Free Chain Letter by Christopher Pike Page B

Caretaker would know if Brendahad committed the foul deed or not. Then she had the disturbing idea that the Caretaker must be present. She scrutinized the six people unconnected with the play who were watching
     the rehearsal—three girls, three guys—and didn’t recognize a single one. They must
     be either freshmen or sophomores, aspiring actors, too young, so it would seem, to
     be behind such a complex scheme. Then she realized that if Brenda did tell Mr. Hoglan
     off, the whole school would know about it by break, and the rest of the city by lunch.
     One way or another, if he or she had listening ears, the Caretaker would know what
     had gone down.
    One thing you had to give Brenda, she didn’t hesitate. She had hardly appeared on
     stage when she began to do Essie’s idiotic stretching exercises in an unusually obscene
     manner—spread-eagled and the like. Mr. Hoglan called for a halt.
    “Brenda,” he said kindly, waddling his way to the front, tugging thoughtfully at his
     gray beard, not knowing he was about to have his professional qualifications severely
     questioned. “This is not an audition for Hair. Why are you being so . . . suggestive?”
    “I don’t know what you mean,” Brenda said.
    Mr. Hoglan did not like to argue. “Could you please perform Essie’s limbering exercises
     as you have done for the last three weeks?” He turned back toward his spot in the
     last row. Brenda stopped him with a word.
    “No.”
    Mr. Hoglan paused. “What did you say?”
    “I’ll do them the way I feel is best. You’re the one who’s always telling us to be
     natural on stage. Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing, letting it all hang out. Although
     I don’t know why I listen to you at all. To tell you the truth, I think you’re the
     worst director in the entire world.”
    Fine , Alison thought, she had got the line out. Now if she could tactfully withdraw, Mr.
     Hoglan might let it pass.
    But either Brenda thought the Caretaker would want more blood or else she really was
     speaking her mind; and when Brenda started on the latter, a brick wall couldn’t have
     shut her up. Alison began to squirm in her seat.
    “Brenda,” Mr. Hoglan said, startled, “that’s very unkind of you. I think you should
     apologize.”
    “This is a free country. I can speak my mind. You have your tastes and I have mine.
     And our tastes are far, far apart. Of course, I’m not a perfect Essie. I was never
     meant to play such a dumb cluck. But you said I didn’t ‘have the right look for Alice.’
     What’s that supposed to mean? Alice is pretty. I’m pretty. So why did you pick Alison
     over me? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re a talentless, pompous, burned out—”
    “Enough!” Mr. Hoglan said sharply, his red cheeks puffing up like a beaver’s. Alison
     felt terrible for him. “Since that is how you feel, young lady, your part will go
     to someone more appreciative. Please excuse yourself from the room.”
    Brenda swallowed painfully, lowering her head, realizingshe had let herself get carried away. But as she trudged down the stage steps, passing
     the instructor, she did not stop to apologize. She walked straight for the door. Alison
     flew after her, catching her in the hallway. Tears were forming at the corners of
     Brenda’s eyes but she would not let herself cry.
    “Are you OK?” Alison asked.
    “I’ll live.” Then she stopped and gave a lopsided smile. “How was I?”
    Alison put an arm around her shoulder. “It was a great performance. I’m sure the Caretaker
     would be proud.”
    · · ·
    Tony asked Alison on a formal date the day after Brenda’s parents grounded their daughter
     for two weeks for shooting her mouth off. The proposal happened under fairly trite
     circumstances. They were passing in the hallway and she just happened to drop all
     her books. He stopped to help, and when she was all in one piece and through thanking
     him, he asked if she was busy Friday night. She