND DRAMA, or maybe the pain in my ankle, yanked me out of my stupor. If I couldn’t have Nigel, I damn well better have CDC. “Yeah, Mr. Ellison, what is the deal anyway?” He looked at me, unimpressed. “You and I started CDC from nothing. It’s our creation. We can’t just let it wither on the vine and die.” A smile grew on Adrienne’s face as I picked up steam. “There’s got to be something we can do to save the program. You’ve never flinched in the face of adversity before.”

We watched Mr. Ellison’s saggy face. He had perked up momentarily once I started talking, but now his face fell again. “I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. We have no budget whatsoever.”

It was time for desperate measures again, for the second time in one day. I looked away, steeled myself and challenged Mr. Ellison with a direct look and what I hoped were respectful sounding words. “Is there any way we could build on what Mr. Lord said? You know -- create a show of our own – one that won’t need much of a budget?”

“What little we need, we can raise,” Adrienne chipped in.

“It could be a chance to show our creativity. You’re always saying I’m a budding playwright, so maybe I could write a script.”

He glanced down at his lined hands and stretched them as if they were arthritic, which maybe there were.

“Sadie, I’m too old for this fight.”

“So you’re just giving up?” I instantly regretted my rudeness, but he let it go. Maybe he agreed with me.

“Even the best of us give up at times. Surely you know that.” His direct gaze made me squirm. “Sometimes it’s not giving up, but recognizing a losing battle when we see it. But I will give you this piece of advice. If you really want to save the show, Lord is your key. He has sway with Zowicki like he does with all the women around here.” At that, he shut his mouth tightly and picked up a pile of papers to grade.

We left, crestfallen and, in my case, shot down twice in one day. Junior year sucked.

*

I
DECIDED TO MAKE ONE LAST STAND, like General Custer at Little Bighorn, but hopefully with better results. I may have bombed in my efforts to stand up for myself with Nigel and Mr. Ellison, and I kind of wanted to call it quits and go back to my non-assertive ways, but Adrienne was right – CDC was hugely important to me, and to my future. What could I stand up for, if not my own future?

At lunch Tuesday, I snuck down to Mr. Lord’s music room, hoping he was there and not in the teachers’ lounge. I was relieved to hear voices as I approached. As I got closer, the talking turned to muffled laughter and a little squeal. I walked into his room to see Lucey leaning against his whiteboard and Mr. Lord leaning over her, one arm stretched out to the whiteboard, smudging the green letters written there.

“Gotta go, Tony, see you later,” Lucey chirped, looking right at me before bouncing out of the room.

Quelling my gag reflex, I focused on the job at hand. “Mr. Lord, can I talk to you about CDC, if you have a minute.”

“Of course I have a minute for my favorite thespian.”

Wow, he could shift the charm from one lucky recipient to another in a heartbeat. I reflexively smiled.

“Okay, thanks. Well, some of us were wondering if there’s any way you can save the program? A lot of us like your idea of doing a show that we make up, so there aren’t any royalties to pay. Maybe you could try to sell the idea to the principal? We could all sign a petition if that would help.”

He smiled sympathetically and took my hand between his two big ones. “Sadie, don’t worry about a petition. I’m already at work on this problem.”

“Really?” His holding my hand made me uncomfortable but I liked what he was saying. Oh my God, was he actually stroking my arm? I stared at his hairy, thick forearm, too shocked to pull my own arm away.

“Mm-hm. The show must go on, right? So come to Thursday’s meeting, and bring your script-writing skills. We’re probably going to need them.”

I bounced in my excitement, which extricated my arm from his grasp.

“You’re the best, Mr. Lord, thank you so much!” I walked toward the door and stopped. “Oh, do you think Mr. Ellison will come back?”

“Does it really matter?” he asked with a Cheshire cat-worthy grin.

As I walked back to the cafeteria to give Adrienne the news, my arm tingled where he’d stroked it. What a weird year I was having. For all my life, not counting two dates with Sam freshman year, not a single boy in this town looked twice at me. Now, the handsome foreign exchange student and the quasi-celebrity music teacher both had hit on me. I think.

More likely, Mr. Lord was simply a typical touchy-feely theatre sort. In the summer theatre program, our cast of complete strangers was exchanging hugs as the normal method of showing affection by the end of the run. Theatre did that to you.

Whatever Lord’s motivation, I wished for the stability of last year, when the men in my life were my best friend and my older brother, both nearby whenever I needed them.

9: Pick a Show, Any Show

(LUCEY LANDAU AND NIGEL LEIGHTLY, COUPLE OF THE MOMENT, STEAM CONFIDENTLY INTO THE THEATRE FROM HOUSE LEFT, BUMPING RIGHT INTO SADIE PERKINS, DISHEVELED LONELY GIRL. LUCEY GLARES.)

Fantastic. Great way to start Thursday’s CDC meeting. At least Nigel smiled and said hi. Although to be honest that hurt more than Lucey’s glare, which was predictable. Did he think acting like nothing happened between us made everything okay? Was he completely unaware of how he’d hurt me? Were our cultures really so different, or was it just because he was a guy?

I sat as far from them as possible.

Mr. Ellison wasn’t there. Mr. Lord called us to attention quickly. “We have a lot to do, so let’s get started. Now, who has ideas for a show that we can create from scratch?”

People shifted in their chairs, interested, but no one volunteered ideas.

Lord’s voice deepened as he turned the full force of his persuasive, inspirational tone on us. “I know some people involved in this program would rather give up than fight. But all of you are here because you believe in the CDC. So let’s turn this challenge into an opportunity to do something new and different.” He gave the perfect dramatic pause. “Something bold.” Pause. “Something Crudup High has never seen before.”

His soliloquy was met with silence. He looked at me, for help I swear.

 “Um, I agree, we can do something different this year,” I offered. “We save money if we don’t have to buy the rights to an actual show. And we have a chance to make something of our own.” I mentally pushed waves of positive energy toward the other cast members.

“What about a revue, like Mr. Lord suggested before?” Foster said.

“What’s a revue again?” asked Jocelyn, scrunching her freckled nose. Honestly, her brain was a sieve.

“It’s a mixture of songs from different shows,” Mr. Lord explained patiently.

“I don’t want to do a talent show,” Lindsay said, shifting as if preparing to bolt from the theatre.

“No, it will be better than that.” All heads turned as Nigel spoke. “It’s a brilliant idea. Then you don’t have to include any of the naff songs that most musicals have. You just perform the really good ones.” People seemed spellbound so he kept going. “Take
Cats
for example. ‘Memory’ is the only truly good song in the whole show. The rest help tell the story but in terms of standalone songs, they’re rubbish.”

This was the Nigel who wanted me to teach him about musical theatre last week? Had I been played?

 “We could pick all of the coolest numbers out there,” offered Kristina, leaning forward until her long brown hair swished over her shoulder.