NaNo 2022 (cont.)

5000 words:

Reducio

Day 1: 1667
Day 2: 3334
Day 3: 5001

10000 words:

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Day 4: 6668
Day 5: 8335
Day 6: 10002

20000 words:

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Day 7: 11669
Day 8: 13336
Day 9: 15003
Day 10: 16670
Day 11: 18337
Day 12: 20004

30000 words:

Reducio

Day 13: 21671
Day 14: 23338
Day 15: 25005
Day 16: 26672
Day 17: 28339
Day 18: 30006

40000 words:

Reducio

Day 19: 31673
Day 20: 33340
Day 21: 35007
Day 22: 36674
Day 23: 38341
Day 24: 40008

50000 words:

Reducio

Day 25: 41675
Day 26: 43342
Day 27: 45009
Day 28: 46676
Day 29: 48343
Day 30: 50000

A dark shadow shifted against the stone. Marcella jumped, clutching her fist to her chest. The shadow was too tall to be the great lizard that supposedly haunted these hallowed halls, but she grasped her bow tighter in her other hand.

The shadow moved closer. Her eyes, hopefully not deceiving her, focused on the shape. A night wraith? No, he came into focus and it was Emory. The new knight her father had brought to the castle.

“Looking for the lizard, too?” He smirked. His boyish grin shining in the darkness. His black hair

No his blond hair

NO his chestnut brown hair glinted in the lamplight

NO his curly

Minnie let out a cry of frustration, her disposable fountain pen piercing the thin notebook paper as she furiously crossed the lines out of existence. The brave, boyish, impish, fantastically handsome Emory, the perfect yin for her heroine Marcella’s yang, had been elusive for months. What did he look like? Every other aspect of the story flooded from her fingertips, pen to paper, flowing into a stream of cursive. But every scene with Emory stopped short, cut by her lack of imagination.

“Hey, you okay?”

Minnie let out another cry, this time out of surprise, bracing herself against the cold brick wall. She realized that first cry had reverberated around the empty hallway. Her cheeks flooded red as she looked up at her friend Jess. The NHS president Chess club captain workaholic stood over Minnie, hands on hips, eyebrows raised. Minnie had a habit of being louder than she wanted to, especially when focused or frustrated or scared or excited or well—alive. And her friends never let her forget it.

“Jeez, Jess you scared me.”

Jess’s eyebrows climbed further still and her head jutted forward, and Minnie could imagine her about to say “you still haven’t answered my question.”

Minnie came up with an answer, “Oh, I uh, was just working on some calculus homework, and I just couldn’t get the answer, it’s frustrating that’s all, sorry.”

“You’re doing calculus, at a time like this!” Jess threw her backpack to the ground and plopped next to Minnie, legs spread wide in a v-shape. Minnie inwardly sighed relief; Jess believed her. In a swift motion, she closed her notebook and shoved it safely back into her bag.

Emory was still floating around the periphery of her mind, distracting her from Jess’s meaning. “What do you mean a time like this?”

Jess, whose face always seemed to animate beyond reality’s limits for human expression, dropped her jaw, raised her eyebrows somehow further, reached her hands up in mock horror, and let something out between a tsk and a clutch-your-pearls gasp.

Then in a somber whisper, “Minnie. Auditions.” She blinked profusely, awaiting Minnie’s answer.

Oh, right. The reason they were both sitting here. Outside the school’s auditorium. Minnie was often alarmed at how easy it was to disappear into a blank page. With an embarrassed chuckle, “Oh right! Yeah! Those derivatives, they really mess with your sense of time and place, you know.”

“Well, are you ready?”

“Of course! Monologue memorized. Motivations prepared. Voice warmed up.” Minnie thought to ask who Jess was auditioning for, that’s usually how these conversations went, but she immediately struck the question down. She knew the answer, of course. They were both going for the lead.

Jess perhaps also thought it best to not mention the elephant in the room. “Have you heard anything about the new director? I talked to Mrs. Thomas today, and she said she’s young! Fresh out college. If she does well as our director, she might get a shot at an English teacher position next year.”

A pang of ugly jealousy bubbled in Minnie’s throat. Jess had crushed her three years running in the Thespian Society president elections, which gave Jess more opportunities to chitchat with their favorite theatre teacher and adviser for Thespian troupe, Mrs. Thomas—the teacher who had always directed their school plays until she gave up that mantle last spring. Our Town had been Mrs. Thomas’s magnum opus (Jess in the lead), plus her doctor told her no more long nights of directing rambunctious teenagers—Minnie couldn’t remember why, a frail heart, arthritis, indigestion? It was whatever happened to people Mrs. Thomas’s age, and the school had hired a young person in her stead this year.

“It sounds like you know more than I do, Jess.” Okay that sounded a little harsh—Minnie tried to cover it with, “I mean she must have great taste, though. She picked Little Women for her first play. It’s one of my favorite books. I bet she’s pretty cool.”

“Oh, I’ve never read the book, but I think I have the gist. It’s a good choice considering the drama club is basically just ladies, no boys. We can probably get like one boy to audition to be whatever his name is—something like Larry, right?.”

Minnie couldn’t help but wrap her jealousy around Jess’s admission. Jess had never read the book? She had but a gist? Just a gist of Little Women? Larry?! Jess had a few more lead roles under her belt, sure, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t get Jo. This fall was Minnie’s time to shine.

“His name is Laurie, short for Lawrence.”

“Oh, right, right, right, Laurie—”

“HAPPY AUDITION DAY!” A shrill voice entered the hallway first, followed by its owner. Emily. Unlike Minnie, she wanted to be loud. Trailing close behind Emily was her other half, Lizzie. The two had been best friends long before Minnie transferred here in ninth grade. They could usually be found together, quoting musicals and/or wingmanning each other in the presence of cute boys—with their romance attempts so far being largely unsuccessful.

Emily struck a pose in front of them, maybe something akin to cheerleader move, if one had only had a vague notion of what a cheerleader was. At the end of her outstretched arms were spirit fingers, moving as fast as the piece of gum in her mouth. “Are you guys excited?”

Jess returned the spirit fingers, “Of course!”

Minnie rolled her eyes appreciatively, letting out a few spare giggles.

From behind Emily, Minnie clocked Lizzie giving a tentative smile before briskly sitting down in a huff. Strange. Normally, she would have probably joined Emily in the spirit finger parade. Emily didn’t seem to notice and sat down next to her, forming the start of a circle.

Somehow unaware of the stench of a large elephant, Emily asked the unthinkable. “So who are you guys auditioning for? I’m going for Jo!”

Minnie and Jess made the slightest eye contact before looking back at Emily. Minnie crossed her arms over her chest, tightening her knees against her torso. Luckily, Jess went first, “I’m going for Jo, too. Though to be honest, I might have too many scheduling conflicts for the lead role this year. So we’ll see. I suppose Amy won’t be too bad of a part.”

The coil of jealousy loosened a bit. There was an opening for Minnie. Jess had her eyes set on everything—but Minnie concentrated only on theatre as her extracurricular. She wanted to win the role based on talent, but an empty box under “conflicts” on her audition sheet had its advantages. “I’m also going for Jo. She’s an aspiring writer, I’m an aspiring writer. I think I really understand her.”

“Yeah, but you never let us read your writing!” Emily said.

Before Minnie could think of a response, a boy walked into the hallway. He looked at them awkwardly, lifting his arm as if to wave but swiftly abandoned the move. Minnie had never seen him before and wondered briefly if he looked like Emory. He was tall, had dark hair, emerald eyes, all-around points in the looks department—except for the unsightly acne clinging to his otherwise sharp jawline. No, he wasn’t Emory.

“Uh, are you guys here for auditions—I mean is this the right place? I’m auditioning that is.” He said.

Emily responded in an instant, “Yes, we’re all auditioning for Little Women. You’re in the right place.” She was smiling, her voice much lower than usual. Minnie might have used the word “sultry” to describe its pitch and tone.

The boy nodded and gave one of those half-smiles where the bottom lip curls in. “Uh thanks, Emily.” And as if a fire had started, he evacuated their section of the hallway, retreating to another corner on the other side of the auditorium doors. He took out a piece of paper from his backpack, eyes locked to its content as if his life depended on it.

Emily flipped her head back toward the group, her short ponytail swinging in annoyance. “Guys! That’s Avery. He’s a new kid. One year below us, a junior. And he’s mega cute. And I spent all of band camp chatting with him. I think I’m making major headway.” She relayed all this in an animated whisper.

Jess leaned in closer. “Oh he must be the new second chair trumpet. Carter has been talking about him, I think they’re getting close. You could hit him up to see if he can get you an in.” Carter was Jess’s obnoxious boyfriend—or so Minnie thought. For some reason, Jess really liked him, even loved him, and he had been integrating himself into their friend group slowly since they started dating last year. Hmmm, maybe Carter could be a foil for Emory—she could use all of Carter’s opposite traits to create her leading man. Minnie made a mental note of that for later.

Emily whispered back, “Oh you’re so right. You think he would help me? Lizzie has a lot of classes with Avery, so she’s on reconnaissance, too. Mama needs a Homecoming date stat.”

Emily always had a Homecoming date, a Sadie Hawkins date, a crush, or a boy “that would do,” and Minnie wouldn’t say she was jealous or missing out on anything in that department. Sure Emily’s ever-failing escapades were enthralling to watch, but Minnie couldn’t understand being interested in those boys: they made fart jokes, performed slapstick pranks, forgot to wash their faces, sometimes forgot to wash at all. The pickings were slim at Quartz High School, and while Emily dealt with that by widening and widening her search, Minnie chose to abstain altogether. She would probably go to Homecoming with Lizzie like usual, who had failed to ever get a date. Minnie thought to bring this proposition up to Lizzie, who was currently fiddling with her audition monologue, eyes glazed, but the sound of frantic footsteps from around the corner caught her attention.

Regan appeared, out of breath, “Am I late? Did I miss it?”

“Yes, you missed the audition. You’ve been cast as the loveseat out of pity.” Jess said.

“Ha ha ha very funny.” Regan gave Jess a deadpan glare.

“No, we’re still waiting for the director to show up,” Minnie said.

“Oh good!” Regan joined them on the floor, completing their circle. “I almost forgot it was today.”

Regan’s hair was bit frazzled, sticking up in strange places, her clothes a bit wrinkled, her necklace was draped over her shoulder. She was normally the most polished at school: Regan always accessorized, never put her hair in a bun, never even wore sweatpants, and most of all, she was never late. Minnie wondered what could set her adrift from her goody-two-shoes nature.

“That’s very unlike you.” Minnie offered.

Jess intervened before Regan could answer, “Oh, she was making out with her new boyfriend no doubt.”

“Jess! That’s not true!” Regan’s face immediately reddened, which told them all it was, in fact, true.

Emily thrust herself toward Regan, her hands slapping the cold brick, she was arched like a cat. “Boyfriend. Who.”

“Johnny Brice. Sophomore. Band and track.” Jess reported with a smirk.

“Regan. You cougar.” Emily gasped theatrically, sitting back on her feet. “He is cute, though.”

Regan was staring daggers at Jess—it had taken Minnie some time to realize over the years that Jess and Regan relayed their love for each other through punches rather than hugs. Regan managed to reply, “He was held back in first grade. So he’s actually only a year younger than us, thank you very much.”

Emily opened her mouth; she was probably brimming with a thousand questions about Johnny. Minnie only had one: was he annoying? But the impending Q&A was cut short by the sound of heels clicking sternly and steadily against the brick floor.

From around the corner appeared a young woman, the source of the clicking. She might have only been four or five years older than them, but Minnie felt instinctively that there was a great chasm between this woman and all the theatre geeks camped out on the floor. Her hair was piled high on the top of her head: it was frizzy, but not like Regan’s was frizzy; each strand seemed to be tossed carefully in disarray after being both straightened and curled; its blonde highlights were glinting in the overhead lights. She had a thick track of eyeliner adorned to each eye, along with a splash of red cutting each cheekbone and a prim streak of coral lipstick fully embossed around a slight smile. Her jewelry chunky and her open-toe stilettos high. Minnie winced as she noticed that the woman’s pinky toes were falling off the side of her shoes.

“Oh are you all here for the play?” the woman asked.

Jess took the lead as usual. “Yes, we’re all auditioning. Are you Ms. Wilson?”

“I am! I’m looking forward to working with you all. Here, I have some audition sheets for you to fill out.” She pulled a ream of paper from a large handbag. With a slight frown she added, “Is this everyone?”

Emily pointed at the boy in the other corner, who had decided to give them all a tentative glance. “Avery is auditioning, too.”

“Avery? Get over here.” Ms. Wilson beckoned him over with a hand of perfectly manicured nails. Avery came to stand awkwardly on the outskirts of their circle. “I see you’re the only boy. Well, you must be much smarter than all the other boys at this school! Joining this drama club is such a smart way to get the ladies.” And Ms. Wilson winked at him. Avery attempted a smile and a chuckle back, but both seemed to be caught in his throat, so he only managed a sharp exhale.

Ms. Wilson handed them all an audition sheet. “I’m going to get all set up in the auditorium. You fill these out. Let me know if you have any questions. And when I’m ready, I’ll come to get one of you.” Her eyes targeted Avery. “Let’s start with the audition for Laurie.”

Flash of light. Blinding. Air particles exploded outward, pulling his body with them while crushing it in the vacuum they left. It was like waking from a bad dream—in a tornado. It took him some time to realize he could open his eyes. Dark. He was lying on the ground. Cold. He lifted his head—a rush of dizziness combined with a light flickering on. Smell of lumber, of chemicals that tinged his nose, of mustiness and oldness. His eyes processed at a slower rate than usual, trying to find anything familiar.

Laurie didn’t know where he was. He was certain he had fell asleep in his grandfather’s house only moments before. But this was not a place found in any wing of the Lawrence home. It wasn’t ornate. Paint splatters covered the floor. A film of dust on top of that. Strange wooden frames crammed in every corner. Frayed garments of a peculiar fashion covering a single metal bar.

And the sound was deafening. It reminded him of a steam engine. Behind him was a vast, rusty metal vat of some sort. He was afraid to touch it, but he could tell that it emanated the deep, penetrating, low hum. Laurie could not say why, but he thought it looked angry. A machination straight from the depths of hell.

There was a large brown door on the other side of the room. Laurie wanted to get away from the vat, so he quickly got to his feet and opened the door, hoping that the world outside was better.
It was. A rush of silence entered his ears as the door shut behind him. The air was cooler and less oppressive. He couldn’t say why but it looked somewhat like the March’s attic, where the girls did their plays. But it was also much, much larger. If Laurie were born at least 130 years later than he had been, he might even say that his surroundings were “glitching” before him, pulsating between a cavernous room, dressed with large blue curtains and strange gizmos, and the attic he knew so well. But even seeing these flashes of home calmed him, allowed him to find acceptance in his strange situation.

From beyond the other side of the largest curtain, the one that stretched across the entirety of the room, he heard voices. The voices were oddly familiar, as if he were hearing them through water, and he began to recognize them. He did not want to interrupt because he instantly, innately understood that there was a performance happening beyond the curtain. So he sat on the rough wood floor and listened.

The first voice sounded like his own. It was uncanny. It was like listening to oneself echoing from the bottom of a well. He heard of some technology being able to record sound—he did not question how he could hear his own voice here and now. Next he heard Beth’s voice, then Amy’s, then Meg’s. Surprisingly, the next voice he heard was from Mrs. March. She didn’t often have time to play in the attic with the girls, but Laurie was glad she joined them all the same. Then the one he was waiting for: Jo. She was the loudest, each word filling all corners of the room.

After the performance was done, Laurie thought to clap, but then he remembered that he was behind a curtain. They probably didn’t know he was back here. He decided to reveal himself, say it was all prank, and they could have a good laugh; he was easily forgetting how he got here in the first place.

But when he stuck his head out from behind the curtain, no one was there. Well, no one he recognized at least.

A text from Andrew: got us avengers tickets ))) midnight premiere )))

Nicole Wilson contemplated her response. She skimmed the sad face emojis.

Another text: im thinking of dressin up as iron man. u would make a hot black widow.

It came with a link to a Party City costume.

Nicole sighed and turned her phone upside down. She looked at her notepad. It was barren. She had no idea what to look for in the auditions. Everyone spoke loudly and they all seemed to gesture their hands at the right moments. Was there more to acting than that?

She stared at the stage, trying to imagine each girl on it. She would have to cast the play based on looks alone. Among her imaginings, she saw a boy dressed in period wear. Odd, only Avery had auditioned, who was she thinking of? Then she realized she wasn’t imagining him at all; he was real. A student was standing on the stage in front of her.

“Hello! Are you here to audition for the fall play?” she asked. There weren’t any more people on the sign-up sheet.

The boy looked at her with a strange expression, like a deer in headlights.

“Hi! I’m Ms. Wilson!” Nicole cringed inwardly at herself. She had never imagined saying she was “Ms.” anything to anyone. She had never imagined herself as a high school theatre director for that matter either. “Would like you to audition?”

“Uh, no.” He continued staring at her. God teenage boys were such creeps sometimes.

“What’s your name? Do you need something?”

“Um, I’m Laurie.” He looked lost. It wasn’t a large high school. Maybe he was a special needs student—her stomach dropped, she wasn’t ready to deal with that kind of thing, not on her very first day.

Possibly sensing her confusion, the boy continued, “I was just listening to the performance. And I wanted to tell the girls how well they did and how much I liked it. Are they still around?”

Nicole relaxed a little. “Oh are you in the drama club?”

He tilted his head slightly, like a dog hearing something strange, but he replied, “Yes. I’m in the drama club. I didn’t know we were calling it that.”

“Oh, yes, there’s that other word “lesp”—no, “thesp”—, “lesb”—?”

“Theatrical Society?”

“Yes, that must be it! You must be in the theatrical society with the girls!” He was an insider. He knew the dirt on all the auditionees. “Laurie? I think the girls have all left. If you aren’t going to audition, could I get your feedback? What did you think of everyone? Who do you see playing Jo?”

“Jo? She was the last one that spoke.”

“Oh, so you liked Jess! I thought she was the best, too.” Nicole glanced at Jess’s audition sheet. “She wrote down a lot of conflicts on her sheet, though. Well . . . if I give her the lead role, she would probably cancel all these, right? Like who would pick chess club over the lead role?”

Laurie continued to only stare at her. Okay, maybe he didn’t have any dirt.

“I think that’s decided. You’ve been a big help, Laurie. Thank you!”

“Uh, yes, Miss Wilson.”

Nicole expected him to leave the stage. But he stood still; he stare was beginning to bore into her. If he wasn’t auditioning, then why was he here? Maybe he still wanted something. The boy might be too shy to be on stage, but he might enjoy being involved somehow—he did dress up after all. He could be too frightened to ask.

“Laurie, would you like to be my assistant director?”

It took him a few moments, as if he was thinking carefully about her offer. Nicole began to think she made a grave mistake by even offering.

Finally, he replied, “I think I can do that, Miss Wilson.”

“Laurence would you like to join the Theatrical Society?”

Avery just stared at her. Damn, Jess, thought, this is my line! “Line?”

The strange boy, Laurie, looked up at her, and carefully fed her the next line. “You won’t get a big part, but—”

“You won’t get a big part, but you can work your way up the ranks.” A beat. Again Avery looking at her, beckoning her to say more. Jess called line again.

“You might get a bigger part than Beth—,” Laurie supplied. Jess started to repeat the entire section, trying to sear it into her memory, but Ms. Wilson interrupted.

“Jess, why don’t you know your lines?” Her voice was terse, the words sneaking out of her lips like venom into Jess’s veins. Jess made eye contact with Minnie, whose look of concern matched her own.

Jess struggled to find the answer. “I, um, I—I do know my lines. It’s just . . . different when you add the blocking and stuff.” Laurie nodded at her, trying to lend his support nonverbally. Next to him, Ms. Wilson tensed her jaw, eyes narrowing.

“Jess, are you sure you just don’t have too much on your plate?” she replied, now a slight smirk releasing from her lips.

Jess’s face grew warm, the blood in her neck began to boil. She could feel all the eyes on stage draw to her. She didn’t dare look at any of the girls. She saw Avery in her periphery turn his head the other way, which she deeply appreciated.

Jess’s mind spiraled, as she tried to examine herself closely and find an honest answer to the question while also feeling the weight of the question and its unanswerability crush her. She wanted nothing more than to find the perfect response; she wanted nothing more to crawl into a hole and never be seen by anyone here again.

Ms. Wilson took her nonreply as the answer. “I thought so. You really should have considered your schedule and your time before you agreed to take on this role.”

The air on stage became pressurized. The other girls also felt the wrongness in this assertion, but they too couldn’t speak. No one came to Jess’s rescue, even though she knew they wanted to; they also wouldn’t have the words, the perfect retort that would make Ms. Wilson see the error in her argument. But a small voice cut through Jess’s mind, and it whispered. What if the others agree with Ms. Wilson? What if everyone knows you let them down? What if you’ve been selfish, eating away at everything life can give you and you’re not leaving enough for anyone else? What if you won’t succeed here?

Jess tried to shake the voice. She tried to respond to both Ms. Wilson and herself; she wanted to reassure both that she had this. That the lead role was firmly in her careful hands. That she deserved this. That she wouldn’t let anyone down. But the little voice had spoken, and its words could not be erased from her mind. They began to infect her, soaking into a pocket that had once been filled with confidence.

Ms. Wilson whispered to Laurie. He gave her a petrified look back. She gazed at everyone on the stage, her tense expression morphing back to its signature boredom. “I think that’s enough rehearsal for today. Everyone can go early and spend some time learning their lines.” She smiled at Jess expectantly as she punctuated the last syllable. Ms. Wilson then took out out her phone and began scrolling—everyone on stage had not yet moved.

Jess finally looked back at Minnie, who nodded toward the wing offstage. Jess took one more glance at Ms. Wilson, expecting her to question why they weren’t leaving, but she was ever immersed in Facebook or something equally compelling. Jess didn’t know why she kept expecting these things of their high school director—it was unbelievable that they were stuck with her. Regan, Emily, and Lizzie also followed Minnie’s lead. Avery peeked at them around the corner of the curtain, probably wondering if he was invited to this rendezvous. Minnie frantically waved him them into their circle. Jess realized they probably should have invited Laurie as well, but his proximity to Ms. Wilson at the moment, both metaphorically and literally, made him a flight risk.

Minnie crossed her arms and looked at them all down the length of her nose. “She’s being a bit rough on us. We all have so many lines and—”

“And so many of mine are just monologue after monologue!” Jess cut in. She had been waiting to vent this particular injustice. In fact, she had counted her lines last night; she had a whopping four hundred to memorize, and the next closest person to her count was Avery with a measly three hundred. She didn’t want to mention at this point that she had also counted Emily’s lines: one hundred. “She should have just cut the play down. It says on page two how to cut it!”

Minnie nodded. “I think she doesn’t get how the offbook thing works.”

“Not to mention we have lives outside of rehearsal,” Regan said.

“If she keeps interrupting us, we’ll never learn them,” Lizzie added.


“Yeah,” Avery nodded along vigorously.

“I guess one of us should talk to her,” Emily said.

All the heads swiveled toward to Jess. She could still feel the terror in the pit of her stomach of being humiliated on stage, but it was starting to fade here in the wings. Her friends had validated her fears, the whisper was wrong, and they were all asking her to take the lead. It would be great of course if someone would volunteer to go in her stead, as she had received the brunt of the humiliation, but Jess was often expected to be this person.

People were easy to talk to; Wilson wasn’t a monster; she’d listen to reason. Jess didn’t understand her friends’ quarrels with confrontation, how they swerve immediately out any situation that even had an inkling of conflict. Jess always sped into conflict; maybe she even relished in the taste of arguments, the mental sparring between two combatments, the illogical jumps she could catch her opponent in.

Jess nodded at them all, “Okay, I’ll talk to her. I’ll just tell her we’re having trouble learning lines because she keeps interrupting us.”

Minnie smiled. “Thanks, Jess.”

And with that, all the girls and Avery exited the wing. Maybe a little too quickly for Jess’s liking. She peeked out to the house, around the corner of a thick curtain. Ms. Wilson was still there on her phone. Laurie had disappeared. Jess had hoped she could get him to stay, possibly back her up. But the strange boy always seemed to vanishing in thin air.

Everyone grabbed their things, said their goodbyes in a great rumble of sound, and as the door the auditorium closed with the last person, a wave of silence sliced through the room.

Ms. Wilson looked up, and Jess diverted her eyes. Jess heard Ms. Wilson get out of her seat and walk up the ramp to the apron, probably keen on exiting through the wing exit which spat her out in a nearby parking lot. Her heels clicked right by Jess.

Jess took a deep breath. She would have to stop the woman if she didn’t want her to speed walk out of sight. “Ms. Wilson? Can I talk to you?”

At the call of her name, Ms. Wilson turned on a dime. “Sure, Jess, what’s up?” Her tone and expression had no inkling to the previous confrontation. She seemed relaxed; she was smiling. This gave Jess hope.

Jess rose from where she was crouched next to her backpack and met Ms. Wilson eye to eye. Jess started confidently: “So about offbook. I was talking to the other girls, and we were thinking that you might be interrupting us too much. It’s difficult to remember your lines on the first few offbook rehearsals because you’re also adding in the blocking. And when you call line, and you get interrupted, it gets you kind of flustered. Does that make sense?”

It was impossible to read Ms. Wilson’s face. When she was listening, her mouth was slightly agape, as if she were trying to really drink what the person was saying. She nodded ever so subtly as Jess talked, that same open mouth expression. But a few seconds after Jess finished, she closed her mouth and her brows furrowed. “Jess, you all just need to learn your lines. During rehearsal, it’s my job to point out when you haven’t learned your lines.”

Jess attempted to protest, but Ms. Wilson briskly cut her off. “I’ve taken a theatre class. I had my actor’s notebook. I’ve been in your position. I understand. But you are just going to have to work harder.”

Jess debated asking what she met by “actor’s notebook,” but she came to the conclusion it wasn’t worth it. “We are working hard. I want to you know that we’re all really trying. And we just need a little space to fail.” Jess’s voiced started to crack, which surprised her. She felt as if she was talking in a different language, or that Ms. Wilson had a brick wall surrounding her mind, where rational arguments were garbled and mistranslated.

“Jess, do you think that maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew? I think I should have given the role of Jo to Emily. She knows her lines. I can tell she’s been working very hard, and she wants this.” And that was the final straw—Jess broke. The pressure—her juggling all the activities, Emily’s clear camaraderie with Ms. Wilson, Ms. Wilson’s undisguised dislike of Jess, and this stupid, stupid play and all its stupid, stupid lines—came flooding to Jess’s eyes as began to cry. It was an earnest cry, the kind of sobbing that looked ugly.

The water works had no visible effect on Ms. Wilson. Her stone face only offered a few blinks. Finally, with a tsk, she said, “Jess, if you want people to talk you seriously. You really shouldn’t cry in front of them.”

Jess only had one response: more fervent sobs.

Ms. Wilson’s demeanor seemed to give an inch. She put on hand on Jess’s shoulder. “Honey, just learn your lines.”

Jess was able to respond with a single “okay,” before nearly running out the apron door, searching for the safe haven of her car before any other soul saw her like this.