“Hark Gwyneboar, doth thine yonder truffle break and, uh…line?” I bit my lip, trying to keep from groaning aloud. I knew I shouldn’t expect world-class acting from a high school freshman, but still, this boy’s performance was painful.

While I wouldn’t say I hated school, I could confidently admit that this was the only day of my government-mandated education I’d ever been genuinely excited about. And that was because today marked the start of auditions for our school’s winter play, HAMlet: A Cold-Cut Musical. It’s like the original Hamlet but with pigs and a lot more puns.

I’d run to the school auditorium the second class had ended, but somehow, I’d still had to line up behind dozens of other students also waiting for their shot at stardom. Everyone from towering seniors to starry-eyed freshmen had shown up to audition for a spot in the production, and although I try to be polite when I can, many of these performances were…lacking.

The boy onstage continued his performance, clearly having forgotten the finer points of his monologue and was just trying to wing it. “To bumblebee or not the sometimes be, that is indeed a question that is being pondered.”

“Stop, I’ve seen enough.” A woman in her mid-30s sat at the front of the auditorium, scribbling furiously on a clipboard. She had long black hair, black clothes, black shoes, black jewelry, and black sunglasses. She definitely had a theme going.

The getup might have been a little gaudy for the everyday Joe or Jane, but when you’re M, the world-class Broadway director, you can afford to be a little extra. “I can tell that you really did your best,” continued M, her voice warm and motherly. The boy smiled. He opened his mouth to reply, but M cut him off. “And I’m sorry to say that your best is an affront to actors everywhere. I’ve seen planks of wood act better than you. Next!”

Several students whispered nervously to one other as they watched M utterly destroy the poor boy’s hopes and dreams. Still, I couldn’t help but get excited at the challenge. Not only was this my first-ever high school play, but it was also a chance to perform in front of a celebrity! I had no idea why M had put her very successful directing career on hold to spend a year teaching theater at a random high school, but if I nailed this audition, I’d be one step closer to my dream of reaching Broadway!

Broadway. I’m sure you’ve heard about it, right? It’s only the pinnacle of modern theater, the holy mecca that all actors aspire to reach, some of whom spend their entire lives pursuing that goal, no big deal. And as long as I followed my meticulous master plan, step forty-seven of which was being the lead actress in my high school’s play, I’d be there in no time!

I noticed that I’d begun to shake from all the nervous excitement; I forced myself to take a calming breath. Focus, Piper, you haven’t even auditioned yet; keep your cool, you can celebrate after.

“I better call the United Nations because your acting needs to be classified as a war crime!” Another scathing remark from M, another student running off crying.

I scanned the line of students ahead of me and actually groaned aloud this time. So many people were still waiting their turn; how long would this take? If I had to stand in line much longer, I was afraid I would break into song and dance, which, while funny, might not be considered very professional.

My internal dilemma was interrupted when I spotted a gaggle of girls ahead of me going over their lines.

“Begone foul Hamlet, these cold cuts shall soon stain thine rivers with blood.” The girl rehearsing her lines, a tall brunette, frowned, scratching her head, “Uhh, what comes next?”

Ooh, perfect, fellow thespians, we could rehearse together to pass the time! I saddled up next to the girls and flashed my well-practiced stage smile. “Hiya, gals, getting ready to audition?”

“Uh-huh,” said one of the girls, a redhead, face half-buried in her script. “But I’m having trouble remembering my lines for act two, scene five, that’s where–”

“It’s the part where Hamela and Rome-Bovine are fleeing from the castle guards,” I said, cutting her off excitedly. “Yeah, that part was a doozy. It must’ve been a few months before I finally memorized everything in the script!”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The girls’ eyes widened in shock. “D-did you say months?” Asked the taller girl.

I nodded, confused by her reaction. Hadn’t everyone spent months rehearsing?

I flourished my arms dramatically and placed a hand on my heart, “Oh Rome-Bovine, what am I to thee? A filet mignon of love and passion, or simply beef tips dipped in the gravy of casual acquaintance?”

Everyone watched, transfixed; I continued, “?ecnatniauqca lausac fo yvarg eht ni deppid spit feeb ylpmis ro ,noissap dna evol fo nongim telif A ?eeht ot I ma tahw,enivoB-emoR hO”

The girls cocked their heads to the side. “Huh?” they asked in unison.

“That was in reverse,” I said proudly, “I can recite the entire play forwards and backwards.” I followed that up with a rapid string of tongue-clicking. “And that’s in case we have to perform in Swahili!” I gave them all a serious look. “I assume you all prepared your audition in multiple languages as well?”

The girls visibly paled, sharing concerned looks with one another. “Maybe we should try out for the spring play instead.” mumbled the redhead.

“Yeah,” the tall girl nodded, “and I better go learn some Hebrew.”

The girls practically fled the auditorium, leaving me all by my lonesome. I frowned, I loved theater more than anything, but I’d been told that my passion for the arts sometimes came off as intimidating. Maybe learning an entirely new language for a two-minute audition had been a bit overkill. Oh well, angalau sasa mstari ulikuwa mfupi.

XXX

It felt like ages, but I finally made it to the front of the auditorium. I puffed out my chest and stepped onto the stage, feeling like my heart was about to explode from a volatile combination of excitement and sheer terror. Usually, I had no trouble with auditions. I’d been acting since I was in diapers, but M was a professional; we were playing for the big leagues now, and I couldn’t afford to mess up.

Down in the stands, M was still scribbling on her clipboard. “Name?” she asked, not even looking at me. I took a deep breath to try to calm my nerves and spoke.

“My name’s Piper Gosnell,” I replied, carefully articulating each syllable. “I’m 14, a freshman and I’m auditioning for the lead female role of Hamela.”

M looked up, appearing surprised. She gave me a once-over and cracked the smallest of smiles. “Oh, Piper, you’re finally here. About time.”

I frowned, “You know me?”

M nodded, her smile appearing slightly mischievous. “Oh, I know all about you, darling.”

I took an involuntary step backward. Okay, a little creepy, but maybe M had seen me perform back in Middle School; I had been the female lead in all my school’s plays.

M waved her hand dismissively, “Enough chit-chat. Are we here to talk or to act?”

Definitely to act. I took another breath and closed my eyes, imagining the words I’d been rehearsing for months and created a mental picture of all the sights, sounds, and feelings associated with my performance.

When I felt properly prepared, I opened my eyes and took in the sights around me. I was no longer in a moldy high-school auditorium but in Castle Pork Rind. I looked down at my pink chubby hands, the hands of the pig princess, Hamela, and standing in front of me, his handsome snout and cloven hooves illuminated in the moonlight, was Rome-Bovine, my beloved.

“Oh, Rome-Bovine,” I said, stepping forward and placing a hand against his manly pig chest, “what is a day apart from you but a year in the butcher shop?”

Rome-Bovine took my hand, his eyes deep, reflecting pools I could fall into. “Pearls before swine need not be compared; I do hope you find my love true and fair. Kiss me with the kisses of your snout.”

Rome-Bovine leaned forward to kiss me; I met him, closing my eyes and gently resting my snout against his. Our love was forbidden, sure never to last, but in this brief, fleeting moment, at least we had each other.

Aaaaand, end scene. When I opened my eyes, I was back in the school auditorium and, thankfully, no longer a four-foot bipedal pig woman. Out in the audience, there wasn’t a single dry eye; all the students still waiting their turn to audition were dabbing tears from their faces and fighting back muffled sobs.

“Darling, that was incredible,” said M as she slowly applauded, her face expressionless. “You can’t tell, but I’m crying on the inside.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I gave a grateful bow to try and hide the enormous grin that had split across my face; I think I’d just nailed my first high school audition!

“As for the rest of you losers,” M whipped around to face the waiting students. “If even just three or four of you have at least half the talent of Miss Gosnell, then this’ll be the best play this backwater school has ever seen.” M rotated back in her seat, wrinkling her nose in obvious disdain. “However, from what I’ve seen of your acting pork chops so far, I’m not holding my breath.”

I winced, thankful for the compliment but feeling bad for everyone else. “Uh, just do your best, guys,” I said, raising a fist in camaraderie, “go, team!” I don’t think that helped.

My pocket vibrated, snapping me out of the moment. I pulled out my phone and saw I’d received a text. “Workout emergency,” said the message. “Bring protein powder, stat.” I rolled my eyes, gave a final bow, and rushed off the stage to find some gains.