Steering the Stars (15 page)

     
 
I heard Mrs. Cobb call out, “Which song are you doing?”

     
 
This week in class, we’d had a chance to listen to the music from
My Fair Lady
and watched a recording of the show as it was done on Broadway.

       I didn’t
want
to audition but, at the end of the day, it was part of my grade and I wasn’t about to fail the class because I was too stubborn to prepare, so I’d randomly picked a song and even practiced it in the shower a few times, but now that I was up here my mind drew a blank. I had seen the musical a hundred times, but I couldn’t remember the lyrics.

     
 
“Uhh… I’ll be doing...um...a song by Ed Sheeran,” I said, trying to look through the lights.

     
 
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Cobb said in a slightly surprised tone. I supposed that it was an unusual choice. Everyone else had sung a Broadway classic. “I’m afraid we don’t have the music for you.”

       “It’s okay. I can sing it a capella.”

       “Well then, go on.” She said reassuringly.

     
 
For a moment, it was just me standing alone on an empty stage, surrounded by the lights and the gaping quiet. Little pinpricks of nervous energy tickled me from the inside out, but I closed my eyes, let go of a long breath, and reminded myself that none of this mattered.

      
 
Earlier, Miles had been right. It’s not like I wanted to land a part so who cared if I made a fool of myself?

     
 
It was one song. Just three minutes of my life and I could be done with all of this.

       I stepped forward and opened my mouth, half-expecting no sound to come out, but I surprised even myself.

     
 
I was no Julie Andrews or Idina Menzel, but I wasn’t completely tone deaf. My mother played the piano and she’d given me lessons from the time I was seven until she got sick. I was depending on that background to get me through this song. I may not have known how to belt it out like Beyonce or shake it like Taylor Swift, but I knew a few things about music.

     
 
When I finished, I heard spotty clapping from the audience.

       Well, at least it hadn’t been the horrifying disaster I’d anticipated. I was rusty and raw but I wasn’t the worst person who’d auditioned. I took a small bow and said, “Thanks.”

     
 
Feeling much lighter than I had just a few minutes earlier, I turned and headed for the stairs.

       Mrs. Cobb’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Caroline, do you have a monologue ready?”

     
 
I looked back and blinked at the lights. “I… No, I didn’t think I needed one.”

     
 
“Then let’s get a script for you. I’d like to hear you read.”

     
 
“No, that’s okay,” I started to protest.

     
 
“It’s not okay,” Mrs. Cobb persisted. I heard papers being shuffled. “Does anyone have a script we can use?”

     
 
“Actually… I guess I do have something,” I said haltingly. “But it’s not a monologue. It’s a scene with two people. Would that work?”

     
 
“That’s fine. What are the parts?”

     
 
“Duckie and Andie.”

     
 
“From what production?”

     
 
“Uh…
Pretty in Pink.
”

     
 
Someone in the audience laughed and I cringed. Maybe this was a stupid idea but it was all I could come up with.

     
 
“The movie?” Mrs. Cobb asked.

     
 
“Yeah, it’s… a… um, cult classic.”

      
 
That was the category that most of my favorite movies fell into.

        When you grow up a redhead who gets picked on and asked obnoxious questions like,
Does the carpet match the drapes?
and,
Aren’t redheads direct descendents of Satan?
you tend to look for inspiration where you can find it. In my case, Ed Sheeran, Princess Merida from
Brave,
any of the Weasleys, and, of course, Molly Ringwald.

My mom had introduced me to
Pretty in Pink
when I was eleven, giving birth to my obsession with Molly Ringwald and eighties teen movies .
The Breakfast Club… Say Anything… Sixteen Candles… Some Kind of Wonderful… Ferris Bueller’s Day Off… Heathers…
I’d seen them all, but
Pretty and Pink
remained my favorite. I was pretty sure I could recite the entire movie from memory.

      
 
“You can’t do this and respect yourself,” I launched into one of my favorite scenes. In it, Duckie has just found out that his longtime crush is going out with someone else. He’s awkwardly heartbroken and uncomfortable in his own skin. Yep, I could pretend to be all of that.  

     
 
When I was done, Mrs. Cobb said, “What about a cockney accent? Do you think you could manage it?”

       I could actually. How many times had Hannah and I played around with British accents in the months leading up to her departure?

      
 
“Aw, I fink I can, though I’d have to ‘ear it some more to be fer sure ‘bout it,” I said in my best version of the accent.

      
 
“Great! That’ll be all, Caroline.”

       
 
Relief flooded me.

      
 
I hadn’t vomited. I hadn’t fainted or had a seizure or anything like that.

     
 
“You didn’t suck,” Henry whispered, coming up behind me as I walked down the steps.

      
 
I looked over my shoulder. “Thanks?”

      
 
“I’m serious.”

      
 
“I didn’t realize you were watching the whole time.”

     
 
“Like I would miss the chance to see you on stage,” he said.

       “Well, I’m just happy I didn’t puke.”

       “Little successes,” he said, smiling.

       “Exactly.” I took a deep breath. “And, you know what?”

       “What?”

     
 
“It wasn’t that bad,” I admitted with a shrug. “Maybe a part in the chorus could be… you know… fun. I haven’t sung like that since—well, since my mom died. She played the piano and she loved all this stuff and being up there like that… I sort of liked it.”

       Henry grabbed one of my loose ringlets and gently tugged on it like he was ringing a bell. “So did I.”

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: September 16

Subject: It’s over!

Guess who has two thumbs and didn’t throw up while on stage?

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: September 16

Subject: Re: It’s over!

Ummmm… I’m not sure. I’m going to need some more information than that ;)

Hannah

PS: I TOLD YOU SO!

____________

To: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

From: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

Date: September 16

Subject: Re: Re: It’s over!

It was even sort of fun. I ended up singing
Lego House
and doing a scene from
Pretty in Pink
on top of the song. So, maybe that was a teeny tiny bit weird.

____________

To: Caroline<
[email protected]
>

From: Hannah<
[email protected]
>

Date: September 16

Subject: Weirdo

Ya think?

____________

****

Over the past few weeks, I’d actually started to form a new Hannah-less routine. Wake up, check my email to see if she’d sent anything new overnight, then shower and spend a few minutes staring at my closet hoping my clothes would jump out and do the job themselves. After settling on a plain shirt and boring jeans, I’d plod down the stairs, grab a granola bar or something from the kitchen, feed Aspen, and then, just before eight, there’d be a knock at my door. I’d answer and Henry would be standing there, usually holding a pumpkin spice latte in his hands.

       Friday morning started like any other. I didn’t hear Dad moving around the house, which either meant he’d left early for a job or he was still locked in his bedroom because he didn’t have one today. A quick glance out my window to locate his truck in the driveway proved that he was still in the house. He just didn’t want to talk to me.

       Right on schedule, I heard a knock. Not bothering to call out a goodbye to Dad, I scooped up my backpack and slipped out the door.

     
 
“Morning,” Henry said, handing me a cup.

     
 
“Morning,” I responded, grasping the warm coffee with both of my hands and inhaling the delicious aroma. “Ah, you’re my hero.”

     
 
“And I didn’t even have to save you from a burning building.”

     
 
I laughed.

     
 
I was starting to like this routine.

     
 
Henry and I talked the whole way to school. Without Hannah, our rides had been weird and filled with silence at first, but now our conversation came easily. I’d known Henry Vaughn for most of my life, but never like this. He’d always been “Hannah’s brother” to me, sitting on a pedestal almost like some mythological creature. But now he was… I don’t know… almost like a friend. A friend who I liked to look at more than I probably should.

       
 
We arrived at school and he held the door for me as we entered the building.

     
 
“Caroline!”

     
 
I turned toward the voice. Miles was rushing down the hall to get to me, pushing past people who were digging around their lockers.

      
 
“I wonder what he wants,” Henry mumbled.

     
 
“Congrats!” Miles said, grabbing my arm excitedly.

     
 
“What is it?”

      
 
“The cast list…” His grin stretched from ear to ear like an amped-up version of The Cheshire Cat. That should have been my first clue.

     
 
“Oh…” Other than filling Hannah in, I honestly hadn’t given much thought to the audition in the past forty-eight hours. I’d done it. It had gone okay. Time to move on. “Did I get a part?”

      
 
Miles cackled. “Did you get a part?”

     
 
I met Henry’s eyes. He shook his head in confusion.

     
 
“Yes! Caroline, you got the part of
Eliza,
” Miles said slowly.

     
 
I felt all the blood drain from my face. “Huh?”

     
 
“You’re the lead. You’re Eliza Doolittle.”

      
 
Henry blinked. “Wow. Congratulations.”

      
 
I shook my head in disbelief. “No… There’s been a mistake.”

     
 
“No mistake. The cast list was posted this morning,” Miles said. “I’ll show you.”

       I let myself be pulled toward C Hall and through the group of students standing around a bulletin board outside of Mrs. Cobb’s classroom. When I looked up, it was there in black and white.