Geek Drama

Toby continues, totally unabashed. “What part are you going to be auditioning for, Harriet?” he says happily, plonking down next to me. “I think you would make an excellent Ophelia, although you might want to rethink because of all the singing. I’ve stood outside your bathroom window in the morning and it is not one of your many profound talents.”

A snigger goes round my immediate vicinity.

There’s a long curtain a few metres away: if only I had more defined stomach muscles I might be able to shimmy behind it like a snake.

“Toby,” I mutter as my cheeks start getting hot, “I don’t think I—”

Toby is waving a piece of paper. “I’ve narrowed down your possible audition speeches to Kate from The Taming of the Shrew, and Lady Macbeth. How good are you at cleaning up blood?”

Half the room is now nudging each other and giggling. My cheeks get a bit hotter as I glance nervously at Alexa at the front. She’s staring blankly at the boy on stage, who is now inexplicably doing some kind of juggling act. “Toby …”

“Or the eponymous Juliet.”

“Toby …”

“Or Desdemona from Othello. The bit where she dies.” He pauses. “Except she sings too. Maybe scrap that one.”

Fifteen more people turn to giggle.

“Or—”

And – just like that – my entire head explodes. “TOBY, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF SUGAR COOKIES. GO AWAY.”

Then there’s an abrupt silence while the entire room spins to look at us.

Yeah. I don’t think that helped much.

“Harriet Manners.”

Mr Bott is standing at the front of the room with his arms folded and his face creased up like a damp pair of socks.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh – “Yes?”

“Stand up please.”

I cautiously uncurl myself from the floor and somehow get to my feet. My entire face is now pulsing red like the pause button on our washing machine at home.

Mr Bott’s face gets just a little sock-ier.

“From what I recall, Harriet, this is not the first time you have chosen to disrupt others by shouting. After your last little display, I’m surprised you haven’t learnt your lesson.”

Last term, I accidentally yelled at Toby in the middle of an English class, which led to getting in trouble with Mr Bott, which led to accidentally upsetting Alexa, which led to her forcing everyone to put their hands up to say they hated me.

I’m quite surprised I didn’t learn my lesson too.

Maybe they need to do a class on that instead.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small voice.

Mr Bott raises his eyebrows. “As you’re obviously so eager to be a pivotal part of this production, why don’t you come up next?”

I look at the stage.

Then at the staring, silent crowd around me. Then at Alexa, who has spun round and narrowed her eyes at me. Then at Toby, who infuriatingly beams and puts both thumbs in the air.

Finally, I look at Nat.

“Please?” she whispers. “I don’t want to do it on my own.”

I think of what happened last time I was on a stage: I accidentally knocked another model to the floor and ruined an entire fashion show.

Then I think of where I’ve been today: at a modelling-agency casting for Brink magazine (or attempting to be, anyway). I think of how much my best friend of a decade would have given to be there instead.

Then I swallow and grab the piece of paper out of Toby’s hand.

“All right,” I say as loudly as I can. “I’ll do it.”

And I make my way up on to the stage.

(#ulink_f2fc8fcb-fc91-5bad-867e-1a70a6e8d55c)

here’s a small fresh-water animal called a hydra that lives in ponds, lakes and streams.

The hydra can be torn completely into pieces, and it’ll still be OK. The bits of it will, cell by cell, creep and crawl towards each other and reassemble, forming a hydra again.

There’s just one condition: some of the brain cells have to remain unharmed throughout. The secret to the hydra’s survival is keeping its head.

Sadly, I am not a hydra.

As soon as I stand on the stage, my brain disintegrates. I know Juliet’s speech by heart – sometimes I recite it in the bath, just for fun – but I’m desperately scanning the script clutched in my sweaty hands because now I can’t remember a single word.

Every time I look at Nat, I know I have to try as hard as I can to get a part in the play. Every time I think about performing in front of the entire school, I know I have to try as hard as I can not to.

And every time I look at Alexa, sitting two metres away with a smug smile, all I want to do is run behind a curtain or down a hole in the floorboards somewhere.

Plus there’s my innate lack of acting talent to contend with. I love Shakespeare, but I appreciate it academically. My artistic abilities are, as ever, non-existent.

So I just have to get this over with as fast as possible before I’m ripped apart.

Sugar cookies. Sugar cookies sugar cookies sugar c—

“O Romeo, Romeo!” I blurt nervously, clutching hard at my chest as if I’m having a small coronary. “Wherefore art thou … umm …” I hold the paper in front of my face. “Sorry, I’ve lost my place.”

“She speaks!” Toby says from the side of the room where he’s edged closer. “Oh, speak again, bright angel!”

The whole room starts sniggering again.

Alexa raises her eyebrows and her smile gets a little cattier.