Vann lowers the sheet of paper, his eyes on the audience, and he asks, “Why’d I follow you here? Is that what you wanna know?”
It takes me a second to realize he isn’t asking us. He’s starting his audition. The words are from the script.
“Well. I’ve got a few reasons, actually. But before I say them, can you stop looking at me like that? Like I’m a …” He glances at the paper to get the rest of the line, then looks up. “Like I’m a dirty stray cat …?” His face is creased with tension. At once, that tension eases, and he lets on a smile. “It’s alright. I wouldn’t trust me, either. But I take it that look in your eye means you like cats.”
I hear a few muted laughs here and there. Vann’s delivery is so natural, calm, and deadpan, it’s like he’s actually talking to us. For a moment, we forget we’re attending an audition.
And his smile. Vann’s smile. I was right. His whole face lights up, and he becomes a completely different person. The slight flush to his cheeks glows with the warmth of his pink lips as they spread like waves in a pool, revealing dimples that crush my heart at the very sight of them. And what his smile does to his eyes is nothing short of hypnotizing. I could get lost in them for lifetimes.
When Vann finishes, I realize I was so absorbed in his beauty that I didn’t even catch the rest of his piece. The second he’s done, the light flickers out of his eyes, and he’s his brooding self again. “Thanks,” he mumbles, then grabs his backpack off the ground by his feet and hops off the stage. He returns the side to an uncharacteristically stunned Tamika before slumping back to his seat, pulling out his sketchpad, and resuming his work, the whole world dead to him again.
I stare after him in a frustrated daze, stars still floating in my eyes. Who are you, Vann? Why won’t you let me get to know you? He just sits there scribbling away in his sketchpad, likely the same one I see every chemistry class, the one I keep wanting to strike up a conversation about. It’s like that pad is his best friend. I guess I can relate. I once had an easel in my garage that was the gateway to my imagination before it was destroyed.
The very next person to the stage is Frankie Lopez, the star of every show since his freshman year. Now a senior, he struts right up and performs his piece to a distracted Ms. Joy. Yes, he notices, and his whole audition becomes a tug-of-war for her attention as he reads the very same piece for the character of Kingsley, but it is more than obvious that something is lacking.
Nothing has ever lacked from a performance by Frankie.
Maybe we never knew better. Maybe Frankie never had true competition before. Maybe he’s always been a big fish in this tiny, dusty pond of the Spruce High Theatre Department.
And the more I stare at Vann across the rows of seats, the more aggravated I become. He doesn’t even know I’m here. The moody mystery marvel that is Vann won’t look up from his stupid sketchpad. Hell, he’s not even looking at the stage either, giving no time of day to anyone but himself.
I wonder if anything at all will get his attention.
It’s an hour (and nine more auditions) later when Ms. Joy says something quietly to Tamika, and Tamika springs from her seat to address us again. “Thanks to everyone who auditioned so far! As you may have noticed, our turnout this year is … less than usual. But hey! I’ve got a solution, y’all! I’d like to invite anyone else out there who didn’t sign up to come up and audition. Don’t be afraid! I see y’all’s faces! Don’t you worry one bit about it. We have had only two of you read for the role of Danielle. Do it for fun! Don’t you see how fun it is?? Just hop on up here. We’ve got the time.”
The silence stretches on as seats creak and heads turn left and right, curious if anyone will actually take the bait. Vann doesn’t look anywhere but his sketching. Even this doesn’t interest him.
Well, let’s change that.
“I’ll go,” I announce, slipping right out of my seat, leaving a stunned Kelsey, and heading down the aisle—right past Vann—on my way to the front. I hear the commotion of people turning to get a look at me as I head up to a bright-eyed and grateful Tamika, take a sheet from her, and head up the side steps to the stage.
All of my confidence, however, drains from me the moment I stand on that stage, facing the crowd. To be fair, there are a lot more empty seats than filled ones, as it’s likely just twenty-five to thirty of us here. But still I’m wracked with nerves, as if every seat is filled with a bored audience member, waiting to be entertained. I can’t seem to make my mouth move. Why did I do this, again?