Meet Me After Class

Chapter 14: Audition Jitters

In my dimly lit room, the only light came from the string of lights dangling above my computer table. I sprawled on my bed, contemplating the impending audition set for tomorrow. A strange fear gnawed at me for some reason.

The anticipation of hearing people dissecting the characters and critiquing the lines petrified me. Was it too dramatic? Too unrealistic? Too cheesy? Too pretentious?

My palms grew clammy as the anxiety intensified.

Pushing myself off the bed, I ambled over to the window. It was a Sunday night, and here I was, a bundle of nerves for no apparent reason. The play that consumed my entire summer and energy actually made the cut this year. I should have been out celebrating with my friends, not cooped up in my room, drowning in pre-audition jitters.

I glanced at my dream board, adorned with images representing my aspirations, mounted on the corkboard. A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts, then a louder one followed.

I pivoted towards the creaking door, revealing Adam's face. He frowned. "Hey, I knocked."

"I didn't tell you to come in."

Undeterred, he strolled in and shut the door behind him. "Let me borrow your exact line when I told you the same thing, 'at least I knocked.'"

A hint of a wry smile curled my lips. "Okay, fine. Change of rules. We knock and don't come in until we're asked to come in."

I let out a sigh as I made my way back to my spot on the bed, and of course, Adam decided to join me, sprawling beside me. He extended a piece of paper toward me, tilting his head.

"What's up with the drama?" he asked, scanning the room.

I blinked and glanced at the book in his hand. "What?"

He gestured to the string of lights casting a dim glow in my room. "The lights?"

Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "I wanted to prepare for the audition tomorrow. But now that you're here, feel free to turn the lights on if it's bothering you."

Looking up at me, he teased, "What's up with the attitude, little miss?"

I stood up and walked back to the window, meeting his gaze. "Nothing. I guess I'm just excited and nervous about the audition tomorrow."

Adam sat up, sporting his signature lopsided smile. "Why are you nervous? I mean, you're not auditioning for any part. Come on. You're the writer of this play. This is your play. Whoever's trying out should be the ones sweating bullets. Heck, I should be sweating. You should just feel excited."

I shrugged and padded over to the bed, settling down next to him. "I know. I just can't help it. You know me."

He crossed his legs and grinned. "I know. And I know what a meticulous human being you are, hence my presence tonight," he said, flipping through the pages of Pierre Choderlos de Laclos' book, Dangerous Liaisons, on his lap.

"Why are you here?" I finally asked.

He held the book toward me. "I will be reading Valmont tomorrow for the audition."

Valmont? Why on earth would he choose Valmont?

"Why would you choose to read Valmont for Edmund?" I felt a sudden irritation surge through me. I got up and flicked on the lights near the door, revealing Adam's nonchalant expression. "Edmund is no Valmont. Edmund is a romantic who believes and values love more than air. He's everything that Valmont is not. Why are you doing this?" I asked, disbelief evident in my tone.

Ignoring my question, he flashed a smile. "Calm down, little miss Jo March. I didn't pick Valmont because I think he's like Edmund. But there's this dialogue between him and Madame de Tourvel that reminded me so much of some part of the play. That's all."

"Really?" I narrowed my eyes at him, struggling to believe what I was hearing. He clearly wasn't taking this seriously. He wasn't taking my play seriously. Why would he read from a character who was the complete opposite of the one he was supposed to be auditioning for? I just couldn't wrap my head around it.

But Adam seemed undeterred by my lack of confidence in his plan.

"Really," he retorted. "I completely get your sweet Edmund Cranford, Wendy. Trust me. He's a helpless romantic fool. Anne Dunnings broke his heart twice, yet he chose to go through the same trauma again when he left everything to chase Anne—again."

As I stood by the door, listening to him, I couldn't help but shake my head at his character analysis of Edmund. The character was more complex than that. Edmund wasn't a romantic fool; he was trapped in his own feelings, deeply in love with Anne. When genuine love is involved, there's only so little one can do.

"Is this why you came here tonight?" I conceded. Analyzing Edmund's character with him seemed pointless. The upcoming audition tomorrow kept distracting me, making it hard to stay focused on my argument with Adam.

I never felt this much pressure in my whole life. Surprisingly, Adam's fixed gaze on me changed, followed by minimal eye contact. What's he up to now?

"What's wrong?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted to hear what he had to say.

"About the audition..." he trailed off and stared at the string lights on my board. "Nepal."

I glanced at the word written in calligraphy at the center of my dream board. "Adam!"

"Right!" He turned his attention back to me. "The audition." He cleared his throat. "I have decided to read the dialogues from the movie adaptation instead of the ones from the book."

My eyes widened, and he squinted like he was preparing for my incoming wrath.

"Why?" My eyebrows creased as I continued to glare at him.

"Well, the scene I chose was just—the lines were too..."

"Difficult? So much hard work involved? Take your pick."

That's why I was really hesitant for him to even audition. I knew for a fact that he was never a theater guy.

"Both," he casually answered. "Look, I get it that you worked so hard for this. I was there, Wendy. I saw how you worked your ass off for this play. And I don't want to be in it just for the heck of it. I promise you, if I get this part, I will work just as hard to be your Edmund."

"What?"

He chuckled as he stood up. "You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, I didn't, and I told him instead, "If you get the part."

"Yes. That's right." He tucked the book under his arm and headed to the door. "Wish me luck, Wendy," he said, pulling on the door without looking back at me.

"You could have just called me, you know."

"I know. But I was in the neighborhood, and I wanted to check how you're doing." He smiled. "I thought you needed a quick pep talk."

I sat back in my bed. I stared at the closed door, feeling a mix of disappointment and irritation as I realized he hadn't taken my thoughts or feelings into account with his decisions.

At least he checked on me, but couldn't he just use a line from the play for the audition? I pouted, wishing he had asked me for help since I wrote the play.