want everyone to start trying to learn their lines right away. I want them memorized by the end of next week at the latest. Now, let’s get out our math books and turn to page two-ten. We’re going to be working on fractions this morning.”
Except that I didn’t get out my math book. And I didn’t turn to page 210.
Because I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. I’d tried out for the role of Princess Penelope—I’d worked really, really hard on my audition—and yet, somehow, I’d ended up as the princess’s evil stepmother ?
How could something like that even happen?
I mean, no offense, but I had been the best Princess Penelope at the auditions. I’m not even being a braggart, either, when I say that. I had practiced with an actual theater major (well, he was at one time). Uncle Jay had totally coached me. I hadn’t overacted like Cheyenne. And I had even made Mrs. Hunter laugh during my audition!
And okay, maybe she wasn’t supposed to have laughed. But come on!
And I know I don’t look as much like a princess as Sophie does. I’m not totally beautiful in the traditional sense the way she is.
But I know I’m a better actress. I’m not saying that to be mean. And I would never say it to Sophie’s face.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And I know it.
So why would Mrs. Hunter— my Mrs. Hunter, the best teacher I’d ever had—give me the worst part in the whole entire play ? The part of the evil, mean sorceress who spends the play trying to kill not only the pretty heroine but everyone else in the Realm of Recycling? A character who litters? A character who thinks global warming doesn’t exist even though ninety-eight percent of scientists do, and who doesn’t realize you can save a tree by recycling a stack of newspapers only three feet high? The character everyone hates? Why? WHY?
It didn’t make any sense. Had I done something to make Mrs. Hunter hate me? I couldn’t remember doing anything to make Mrs. Hunter hate me. But maybe I had, by accident or something. Maybe I had disappointed her in some way, and so in revenge, or to teach me a lesson, she was making me take this awful, awful part.
Or maybe…maybe Mrs. Hunter was mad at my mom. Maybe Mrs. Hunter had really loved Requiem for a Somnambulist and was mad that my mom called it preachy and pretentious.
But no…that made no sense. She had said my mom’s performance on Good News! the night before had been wonderful. Why would she say that if she didn’t agree with my mom’s review?
No. It must be me. It must be me Mrs. Hunter hated.
I wanted to cry. A few moments earlier, I had been telling myself not to celebrate too hard in order not to hurt my best friend’s feelings.
And now I was sitting there, trying hard not to burst into tears in front of the whole class.
Only not really, because no one was even paying attention to me. Everyone was too busy buzzing about Sophie and her remarkable achievement.
And Sophie was being fittingly modest, acting just the way a proper princess should, saying, “Oh, thanks,” and “Well, I’m just going to do my best,” and “It’s all Mrs. Hunter’s doing, really, for giving me the chance.”
I’m sorry, but even though I know it’s wrong to hate people, a part of me hated Sophie just then!
Well, okay, maybe not. But a part of me really disliked her. Just a little. Because that should have been me saying those things! How come no one was crowding around my desk, congratulating me?
Oh, wait. I know why. Because everyone hates the evil queen!
To prove it, Stuart Maxwell just threw a wadded-up piece of paper at me and went, “Ha. Evil queen. That suits you, Allie!”
I wanted to cry even more when he said that. But instead, remembering I was an actress, I acted like I didn’t want to cry. I said, “Well, you’re an evil soldier. And you work for me, the evil queen. So you have to do what I say. And I say, shut
Except that I didn’t get out my math book. And I didn’t turn to page 210.
Because I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, I just couldn’t believe it. I’d tried out for the role of Princess Penelope—I’d worked really, really hard on my audition—and yet, somehow, I’d ended up as the princess’s evil stepmother ?
How could something like that even happen?
I mean, no offense, but I had been the best Princess Penelope at the auditions. I’m not even being a braggart, either, when I say that. I had practiced with an actual theater major (well, he was at one time). Uncle Jay had totally coached me. I hadn’t overacted like Cheyenne. And I had even made Mrs. Hunter laugh during my audition!
And okay, maybe she wasn’t supposed to have laughed. But come on!
And I know I don’t look as much like a princess as Sophie does. I’m not totally beautiful in the traditional sense the way she is.
But I know I’m a better actress. I’m not saying that to be mean. And I would never say it to Sophie’s face.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And I know it.
So why would Mrs. Hunter— my Mrs. Hunter, the best teacher I’d ever had—give me the worst part in the whole entire play ? The part of the evil, mean sorceress who spends the play trying to kill not only the pretty heroine but everyone else in the Realm of Recycling? A character who litters? A character who thinks global warming doesn’t exist even though ninety-eight percent of scientists do, and who doesn’t realize you can save a tree by recycling a stack of newspapers only three feet high? The character everyone hates? Why? WHY?
It didn’t make any sense. Had I done something to make Mrs. Hunter hate me? I couldn’t remember doing anything to make Mrs. Hunter hate me. But maybe I had, by accident or something. Maybe I had disappointed her in some way, and so in revenge, or to teach me a lesson, she was making me take this awful, awful part.
Or maybe…maybe Mrs. Hunter was mad at my mom. Maybe Mrs. Hunter had really loved Requiem for a Somnambulist and was mad that my mom called it preachy and pretentious.
But no…that made no sense. She had said my mom’s performance on Good News! the night before had been wonderful. Why would she say that if she didn’t agree with my mom’s review?
No. It must be me. It must be me Mrs. Hunter hated.
I wanted to cry. A few moments earlier, I had been telling myself not to celebrate too hard in order not to hurt my best friend’s feelings.
And now I was sitting there, trying hard not to burst into tears in front of the whole class.
Only not really, because no one was even paying attention to me. Everyone was too busy buzzing about Sophie and her remarkable achievement.
And Sophie was being fittingly modest, acting just the way a proper princess should, saying, “Oh, thanks,” and “Well, I’m just going to do my best,” and “It’s all Mrs. Hunter’s doing, really, for giving me the chance.”
I’m sorry, but even though I know it’s wrong to hate people, a part of me hated Sophie just then!
Well, okay, maybe not. But a part of me really disliked her. Just a little. Because that should have been me saying those things! How come no one was crowding around my desk, congratulating me?
Oh, wait. I know why. Because everyone hates the evil queen!
To prove it, Stuart Maxwell just threw a wadded-up piece of paper at me and went, “Ha. Evil queen. That suits you, Allie!”
I wanted to cry even more when he said that. But instead, remembering I was an actress, I acted like I didn’t want to cry. I said, “Well, you’re an evil soldier. And you work for me, the evil queen. So you have to do what I say. And I say, shut
Similar Books
