Rain (Hudson 1)

"It's so big," I said.

"It seats 800. Nice size. Great stage, state of the art lighting and sound with a ceiling high enough to fly sets?'

"Fly?"

He laughed.

"You know, draw them up and lower them to change settings in a show," he explained.

I saw a crowd of girls and boys had gathered at the front of the theater. Their laughter resounded through the auditorium. As soon as they saw Mr. Bufurd approaching, they all grew still and took seats, the boys moving as quicky as the girls.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he announced. "Thanks for coming?'

A tall, strawberry blonde with eyes just a little lighter green than Mr. Bufurd's approached us. She wore a long skirt and a light-blue cashmere sweater that clung tightly to her firm bosom. She carried a clipboard and copies of scripts.

"Good afternoon, Colleen," Mr. Bufurd said. "This is Rain Arnold, a new student."

"Hi," she said, not wasting her eyes on me for long. "I have everyone's name in alphabetical order," she told him.

"That's great. Colleen is my P.A., production assistant," he told me. "She intends to pursue a career in the theater."

Colleen's face brightened with pride.

"Rain Arnold?" she asked me. I nodded.

"That puts her pretty much up front, doesn't it?" he asked her.

"There's an Atwell," she said looking at her list. "Martin."

"Looks like you're lead-off batter," Mr. Bufurd told me. "Just as I predicted. Colleen will show you the section I want read."

He moved to a seat in the center of the third row behind all the students. Colleen handed me a script and turned the pages, pointing to a section.

"He likes to hear candidates read cold," she said.

I gazed at the dialogue. It happened to be one of my favorite parts in the play, when Emily Webb says goodbye to life, to all the small but important things. I remember I cried when I read it.

"Where do I--"

"On the stage," Colleen said. "Where else? Just go on up there."

I looked at Mr. Bufurd. He had set himself up with his pad and pencil and suddenly looked very official and impersonal.

"Let's begin," he called.

How did I get myself into this? I wondered as I headed for the stage. All eyes were on me, some of the girls looking downright furious at the audacity of my bursting in on their turf my first day at their school.

When I stood on the stage, I looked into the audience, but the lights were on so I was blinded and couldn't quite see Mr. Bufurd.

"Start any time," he called when I stared. There was some laughter.

Here goes nothing, I thought and began. As I read the passage, I thought about Mama and our goodbyes. It put tears into my words and nearly choked me before I finished. When I did, there was no applause, no sound, just some rustling.

"Thank you, Rain," I heard Mr. Bufurd say. "Next, please, Colleen?'

"Atwell, Martin," she called.

I hurried down the steps and up the aisle, picking up my books. Mr. Bufurd smiled at me and then turned back to the stage as I continued up the aisle, fleeing into the courtyard and hurrying down the walkway to meet Jake. He was standing by the limousine talking to a groundskeeper.