Skinny(65)

“You did an amazing job,” I say, patting Whitney’s shoulder. “I never thought I could look like that in a million years. It felt wonderful.”

The auditorium lights blink on and off.

“I have to go,” I say to Whitney. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay.” She sniffs once, straightens, and throws her hair back over one shoulder. The Whitney Stone I know is back in an instant. The curtain of perfection drops to cover her emotions, and I’m left wondering if I ever actually saw it in the first place.

Briella pulls me away from Whitney and toward the aisle leading up to the stage.

“This is for you,” Briella says, and pushes something into my hand. “Go ahead and sit up front. I have a seat saved for me right in the middle. You’ll see me.”

“Wish me luck,” I say, reaching out to grab her hand.

“I’ve heard you sing. You don’t need luck,” she says, and gives my hand a quick squeeze.

Three people sit about ten rows from the front with clipboards and pens. One of them is Ms. DeWise, her red hair tied up with a yellow ribbon into a massive curly knot of escaping frizzy corkscrews. I think the balding man with the green bow tie is the choir teacher, and the other one is a girl with shoulder-length black hair who barely looks older than me. Maybe some former high-school theater star? I’m not sure. They all look serious, heads together, talking in whispers as they flip through the papers in their laps.

I hold on to a small piece of folded paper Briella slipped into my hand a few minutes ago. Then I start to plan where I can sit — where there’s room for me — in these small, folding auditorium seats. Then I remember. I can fit anywhere now. I slide into the seat next to Kristen, and she glances over with her index finger still in her mouth. She spits out a bite of nail and keeps chewing.

“Congratulations,” I say. Even the butterflies in my stomach can’t keep me from noticing the space between me and Kristen. “You decided to go through with it.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“No, you’re not. Take some deep breaths.”

She takes her finger out of her mouth and breathes in and out obediently. I notice her left leg is jumping up and down like it’s disconnected from the rest of her body.

“Relax. You’re going to do fine.” I lay my hand on her knee and push down on her leg to stop the jerking. “What’s your monologue?”

“It’s from Guys and Dolls.” She clenches her fists together in her lap, digging her fingers into her palms to keep from being able to access her nubby, well-chewed nails. “My mom hates it when I bite my nails. What are you doing?”

“It’s a piece from Beauty and the Beast.”

“Beauty?”

“No, the Beast.” I grin at her. “I can relate to the part.”

“Why?” Kristen looks confused. Although I’m surprised she doesn’t get it, I don’t explain. She asks, “Do you think we sing first or do the monologue first?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “This is my first audition.”

“Me, too,” she says, her clenched fists now tapping on her shaking knees.

Shocker. Somehow I’ve figured that out.

The stage is empty except for a piano and the accompanist, who is ruffling through the selection of music they handed her a few minutes before. One spotlight circles center stage front.

Waiting. I swallow once. Twice. I. Can. Do. This.

I open my fist and stare down at the tiny piece of paper neatly folded into a perfect square. Slowly, I open it and stare down at a tiny picture. It’s an intricate pencil drawing of a mouse. Not a cartoony mouse with cute, human-like features, but a scientifically perfect sketch of the species. There’s no mistaking Rat’s handiwork. This mouse will go perfectly with the pumpkin on my bedroom wall. I smile down at the tiny picture and the butterflies in my stomach land for a minute, their wings stilled. Glancing up quickly from the paper, my eyes search the seats until I see Briella and Rat sitting near the middle of the center row.

He came. Even though I didn’t — couldn’t — ask him. He flashes me a brilliant Rat grin and lifts a hand in salute. He’s here. Watching. And knowing that makes me smile, too. I wave back, the scrap of paper fluttering in my hand. I want him to know I got it and that I knew it was from him. I turn back to the stage and inhale deeply. I’m going to do this.

The first name called is Chance Lehmann. His mop of curly brown hair is stuffed under a top hat, and he sings from Les Misérables. It’s not bad, but he really has to stretch for the high notes. Then he recites a monologue from Bye Bye Birdie, and the audience laughs at all the right spots. With his sexy smile, he’d make a great Prince Charming. I try to imagine him singing directly to me, all eyes on me, and feel heat flush up my cheeks. The applause is enthusiastic as he walks back to his seat, waving to the crowd. I glance back over my shoulder for the judges’ expressions. Bow-Tie Man smiles as he writes notes on his pad, and the other two are deep in conversation.