“What’s the point of all that, anyway?” you asked, balling up your mustard-smeared foil. “I mean, can’t we just get e-mails or something? Why’s it gotta be posted in the public square like we’re getting news in the Middle Ages?”
“Seriously,” Dave said. “I’d rather get the call from my agent, even if everyone else still knows I didn’t get it.” I found my phone and turned it on, setting it in my lap alongside my container of yogurt and can of ginger ale. It looked like diet food but it wasn’t—my stomach had just been weird all morning from nerves, and I would have sooner forfeited Showcase altogether than risked an emergency Number Two situation at school.
“Isn’t your agent your mom?” Ethan asked. “That must make it weird.” My phone buzzed to life against my thigh.
“No, she’s my manager,” Dave said.
“Aw, a momager!” Liv cried.
“Yeah, I guess,” Dave said, shrugging. “It’s not as cute as it sounds.”
8:12 am: just saw e walking down the hallway like travolta in saturday night fever. asked how his weekend was and he said “transcendent.” lol wtf
“Anyway, posting cast lists is all about building expectation,” Ethan said, putting his pencil down. “Life-changing moments deserve a little drama.” He looked adoringly at Liv. “Pun intended.”
9:02 am: saw liv, she said her weekend was “boring.” the plot thickens . . . [crying laughing emoji]
And one from Liv:
10:13 am: NEED to talk at lunch. CRAZYTOWN. #helpme
“No offense, but I don’t think too many lives are going to be changed by your play,” Liv said, pulling down her cat-eye sunglasses. “And what about the losers? If you’re gonna let someone down, it should be in private. Especially after all of that . . .” she shifted ever so slightly away from Ethan “. . . expectation.” She shot me a look, hashtag “help me” in eye contact form, and I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
11:12 am: lunch should be interesting at least. buy u some street meat?
My stomach lurched. I didn’t feel like eating a dirty-water hotdog or talking to Liv—I definitely couldn’t do either until I found out my Showcase fate. I had been trying to keep my expectations in check all weekend. I reminded myself how every single dance major was going to cross that stage one way or another, and that I could make the most of whatever I got. In my more confident moments I even sort of hoped they’d stick me in the corps, just so I could show them how good I was, and how they couldn’t keep me down, blinding them even from the back row. But it was getting too close, and too real, for any of my lies to work anymore. If I saw the word ensemble next to my name, I knew I was going to be completely devastated.
“Yeah,” you said. “Everyone seeing it makes it that much sweeter if you get what you want. But if you don’t . . .” You looked at me, your eyes flashing with something I couldn’t quite place. Concern? Pity? Either way it wasn’t good.
“I think I’ll actually be relieved if I don’t get cast,” Dave said. “I wouldn’t feel right showing up last-minute and taking someone else’s spot.”
“There’s no taking someone else’s spot,” Ethan said sharply, draping an arm around Liv’s narrow shoulders. “It’s either yours or it isn’t.” He smiled at her and she looked down at her lap, speechless for the first time in as long as I’d known her.
“Unless the person doing the casting hates you,” I said.
“No way she hates you,” you said. “She’s cold like that to everyone. Nobody knows where they stand.”
“Spoken by the only person who’s got a lead on lock,” I said. “At this point they should call it the pas de duh.” Dave laughed, but you just stared out at Avery Fisher Hall, resting your chin on your fists.
“Believe me, I don’t have anything on lock,” you said.
“Does anyone?” Dave asked. I felt a twinge in my ankle, just as Liv squirmed out of Ethan’s awkward embrace. You palmed the tin foil from your hot dog, aimed at a nearby trashcan, and missed. It seemed like the perfect metaphor for life at that particular moment.
? ? ?
By quarter to one I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go camp out in the dance hallway to await my fate.