|Chapter 4|
•Alistair Beaufort•
The icy metal door closes behind me with a dull thud, drowned out by the loud droning of Mr. Pellini as he calls out names. No one turns their head, so I just remain standing in the shadows, calmly inhaling my second cigarette of the day. I study my Drama classroom, a small auditorium-like room with five rows of plush red seats and a small stage, which my new teacher is currently standing on. Beside him I see Mrs. Harper-Williams, the super-uptight Drama Head. As in, there’s something way up her ass twenty-four/seven, that kind of uptight. I guess this wasn’t the right day to arrive nearly half an hour late. While smoking in school.
I drop my cigarette onto the ground and stamp it out as quietly as I can before inconspicuously slipping to a seat in the back corner, all by myself. Pellini must have just started roll call, since he’s still on the A-names. I breathe a sigh of relief. Propping up my feet up onto the seat in front of me, I relax, waiting for my name to be called out.
“Kristin Aziz.” Pellini calls out.
“Here.”
“Collin Bailey.”
“Here.”
“Edison Beal-Lopez.”
“Present.”
“Alistair Beaufort,” the teacher says, then looks up and scans the room. Huh, the man does know me. I slide lower in my seat, just grinning at the stage. Then he says my name again. “Alistair Beaufort, do we have an Alistair Beaufort here?”
Murmurs begin to sweep through the class. I guess I’m pretty well-known around here, though I’m not sure if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Harper-Williams’s head makes a slow one-eighty around the room, searching for me. They know I’m here, they know that no one’s not going to show up on the fucking first day of school. Especially not the Alistair of last year. Still, I find it amusing, getting the class all worked up like this.
“I’m here,” I drawl, raising my arm and taking on an annoyed tone, “I’m here. Jesus.”
Pellini ignores my last remark, breaking into a relieved smile. “Mister Beaufort! So glad you could make it! I’ve heard so many exceptional things about your acting from Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Harper-Williams, and I find it a privilege to be working with you for your grade eleven year.” The Drama Head shoots me a proud smile.
I shrug, as if it’s no big deal. In fact, I feel downright fucking humiliated by this public appraisal of my acting. It’s partly my fault too, though, I think as I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s my fault I decided to stay in this stupid arts school, academy, whatever. It’s my fault I was such a stuck-up asshole with big dreams for acting last year. It’s my fault I even fucking tried. I’ve lost all interest in this, but I guess I’ll have to suck it up and act like the Alistair Beaufort last year, the best actor of grade ten. Maybe that way I’ll convince Mom I don’t need some therapist, that I’m fucking fine the way I am.
Pellini quickly moves down roll call before snapping the attendance folder shut with one hand and setting it down on the ground next to him. “Welcome, class, to grade eleven Dramatic Arts at OxfordAcademy!” he says, but I can hardly hear his voice from my little corner here, “I’m Mr. Pellini, and I will be your mentor, advisor, director and teacher this year for drama. To my left here is Mrs. Harper-Williams, the Head of Dramatic Arts here at Oxford, who you all must be familiar with.”
As Pellini begins talking about the success criteria this year, I tune out. Maybe I can sneak in a cigarette and hope no one can smell it. But, as I look around the place again, I realize it’s impossible. The place isn’t tiny like some fucking closet or something, but it’s enough for even the farthest person to get a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. As my eyes search the place, my gaze locks with a tall blonde, with full lips painted with clear lip gloss, and inquisitive brown eyes. She sits in the same position as I am in, long legs put up on the seat behind her, navy-blue Oxford skirt swishing just above her thighs. I don’t recognize her from previous years at Oxford, so she must be new. She shoots me a small grin.
Being nice, I quickly return it before looking away.
“…as usual, we will generally center around a play we will be performing and working on for most of the school year. Most of your evaluation will also revolve around the main play, though we will also work on some side projects.” Pellini says, “This year, we’ve decided to change it up a little and work together with the music department here, and our main production will be a musical.”
Despite his most engaging smile, every single person in the class groans loudly. Oxford rarely does musicals, so the faculty regards this as a treat for the students, and it’s not that we here in the drama department don’t like a little singing mingling with our acting, but the thing is, everyone here hates the music students. The feeling’s mutual, though. There’s not really much why to it for me, I just hate them. They’re all the most stuck-up pricks in the entire fucking school, strutting around with their instrument cases telling everyone they’re going to music festivals and shit. Well it’s not that I hate them, I just hate seeing them. Are those two different things?
Pellini looks around the class, trying to get everyone all excited and at the edge of their seats or whatever, but everyone’s just watching him wondering when the hell this stupid speech is going to end. Even Harper-Williams has her arms crossed over her chest now, leaning against some stray desk on the stage and tapping a fingernail against her arm.
“This year…we will performing Guys and Dolls!”
About five people out of our class of thirty cheer. I remain silent, frowning to myself. Guys and Dolls, oh Lord.
“Auditions are next Wednesday, so you all have a little over a week to practice and memorize. We’ll post the audition results up by next Friday at latest,” Pellini continues, “You can pick up monologues and sample songs for your auditions here at this table that happens to be onstage…” he looks at Harper-Williams, who moves to the side and reveals five neat piles of paper lying on the desk.
Immediately everyone stands up and begins making their way up to the stage to pick up monologues and songs. I sit back, picking up my books from the ground and placing them onto the seat next to me. Then, before I can pull my phone out of my pocket and text Jay, someone grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me to my feet, nearly making me fall over.
“Hey, fuck off!” I say, ripping Jay’s hands off of me, though I can’t resist a smile from seeing my best friend, “The hell’s wrong with you, man?”
“I was missing you, that’s all,” Jay’s smile widens, and he holds out a sheet filled with the monologues Pellini was talking about, “So, you tryin’ out for this Guys and Dolls thing?”
“No shit, I’m Alistair Beaufort.”
“I saw you checking out that girl there, by the way,” Jay juts his chin towards that new girl who had smiled at me, “She’s pretty hot. You think you can snag the lead with her?” I sneak a quick glance at her. She already has a monologue, and is reading it, head ducked, legs crossed at the ankles in the seat in front of her still.
I shrug. “Probably.”
“What do you mean, probably? You’ll get it for sure,” he punches me lightly in the shoulder, then lowers his voice significantly as he says, “And then your mother won’t be sending you to therapy anymore.” I glare at him. “Yeah, I got your text.”
“Hopefully it’ll work,” I say, “It’s the only way to show her that I haven’t changed from the person I was before. I mean, I’ve gotten the leads for the grade ten play last year, and the grade nine one the year before that…”
Jay rolls his eyes. “Show off.”
“I’m just saying,” I snatch the papers in his hand from him and skim them. Easy. “I’ll just have to practice memorizing these and I’ll be Sky Masterson this year no problem.” And that means that today will be my first and last appointment with this Seifert therapist man—fingers crossed on that. “I just need to show Mom that I got my fucking life in control still, that I’ve got my acting in control still. A little bit of alcohol and a little bit of fun isn’t going to change that.”
My best friend opens his mouth to reply when the blonde girl Jay thought I had been checking out taps his shoulder and he turns around and jumps. She gives him a sly smile before turning her attention to me, eyebrows raised.
“Hey, I’m new here, and I just want to get to know my new classmates,” she says, tucking a stray strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear, “I’m Ellie Kessler, I just transferred here from Westonshire Catholic. Nice to meet you.” Even though I don’t hold out my hand, she reaches out and grabs it, shaking it firmly before dropping it. “You must be the Alistair Beaufort everyone talks about.”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I can feel Jay’s gaze practically burning a hole into my head when he hears how disinterested I sound. He’s surprised I’m not even making an effort to pick her up. Girls have never been anything of much interest to me anyway. Unless I’m drunk.
Ellie’s grin doesn’t fade. “You must be a superstar here or something, everyone says your acting is legendary. I, for one, can’t wait to see you once rehearsals start.” She giggles.
“You must be great, too, if you managed to get one of the two spots left for grade eleven,” Jay interjects, smiling his most charming smile before shooting me a quick look that says to me Hey, if you’re not gonna try getting this hot chick, I will. I roll my eyes.
Ellie completely ignores him, her eyes still trained on me. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you want to be Sky Masterson, the male lead,” her lips are still curved into that little grin, “And I was just thinking of what a coincidence it is that I’m trying out for Sarah Brown.”
A cursory glance at the list of characters on the back tell me that Sarah Brown is the female lead, and is Sky Masterson’s love interest. Forcing back a scowl, I look up and beam at her instead, as if I think it’s wonderful that this weird new girl with as much confidence as the most popular girl in the school wants to audition as my character’s fucking love interest. It doesn’t matter, I rationalize, she’s just a transfer, for goodness sake. She probably doesn’t have much acting experience. She probably just got real good on those easy-as-hell monologues Oxford gives for aspiring future students when they audition.
“That’s…swell,” I manage. Who in the world says swell anymore?
“Maybe, since we’re both trying out for leads, we can practice sometime after school?” Ellie asks, faking shyness. Jesus Christ.
I frantically think of a good excuse. “Um, sorry, I can’t,” I say quickly, “I already promised Jay here that I have to help him prepare his audition for…uh,” I think of the first name I saw beneath Sarah Brown’s in the character list, a supporting character, “I have to help Jay prepare for his audition for…Adelaide.” Did you just say Adelaide? Dumbass.
“Adelaide?” Ellie looks taken aback.
Giving me his most venomous glare, which I pretend to completely ignore, Jay says, “Oh, no, Alistair meant to say that I’m trying out for Nathan. Nathan Detroit, I mean.”
The girl looks at Jay for the first time, eyes starting from his hair, then down to the black Jordans he’s wearing. Then her focus comes back to me, and she looks so disappointed my stomach gets a pang of guilt for rejecting her offer. Still, it goes away after a few seconds, though.
“Oh,” she says softly, “Well, I must go now. I’ll see you at tomorrow’s class?”
I nod, turning away from her as she leaves.
“What the fuck was that?” Jay demands, sounding supremely annoyed, “I know you’re not interested, but can I at least get your leftovers? And what the hell was this Adelaide thing all about? Adelaide, for your information, is Nathan’s—”
I sigh, silencing him. “I know, I know, man. I’m sorry, I’ll help you next time.”
“Cockblock.”
“Not exactly,” I grin, crashing back onto my seat and patting the chair next to me, “Anyway, where were we?” I glance down at a few of the sample songs Jay had collected. “When you see a guy, reach for the stars in the sky…”