“Are you coming, Rika?”

The girl in question shook her head, cramming papers into her backpack without a folder in sight. “Sorry, I’m busy. The student council asked me for more help planning the Spring Fling. Another time, alright? Let Nora know I wished her luck.”

Her face was pale, and she seemed to be breathing heavily like she had finished running a marathon. The scary thing was we obviously hadn’t. We only stayed after with Mr. Morrison for a little extra help on the math homework he assigned. Had she been like this all day? It had been weird that she never made it to my homeroom today, and she was even quieter than usual in literacy class.

Taking some more labored breaths, she stared at me with glazed eyes, almost challenging me to say something. I wanted to tell her to take the day off and go home. That wasn’t any of my business, though, especially if she was dead set on helping. “Take it easy and go to the nurse’s office if you don’t feel well.”

She tried to smile before realizing she wouldn’t be fooling anyone. “I’m fine. It has to be allergies since it’s getting warmer out.”

I didn’t believe her excuse for a second, sighing as she took shaky steps away to the student council room. Her departure left me free to go and join up with the rest of them. The auditorium, I had discovered, was on the same floor as the art room. Thinking back on it, I’d never heard anybody mention the auditorium since I started at Lakewood. To be fair, it was understandable. It had been buried behind desks and chains in no man’s land for who knows how long. I wondered where the theater production used to take place, though, I figured it didn’t take much to house a crew of six or so. They probably shoved them into a classroom and were done with it, which must have been the reason Nora had been so thrilled when they announced the re-opening of the auditorium.

A quick text to Nora earlier in the day, and she had sent me a map and informed me it was the furthest classroom in the hallway upstairs. It was a hand-drawn map depicting all the classrooms, along with their numbers. The most prominent feature of it was the bold, blue arrow hovering over the auditorium with the words, ‘Right here, stupid!’

No wonder I grew to like that girl more and more every single day.

Upon arriving at the auditorium, the door was closed, yet voices were audible from inside. I didn’t want to interrupt if they happened to be in the middle of a practice. Quietly as possible, I pushed the door open and peered into the incredibly spacious room. Compared to the art room, this place was a paradise. The polished floors gleaned from the light filtering in through the windows. The pleated curtains hanging from had not a speck of dust on them, and neither did any of the tables lining the walls. Instead, the tables were filled with apparatus and various other knick-knacks the crew seemed to have accrued. No cobwebs nor any dust? Was this even the same dirty school I had grown accustomed to?

In the front of the room stood the stage, steps leading up on the right and left of it. I could narrowly make out the pit, tinted a lighter shade of brown than the rest of the mahogany wood. There were no props other than the mic stand at the front and center, but it was clear to see someone had recently waxed it. The rows of tiered seats rising from the to the back drew my eyes next. They were cushioned chairs that couldn’t quite compare to recliners but were miles above the plastic chairs we were forced to sit on during class. Above the highest tier of seats hung a balcony, where the two members busied themselves with testing the spotlight and other electronics.

My friends had already made themselves comfortable in the middle row. I took that as my cue to push into the room and join them. I sat in an empty chair next to Ethan, who opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by a shout from Nora. “And begin!”

This prompted the others to begin chanting a flurry of lines that would have Shakespeare rolling in his grave. It was probably meant to be an articulation exercise, but with everyone emphasizing each syllable, the chanting became incoherent. More of a demon summoning ritual than high-schoolers working out the difference between how long to hold a consonant. When that exercise came to a close, I released the armrest I had been gripping. So far I wasn’t impressed, and the number of members also caused me concern. I was no expert on Romeo and Juliet, but having only five actors made it feel like a near impossible task. They could always double-up on roles. That would cause its own set of problems, though.

Tapping the mic center stage caused an echo around the room that drew everyone’s attention back to Nora. She cleared her throat and smiled at us and a few others sitting a few rows above us. “Thank you all so much for coming to our open rehearsal. We’re hoping to use this as a chance to grow before our main performance in two weeks. So, please, be honest with your criticism. We want to be able to learn and grow from it.” Stepping away from the mic, she raised her voice to be heard. “Without further ado, we hope you enjoy it!”

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Muffled applause met her declaration, and I leaned back in my chair as the lights dimmed. A spotlight appeared on stage, meaning they at least had working electronics. The two guy crew members on stage were illuminated in the bright green color, prompting them to deliver their lines.

“Gregory. Onmyword. We’ll. Notcarry. Coals.”

“Noforthenwe. Shouldbecolliers.”

What was that? Warming up their voices was pointless if that was what they were going to lead with. Granted, I wasn’t much better of an actor; however, I could tell poor acting from something powerful and moving. And unfortunately, this wasn’t it. It made me feel bad for Nora. Getting a lead role meant so much to her, and yet, with an opening act like that, there was little room for her to shine. People were going to stop paying attention before she even had a scene. Already I could see one of the people sitting behind us trying to sneak out.

A few poorly delivered sex jokes later, and all hell broke loose. Or it should have, at least. Really, this was probably a tense scene in the script. The ensuing sword fight here failed to deliver on that promise. Their weapons were blunt, but the cast acted like they were wielding wickedly sharp blades and refused to strike anywhere near one another. Switching to a crimson spotlight cast over the top of them could not distract from people collapsing to the ground after a sword nicked the air around them.

I had been ready to tune out the rest of the play, desperately holding onto a thread of my attentiveness until Nora showed up. The moment she did, her presence breathed life into the play, picking up the other’s slack. She stomped across the stage in subtle defiance of the Nurse and Lady Capulet. I’d admit it, the scene was a little off-putting since the girl sharing the stage with Nora was playing both the roles. Nora made it work, almost making it appear as though there were two people up there with her.

The play ebbed and flowed from there, depending on whether Nora was present. Anytime she was away, the scene dragged on horribly. The other cast members couldn’t decide whether they wanted to slur their words or pause in between every syllable. Thankfully, they decided to end the play on a high note. Well, a low note for the fate of the characters, but a good showcase of Nora’s abilities.

When it finally ended, the cast members were met with hesitant claps. Ethan whistled loudly at them, more enthusiastic than he had any right to be. It did seem to pick up the mood some, and the members took another bow. Nora bounded down the stairs as the lights from overhead flooded the auditorium.

She sat next to me, addressing the group. “What’d you think?”

Amelia and me made eye contact over the top of Ethan’s head. It felt like a glance was all we needed to come to a simple agreement. An agreement that Nora needed to hear the truth.

“I’d give it two dying cats out of two.”

“The only thing that could save this play would be if we could figure out how to clone you and have you do every part,” I said.

Nora's shoulders hunched and her hesitant smile turned to a frown. “I knew it was shaky, but I hoped we’d improved some.”

“You can’t be too hard on yourself. You’re only one person, and you don’t even have enough people for all the roles. If anything, your advisor should be ashamed of themselves,” Amelia said.

She sneered. “Somehow I don’t think Ms. Barr cares.”

That didn’t surprise me. She had little love for her actual job, so I couldn’t imagine her pouring her heart out into an after-school activity. Although, putting in a little effort should have been the bare minimum that we could have expected from a teacher. Mr. Morrison would have done well in the role I knew, but he was already coaching the math club. It wouldn’t be fair of us to ask him to split his attention between the two. No, we were going to have to find someone else.

“Does anyone know anybody who could be the director?” my best friend asked.

The rest of us shook our heads while Amelia hesitantly raised her hand. “I have some experience acting and coaching. My parents saw fit to that.”

Ethan grinned. “That’s awesome! Would you be able to help them improve?”

She let out an unladylike snort. “I could hardly make them any worse.”

“There’s still roles that need to be filled,” Chloe pointed out.

I would have liked to ask Rika to fill a role, her bubbly personality likely transferring well to acting. I wouldn’t ask her after seeing how exhausted she was. The last thing she needed was more responsibilities dumped on her. That was fine because tomorrow I’d be hanging out with someone who might be able to knock out the casting issue in one blow. That was, if I played my cards right.

“I have a plan.”

“And what would that be?” Amelia asked.

I bumped my knee against Nora’s. “I’m going to need twenty-four hours and an invite to that god-awful group chat.”