Exit Stage Left Read Free Page A

a cough.
    “I think you should go to the office and lie down.” Ms. Thomasetti scribbles a note and hands it to me.
    “All right,” I say weakly. I head toward the door with my books and the note, and carefully let my hair fall into my face. I don’t push it away because—obviously—I’m too weak to do anything but trudge out of the room and down the hallway.
    Once out the door, I mentally celebrate my success. I can even sneak a quick nap before Pre-calc. I turn the corner and collide with someone tall and male.
    “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you,” I say to the Foo Fighters T-shirt I’m practically breathing on. I back up. The shirt belongs to a guy with a nice face and dark hair that sort of sticks up on purpose. I don’t recognize him at all. His books are all over the floor, and he kneels and begins to put them into his backpack.
    “Sorry,” I say again. I pick up a script that looks like it came from the library. The Sound of Music . “Hey, are you trying out for the show?”
    He nods.
    “I am too! It’s one of my favorites. I’m auditioning for Maria, of course. I’m Casey, by the way. Are you new here?”
    The guy nods again. He doesn’t say anything. He just tugs on his shirt and looks at me.
    “Um, well, okay. I guess I’ll see you at the auditions tomorrow.”
    He takes his script and lopes down the hallway.
    How weird was that? I’ve never met an actor who didn’t talk.

Chapter Three
    After I convince the school nurse I’m cured, I sit at my desk in Pre-calc. Right next to Amanda.
    “Feeling better?” she asks with a grin.
    “Like a million bucks.”
    “Nice performance, although a little overdramatic. Practicing for tomorrow?”
    “Of course. And don’t think I didn’t see your Oh, I’m so faint I think I might pass out thing last week. The hand to the forehead was a little too much,” I joke back.
    You see, there’s a fine line between playing sick well enough to get out of class, and playing sick to the point that you get sent home. Amanda and I perfected the just-sick-enough routine in ninth grade, when we were subjected to a PE class that involved a lot of ball sports. Volleyball. Basketball. Softball. Whateverball. God-get-me-the-hell-outta-here-ball. By the end of the year, I’m pretty sure the school nurse wanted to send us both for CT scans because of our constant“migraines” and “cramps.”
    “I needed time to study for that physics quiz. At least I didn’t clutch my stomach like my intestines were going to fall out,” Amanda replies.
    When Mr. Williams starts calling roll, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
    I pull it out and put it in my lap to read Amanda’s text. Technically we can have phones in class—we just can’t use them. Technically.
    Except the text isn’t from Amanda. It’s Trevor. Gonna hit up El Burrito aft school. U in?
    He knows exactly what he’s doing. El Burrito is our place. It’s where we had our first date—or date-type thing—and (so very romantically) had our first kiss in the parking lot.
    Is it T? Amanda. Tell him to go take a long walk off a short catwalk.
    I smile. It’s not like I have any trouble telling him to get lost when I call things off, but now? Staying apart from him is really hard work. But then again, so is being with him.
    “Casey Fitzgerald,” Mr. Williams says.
    “Here,” I say automatically.
    Get yr ass to El B & put T outta his misery . I’ll even buy u the damn burrito. And that would be Steve-o Grimaldi texting on Trevor’s phone. That seals it. Not like I was going anyway, but I’m definitely not going if the Grimaldi twins—Trevor’s BFFs for reasons unknown—are going.
    Sry, busy. Practicing aud song with A & H , I write back to Trevor/Steve-o. Total lie, but worth it.
    If anyone asks, we’re practicing aud songs aft school 2day , I type out to Amanda.
    Got it , comes the answer.
    Will regale u with my fab rendition of “The Impossible Dream.”
    “Amanda Reynolds.”
    “Here.” Amanda peers