Free Frost by Wendy Delsol Page A

priority?”
    “Just a high-school student?” I could hear the hurt in his voice.
    “I didn’t mean it as an insult, it’s just that . . .”
    “What?”
    “It’s so sudden and all-consuming.”
    “Brigid is only here for a short time. I have to take advantage.”
    Something about the phrase “take advantage” made me recoil. I wondered just who was taking advantage of whom, but judging by the squint in Jack’s eyes, I didn’t dare air the remark. “Congratulations,” I said. “Really. I mean it. And I’m sorry if I didn’t sound supportive before.”
    “Thanks,” he said. “Gotta run.” He hurried off so quickly that I wondered if my apology had truly been accepted. I didn’t have much time to dwell; I was cutting it close for auditions already.
    There were about thirty kids hanging around in the auditorium when I got there. I’d expected a bigger turnout. I thought back to when my school in LA had done a production of
Oklahoma.
A friend of mine had been in the chorus, and I attended a sold-out opening day with so many cast and crew on the stage at curtain call I had honestly wondered if we were approaching the real Oklahoma’s census numbers.
    Penny waved me over, and I skirted around the small crowd. I noticed Monique, our prom queen and Wade’s former girlfriend, was one of the hopefuls. No longer a victim of Wade’s mind control, she was almost tolerable. Almost. She still had a whiff of entitlement about her. Due to the story Hulda had concocted to explain Wade’s demise, Monique was now the former girlfriend of a hero — a dead one, all the more noble. Or so she thought. At least she now acknowledged others, though her inner circle remained small. Matthew was there, too, with a couple of his fellow band members. Not a huge surprise. The guy loved music.
    As we waited, gathering around the back of the auditorium, I heard a voice behind me. “Kat, Penny, I’m so glad you girls are trying out,” Ms. Bryant, our design teacher, said with a warm smile. “As a first-time assistant director, I’m glad to see some familiar faces.” Ms. Bryant was, hands down, my favorite teacher, ever. She was friendly, smart, funny, attractive, and could accessorize like nobody’s business.
    “I had a hard time talking Kat into it,” Penny said with a beatific daze in her eyes. We were all a little in awe of Ms. Bryant.
    “I’m glad you did,” Ms. Bryant said, rubbing Penny’s arm. “As always, your enthusiasm is infectious.” She walked up the steps to the stage with a flash of toned leg peeking out from under the dark mocha of her side-slitted skirt.
    What Penny had said was true, but, still, a little help up from the bus she threw me under would be nice.
    “This is going to be a great production,” Penny said, nudging me in the side. “Are you in now?” she asked.
    I brushed tire marks from the side of my face. “Possibly.”
    “Let’s get everyone onstage,” said Mr. Higginbottom, the speech and drama teacher and the production’s director.
    I led Penny to a spot way in the back, well-positioned for hiding and keeping an eye on the rest of the talent pool.
    An hour into the tryout, I had to admit it didn’t suck. I’d always loved to dance. Mr. Higginbottom had an over-the-top enthusiasm for all things Broadway. That, paired with surprisingly graceful moves from his burly-chested, triangular frame, had me giggling and having way too much fun to deserve the sweat glistening my forehead. But that was just the dancing; the singing portion was next.
    We were sorted into three parallel lines and handed lyrics to the opening number: something entitled “Village Life.” I expressed a sigh of disappointment at the opening words of the song:
    Another day of happy lives we villagers embrace,

Lucky are we one and all to live in such a place.
    Penny shot me a look — one I deserved. No way would the
Blade Runner
commando theme I had envisioned for the sets and costumes work.
    And dang if the