Like It Never Happened by Emily Adrian Page B

and only one thing I owed her.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said.
    â€œIt’s fine.” She shook her curls. “I mean, you tried to tell me.”
    â€œNot very hard.”
    â€œNot very hard,” she allowed. “Good night.”
    â€œCan I walk you home?” was all I asked.
    She dismissed my offer with a wave. “No thanks.”
    I watched her manage the porch steps one at a time. “We’ll meet again in Moscow,” she said, slurring a little so it sounded like “Moschow.”
    It was what my character said to Charlie’s in The Seagull, right before our onstage kiss.

CHAPTER 15

    S chool started and Mr . McFadden allowed the five of us to audition first, presumably so he could proceed to sleep through the sad attempts of the nonessentials. When it was Hadley Clarke’s turn, she took the stage and clasped her hands behind her back, like somebody about to deliver her first book report. She wore vintage overalls and oversized glasses. The idea that Hadley and I had something in common just because our mothers had once coached each other through “deep, cleansing breaths” had never seemed more absurd.
    â€œI would like to audition for the part of Blanche DuBois,” said Hadley.
    Total silence.
    Mr. McFadden peered down the row of seats, where the five of us stared at Hadley in shock. “That’s not how it works,” he said, somewhat gently. “Everyone will get the role to which he or she is best suited.”
    â€œRight, I know the rules but I just wanted—” Hadley’s voice wavered. “I just wanted to be clear about my intentions, and I—” She steadied herself and took a breath. “I intend to play Blanche DuBois.”
    Her eyes were focused on the back wall of the auditorium.
    Mr. McFadden tapped his pen against his clipboard, clearly annoyed. “Please perform your selected material, Ms. Clarke.”
    I half expected Hadley to break the second cardinal rule of auditions: no material from the actual play. But she didn’t. She performed the monologue from Steel Magnolias about how men are supposed to be made out of steel, but really it’s women.
    Afterward we filed out of the auditorium and stood in a circle on the steps. Liane was the first to comment on Hadley’s transgression, saying, “That was so weird.”
    â€œDo you think she’s trying to start an uprising?” Charlie asked.
    â€œThe revenge of the secondary characters,” Tess warbled.
    Tim nudged my shoe with his. “Do you and Hadley Clarke have some old score to settle?”
    Everybody looked at me, I guess because Tim’s idea would have made for an interesting story. But no; the bulk of my history with Hadley had occurred while we were both still in utero.
    â€œDo you think she has a shot?” I asked, sounding more nervous than I really was. Physically, I was all wrong for the part. To blanch something means to drain it of color, and I was dark where Hadley was practically translucent. But I was also Mr. McFadden’s favorite.
    â€œNo way,” said Charlie.
    Tess and Tim swept their heads back and forth. Even Liane put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
    â€œRest assured,” she said. “The lead is yours.”

    On Saturday morning my mother burst into my room with a grave, “Rebecca, I have to tell you something.”
    I sat up and gave her my full attention. Because that’s what you do when a person rouses you from the depths of sleep to inform you that your sister or somebody has died.
    â€œCharlie is outside, and he brought yellow roses.”
    I gave my eyes a moment to focus on my mother’s face, already caked with beige makeup at nine in the morning. Then I pulled the sheet over my head.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said. “He probably doesn’t know. Boys don’t usually keep track of these things.”
    â€œKnow what ?” I groaned, unable to