The Art of Wishing Read Free

tight smile in return. Miss Delisio gestured to the front row.
    But the front row had already filled up. Vicky hesitated again, and for one relieved moment I was sure she would head toward the back, with the other underclassmen.
    Then Simon waved at her. “Saved you a seat over here!” he called, much to my dismay. Vicky slid into the seat on Simon’s other side as he gave her his trademark arched-eyebrow smile. The one that made my heart beat just a little faster when he used it on me. The one that, last spring, had led to an incredibly awesome kiss at the cast party of
Bat Boy: The Musical
. The kiss had never been repeated. In fact, after that night he’d never even brought it up again. But still: awesome.
    Vicky, however, seemed oblivious to his flirty look.
    “Margo, right?” she whispered to me, across Simon.
    “That’s me.”
    “I saw you as Ruthie in
Bat Boy
last year. You were really good.”
    “Thanks,” I said, and smiled at her, exactly like I’d practiced in the bathroom mirror. I was okay with this. I was not allowed to hate Vicky Willoughbee.
    Once we were settled, Miss Delisio introduced George, like there was anyone here who didn’t know him. He flashed us a grin and settled himself at the piano. We wouldn’t be singing today, since we hadn’t officially learned the songs yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t underscore us. He began to play the opening bars of the show, and a little shiver flitted up my spine.
    With Naomi reading stage directions, we jumped right in. As usual, speaking the lyrics was odd since, without rhythms and melody, lyrics just sound like really weird poetry. But this was the way the first rehearsal always went: just a read-through, so we could all learn the story together. Most of us were used to it. Some people, like Simon, even managed to make it sound kind of good.
    Vicky, however, was no Simon. She read all of her lyrics in an awful monotone, like she couldn’t quite figure out what the words meant. And it wasn’t just the lyrics, either. The way she read the dialogue was just as bad. It was all I could do not to cover my ears and run screaming out of the theater.
    When we finally reached the end of Act One, Miss Delisio called a ten-minute break. I thought about going outside, but when Vicky got up, I decided to stay right where I was. Running into her in the hallway and accidentally punching her in the face were definitely not part of my I’m-okay-with-this plan.
    As I skimmed the second half of the script, I saw a student approach Miss Delisio. A student who wasn’t in the cast, which was a little unusual. It took me a minute, but I recognized him as the boy from earlier. The one I’d almost mowed down on my way to the bathroom.
    He spoke with Miss Delisio and George for a few moments before digging through the pockets of the hoodie he wore, then through the backpack he’d slung over one shoulder. He pulled out what looked like a camera case. I heard the word
yearbook
come out of someone’s mouth, and I groaned softly as I realized what was going on. They were starting rehearsal photo shoots this early in the game? Not fair.
    When the cast had settled back in their seats and quieted, Miss Delisio took a moment to confirm my fears.
    “Guys, this is Oliver Parish.” The boy gave a shy little wave to nobody in particular. “He just transferred here in January. He’s going to be photographing our rehearsal process for the drama club’s section of the yearbook. And maybe, if we’re lucky, he’ll get enough to put together a slide show for our cast party.”
    Naomi nudged me and rolled her eyes, which made me grin. I looked at Simon, to see what he thought of this turn of events, but he was busy typing out a text message on his phone. Beside him, though, Vicky was watching Oliver. And she wasn’t wearing that timid, deer-in-the-headlights expression from before. She was absolutely beaming.
    I looked at the photographer. He smiled back at Vicky, like