Exit Stage Left Read Free Page B

at her phone. And laughs out loud.
    Mr. Williams looks up from his roll sheet, frowns, and asks us all to remain quiet while he finishes. When he picks up where he left off, my entire body melts with relief. A confiscated phone is not in my plans today.
    What is in my plans today: reciting a few more tricky lines, running my song again, and getting through yet another awkward call with my dad.
    Focus. I’m all focus.
    My pre-calc homework lies abandoned on the coffee table while I recite lines from The Sound of Music out loud to my brother. I have him reading Liesl, the oldest daughter. Which I find kind of hilarious. Eric is a senior, all of fifteen months older than me, and he plays that big-brother card just a little too often. So of course I have to bring him down a peg or two on occasion.
    “Jesus, Casey, I’m not saying this line out loud.”
    “Eric! You interrupted the flow of the scene again. Now we have to start from the beginning.”
    He tosses the script on top of my homework. “Hell, no. I’m done. Get Mom to run lines with you.” Before I know it, all I see of him isthe back of his black bomber jacket as he stomps off toward the basement and his guitar, leaving me alone. Brothers are more trouble than they’re worth.
    I grab the script and read one line over and over, putting the emphasis on different words to see which works best.
    “Sounds good.” Mom stands in the doorway to the kitchen. “Are you ready?”
    “Definitely.” I think.
    “That’s what I like to hear.” Mom grins. “Now maybe you should focus on that.” She nods toward the textbook on the table.
    “I’m too nervous about auditions. I’ll do it in the morning.”
    Mom raises her eyebrows. She’s not so much a fan of my theater-first, school-second priorities. “I expect to see nothing lower than a C at the end of this semester.”
    Some parents let their sixteen-year-old daughters organize their own lives. Those parents would not be my mother. Unfortunately.
    “You need to call your dad tonight, too.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “You should be able to catch him in about twenty minutes.” Mom disappears back into the kitchen.
    I briefly consider hiding out in my room but decide I’m too lazy to make it up the stairs. Phone calls with the father who chose to take a job far, far away from his family—and then won’t even write a college recommendation for his daughter despite the fact that he’s a Big Deal lighting designer—aren’t exactly high on my priority list. So I pick up the pre-calc book and stare at a problem. The numbers swim in front of my eyes. I fill in all the o’s and d’s and b’s on the page ofmy textbook instead. I’m in the middle of sketching a series of hearts in the margin when my phone rings. I leap off the couch and snatch it from the end table.
    “Casey, hey.” It’s Amanda. “I’m bored.” She has to be if she’s calling instead of texting. That’s a whole new level of bored for Amanda.
    “Me too,” I say. “You’ve saved me from pre-calc misery.”
    “I finished that,” Amanda says. “It isn’t too hard.”
    “Some of us aren’t mathematical geniuses, you know.”
    “Please. It’s only because I paid attention in class instead of reciting lines in my head,” she teases. “I’ll go over the problems with you in the morning if you want.”
    “Thanks. I’ll bring you a muffin.” Amanda’s been helping me with homework since fifth grade. And I’ve been paying her in my mom’s chocolate chip muffins ever since. The fact that I actually passed geometry freshman year? All thanks to Amanda. The least I can do is give her amazing muffins in return.
    Amanda’s quiet for a second. “So, did you hear Gabby’s definitely trying out for the play now? The car lot moved their filming back.”
    “No,” I say with a groan. Gabby is real competition.
    “I thought you should know, but Case? Don’t stress about it.” Amanda pauses. “It’s almost eight. I