Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do? by Cynthia Voigt Page B

gathered students.
    Ms. Hendriks didn’t grin back, but many people in the room choked back laughter.
    â€œThen what part will you be reading for us today?” Ms. Hendriks asked.
    â€œDemetrius, because the other guy is sort of a noodle, you know?” Richard looked at the teacher’s expression and added, “I’ll play Oberon, though, if you want me to. I mean, all of Shakespeare’s parts are pretty good ones,” he explained to his audience.
    â€œHadrian should play Oberon,” someone suggested, to increasingly out-loud laughter.
    Hadrian sat invisible. Margalo’s brain was frozen. It would all get better when they heard him read, she repeated to herself.
    â€œBut he’s gotta keep that hairdo,” someone else said.
    â€œHadrian’s a natural for fairy king,” someone added, and the whole room—still with the same two exceptions—burst into uncontrolled laughter. Ms. Hendriks, standing again, said, “Patrick. That’s more than enough. You’re excused from the room.”
    â€œBut I haven’t read.”
    â€œYou heard me,” she said.
    â€œBut everybody was—”
    â€œYou’re excused from Drama, too,” she told him. “I will inform Mr. Robredo of the change in your schedule.”
    The room was now completely silent.
    â€œIt wasn’t just me,” Patrick protested, but he knew nobody would stand up for him. He rose to his feet and looked resentfully around the room, his gaze finally settling on Hadrian Klenk, the invisible boy, who had caused him to be thrown out of Drama. “It was just a joke,” Patrick said, turning back to the teacher. “Can’t you tell a joke when you hear it?”
    Ms. Hendriks did not bend. “Yes,” she said. “But I didn’t hear one. Go.”
    For a really nice person, and young, and female, and in love, and pretty, too, Ms. Hendriks was being awfully strict. His friends felt they should stick up for Patrick, so they, too, snuck dirty looks at Hadrian, who shrank back into himself to let that wave of blame and anger flow over him.
    In fact, probably the only person who still felt sorry forHadrian was Ms. Hendriks. Margalo didn’t have to feel sorry for him because as soon as he read for a part in the play, Hadrian’s school life would be on the road to recovery.
    The tryout readings continued, students one after the other going up to sit in the chair facing Ms. Hendriks and read—or occasionally recite from memory—the lines they had prepared. After the last junior had read, Margalo said, without looking at Hadrian, “I don’t have a chance.”
    Out of the corner of her eye she saw his spiky head nodding agreement.
    â€œBut you do,” she told him.
    However, when the last tenth grader had read, Ms. Hendriks stood up. “Thank you all very much,” she told them. “You’ve worked hard for this, and it shows. These were good auditions.”
    â€œWhat about me?” Shawn Macavity asked. He raised his hand, then stood up so she could see him better. “What about my part?”
    â€œAnd you are?”
    â€œShawn Macavity,” he answered, with an unspoken of course and a wide smile on his handsome face.
    â€œYou’re not a member of Drama Club, are you?”
    â€œNot a member, but I’m going to be an actor. I didn’t want to do all that Shakespeare study,” he reminded her, “but I do want a part.”
    â€œWhat speech did you prepare?”
    â€œI didn’t know I was supposed to,” he explained, and offered, “I can still read.”
    â€œAnd what grade are you in, Shawn?” she asked.
    â€œNinth.”
    The teacher relaxed. “Oh. Well. In that case, you see, you couldn’t be in the play anyway. I’ve been told that it’s school policy not to give ninth graders roles in the plays, unless there are extenuating circumstances. Which there