Page 29 of Love Me Not
The girls took their places, facing each other at the edge of the stage, and delivered the lines. Only this time there was no overacting. A few lines in, their deliveries became genuine. They were becoming the parts.
When they finished, a hush fell over the room until seconds later, applause broke the silence.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Leaping to my feet, I approached the stage. “How did that feel?”
“Good,” Emma said, clearly surprised by her own performance.
“I like this girl,” Kaitlyn said.
Her character didn’t come across in the most positive light by the end of the play. “Have you read the entire script?”
“Yeah.” She looked up with a smile. “I want to play her.”
“Then she’s yours.” The lead part was the only one contested, so this settled things nicely without me having to be the bad guy. But we were still without a male lead.
As if the thought conjured them into being, Aiden and Burke strolled down the side aisle of the auditorium and took two seats at the end of a row. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew they were late. Very late.
“Thank you for joining us, gentlemen, but auditions started an hour ago.”
“We got here as soon as we could,” Burke said.
As usual, Aiden remained silent.
They obviously didn’t get how this worked. For one, a play was an ensemble endeavor. Not only did everyone need to be on time, but they needed to respect the time of the rest of the players. I couldn’t have them strolling into rehearsals whenever they felt like it.
“I appreciate that, but if you can’t show up on time, then you have no place here.”
“But we?—”
“Ms. Pavolski, can I talk to you for a minute?” boomed a voice from the back of the auditorium.
I turned to find Coach Collins standing just inside the doors. The temptation to tell him no was outweighed only by my ingrained mutual respect for all fellow teachers. At least when students were around.
Having a good idea what this was about, I reached the top of the aisle and proceeded to walk past him out into the corridor. No need for the kids to see us argue.
“They’re late because of me,” he said, catching me off guard. I expected him to insist I make an exception for his players.
“The reason is irrelevant.”
“I told Assistant Coach Neighbors to let them go early, but my message didn’t get conveyed. As soon as I found out, I drove them over here.”
“I realize that my play isn’t as important to you, or even this school, as your football team is, but it’s important to me and to my kids. We take it seriously, and we respect each other’s time.”
He ran a hand over his bald head. “You said you wouldn’t penalize them for being athletes.”
“I’m penalizing them for being late. Athletics has nothing to do with it.”
After a brief hesitation, he said, “Bull.”
“Bull?” I repeated. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m calling you a hypocrite.” A beefy arm went up as he pointed toward the closed doors beside us. “If those boys were late because they had an art club meeting, or needed to stay over to finish a shop project, you’d give them a pass.”
Would I? Maybe. Okay, probably. And if being late wasn’t their fault, then I wasn’t being fair. But I also needed to protect my kids and my production.
“What happens when rehearsals start, they get here a half hour late, and everyone has to wait around? Or when it’s opening night and we aren’t ready because two members of the cast couldn’t make it? If they can’t get here on time for auditions, how do I know they’ll be here when it counts?”
Without hesitation, he said, “I’ll make sure of it.”