Understudy

“Guys, I really can’t make her do anything. She doesn’t talk to me that much outside of school.”

Gwen touches my shoulder like we’re suddenly best friends. “You have to try. I need this play. I’ve already put it on my college applications.”

“Shit,” Greg says. “I did too.”

“You are already mailing out college applications?” I ask, counting the months in my head until school is out. All I’ve done so far is gather the applications and ask teachers for recommendation letters.

“Yes, Wren,” Gwen says as if she’s talking to a child. “We’re seniors. That’s what seniors do.”

Mrs. Buchanan clears her throat and everyone’s necks almost break as we spin around to look at her. “Your teacher didn’t leave any work for you to do,” she says, seemingly unaware that everyone is out of their seat. “But Principal Walsh said you were all in a play and could just practice that.” She takes a People magazine out of her oversized purse and opens the first page. “Also, if anyone has an idea of what I can do for the freshman theater arts class after this one, I’d appreciate the help.”

“Wow,” Gwen says, standing up and throwing her arms around Ricky, who blushes but returns the hug. “I guess the play is still on!”

Everyone claps and the room fills with excited chatter. A huge smile plants itself on my face and I couldn’t make it go away if I tried. All last night and this morning I’ve had a massive pain in my chest, a heavy weighted feeling of doom and I wasn’t sure why.

But as soon as Greg says, “Looks like we’ll be seeing more of each other,” and gives me a knowing wink, it hits me. I hadn’t felt sad about Ms. Barlow quitting. I felt sad about not seeing Derek anymore.

But as they say, the show must go on.

I’m pulled out of History by a freshman office aide wearing a pound of makeup and a rosary around her neck. “What is this about?” I ask, trying to read the little green square of paper in her hand. The one with my name on it in a chicken scratch type of handwriting. Most women don’t write like that, so it’s probably not from the counselor.

“Like they would tell me,” she says. “The first day of school they made me take a stupid-ass test on confidentiality.” She makes air quotes on the last word.

I don’t remember the last time I’ve been called down to the office for any reason other than an early dismissal. My braces have been off for months, so there’s no more two-thirty appointments to have them tightened giving me an excuse to ditch class early once a month. I haven’t done anything wrong lately, so I’m not exactly nervous.

But an odd feeling settles in my stomach. Like what if something terrible happened to my parents? Or Aunt Barlow—what if she killed herself or something?

No. That wouldn’t happen.

Right?

The principal’s assistant waves at me when I walk into the office. She’s on her cell phone, talking about property taxes so she points to Principal Walsh’s office and knocks in the air. None of my family members are weeping in the waiting area, nor are there any cops, so my mind eases a little.

But only a little, because the principal wants to see me? Yeah, this is a first. My mind races through everything I’ve done in the last few days. Does he know I made out with Greg at school? Is there some kind of hidden camera in the auditorium?

What if it’s about Derek? What if I can’t hang out with him outside of school anymore? Wait, why would the school even care about that? I knock on the door.

Principal Walsh opens the door and I’m relieved when I don’t see a paddle in his hand although I’m not even sure if schools still paddle students or not. Plus, I haven’t done anything wrong. That’s my story, at least.

I sit in the stained chair in front of his desk as he sits across from me. “How are you today, Wren?” His breathing is heavy because of all that hard work he just did walking from his desk to the door and back. I tell him I’m fine. I hate how he uses my first name like we’re pals. The one and only time I’ve talked to him this year was when I asked for my recommendation letter.

His hand taps the papers on his desk. The top one is a letter with the school’s letterhead at the top and his signature at the bottom. It looks exactly like the other three that I have at home in my scholarship folder. My recommendation letter.

“I’ve been working on your letter,” he says, resting his hands on his gut. “It isn’t finished yet, unfortunately.”

My eyes narrow. “It kind of seems finished to me.”

He shoves it into a manila folder with my name on

it. “Well it isn’t.”

“Is there anything you need from me?” I don’t hide the confusion from my voice.

He leans across his desk, with his hands flat on the metal desktop. “I’m going to be honest with you, Wren. Sophie’s unexpected resignation has put a lot of stress on the school. It’s the middle of the school year and we can’t find a replacement theater arts teacher.”

“Okay?” What does this have to do with me? If he thinks he can ask me to make her change her mind, then he has obviously never dealt with my aunt.

“We can get a substitute for the class, but they won’t know how to direct a play. This play can’t get cancelled. We’ve already sold out of tickets for the show, and unfortunately the school has spent that money.” He throws his arms in the air. “The show must go on, if you will.”