[4] The Understudies

(Malory)

Glaring up at my wooden-patterned ceiling until the fifth ring of the message tone goes off on my phone at 2 in the morning, I groan and grab it from on the bedside table, immediately being blinded by the harshness of the lighting as I revive the device from its sleep. I’m already finding it hard enough to fall sleep –who the hell is texting me at two a.m.?

Olive: MALORY

Olive: I READ THE SCRIPT

Olive: OH DEAR

Olive: OH MY DEAR LORD

Olive: YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY GOING TO DO IT, ARE YOU?

Me: NO hell no, I sort of settled the issue during first period yesterday when I dragged Davidson out of your class

Me: *sort of* settled it

Me: sort of.

Me: not exactly...

Me: I will find a way to, however.

Me: There is no way in hell I’m kissing that

KittyKaty: Wait what

KittyKaty: What

KittyKaty: Kissing who

KittyKaty: Why are you both still up? All I see on my phone are ‘Notifications from Olive and MalPal’

KittyKaty: Malory, is this about the play?

KittyKaty: YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THERE WAS A KISS SCENE BETWEEN YOU AND THAT GUY IN THE PLAY

Me: There wasn’t supposed to be one at all. THAT’S NOT PART OF THE ORIGINAL STORY. But they changed up a good bit of it to put their own twist.

Me: Besides, when I read the script, I’d read it at like three in the morning. You both know how messed up my sleeping schedule is.

Me: and you two are always complaining about how your phone blows up every two seconds because of me

Me: And I was extremely upset and didn’t even want to talk about it

Me: so I just went straight to the principal’s office with Davidson and addressed the matter instead

Me: I didn’t want to spoil my mood at work, Kitty

Me: and Olivia... you were going to see the script anyway

Me: this is getting more and more depressing every single day

Me: I just want it to be over

Olive: so what did Bev say to the two of you... especially considering you both skipped first period to barge into her office

Me: she said if we cooperate we won’t have to do the kiss

Me: BUT I DON’T WANT TO COOPERATE WITH HIM. I MEAN JUST LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED AT LUNCH THAT SAME DAY. HE SLAPPED ME WITH HALF OF HIS DISGUSTING SLOPPY BURGER.

KittyKaty: Seriously... Ew.

Me: I can’t sleep

Me: I already have this stupid messed up sleeping schedule, but at least before this crazy hyper-realistic nightmare I could have found a way to fall asleep even for an hour or so.

Me: I’m going to try to get some rest

Me: goodnight... or well... morning... to both of you

Olive: Rest up, Mal. Don’t think too hard about anything. See you later.

KittyKaty: night night

***

I’m not having a great day. I’m wearing washed out jeans and an oversized hoodie, and I look like a zombie. The bags under my eyes could be sold to the dark side as jewellery. I move through the locker hallway with a death glare plastered over my face. I don’t wave to the students who are telling me good morning. I don’t nod to anyone. I don’t feel alive. I’m so sleep deprived I’m seeing pillows instead of lockers.

I reach my locker, opening it and shoving a book inside before pulling out a pile of handouts that were set neatly in a binder. All the handouts fall to the ground from my weak, lazy hand. My body just won’t function today. I stare at the mass of pages on the floor in defeat. I groan. I stoop to pick them up.

Black ankle-length boots I know all too well, attached to a pair of long legs in thick, black, cotton jeans appears beside me as I extend my hand to pick up my pages. I ignore the individual, reaching down and gripping at my pages before standing.

I don’t look at him. I neaten the pile by organising it against the closed locker beside my own, and then I put them back neatly into the shelf of my own locker space. I shut it, revealing a polished Kyle with a smug, questioning look on his face and an annoying raised brow.

He lets out a deliberate breathy laugh. “Well, you look like shit.”

His arms are folded. He leans against the locker beside mine and tightens his jaw, transitioning into a stern expression.

I focus my eyes back onto my closed locker –specifically at the actual lock. I count the numbers to calm myself. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Clearly,” he acknowledges, immediately, his voice hot with intention and a good spoonful of spite.

“What do you want?” I ask him.

“I went through the script this morning,” he says, not elaborating.

A good few seconds passes. I scoff.

“Good job,” I award him with a forced sarcastic smile. “Do you want a medal? I’m sorry, the only thing I have at the moment is a strong fist and a really, really clever mouth.”

The oaf doesn’t even bother to acknowledge my comment.

“Even without the kiss scene,” he says, “the play is still ridiculous, Lloyd. I’m not here this morning to mess with you. I’m here because for once we’re both agreeing that this plan of theirs to make us cooperate is absolute shit.”

“You’re absolute shit.”

“Can you not be a bitch for two seconds?” He spits.

“Can you not be an immature brat?”

“I’m trying to have a civilised conversation with you,” he insists, “We both don’t want to do this. We said we were at least going to try to cooperate.”

It may be true that we said we were going to try, but every time I look at this guy I feel the urge to shoot a cannonball right at his face. “I don’t want to cooperate with you.”

He just keeps nagging and nagging. “I don’t care. You have to. I’m making the effort. Clean slate, remember?”

“Who says I don’t want mine?”

“You make that concept a pretty hard code to crack.” His tone of sarcasm and his face starts to irritate me.

I blink and swallow, trying to find the strength not to kill him or faint before I even attempt to kill him. “I did not get any sleep last night, Davidson. Before I pass out and ultimately have to be dragged to the sick room, can you please get to the point of whatever you’re trying to say?”

“I didn’t get any sleep either,” he tries to defend. “We’re both busy people. But like most other busy people, we’ve both gotten used to handling how to stay awake when we’re actually just mentally sleeping. So stop trying to be a smartass and listen to me. What I’m saying is the play is ridiculous. If we’re getting out of doing this you have to work with me.”

Hah! As if...

I scoff lazily and raise an eyebrow. “You have a plan?”

He nods once saying, “Just hear me out...” and while I wait for him to elaborate I lean against my locker and stare at him, bored. “I don’t know jack shit about drama. I don’t study it. But you, Olivia and Ron all do it. I did some research. And Ron mentioned this once, too. If we... if you and I... could somehow get Olivia and Ron to be the understudies...”

“We could get out of the actual play when it comes around.”

“See?” He says to me, “You’re not stupid.”

“See? That’s one of the reasons why I punch you,” I tell him in mockery. “Olivia and I already thought of that. Days before the actual auditions. If they get chosen to be the understudies it’s highly unlikely it will because of us. It’s not our decision to make.”

“They’d enjoy having the leading roles... even as the understudies. And Olivia and Ron don’t piss each other off like we do.”

“You piss me off first, doofus.”

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, wearily. “We’re not fighting this morning. We both know we’re too tired for that today. I honestly don’t know how you even have the strength to do that today considering how wrecked you look from a lack of sleep.”

Is he really trying to be considerate right now or is he low-key trying to insult me?

“I’ll feel better if I knock you unconscious before I fall unconscious myself.”

He looks so done with me. “Please shut up. Please. I’m asking.”

“Are you done?” I ask.

“One more thing.”

I get restless and start tapping my foot on the hard tiled floor. “What now?”

“Is there any way we can convince the teachers or the directors to make Ron and Olivia the understudies?”

Oh my god.

Hello, universe?

Yes, it’s Malory M.V. Lloyd speaking.

I’d like to get a refund on my life.

Yes, give it to someone with the will to live.

No, I would not like to keep the memories. Get rid of them all.

If possible, refrain from having Kyle Davidson meet the next body to inhabit my soul, thank you.

“If they don’t become the understudies on their own with their amazing acting, then I don’t know, Davidson, I’m not a god. I’m going to class. Goodbye.”

I could hear a faint groan as I bend to the corner, and then a hard punch hit the metal lockers. I bet he hit mine.

***

“Where’s Davidson?” Mrs Bev, asks, anxiously. “He’s forty-five minutes late. Mr Richards, take note. This is serious.”

My heart skips a beat. I’m pretty sure that any note-taking involving a lack of participation from either Kyle or myself would affect our records. The nerve of this moron!

It’s Friday, and rehearsals are in progress, and Kyle is absent.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t show up at all,” I say to Olivia.

“I would.”

I swear something has possessed my best friend.

“Why?” I ask, taken aback.

She shrugs. “He’s never late for anything.”

“He’d be late to his own funeral,” I tell her. “The boy’s got lagging reflexes. I would know. I’ve punched him. Multiple times. There are times when he doesn’t feel it until like... two minutes after I’ve thrown the punch.”

There’s a student taking the spotlight. Her name is Morgan. Since the male lead was –and is still- nowhere to be found, the teachers decided to go right ahead assigning roles, going through lines with people who had already been assigned roles, and fulfilling other fundamental theatre duties. Thankfully, they've decided the show must go on –or at least rehearsals should for today.

“Continue, Morgan,” Mrs Cole says, “Show more expression. Remember, you’re supposed to detest the thought of giving up such a life of luxury. You’re the best friend of a girl who’s now talking something you believe is utter nonsense. Show it! Show your opposition!”

Morgan shifts on her feet before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in. She opens her eyes, inhabiting the body and soul of the character, Beth. She stares down at her script as she begins to speak. “Preposterous! Valerie,” she looks up at the audience, whom she’s pretending is ‘Valerie’, “have you gone completely mad? Who in their right mind would desire to stay here? Where... where the cattle and fowl leave endless... unpleasant odours and the air is stagnant, save for a passing wind when the weather is down. The plants, their seeds struggle to sprout in their own supposedly desirable season... how could you have such hope for such a place as this?”

Mrs Cole nods at her in delight. “Better... Better. Where is our Valerie?”

I wave from my front row seat beside Olivia. “I’m over here!”

Mrs Cole turns from me to Olivia, who is patiently going through her script line by line. “Miss Prescott?” She calls out.

Olivia looks up. “Yes, Mrs Cole?”

“What’s your position in the play?”

“Her position hasn’t been decided yet,” Mrs Bev pitches in.

Mrs Cole thinks for a moment. “Madam, she’d make an excellent understudy to Malory for the leading role.”

Internally I do a back flip at the words.

Yes.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Mrs Beverly considers it, too. She turns to Olivia, whose expression has become more positive and hopeful. “She has performed before... indeed... Olivia, would you do it?”

We look at each other. I nod at her, a broad smile crawling onto my face.

She lets out a light-hearted laugh. “I guess so.”

Mrs Cole is taken aback. “You guess so? You’re doing it, Prescott. You’re an excellent one -especially in my class.”

Damn right, she is.

“And how convenient...” Mrs Bev says, “She’s already friends with Malory.”

“That’s right,” Mrs Cole says, smugly.

“Where is that Davidson?” Bev asks. “It’s the first rehearsal and he’s already not taking this seriously.”

From a row at the centre of the auditorium, Ron speaks up. “Um... Mrs Beverly... I’ve just spoken with him over the phone. He won’t be coming, today.”

Bev scoffs and turns to Mrs Cole. “We’ll need an understudy for him as well, don’t you think?”

Mrs Cole nods towards Ron. “He can do it.”

Olivia and I turn to him.

“Wait, what?” He asks, baffled.

“Another excellent student in my class,” Mrs Cole praises him. “I think both you and Olivia are capable of taking the jobs.”

“I... guess?” He replies.

“It’s a yes or no responsibility, Hoffman,” Mrs Cole assures him.

“... Yea, ma’am.” He replies, more firmly. He turns to Olivia who stares right back at him and they both laugh.

Mrs Bev and Mrs Cole go off on the topic of the benefits of having Olivia and Ron as the understudies –especially to Kyle and me- and about how great it is that we’re already friends with them.

Blah, blah, blah.

I watch my best friend send gestures to her new understudy buddy, thinking to myself, Well...

That went rather smoothly.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, Kyle Davidson, but for once something you hadn’t done was helpful.

“Valerie?” Mrs Bev calls, turning to me and snapping me out of my trail of thought. “Beth has said her line, where are you?”

“Oh right...” I refocus on the task, turning to Morgan and skimming through the script’s page in my hand to find the next line.

***

(Kyle)

I couldn’t face them. Not today. Usually things would be bad –but they were never this bad. I didn’t have a choice but to stay away.

I gather my weak limbs and stumble out of the hot shower, drying my hair with my towel and my feet on the bathroom mat. The entire bathroom smells like citrus. I walk into my room and limp towards the drawers. It’s no matter; I would be able to walk just fine tomorrow, I’m sure. I slip into boxers, a pair of sweatpants, and a sweater. I drag myself over to the bedside table and grab my phone, checking my notifications.

Roomie: Dude so why didn’t you come?

Me: Was busy.

Roomie: Mrs Cole and Mrs Bev made Olivia and I the understudies for you and Malory!

Me: What?

Me: WAIT SERIOUSLY?

I think my heart just dropped six feet under for a second.

Me: DON’T BE SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW, RON

Roomie: I’m not, man.

Me: Oh yesssssssssssssssss!

Me: oh sweeeeeeeet, sweeeeeeet, sweeeeet victoryyyyy

Me: Okay NOW I’m looking forward to this

Roomie: Oh but... Mrs Bev took note of the fact that you were absent today. Way to go, man. Way to go. It’s really petty, you know. Today was literally the first rehearsal.

Me: I. WAS. BUSY.

Roomie: Doing what? You don’t have lessons or any group meetings that go on from 2:45 to 4:00 pm on a Friday, and you don’t start work until like 5:30.

Roomie: and I’m pretty sure that you just stayed away because you would’ve had to practice with Malory.

Me: I was doing errands for my Uncle. He’s going out of town again. And wow, why don’t you just become my personal assistant with all those specifics?

Roomie: Are you paying?

Roomie: Anyway. Now I get it.

Before the conversation can continue, I hear footsteps thumping around the corner, heading towards my room.

Me: Anyway, it’s good that you got a good position. I’m glad. I gotta go, though. I’ll see you. I’ll pass by on Sunday ...hopefully.

Roomie: K. I’ll get some junk food and drinks. Don’t leave me hanging on Sunday. I’ll eat and drink it all for myself.

Me: Later

Ron: Later

I drop my phone onto my bedside table again, ensuring just one last time that it was on silent.

Then I hear it –the knock on my door.