Rebel at Spruce High (Spruce Texas Romance #5) - Daryl Banner Page 0,36

It’ll be fun! Now, for a few house rules. Goodness, I feel like it’s opening night already!” she adds as a giggly aside to Ms. Joy, who only returns a distracted chuckle in reply. “First, do turn off your cell phones. Second …”

As she continues explaining common open-audition etiquette, the doors to the auditorium open, throwing light from the hallway down the aisle. A tall shadow slices straight down that light until the doors slam heavily at the person’s back, drawing everyone’s attention his way. Even Tamika pauses, interrupted by the noise of someone entering, and as if prompted by the new arrival, she says, “And fifth rule, please don’t let the auditorium doors slam shut. As they are … clearly … loud,” she adds as a joke, but no one laughs.

No one laughs because they’re all staring at the newcomer.

Especially me.

Vann, standing in that aisle with a hundred eyes on him, gives the auditorium one lazy onceover of his dark eyes. Being in the back row as I am, he doesn’t seem to notice me. As Tamika sweetly resumes her spiel, despite having lost nearly everyone’s attention at the surprise arrival, Vann slowly comes down the aisle, then seems to thoughtfully choose a seat somewhere in the fifth row.

Kelsey grabs my arm and gawps, mouthing the words: Vann is going to audition?? To which I shrug, just as bewildered, my eyes lingering on him even as Tamika calls out the first name on the list, and auditions officially begin. I watch as Vann fiddles with something on his arm—probably the leather cuffs he’s got on today, which I noticed in chemistry class earlier—and doesn’t pay much attention to whoever’s auditioning. There are a number of freshmen who brave the stage, but most of them can’t project loud enough to hit the back row, as I can obviously attest to. One girl seems promising, a freckly redhead with enough personality to fill a stadium, a total character actor, but even she doesn’t seem to impress Vann, whose attention is still fully focused on whatever he’s fiddling with in his lap. There’s also a cute sophomore guy with big ears who has a really great voice and claims he can sing, but Ms. Joy makes a funny aside that she “vehemently does not do musicals”, to which the guy’s ears seem to shrink as he blushes, looking ashamed for some reason. And still, Vann doesn’t look up.

Until the next name is called to the stage: “Donovan Pane?”

When Vann rises, I realize only then that he was sketching this whole time. He stuffs away his sketchpad, then for some odd reason slings his backpack over his shoulder as he heads up to the stage. Faces and eyes and opened mouths follow him from all over the auditorium, wary, curious, or uncertain. With a loud thud, he drops his backpack at his feet after placing himself downstage center, right at the lip. Then, without any prompting from Tamika or Ms. Joy at all, Vann announces in a crisp, clear voice: “I’m Vann. I’ll be auditioning for Kingsley.”

“Vann, is it?” Ms. Joy nods and appears to cross her legs, her angry bush of hair leaning to one side. “Alright. Are you reading from scene one or scene two?”

Vann shrugs. “I don’t know. Whichever.”

Ms. Joy pierces him with silence, then turns expectantly to Tamika. “Well, you heard the man. Give him whichever.” Tamika, impenetrably cheery, hops out of her seat and rushes to the front of the stage to provide Vann with a side—an excerpt of one of the scenes. He crouches down, takes it, then rises up and proceeds to stare at the sheet of paper, silent. Everyone waits. Not a sound touches the stillness in the whole auditorium.

Kelsey and I share a look and seem to ask the same question with our eyes: Is he actually reading the whole scene first?

Ms. Joy, perhaps just as intrigued as any of us, allows him this odd yet understandable concession, watching him from the front row with curiosity. After all, this is a script no one knows and no one has had access to, unless they bothered to approach Ms. Joy directly and ask for a copy to read ahead of time. Of course, no one here is ever that diligent.

Vann lowers the sheet of paper, his eyes on the audience, and he asks, “Why’d I follow you here? Is that what you wanna know?”

It takes me a second to realize he isn’t asking us. He’s