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Gretchen was always
the kind of girl that no one noticed.
She was a loner, but preferred the word independent to describe her lack of
relationships. With large owlish glasses, a sorrowful and serious oval
face, and a knack for balancing chemical equations, no one really had to
notice her as anything more than a dorky human calculator. But deep down,
Gretchen knew that she was more than that - she knew she was more than the
teacher’s pet, than the overachiever that her parents drove her to be - she
was a singer.
Gretchen knew that her voice was special - ever
since she was a child, alone at home, she would pretend to be in a musical
(she had seen CATS on Broadway once, far away from her rural
Kansas home) and sing to her heart’s content. She liked her voice
- it was the only part of her that she was really proud
of. She figured that any monkey could compute once the numbers were driven
into its mind, but true talent
- that was special, and Gretchen knew it.
Which was why she tried out for the spring play.
For most people, trying out for the high school’s annual play wasn’t that
great of a deal, but to Gretchen it was. It was almost her way of rebelling
against her goody-two-shoes reputation, and she loved it. Gretchen prepared
weeks in advance, choosing to perform Memories, from CATS.
She sang the song and drove every note, word, and pause into her head until
she could recall the song better than her address. She practiced until
every note was perfect, and worked on her facial expressions as she sang,
until her brothers, Jake and Marco, poked fun at her and serenaded her in
opera-like croons. Gretchen smiled, though, and bore it, for she knew that
what they were making fun of was true talent.
Finally, the day of the auditions came. Gretchen went a bit overboard with
the old wives’ tales. She made sure not to drink any milk, for it was bad
for the voice, some people told her, and practiced in her head. She usually
spoke seldom, but today she actually mimed a few things out and spoke barely
above a whisper so as not to wear out her voice.
After school, Gretchen found a startling amount of people waiting to
audition. She didn’t realize that many people would be trying out
- that
this many people would be competing with her for a chance in the spotlight.
Staring in awe at half of the girls’ lithe dancer’s bodies and obvious
charisma, she felt a moment of horrible doubt. She almost left right then
and there, but she thought of her practicing, and her dreams and how they
would never come true if she gave up so easily. Straightening her posture,
she began to practice her song. She closed her eyes, and instead of feeling
gawky and self-conscious, Gretchen felt as if she were on stage.
Gretchen practiced, and drank water whenever she felt that her throat was
getting sore.
Finally, a petite young woman with posh glasses and a stern smile called out
her name. “Gretchen McKinley? It’s your turn to try out,” she said in an
effortless breezy voice, with a hint of a New England accent. Gretchen
recognized her as an English teacher at the school, and also the leader of
the drama club.
Her stomach in knots, Gretchen followed slowly. She heard someone snicker,
but didn’t care
- she was too nervous. Her hands betrayed her serene
countenance. They shook like leaves in the wind, and for a moment a million
scenarios of forgetting the lines and just screwing up horribly raced
through her hurried mind. But she swallowed back her fear, and hopped up
nimbly onto the stage without using stairs.
“Ahem...” Gretchen started, words failing her. I’m Gretchen McKinley, and
the song that I shall be performing is Memories, from the Broadway play,
CATS.”
The woman in glasses nodded, as did a bohemian looking man with perfectly
sculpted brown hair, and Gretchen began her song. She started out
self-conscious and nervous, but as she got into the chorus, she forgot any
sort of earthly emotion and sang to her heart’s content. When she was done,
the woman had a faint smile on her terse face, and the man’s eyebrows were
raised a bit. Gretchen felt herself inundated by relief. When she thanked
them for her time she couldn’t help but skip out of the auditorium. She had
done it, she had auditioned, and she felt so good, so sure that she had made
the play!! But she wouldn’t be sure until tomorrow, she told herself, so
that she wouldn’t get her hopes too high up.
She drove home in her jalopy of a car, a sickly brown colored, boxy thing
that leaked oil like the Niagara Falls. She turned her radio off and stuck
in her CATS tape, singing along joyfully, the wind playing
with her hair. Her hand dangled out of the open window.
When Gretchen got home, she acted like everything was normal, or at least
tried to. She quickly went into her room, where she wrote excessively in
her diary until she retired for the night, forgetting to do all of her
studying and homework for once.
Gretchen raced through her morning routine, and sped to school to check the
casting list.
When she parked, she took two parking spaces, and she ran into the building,
almost expecting a “CONGRADULATIONS, GRETCHEN!” banner up
above the list. It was so diminutive, Gretchen noticed, for something of
such paramount importance. She looked at it, scanning for her name. She
found it
- but not next to a lead role’s name, she was in the chorus.
The first thought that raced through her disappointed mind was, That’s what
the guy was thinking with his stupid perfect eyebrow arched like so! ‘Wow
this girl sucks, let’s put her into the chorus so everyone else can drown
out her voice’. Oh, it just figures.
But, her optimistic side told her, you still made it! You’re in the play,
don’t forget!
Gretchen realized that and later (in Trig class) decided that a role in the
chorus was still superb. She would be the best chorus member there, she
promised herself, but wouldn’t forget to park right!
By
Kristen
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