EMILY FINISHES HER MONOLOGUE, AND I STRIDE onstage, striking everything superfluous from my mind. Running to catch the bus in the morning? Gone. Last night’s screaming match with Olivia? Gone. Lucas McCallum and Dr. Norman? Definitely gone.
Even though I know it’s a lie.
Focus.
Even though I should turn Juniper in.
Focus!
“You’re tired of waiting?” I snap at Emily, who shies back. “You’re tired of waiting. You, Natalya, who left me in this town? Look at me. Look at what I am now.”
“I am looking at you,” she says.
“Look harder.”
“I see a loving mother, a caring sister. I see—”
“You see nothing,” I say. “I am nothing anymore except wasted potential. Nothing.” I take a step forward. “You were supposed to be my teacher. You said I was brilliant—a prodigy, you said. You were supposed to take me away, teach me everything, but instead you ran the first chance you had!” My voice hits the yelling point.
And then García calls, “Hold.”
I hesitate, frowning out into the audience. He said we weren’t going to stop this run for anything. I glance down—maybe Emily or I didn’t hit our lights?—but we’re well placed in the bright spots on the stage.
García leans over the lip of the stage, facing me. It’s a jolt. I’m the problem? What did I do wrong?
“The objective here,” he says. “Your goal. What do you want from her?”
“An apology,” I say. “I . . . I tried to think of anything else. But that’s all I have.”
His eyebrows knit together. His eyes are reddened, as if he’s been rubbing them hard. He shakes his head. “Okay. If you’re going to play it like that, you’ve got to find different tactics. You’re just—watching this scene right now, it’s like watching you scold her. Not the characters, either. It’s like watching you, Kat, scold Emily. It’s too harsh, too . . .” He snaps his fingers. “You’ve got to dial back the anger. It reads as one-note, repetitive. Boring.”
I stare at him. That’s harsher criticism than he’s ever given the rest of the cast combined.
Maybe he’s saying that because he thinks I can take that sort of critique. I know I should say, All right, I’ll work on it, and find subtler notes next time through. But what comes out of my mouth is, “So, am I not allowed to be angry?”
“Excuse me?”
“She left.” I point at Emily. “She left me, and what, I’m not allowed to be angry about it? I think that’s realistic.” My voice rises beyond my control. Focus, whispers the voice in my head, but I’m no longer outside myself. Kat has forced her way back to center stage, and her voice keeps going. “I think if someone came back after years, having abandoned me like that, yeah, I think I’d be a little mad.”
“Kat,” García says, a warning. It incenses me. First Olivia, now this. After last Tuesday, I thought García got it—understood me, like nobody had before—but no. Is anybody on my side?
“Why don’t I get a reason?” I say, my heartbeat thudding in my palms. Emily looks at me, eyes wide and shining. “If someone can just tell me why I should stop being angry,” I say, “I’ll do it. But the way I see it, I have plenty of things to be angry about. You keep telling me to rethink this apology thing. You know what? I don’t buy it. She deserves an apology after getting stabbed in the back by someone she thought she could trust.”
Whispers from the side of the stage distract me. The rest of the cast has gathered to watch the new show.
García climbs onstage, striding toward me. The closer he gets, the taller I realize he is, and up close, he looks even worse. His hair is a mess. The red in his eyes makes thin veins visible along the edges of his eyelids.
“Stop it,” he says. His voice doesn’t shake. It’s solid ice. “This is a work space, and you leave everything else at the door, you hear? You drop your day there, and you don’t bring it onto this stage. If I carried every problem I have into this theater, you know how many times I would’ve lost it in this rehearsal process?”
“Oh, I know,” I say.
“What?” His voice falters.
I don’t stop to explain how much I know. “Besides, maybe you should lose it a little more. God knows they could use it.” I stab my finger at the side of the stage. The other actors stare at me, askance. “Yeah, that’s right,” I snap. “Jesus, this is the most attention you guys have paid in any rehearsal. You realize how infuriating that is?”
And García loses it. “Kat!” he yells. “Please. You’re here to act, not to bully the rest of the cast!”
His words resound off the back walls, and as they fade second by second, he deflates. The hard gleam fades from his eyes, leaving exhaustion behind.
There’s my answer. He’s not on my side—nobody’s on my side.
Am I on my side?