Bren is standing in the auditorium doorway when I get there after school. He hands me a pamphlet.
"I saw how you looked at those poetry-contest pamphlets," he says. "Not sure why you didn't you take it for yourself, but I figured you might want one."
Before I can even say thank you, and tell him I have no intention entering, he's gone. Sucked into the mass of kids in the hallway like he's gone through a portal to another dimension.
"O-kay." I shove the pamphlet in my back and head in to find Ashia. She's front and center with a clipboard on her lap.
"Kenzie!" She definitely wins for most enthusiastic in this place. "You're trying out, right?"
It all looks so fun and I kind of wish I could. I'm here to see you try out. I can't do it, though." "Sure you can. It's a great time. And after all the shows are done, we have this incredible cast party," she says. "The only not-so-good part of it all is that Shelby Jacobs will probably get the lead."
"Who's Shelby Jacobs?" I ask.
Ashia points to the left side of the stage, where a girl in a fancy dress with short red hair is get- ting ready for her audition. "Let's just say her rum amazing voice is her best quality, and I couldn't name another one."
He hand
"Yikes," I say. "I'll be sure to steer clear of her."
When Shelby glides up to the microphone and
sings, I sit back in shock. She's incredible. But Ashia doesn't seem to notice. "You're going
up, right?"
The lead is obviously securely Shelby's, and it would be kind of nice to get some feedback on my singing. If I could actually get the words to come out of my mouth.
"I can't go up there and sing in front of everyone," I say.
The girl next to me explains that they'll call kids up for the chorus at the same time, and all I have to do is sing with the group and say a few lines of dialogue with a partner.
Hmm. Maybe I can do this.
Mom always told me I had a beautiful voice, and my dad says I'm a star in the making, but parents are supposed to say that. Teachers, on the other hand, don't have to say anything nice if they don't want to. And if I somehow manage to get cast, I can quietly tell the adviser to take me off the list.
"Okay, fine. I'll try," I say. "But if I step up there and panic, you have to come save me."
"Of course," says Ashia.
More kids filter in as Ashia and I sign our names on the tryout sheet under "chorus."
As the auditions continue, my hands get shaky and I can't keep my foot still.
My group is called to the stage and asked to sing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road" as the teachers in charge walk around with clipboards, taking notes. One of the teachers gets real close and lean in like she's listening intently. I try to stay focused, but, oh man, what is she writing about me? Maybe I don't want actual non-Dad feedback.
When we're done, they call us to the front in pairs to say our lines, and I'm assigned Scarecrow. As the girl playing Dorothy says her line, Ashia's words run through my mind. And after all the shows are done, we have this incredible cast party. Yeah, not me, though.
I guess I channel my inner sad Scarecrow, because I don't do such a bad job with the lines. Ashia smiles from the audience, and I sort of feel bad that I haven't told her the truth yet.
Dad's already there when I get to the house. "Hi, Dad," I say, kicking off my sneakers.
"Hey, sweetie, how was your first day of school?" He's sitting on the couch with his laptop, and there's a stack of papers on the coffee table.
"It was different from having class in an air- plane, but great. I met some nice kids." I drop my backpack on the bench in the entryway. "Why are you home so early?"
I try to focus on him, but the packed suitcase on the floor gets my attention instead.
"Oh, that's nothing to worry about, Kenzie," says Dad. "Last-minute trip for the weekend, but I found you a chaperone. You can stay here since you have school tomorrow."
The thing is, after only a few days in Las Vegas, I find myself missing being on the go a little. Plus, I haven't been away from my dad for a whole week- end in three years.
"I'd rather go with you, if that's okay." I sit down next to Dad and put my head on his shoulder. "It's not like I have any plans this weekend."
Dad pats my leg. "Well, I'm not sure it's the best idea to already be missing a day of school, but I know you'll make up the work," he says. "I just figured you might want to have a playdate with your new friends."
I sit up. "A playdate? Dad, I'm twelve, not five."
"Sorry, what are we calling it, then?" he asks.
But I don't even know. Hanging out? Chilling? I haven't had friends to get together with in a long time.
"It doesn't matter," I say. "Where are we going?"
"Boise," he answers.
"Good. I like Boise." I calculate the flight times in my head and plan out how long of a book to bring with me. "I'll go pack."
And as I head up the stairs, I wonder how many times I've said that same phrase in my lifetime.