Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

OLIVIA WAS STILL FRAZZLED FROM HER ENCOUNTER WITH Ronny when she walked into drama.

“Liv!” Peanut called from the front row the moment Olivia started down the aisle. “Where have you been?”

“Secret meeting with your new boyfriend, Ed the Head?” Amber asked. She was all smiles, but there was an edge to her voice.

Olivia dropped into the empty seat next to Peanut and attempted to compose herself. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Miss Hayes,” Mr. Cunningham said from the stage, his lilting British accent at once casual and commanding. He ticked her name off the roll sheet. “Lovely to have you back this semester.”

As if his only scholarship student would miss it.

Olivia felt the row of seats bounce as a blond guy in cargo shorts and Timberlands plopped down next to her. Mr. Cunningham used his clipboard to shield his eyes from the heavy stage lights and stared at the front row. “And you are?”

“Logan Blaine,” he said.

Mr. Cunningham checked Logan off the list. “Do you have any theatrical experience, Mr. Blaine?”

“Sure do.” Logan flashed a boyish smile but didn’t elaborate.

“O-kay,” Mr. Cunningham said slowly. The late bell rang, and he took one last scan of the roll sheet while he waited for the echo to fade. “Looks like we have everyone but—”

The back door to the theater flew open, banging against the wall with a violence that made Olivia jump. She turned her head and her fingers dug into the cushy armrest as Donté jogged down the aisle.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.

Mr. Cunningham consulted his clipboard. “Mr. Greene?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand that Advanced Drama is considered an easy elective for some of you athletic types.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Which is why Father Uberti forces me to take you. So understand this: being on time for my class is a prerequisite for a passing grade.”

Donté joined drama? Excitement rippled through her. She’d have an entire semester with him. It was too good to be true.

“Sorry,” Donté repeated, holding his head high. “Won’t happen again.”

Mr. Cunningham nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Apology accepted, Mr. Greene. And I’d like to thank all of you for your patience while I was out of town last week. As you will soon learn, the delay was well worth it.”

Olivia leaned forward. It sounded as if Mr. Cunningham had a surprise for them. Celebrity coach? Field trip to Broadway?

“We have a few new people this semester.” Mr. Cunningham nodded to Donté and Logan. “Mr. Greene, Mr. Blaine, and Mr. . . .” He pointed toward the house left seats. “What was your name again?”

“Shane White.”

“Yes, Mr. White. If I’d known we’d have so many males in the class, I’d have picked one of the Henry the Sixths to do.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Regardless, we’ll be moving very quickly into advanced scene study, focusing on Shakespeare, and I expect the newcomers to keep up.”

Amber let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a squeak and a growl.

“Speaking of the Bard . . .” Mr. Cunningham walked to the edge of the stage and sat down with his legs dangling into the orchestra pit. “Due to the generosity of Mr. and Mrs. Stevens”—he gestured to Amber—“we are mounting a brand-new production of Twelfth Night this semester.”

“What?” Olivia turned to Amber, who stared fixedly at Mr. Cunningham, refusing to meet her eyes. Amber’s parents were funding the fall play? That didn’t make any sense. Not only was Amber ambivalent about theater, but she wasn’t very good at it, possessing a remarkable inability to remember her lines. Why this sudden interest?

Olivia’s hands went cold as another realization dawned upon her. If Amber’s parents were paying for this production, then she’d known for a while that the fall play would be Twelfth Night, even though she’d steadfastly told Olivia all summer that she thought it would be Mamet. Why had she lied?

“So brush off your monologues,” Mr. Cunningham continued. “Because auditions will be Wednesday after school.”

“Wednesday?” Peanut gasped. “But that’s in only three days!”

“Two, Miss Dumbrowski,” Mr. Cunningham said. He sounded almost sad. “Two days to prepare a soliloquy from the Shakespearean catalog. I know that seems impossible, but there is a method to my madness. I want your auditions to be spontaneous. Uniquely individual. And so, for this audition only, I’ll be allowing you to read from the script.”

Was it Olivia’s imagination or had Mr. Cunningham’s eyes rested on Amber for a brief moment as he dropped that bomb?

“I’ve saved the best for last. The reason for my absence at the beginning of the semester. I was in Bath, attending a performance of As You Like It, directed by the great Fitzgerald Conroy.”

Olivia sat straight up in her seat, the shock of Amber’s involvement in the production forgotten. The Fitzgerald Conroy? Former director in residence at the Royal Shakespeare Company and current artistic director of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, Fitzgerald Conroy was the godfather of modern Shakespearean productions, a world-class director who had literally worked with every leading stage actress of the last two decades.

“Fitzgerald is an old friend and colleague,” Mr. Cunningham continued. “And I am pleased to announce that he will be attending our opening-night performance and will be evaluating members of our cast for an internship position in this summer’s Oregon Shakespeare Festival.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped. An internship at Ashland? Working with Fitzgerald Conroy? This was the chance Olivia had been waiting for.

Amber squealed and grabbed Peanut’s hand. “Can you imagine? Me performing at Ashland?”

“You?” Olivia said. She couldn’t help herself.

Amber turned on her. “Why not? You’re not the star of the show around here anymore.”

Anymore?

Mr. Cunningham clapped his hands again, and the class quieted down. “There is one catch, so listen up. Due to Fitzgerald’s calendar, we need to open this production in three weeks.”

Olivia gasped again, this time simultaneously with almost everyone in the theater. Three weeks to mount an entire Shakespearean play? That was the most insane production schedule she’d ever heard.

“I realize that three weeks is a compressed rehearsal period, which means I must have a full commitment from everyone involved. For those of you not cast in the play, there will be important roles to fill: stage crew, costumes, lighting. This is a brand-new production with a great many moving parts, and it’s going to take all of us to pull it off. We’ll also need more behind-the-scenes crew than usual, so recruit your friends. Sound good?”

He didn’t wait for a response.

“So let’s start with some warm-ups. Everyone onstage.” He pointed at Amber. “Miss Stevens, would you like to lead? We can see how those private lessons over the summer paid off.”

Amber pranced up the stairs onto the stage, preening like a peacock. “I’d love to.”

Mr. Cunningham asked Amber to run the warm-ups? That was Olivia’s job, had been for four semesters. She was practically Mr. Cunningham’s TA, a de facto position based on her status as the only student at Bishop DuMaine on a drama scholarship.

Olivia slowly followed the rest of the class onto the stage, moving to the far corner as the class loosely formed rows behind Amber. Her mind reeled. Amber had taken acting lessons during the summer. Amber had lied to her about what the fall play would be. Amber had conned her parents into donating the funds to mount the new production. Amber had known about the internship with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival all along and decided she wanted it for herself. Why?

“We’ll start with some stretches,” Amber instructed.

“Olivia,” a voice whispered.

Olivia turned her head sharply. Mr. Cunningham stood in the wings, beckoning her over. As Amber began a windmill drill, Olivia ducked behind the leg curtain.

“Twelfth Night,” Mr. Cunningham said quickly. “I’m sure you want to play Olivia. It was your mother’s greatest role, and your namesake.”

Olivia was confused. “No, I don’t. I want—”

Mr. Cunningham held up his hand, cutting her off. “I need you to audition for Viola.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t tell anyone that’s what you’re doing.”

“Uh, okay.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Things are going to be a little different this semester. I . . .” His eyes faltered from her face. “I need this production. Fitzgerald’s looking for original stagings to fill next summer’s lineup. It would be my own production, a huge directorial role for me. Do you understand?”

Olivia had no idea what he was talking about but nodded anyway.

“I’ll do everything I can for you.” He squeezed her shoulder.

“Mr. Cunningham?” Amber called out. “We’re ready!”

Mr. Cunningham whipped his hand away. He straightened his shoulders and stepped past Olivia onto the stage.

“Excellent. Shall we start with some Hamlet?”