least go down to the video store and see if we get any ideas,” I urged.
She shot me the Mad Gleam. “My dear Julia, I believe you may have hit upon the solution! Perhaps some playwright or screenwriter may have supplied Miss Austen’s missing words!” We rented three different Pride and Prejudice s. After some discussion and much poking at the rewind button, Ash picked the Colin Firth version of Darcy’s proposal and scribbled out a transcription.
For my audition piece, I chose Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech in Romeo and Juliet . It’s part of a scene in which Mercutio, my favorite character, mercilessly teases his cousin Romeo about being in love. He attributes Romeo’s mooniness to a visit from Queen Mab, the fairy responsible for dreams. I chose it because I knew it practically by heart, having written a paper about it for the Nettle. Still, I tended to agree with Yolanda that the play was at least as silly as it was beautiful. The whole tragedy was so unnecessary! If Romeo and Juliet had just talked to each other, nobody would have had to die.
Besides being easy for me to memorize, the speech also had the advantage of being by Shakespeare, and therefore tough for a modern girl to deliver and even tougher for a modern listener to follow. Although I refused to let myself flub the audition on purpose, I secretly hoped that the difficulty of the material would keep me from getting a part. Then I’d be spared the pain of watching my best friend’s budding relationship with my lost love.
Mrs. Gerard drove Yolanda, Ashleigh, and me to Forefield for our auditions. As the car wound up the drive toward the school on the hill, I felt my insides quadrilling in a way that couldn’t be explained by mere motion sickness.
“Break a leg, girls,” said Mrs. Gerard, dropping us in front of the R. McNichol Robbins Theater Arts Center, behind the main classroom building. We pulled open the heavy bronze doors and followed signs into the theater, where a group of people clustered near the stage.
A spotlight reflected brightly off the hair of a slim, tallish figure, transforming my inner quadrille into a gymnastics meet. When he stepped aside, however, I saw that he was not the person I half hoped, half dreaded to see, but a brown-haired boy about the same height.
“Ashleigh! Julie!” called a male voice from the other side of the room. It set the trampolines going again briefly until I recognized it a split second later as Ned’s bass. He bounded up the aisle to meet us. “You made it! Come meet Benjo and Ms. Wilson.”
Ashleigh introduced Yolanda, and we followed Ned down to the front of the theater. Aside from one pale creature in a Sacred Heart uniform, we three were the only girls. “Hey, it’s Erin from Sacred Heart,” said Yolanda, running up to greet her. Chris Stevens—the boy who had shared my planter at the Columbus Cotillion—lounged beside Erin. He winked at me. Boys of various sizes punched each other and squirmed, or sat apart reviewing their monologues; some stared at us out of the corners of their eyes.
Benjo turned out to be the tallish, brown-haired guy who had so alarmed me. After a few minutes, during which a bell rang somewhere and additional aspiring actors arrived—including another Sacred Heart girl, this one quite young—he called for silence and addressed us. “Okay, let’s get started. I’m Benjamin Seward, and I’ll be directing Midwinter Insomnia , an original musical by Barry Davison, with music by Ned Downing and lyrics by Grandison Parr. That’s Barry over there, and Ned’s next to him, and Parr—where’s Parr?—oh, I guess he’s still at fencing practice. Anyway, most of you know Mr. Barnaby, our faculty adviser, and Ms. Wilson, our musical adviser.” He indicated a bald, bearded man with a barrel chest and prominent ears and a slender, petite woman with straightened hair pulled back into a knot at her neck. Benjo continued, “When I call your name, please come up
She shot me the Mad Gleam. “My dear Julia, I believe you may have hit upon the solution! Perhaps some playwright or screenwriter may have supplied Miss Austen’s missing words!” We rented three different Pride and Prejudice s. After some discussion and much poking at the rewind button, Ash picked the Colin Firth version of Darcy’s proposal and scribbled out a transcription.
For my audition piece, I chose Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech in Romeo and Juliet . It’s part of a scene in which Mercutio, my favorite character, mercilessly teases his cousin Romeo about being in love. He attributes Romeo’s mooniness to a visit from Queen Mab, the fairy responsible for dreams. I chose it because I knew it practically by heart, having written a paper about it for the Nettle. Still, I tended to agree with Yolanda that the play was at least as silly as it was beautiful. The whole tragedy was so unnecessary! If Romeo and Juliet had just talked to each other, nobody would have had to die.
Besides being easy for me to memorize, the speech also had the advantage of being by Shakespeare, and therefore tough for a modern girl to deliver and even tougher for a modern listener to follow. Although I refused to let myself flub the audition on purpose, I secretly hoped that the difficulty of the material would keep me from getting a part. Then I’d be spared the pain of watching my best friend’s budding relationship with my lost love.
Mrs. Gerard drove Yolanda, Ashleigh, and me to Forefield for our auditions. As the car wound up the drive toward the school on the hill, I felt my insides quadrilling in a way that couldn’t be explained by mere motion sickness.
“Break a leg, girls,” said Mrs. Gerard, dropping us in front of the R. McNichol Robbins Theater Arts Center, behind the main classroom building. We pulled open the heavy bronze doors and followed signs into the theater, where a group of people clustered near the stage.
A spotlight reflected brightly off the hair of a slim, tallish figure, transforming my inner quadrille into a gymnastics meet. When he stepped aside, however, I saw that he was not the person I half hoped, half dreaded to see, but a brown-haired boy about the same height.
“Ashleigh! Julie!” called a male voice from the other side of the room. It set the trampolines going again briefly until I recognized it a split second later as Ned’s bass. He bounded up the aisle to meet us. “You made it! Come meet Benjo and Ms. Wilson.”
Ashleigh introduced Yolanda, and we followed Ned down to the front of the theater. Aside from one pale creature in a Sacred Heart uniform, we three were the only girls. “Hey, it’s Erin from Sacred Heart,” said Yolanda, running up to greet her. Chris Stevens—the boy who had shared my planter at the Columbus Cotillion—lounged beside Erin. He winked at me. Boys of various sizes punched each other and squirmed, or sat apart reviewing their monologues; some stared at us out of the corners of their eyes.
Benjo turned out to be the tallish, brown-haired guy who had so alarmed me. After a few minutes, during which a bell rang somewhere and additional aspiring actors arrived—including another Sacred Heart girl, this one quite young—he called for silence and addressed us. “Okay, let’s get started. I’m Benjamin Seward, and I’ll be directing Midwinter Insomnia , an original musical by Barry Davison, with music by Ned Downing and lyrics by Grandison Parr. That’s Barry over there, and Ned’s next to him, and Parr—where’s Parr?—oh, I guess he’s still at fencing practice. Anyway, most of you know Mr. Barnaby, our faculty adviser, and Ms. Wilson, our musical adviser.” He indicated a bald, bearded man with a barrel chest and prominent ears and a slender, petite woman with straightened hair pulled back into a knot at her neck. Benjo continued, “When I call your name, please come up
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