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      Change 3–Day 11

      Today was Drama Club audition day. Also known as “the best day in Kris’s public school life.” He showed up at homeroom dressed in a crimson muumuu with tropical flowers printed on the fabric, tight jeans underneath, and black-and-red-checked high tops. He said he also wanted to wear a head scarf and mules, but ultimately decided less was more. (And that he didn’t want to get bashed and thrown into a Dumpster before call-time.)

      The Central High Drama Club had picked Into the Woods for this year’s musical, and Kris was certain he was going to play the baker—though he added, “I’d consider the witch if needed, because I love me some drama in a wig.”

      “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeze,” Kris whined across the lunch table. “Pleeeeze come with.”

      “Fine!” I said, just to shut him up.

      “Yayzers,” he said, rapid-clapping his palms in front of his nose. “So you’ll audition?”

      “Hell to the no,” I screeched, nudging a limp crinkle-cut french fry to the other side of the tray with my spork. “I’ll tag along for moral support, but there is NO way I’m singing and dancing in front of the whole school looking like . . . like . . . this.”

      Kris eyed me funny, bent his head to one side, then the other. I know this is crazy, but it was almost as though he sensed something from the way I said what I said . . . sensed that who and what I am is not immutable. That somewhere I knew I wouldn’t always be “this way,” and that that was a possibility for him too.

      “Well, that’s a mistake,” he said after a beat. “You obviously need a serious Broadway education, stat, because big girls rule the stage.”

      I grunted.

      “How glamorous does my hair look?” he asked. “Does it scream Tony nomination?”

      The actual tryouts for Into the Woods were held after school in the main auditorium. The instant we walked in, I clocked Chloe down in the front row, doing some sort of annoying, unnecessarily loud vocal exercises with her eyes closed. You know, like she was really getting into it: “Me me me me me me meeeeeee. Me me me me me me meeeeeee!”

      (That sounds about right.)

      A few rows behind her, I was kind of startled to see DJ, though I guess I shouldn’t have been. Before I processed it, my hand shot up to wave at him, but I covered by transitioning the wave into a stretch and quickly collapsing into the nearest seat.

      “You go on, I’ll be here,” I whispered to Kris.

      I’m sure I looked like a spaz, but I don’t think anyone noticed, not even DJ. It’s a running theme in my life now. I was grateful for all the budding thespians flitting about, too nervous to take note of anything but themselves, pacing around the stage, the rows of seating, behind the curtains, murmuring lines or humming, and curling and arching their backs in and out like cats on crack.

      Kris climbed the stairs, found a spot stage left, bent at the waist, and shook his arms loose like a waterfall of noodles. He breathed in and out, master yogi style. After a few more minutes of all of this pre-drama, the theater teacher burst in, and all the kids shot up stock-straight like they were in the military and he was fixing to inspect their bunks.

      “Good afternoon, pets,” he announced in a voice that both filled the room and sounded like someone’s ninety-year-old granny, if she smoked five packs a day. “Some of you may know me from Drama Club, but for those who don’t, I’m Mr. Wood, your DIE-rector for this musical, and the person upon whom your dramatic fates rest. For many of you, this may be just another tick on your college application extracurriculars, but I assure you that while this is amateur theater, it is not a theater for amateurs. Cast, you will be committed to this production, to your fellow cast mates, and to your performance. Tardiness, absences, and general flakiness or lack of professionalism will not be tolerated. Nor will any ego that deigns itself larger than mine. You have to take the journey into the woods and down the dell in vain, perhaps, but who can tell? Are we clear?”

      A collective, anxious, “Yes, Mr. Wood,” arose from the seats and stage.

      “Lovely. Now pets, let’s all line up onstage so I can get a good look at you.”

      Kris hopped to, finding his place center stage. He squinted into the lights and clocked me, mouthing, I’m in love! as about twenty-five other students in various levels of flop sweat lined up on either side of him. It was only then that I spied Audrey, who was nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot stage right, while Chloe stood beside her, fingers S-locked together in front of her belly button and teeth bared in an aggressive pageant grin.

      Audrey? Since when did she have thespian aspirations? Oh right, since she became Chloe’s born-again toady.

      “Nobody else?” Mr. Wood asked, surveying the few of us scattered in the seats behind him. I slouched down in my chair even further, while one other kid hesitantly side-stepped out of his row and padded

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