on over jeans, her dark, glossy curls shining in the spotlight, her sea-green eyes smiling. For her cold reading, she read from the script as easily as if we were sitting at home around the breakfast table reading the cereal box.
Mr. C asked her to act like a bossy mother. Court jester. Mute king. Bumbling idiot. Alex did it all.
Mr. C asked her to act like a spoiled princess.
She doesn’t even have to act for that one! I wrote, passing my notebook to Olivia.
When the cold reading was over, it was time for Alex to do her song. I explained to Olivia about the Top Ten Songs Not to Sing list. “Here it comes,” I whispered. “Time for Mr. Cannon to roll his eyes and stick his finger down his throat like he’s puking.” I mimed Mr. Cannon throwing up, and Olivia almost lost it.
“Mr. Cannon,” I heard Alex say. “I just need a quick costume change. It will only take two seconds — I promise.”
“Costume change?” I said. “I never thought about a costume. Were we supposed to have a costume?”
“What’s her costume?” Olivia wanted to know.
“How should I know?” I said, zeroing in on my cuticle and biting it.
“She’s your sister.”
Alex glided onstage looking like the goddess Psyche in pink butterfly pajamas and fuzzy slippers, a fuschia feather boa draped around her neck.
I sat up straight. Was that dripping wet hair?
When Alex sashays onto a stage, it makes everybody sit up a little taller, lean in a little closer. She has a way about her. My dad calls it stage presence. It means smiling, looking out over your audience, and keeping going even if you feel like you’re about to hurl.
Oh, and something about good posture, too.
I could never do what Alex did. I would (a) die of embarrassment in my pajamas, (b) slump like a camel, and (c) trip on that feather boa for sure!
“What happened to her hair?” Olivia asked.
But before you could say moat swimmer, Alex made a show of squeezing shampoo from a bottle into her hand. She exaggerated lathering it up on her head until it was all foamy and sudsy, and just as I was beginning to wonder if my sister had seriously lost it, she started singing: “‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair.’”
At first, she sort of half spoke, half sang, then she pantomimed actions, which had everybody laughing. She even threw in a few funny dance steps in her slippers.
Brilliant, really. Because as I watched her and I was laughing, I almost forgot about her singing, which wasn’t half bad. Way better than Fluffernutter (Jayden Pffeffer). Over the years, I had seen my sister as Annie, as Dorothy, as Beauty, as Mushroom in the Rain. I’d even seen her in an honest-to-goodness, for-real shampoo commercial when she was like three.
Stage presence. Alex sure got extra helpings when they passed that around.
There were three auditions to go after Alex. Then, just like that, it was over, and Mr. Cannon was up onstage, making an official announcement.
“I realize that it’s customary to wait and post a list with callbacks, but since you’re all here and we have some extra time, I’d like to ask a few of you to stay behind. If I call your name, please come see me.”
I shifted in my seat, dropped my notebook, sat on my hands.
“The rest of you are free to go. Cast list will be posted outside my office on Wednesday at three p.m. Thanks for coming in, everybody. Great job, people.” He went down the list on his clipboard, calling out names.
Nathan Holabird. Jayden Pffeffer. Allen Albertson. Zoe DuFranc. And Stevie Reel.
“That’s you!” squealed Olivia beside me.
I couldn’t trust my own ears. “Are you sure he said Stevie Reel? Not Alex?” I asked.
“No. You. Go, girl!” said Olivia.
My heart was thumping through my stolen shirt as I scurried up to the stage. But it pounded even harder when I got to the front of the theater and saw the back of Alex rush up the aisle and disappear out the door marked EXIT.
COMEDY LOST
Starring
Mr. C asked her to act like a bossy mother. Court jester. Mute king. Bumbling idiot. Alex did it all.
Mr. C asked her to act like a spoiled princess.
She doesn’t even have to act for that one! I wrote, passing my notebook to Olivia.
When the cold reading was over, it was time for Alex to do her song. I explained to Olivia about the Top Ten Songs Not to Sing list. “Here it comes,” I whispered. “Time for Mr. Cannon to roll his eyes and stick his finger down his throat like he’s puking.” I mimed Mr. Cannon throwing up, and Olivia almost lost it.
“Mr. Cannon,” I heard Alex say. “I just need a quick costume change. It will only take two seconds — I promise.”
“Costume change?” I said. “I never thought about a costume. Were we supposed to have a costume?”
“What’s her costume?” Olivia wanted to know.
“How should I know?” I said, zeroing in on my cuticle and biting it.
“She’s your sister.”
Alex glided onstage looking like the goddess Psyche in pink butterfly pajamas and fuzzy slippers, a fuschia feather boa draped around her neck.
I sat up straight. Was that dripping wet hair?
When Alex sashays onto a stage, it makes everybody sit up a little taller, lean in a little closer. She has a way about her. My dad calls it stage presence. It means smiling, looking out over your audience, and keeping going even if you feel like you’re about to hurl.
Oh, and something about good posture, too.
I could never do what Alex did. I would (a) die of embarrassment in my pajamas, (b) slump like a camel, and (c) trip on that feather boa for sure!
“What happened to her hair?” Olivia asked.
But before you could say moat swimmer, Alex made a show of squeezing shampoo from a bottle into her hand. She exaggerated lathering it up on her head until it was all foamy and sudsy, and just as I was beginning to wonder if my sister had seriously lost it, she started singing: “‘I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair.’”
At first, she sort of half spoke, half sang, then she pantomimed actions, which had everybody laughing. She even threw in a few funny dance steps in her slippers.
Brilliant, really. Because as I watched her and I was laughing, I almost forgot about her singing, which wasn’t half bad. Way better than Fluffernutter (Jayden Pffeffer). Over the years, I had seen my sister as Annie, as Dorothy, as Beauty, as Mushroom in the Rain. I’d even seen her in an honest-to-goodness, for-real shampoo commercial when she was like three.
Stage presence. Alex sure got extra helpings when they passed that around.
There were three auditions to go after Alex. Then, just like that, it was over, and Mr. Cannon was up onstage, making an official announcement.
“I realize that it’s customary to wait and post a list with callbacks, but since you’re all here and we have some extra time, I’d like to ask a few of you to stay behind. If I call your name, please come see me.”
I shifted in my seat, dropped my notebook, sat on my hands.
“The rest of you are free to go. Cast list will be posted outside my office on Wednesday at three p.m. Thanks for coming in, everybody. Great job, people.” He went down the list on his clipboard, calling out names.
Nathan Holabird. Jayden Pffeffer. Allen Albertson. Zoe DuFranc. And Stevie Reel.
“That’s you!” squealed Olivia beside me.
I couldn’t trust my own ears. “Are you sure he said Stevie Reel? Not Alex?” I asked.
“No. You. Go, girl!” said Olivia.
My heart was thumping through my stolen shirt as I scurried up to the stage. But it pounded even harder when I got to the front of the theater and saw the back of Alex rush up the aisle and disappear out the door marked EXIT.
COMEDY LOST
Starring
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