Under a Silent Moon

19

Chapter Nineteen: All the World's a Stage

LANA

Carly, Sebastian, and I are the first ones in the auditorium after school. When we met at my locker after the final period of the day, Carly grabbed me by my wrists and nearly dragged me down the stairs and across the hall. Even though Sebastian insists he would be more comfortable as a member of the stage crew for this production, Carly basically threatens him into auditioning.

"You'll definitely get a part. There aren't a whole lot of musically-inclined male students in this school, so they'll take whoever they can get."

"Thanks for your faith in my talent," Sebastian mutters sarcastically, but Carly either doesn't hear him or pretends not to.

"Hamilton is basically an all-male cast, so I assume if Lana and I get a role it'll be as a man. It doesn't bother me, though. Does it bother you?"

Carly's speaking so fast it takes me a moment to realize she asked me a question.

"Oh, I really don't care about that."

"There are like, four female roles in the show and although I'm praying I get Angelica, I know the odds are stacked against me. Especially since Gwendolyn Harlan is old enough for a leading role this year. Her voice is angelic."

As Carly banters on, I find myself shrinking against the growing number of students filtering into the auditorium. The choir teacher-slash-musical director sets up a table in front of the stage and scatters some papers on it with the help of her assistant director-slash-ninth grade English teacher.

I don't really know what to expect. I haven't auditioned for anything in so long I essentially forget how the process works. Earlier today, during biology, we were working on a group project and Carly received permission from the teacher to listen to music quietly as we worked. She stuck a wireless earbud in my left ear and played the female audition song for this afternoon, pushing a piece of paper with the lyrics on it my way with the firm direction of "study intently."

The song in question is called "Burn," sung by Hamilton's wife, Eliza. The tone of the song is a woman scorned after her husband publicly announces his infidelity while she and their children were out of town. It's deeply emotional, and elicits a feeling of power and vengeance within me. I make a point to listen to the entire musical this evening, regardless of how the audition goes.

After about fifteen minutes of shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the congregated students are assigned numbers and we take a seat in the audience to await our turn. Carly, Sebastian, and I are numbered in that order. Carly slays her audition, as expected, and even Sebastian was impressive with his rendition of a song entitled "Wait For It."

When I finally take the stage, about half of the original auditioners are still in the audience. I can visibly see my hand shaking and briefly wonder why I'm putting myself through this anxiety to begin with. Just to please my friend?

I take deep, calming breaths in order to reduce any shakiness in my voice, but when I plant myself in front of the mic, I see a dark figure lounging in the last row beneath the balcony. When our eyes lock, Zack sends me a little wave and a thumbs up for reassurance. This only increases my heart rate, and I grip the microphone tightly, bringing it slowly to my trembling lips.

Piano notes fill the room once more, and I close my eyes, forgetting about Zack, my friends, the directors . . . The only thought I allow into my mind is that of my cheating husband Alexander.

As the lyrics materialize from my brain to my lips, I continue to keep my eyes sealed shut until I'm certain that I have control of the melody. When I finally gain the courage to open them, I'm not met with scowls or judgemental faces. I'm met with the smiles of my two best friends, another thumbs up from Zack, and for only a moment longer, I can pretend that all the world's a stage.

The tune quickly shifts from soft and vulnerable to melancholic rage. "I hope that you . . . burn." My voice swells and retracts with the concluding note of the song. My audience claps politely, but overdramatic Carly and Sebastian are on their feet with a standing ovation. In the recesses of the auditorium, Zack is up too. I can detect the knowing grin on his features even from this distance.

The director informs us that the results will be posted outside of the choir room tomorrow morning. The three of us leave school that day cheerily, and I almost skip down the damn hallway.

Zack finds us outside the doors of the common area, approaching us with a slow clap. "Bravo, bravo. What an enticing performance."

Carly's nearly swooning and I repress the urge to roll my eyes.

I take a bow and thank him. He pretends to hand me a bouquet of flowers and I mimic smelling their sweet, floral aroma. We laugh together, and he says, "Someday those will be real."

I try not to blush and instead deflect with: "Probably best that they aren't. I tend to kill anything I need to take care of."

"It seems as though you're keeping Terrence alive pretty well," he counters.

Carly turns on me. "He knows Terrence?" Her eyes ask a million questions that I choose to ignore.

"Yeah," Zack says, "He's a tarantula, right? Cute little fellow."

"Oh yes, a big ass spider that sits on my shoulder."

"That's psychotic," Sebastian interludes, staring off into the distance at what I'm sure is a terrifying mental image.

Zack offers to walk me home, says he wants to talk to me. I part ways with my friends, but not before Carly pulls me into a tight embrace. I'm not hugged that often, and for a moment I almost push her away. It's sad, really, that I can't even feel comfortable expressing affection to one of the only people in the world that cares about me. I silently reprimand myself for being such an apathetic friend. These two deserve better than me.

As we walk down the sidewalk, Zack purposely bumps into me and I nearly topple over into the grass. He laughs, having clearly underestimated my ability to maintain balance.

"I was really impressed with your audition, I hope you get a part."

"Thanks," I say, and then remembering a comment he once made, I add, "Was I as good a singer as you remember?"

As soon as I ask the question aloud, I immediately regret it. Maybe I don't want to know the answer.

But he only smiles. "Even better."

I scoff and say, "Kiss ass," but inside my chest I feel a faint, excited fluttering.

I inquire about the rest of his school day and he tells me it was "mediocre at best" and relays his encounter with his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) Lizzy. But when I ask what he plans to do about his relationship, he shakes his head and changes the subject.

"Are you busy right now?"

This evening's plans of laying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through social media flashes before me. "Nope."

"Do you want to come over?"

And meet your dad? I almost ask, but refrain. The thought alone makes me queasy. "Yeah, sure," I tell him, and he seems genuinely happy with my acceptance. I'm still in a good mood from the tryouts that I even text my mom to let her know I won't be home until after dinner. Her quick response is unsavory, but I expected as much. Shoving my phone into my jean pocket, I follow Zack to his house as he enthusiastically tells me about his little sister.