of the dressing room where she’d been standing approximately two hours, biting her fingernails down to the nub.
Some had auditioned and gone on to other things—like Kayleigh, who walked offstage after a riveting performance, kissed her hand then waved toward Stephen like she was Regina George in Mean Girls, and said she was off to pick up her Kroger ClickList.
Bree was among those who stayed.
Found a spot to pace backstage.
And waited.
At last, Stephen stood at the wall outside the dressing room door, stapling the cast list to the bulletin board.
“C’mon,” Birdie said, grabbing Bree by the arm and yanking her off the wall.
Bree let herself be dragged for several feet.
“Nope.” Birdie halted suddenly. Dropped Bree’s arm to cross her own. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Birdie started shrinking before Bree’s eyes. Her arms wrapped tighter across her pink leotard waist with each second, as though she were a python trying to constrict herself.
Bree rolled her eyes and sighed. Grabbed Birdie by the shoulders. “Fine. But next time tell me what role you want to have going on here. We can’t both play the pathetically insecure actress hiding in the back of the dressing room. Let’s go.”
Birdie, however, pressed her teeth against her bottom lip so hard it started to turn white. She shook her head. “Nope. I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
Birdie shook her head.
“Sure.”
Birdie, whose face was growing as pale as her tights, shook once more.
So Bree started pushing Birdie down the length of the room like a football player driving a training sled across the field. Which, given Birdie had never taken her tap shoes off and weighed about ninety-seven pounds, made for a fairly simple push.
By the time they were at the bulletin board a crowd had formed. People jostled for a view. Craned necks. Snapped pictures of the cast list and then turned, typing vigorously on their phones.
Bree moved forward, a full head above everyone else.
She could tell Birdie didn’t yet have a clear view of the list. She could tell by the way Birdie slid her hand into Bree’s and squeezed.
But Bree had seen it.
Five seconds later, when Birdie screamed and jumped straight into Bree’s arms, Bree knew Birdie had seen it too.
“We did it!” Birdie squealed, squeezing and hopping and, for such petite arms, crushing the breath right out of Bree’s ribcage. “We did it.”
Birdie pulled back, her face radiant. “Congratulations, Zelda Zanders and chorus girl.”
Bree grinned. “And congratulations to you, Lina Lamont. I’ve never met a more deserving actress playing the undeserving actress.”
Evan tapped on Birdie’s shoulder, his own face radiant.
While the room hummed, Bree turned and took in the world around her.
The hanging rack of bejeweled costumes glinting in the corner of the dressing room. The dressing-room tables beneath aureate bulbs strewn with mascaras, eyelash cases, lipsticks, curling irons, cans of hair spray. The buzz of conversations, many already turning to topics of practice the following morning, of plans to celebrate with food at Chick-N-Little.
The Barter—theatre as a whole—wasn’t a career she had ever thought she’d choose. But still, there was something peaceful, something relieving, something nice about the knowledge that this was going to be her occupational home.
Her place.
Her people.
For now, yes. But maybe, possibly, for good.
Most of the group was now halfway down the hall.
Birdie stopped when it was obvious Bree hadn’t followed. “You coming, Bree?”
Bree’s eyes flitted toward the opposite hall, toward another exit.
Where, just outside the door, he would be waiting.
“I’ve got plans actually,” Bree said, smiling as she turned her gaze back on Birdie. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Birdie’s eyes danced as she pointed at Bree. “Because we’ll be here. Tomorrow.”
Bree watched Birdie turn back to the group, her bounce so weightless she appeared to be walking on clouds. Probably because she was.
Just as Bree was.
She turned around.
Faced the door.
And took a breath as she started walking toward it.
She noticed the irony as the adrenaline started to well within her, just as it had the first night she had marched down that same hall for that same door. The ball of nerves in her stomach pushed her onward.
Get there. Hurry up. What if he’s gone?
Now there was a thought. What if his meeting was over long ago? What if he’d finished up and had sat there, wondering when on earth she was going to get done. Got bored. Started doubting this crazy scheme. Started doubting everything.
Bree felt her steps quickening, getting closer to the door.
She wrapped her fingers around the metal handle and pushed the door open.