Excerpt: Walking with Aunt Leaf

Twenty minutes later, with two slices of pizza in my nervous stomach and my teeth freshly brushed I got into the car with Meghan to drive the five minutes to school. When we walked into the arts building, I could tell that about half of the kids who auditioned the first time had been asked back and they were trying as hard as they could to stay calm. Some were sitting on the floor texting – probably to friends within eye sight. Some were biting their nails and looked like they wanted to beat their heads against the wall. There was even a couple trying to blend into the lockers while making out.
There were only three girls who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world. The O’s. Mia, Milan and Rachel were standing outside the door to the auditorium chatting. Mia rolled her eyes as a freshman walked by with paper in her hands, and gave her a look that clearly said, “You’re a baby. Why are you even trying?” Milan giggled and Rachel showed no sign of having noticed. Which obviously bothered Mia.
“Ugh. Those girls disgust me. Don’t they know that no matter what they do their actions make them ugly? I’m going to pee.” Meghan, as usual dispensing her wisdom with an equal amount of bluntness, took a left and headed to the bathrooms.
As I walked down the hall, the O’s caught sight of me and smiled knowingly at each other. Yes, here I was again. Was I just kidding myself? Was there even a possibility? Or would these three girls, who so clearly thought they were better than everyone else, continue to have the adults around them confirm it? What was wrong with people?
I avoided further eye contact with them as I walked passed them to check in with Sam who was leaning against the wall, clipboard in hand. It was amazing to me that Sam was still in high school. She was so efficient and organized, nothing like any other senior I had ever seen. She had a mission and she was going to go for it. Her life’s work, as she had told me during long hours together backstage, was to organize the brilliant minds of Broadway. “They are geniuses,” she explained, “but outside their heads, they don’t know their a$$e$ from their elbows.”
I walked toward her now and she looked up and smiled.
“Hey, Chickie. Ready for round two?” I immediately felt better. Sam flipped through the papers in her clipboard and found the right one. “You’re set for monologue slot number three and then a cold reading. Here’s your side.” I love theater slang. “Cold reading” sounded so much cooler than,”here’s something to read with no preparation.” And “side” was much better than, “section of the script”. I sighed. I really wanted this part.