Cut the Lights Read Free

a seat, my heart pounding.

Three
    Monday at lunchtime. A medieval jousting field. (At least, you could picture it that way.)
    The seven Fringe directors stand on either side of the table, ready to battle it out for the actors they want to cast. Mr. Ty should be at the head of the table as judge, but he refuses to attend because he wants us to work it out ourselves. Lorna is facing me down. I’m glaring right back. Between us is a large chart listing all the plays and actors.
    â€œI want to cast Sonata, Mica and Ashley.” I talk loudly enough to be heard over the bickering of the other directors, their voices thick with their own arguments.
    Across the table, Lorna comes back at me, full throttle. “You can’t have Sonata or Ashley.” She leans in. “I’m casting them.”
    I imagine Lorna lowering her visor and urging her horse into a gallop, her jousting lance aimed at my head.
    â€œSonata wants to be in my play,” I say, my palms slick with sweat. “She told me so.”
    â€œShe didn’t say that!” Lorna’s voice trembles. I picture her lance slipping out of her hands.
    â€œShe found me after media studies and told me that she loves the script. It ‘speaks to her’, she said.”
    Lorna’s face goes scarlet. Her lance crashes to the ground. “It doesn’t matter what Sonata wants. Mr. Ty will settle this.” She spins on her heel and marches into the hall.
    I follow, breathless. What if Mr. Ty sides with Lorna?
    When someone grabs at my shoulder, I jump.
    â€œWhoa, Briar. Calm down.” Samuel raises his hands. “I just wanted to warn you—”
    â€œAbout what?” I snap. My stomach is a mess of knots.
    â€œI’m not sure you want Sarah in your cast.” He flips his long hair away from his face as if he expects me to admire it.
    I stare at him, confused. “You mean Sonata?”
    He rolls his eyes. “I mean Sarah—that’s what she was in middle school, before she changed her name and got so full of herself. I’m just saying…you may not be glad to get her.”
    â€œThanks for the warning, Samuel.” I hurry to catch up with Lorna, my shoes squeaking. I don’t want her to get to Mr. Ty first.
    â€œI’m not kidding, Briar.” Samuel’s voice echoes down the empty hallway. “Why do you think most of the directors don’t want to cast her?”
    I pick up my pace.
    Because they can’t handle her, I think.

    Mr. Ty’s office. Minutes later. Several half-drunk mugs of coffee, piles of scripts, a papier-mâché rhinoceros head and some pirate hats clutter the room. Posters of Shakespeare and past school performances decorate the walls.
    Lorna is already yammering to Mr. Ty. “Not only have I had to endure two days of auditions and callbacks with a bunch of amateurs, Briar doesn’t even know how to negotiate for actors! She gave Sonata her script and begged her to take the lead! Like it’s up to Sonata?” Lorna stomps her foot. Her eyes blaze. “Is Sonata suddenly a director?”
    Mr. Ty swivels in his chair, his hands flat on the desk, his calm dark eyes flitting between us, his straight black hair gelled into spikes. “Lorna,” he begins, his tone soothing, “you know I’m more of a learning coach than a teacher. I prefer to nurture independent thought in my students rather than dictate solutions.”
    Lorna hardly takes a breath. “You have to settle this, Mr. Ty. Briar is trying to take two of my actors—Sonata and Ashley—and everyone knows that they always work with me. I wrote this play with them in mind. They’re perfect for the roles—”
    â€œDidn’t you ask me to settle a dispute between you and Sonata during last year’s Fringe?”
    Lorna gapes. “Yes—I mean, no. It wasn’t a dispute. It was a…misunderstanding.”
    â€œI recall that Sonata refused