Free My Senior Year of Awesome by Jennifer DiGiovanni

bars it will take to get her to an Audrey II level of insanity.
    “Jana’s vocal range won’t really matter if she’s mic’d offstage,” Leslie chirps.
    “True,” Ms. Cutler agrees. “If you’re really that bad, we can always pipe in a recording from the soundtrack.”
    “And Sadie’s size will be an advantage for the onstage part,” says Leslie.
    “Why, is Audrey II an elf?” I ask. Everyone laughs. I usually ignore the insinuated insults, but by this point in high school, when everyone else has left me far, far behind, vertically speaking, the short jokes get old.
    “What?” I ask, searching around for anyone willing to make eye contact and spill the truth. “If she’s not short, then what is she?”
    “Leafy,” says one of the brave sophomore girls on the far side of the room.
    “Define leafy.” I picture myself dressed as a wood nymph or some other gorgeous mythological creature.
    “Audrey II is a plant. A hideous, man-eating plant.” Derek scrunches up his ruddy face in what I suppose is mock-horror. “Feed me, Seymour! You know that line, right?”
    “I don’t know anything. Who’s Seymour?”
    “The guy who works in the Little Shop of Horrors and loves Audrey the First,” Leslie says.
    “Wait. Back up a second. Are you saying that not only is my part not a lead role or even an understudy, but it also is not human?”
    “Our part,” Jana corrects me.
    “Your part is a big plant puppet,” Derek says.
    “But Audrey II is a lead role,” Leslie insists. “The show can’t go on without her. You’ll be front and center stage. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
    “Do Jana and I get top billing on the sign in front of school?”
    “Wait, Sadie,” Jana raises her hand, as if asking permission to speak. “If we get top billing on the sign, everyone riding by school will associate us with a flesh-eating plant.”
    “Good point. But, if we take the plant role, will it count for our … thing?”
    Jana’s head bobs up and down. “Leslie said the show cannot go on without us. Sounds like a fantastic achievement to me.”
    “Okay, I’m in. But I want to be a sexy plant. With some green sequins or something.”

Fill It In – February 20th
    Your Lazy Sunday Morning To-Do List
     
    1. Definitely not running.
    2. Not attending play practice.
    3. Not working on mathlete problems.
    4. Not waking up before ten a.m.
    5. Not working on college applications.
    6. Not cleaning my room. (Sorry, Mom).
    7. Not studying for Driver’s Ed. (Really sorry, Mom).
    8. Not eating breakfast, because there is not one scrap of food to be found in our kitchen.
    9. Not waking my mother, because she will hound me about numbers six and seven.
    10. I guess I’m going out. Time for an adventure.

Chapter Ten
     
     
    Although Mom’s belly is probably way past full after last night’s dinner out with friends, mine sounds like a kitten mewing under my shirt. I hike a half-mile to the grocery store as the purring increases to a full-fledged growl.
    Inside Market Fresh, I count out the last of my spending money. I’d done some sporadic babysitting and dog walking for my apartment neighbors, but held off looking for a real job, worried that any commitment to part-time employment will result in the whole awesome achievement list grinding to a dead halt. Jana depends on me to follow through on our mutual promises.
    With a sigh, I shove the crumpled bills back into my wallet. Maybe we can rip through the rest of our achievements in time for me to build my bank account before the money drain of senior week and college. If I ever find a college willing to accept my late application.
    Of course, I’m wearing ratty sweats and dirty fake Uggs reserved for sloshing through snow and rain soaked streets. I didn’t even bother to fix my ponytail before leaving the apartment, a surefire way to guarantee running into at least one person you don’t want to see. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when I turn into the produce