And the whole performance, in the back of my mind I was wondering what it felt like for her to be sitting out there, not onstage with the rest of us. What it must have been like to see me playing Thomasina, wearing the costume and saying the lines that at one point, she must have thought were going to be hers.
None of us had known what would happen with Lear. I didn’t think she would even audition—but she’d shown up at general auditions on Monday with the rest of us, her monologue prepared, just like nothing had happened.
But she didn’t get a callback.
On one hand it was shocking—Dara Chapman, a former star of the department, not even making it to the second round! But on the other hand, it was completely understandable. You didn’t get to pick and choose when you were going to be part of this department, like you went to one of those TV high schools. And Dara should have known that.
I was thinking about this, and what Mr. Campbell had said, as Stevie and I crossed the bux parking lot to Nikola, her electric car. Of course it was about Dara—but what did that mean for us? How were we supposed to prove that we were nothing like her? Was he worried about our loyalty to the department? About my loyalty?
I was almost to Stevie’s car when I passed a truly adorable dog tied up outside. “Hi, buddy,” I said, bending down, trying to see if he’d be okay with me petting him. He looked like a yellow Lab, round and happy. He thumped his tail on the ground, and I gave him a scratch behind the ears. I looked over to see that Stevie had walked a few steps away and was looking fixedly down at her phone. “He’s friendly,” I called to her, and she nodded, but didn’t make any move to come closer.
“He really was fine,” I said as we reached her car, with its Pearce Museum of Art bumper sticker.
“I’m sure,” she said, shooting me an unconvincing smile as we both got into the car. For someone who was such a good actress, she really was terrible at lying in real life. “I just had to check my texts.”
“Totally,” I said as Stevie started the car and I buckled my seat belt. “And also, you’re afraid of dogs.”
“I’m not!” Stevie said, but I could see a dull flush was starting to creep into her cheeks. “I just don’t love them, that’s all. I don’t like how they jump up on you.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, raising my eyebrows, deciding to let that be for the moment. “Want me to DJ? Any new playlists on Ophelia?” Stevie had gotten at least two phones since I’d known her, but even as she upgraded, her phone was always named Ophelia. I hadn’t asked why this was until we’d been working on homework together sophomore year, both of us backstage with our laptops, Stevie’s phone plugged into her computer. OPHELIA IS SYNCHING flashed across the screen, and I laughed so loudly that some of the upperclassmen told us to be quiet.
“I made one last night,” she said, and I picked up her phone, pointed it at her face to unlock it—Stevie smiled wide for me—and scrolled to her streaming app. The top mix didn’t even have a title, just the emoji with hearts around it, and I selected it. I scrolled down, looking for what I knew would be there—Billy Joel songs. All of Stevie’s mixes had at least two; this one had four. Her dad loved Billy Joel, and when he still lived here and would drive us around, he’d only ever have the Billy Joel station playing. His songs had filtered into Stevie’s playlists too, and now, without hesitation, I picked “Only the Good Die Young.” Stevie smiled without looking away from the road, turned up the volume, and as soon as the second verse kicked in, like we’d planned it, we both started singing along.
CHAPTER 3
What about this one?” I walked out of my closet with a short black strapless dress and held it out to Stevie, who was sprawled on my bed, a bag of candy on my comforter next to her—on the drive home, we’d stopped by Ada’s, the candy store/mini-mart that was a Stanwich institution.
“That looks supercute on you,” Stevie said, sitting back against my pillows and picking out a sour belt. “But you know I can’t do strapless.”