21
MRS. GRAHAM and I walked down the hall together. The line of boys and girls waiting for the auditions stretched from the auditorium doors down the hall nearly all the way to the cafeteria. As we walked past, I tried not to look anyone in the eye.
We passed Veronica. She was wearing the sort of thing that she usually wore, one of those clingy knit dresses, but she had added a wide black patent leather belt, she had a sheer red scarf knotted around her neck, and she had drawn a beauty spot on her cheek with a pen. She stood with her back against the wall and her head tilted to the left. Her right shoulder was raised, her left shoulder dropped. Her eyes were half shut, and her mouth was half open. “Hello, Peter,” was all she said, but it was enough to make my face turn red and my knees grow weak.
Spike was right at the front of the line, waiting at the auditorium doors. She was passing the time playing jacks. She was down on the floor, scooping up jacks with remarkable dexterity, apparently immune to the tension that filled the hall. Behind her were Biff, Studs, Chuck, and Knuckles. When I reached her, Spike snatched up the jacks, stood up, and called out, “Okay! Here’s Peter! Now we’ll find out ‘who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out—’” She stood there grinning at me, waiting for me to acknowledge that I recognized the line. I smiled weakly and nodded my head. She flung the door open for me, and I saw Clarissa standing just inside the auditorium, holding a clipboard.
“Peter!” she said. “Where have you been? We’ve got to get started! We’re running about ten minutes behind schedule.”
My legs were wobbly, and I felt a little sick. Mrs. Graham must have noticed that I was shaky: she grabbed me under the left armpit and lifted me so that my left foot was hardly touching the floor. Clarissa reached out for me, and together, one holding me up on either side, she and Mrs. Graham dragged me into the auditorium, letting the door swing shut behind us.
They led me to a seat in the front row. I sat there, staring at the empty stage. It took a while before I realized that Clarissa was talking to me.
“—and—before the rest of the boys and girls come in—I—well—” she said.
Clarissa stood silently for a moment, her hands moving nervously inside her fur muff, her head down. When she raised her head and looked me in the face, her eyes were as wide and startled as they had been when we first met. She parted her lips ever so slightly, as if she were going to speak, but then she closed them, swallowed, and looked downward. When she spoke at last, she spoke to the floor.
“Do you think it would be all right if I tried out for Cordelia?” she asked. “I know I won’t be good enough, but I’d like to try. I’m usually shy in front of people, and it might help me to try out for a part in the play.”
“Gee, Clarissa,” I said, “I—”
“Of course, I haven’t had a lot of time to practice, you know,” she said quickly. “I’ve had other things to do.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m sure—”
“I’m just going to try for the fun of it,” she said. “I don’t even want you to pay any attention to me. Promise?”
“All right,” I said.
“I could never really play Cordelia,” she said. “I shiver just thinking about it, so you don’t have to worry about me.” She took a deep breath and giggled, and then she dashed over to the doors and swung them open. At once, she was back in the role of director’s assistant, keeping a tight hold on her clipboard and her muff and meekly asking the boys and girls to file in silently and fill alternate rows and alternate seats.
“Look at them,” Matthew said, taking a seat beside me. “Some of these kids would do anything for a part—anything.”
I sat, stunned, while the auditions began. Clarissa asked for silence in a small voice that I wouldn’t have thought anyone could hear. The auditorium hushed at once. She looked at her clipboard and said, softly, “Bobby Swanson, please.”
Bobby Swanson walked onto the stage, struck a histrionic pose in front of me, making his eyes bulge out and pulling at his hair, and cried, “‘Doesn’t anybody here know me?’” He looked quite mad. He beat his chest and bellowed, “‘This is not Lear!’”
“You’re telling me,” muttered Matthew.
“Okay, Bobby,” said Clarissa. “That was very interesting—especially the way you made your eyes bulge out.”
“Don’t you want me to do some more?” asked Bobby.
“Oh, no,” said Clarissa. “That’s enough, I think. It was—uh—very interesting the way you made your eyes bulge out. Thank you, Bobby. Let’s see Biff Parker next.”
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