Speech and Debacles Read online

  Still, her hand found its way to her shoulder, rubbing the sore spot. There’d probably be a bruise by bedtime.

  Satchel Guy at the front took his seat, and the teacher glanced at the clock. The students in the auditorium phased out their conversations, as if they knew the time had finally come.

  The teacher cleared his throat. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. This is Drama III, the class for juniors where none of your dreams will come true, but at least you’ll have fun. If you didn’t sign up for Drama III, or if you have some weird agenda against fun, then now’s your chance to split.”

  Chuckles bubbled around the room as the teacher looked around expectantly. No one stood.

  “Good. Welp, I’m Mr. Banley-Zimmerman. Most of you probably know that, and if you didn’t, then I probably don’t know you yet. Rest assured, we’ll get acquainted. Sorry in advance for that.”

  More chuckles. Okay, so this guy was a bit…eccentric. Maybe that came with the territory for Drama teachers. At her old school, the few people actually paying attention would’ve rolled their eyes at a guy like this. Here, though, the students just went with it.

  And hey, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she was in good company for once.

  Because yeah, she’d always had a thing for acting, even if she’d never done it. She had no clue if she’d be any good at it, no idea if she’d one-hundred-percent freeze the moment she was on a stage.

  Except…

  Except this was where she wanted to be. Just like the characters on Timbre!, also known as the greatest TV show of all time, period, where a group of teenage misfits formed a musical theater club. The show was also known for its power ballads, shocking revelations and super intense kissing.

  Hells yes to all the kissing. Girls kissing girls, boys kissing boys, boys kissing girls. Enough to give Taryn’s bisexual heart all the feels. Which might or might not be why she ran a fan account with more followers than there were students in her school.

  Not that she would ever admit that to a single soul inside Fir Grove. Announcing she was a super fan probably wasn’t the way to make new friends fast.

  Unlike the characters on Timbre!, Taryn couldn’t sing—of that much she was sure. But if going to a new school meant new beginnings, then now was the time—the only time—to take a leap and get on a stage. To show up for a fine art she loved but had never practiced beyond observing her favorite television show.

  Maybe she’d suck at acting, maybe not. Either way, no backing out now.

  “Taryn Platt?”

  Taryn blinked. Did someone just call her name? She looked left, then right. A few people watched her, and others looked around the room like they were also confused.

  With a glimpse at the front of the room, her heart stuttered. Mr. Banley-Zimmerman stared directly at her, a goofy smile on his face.

  “Are you Taryn Platt?” he asked. His voice was gentle, neither mocking nor unamused.

  She blinked again. Speak! Tell him it’s you!

  “Yeah,” she croaked.

  Wow, way to go, Ms. Hidden Talent Actress.

  “Thank you kindly, Taryn.” Mr. Banley-Zimmerman tapped at the tablet resting on the podium in front of him. “Gavin Varns?”

  The attention now off her, Taryn closed her eyes as the teacher continued taking attendance. How long had she been lost in television fantasies? What else had she missed the teacher saying?

  If she’d been paying attention, would she have caught Elbow Guy’s name? Not that she needed it or anything. Because, again, he was most assuredly not her type. Though, one more look couldn’t hurt…

  She opened her eyes and glanced down the row. Elbow Guy leaned back in his seat, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. And his eyes were already on her.

  She blinked twice on reflex and looked back to Mr. Banley-Zimmerman—a much safer focal point. He cleared his throat and moved to the first row with a stack of papers, likely syllabi. She could do this. She could gather her nerves and be awesome at Drama class. Definitely.

  No one would find out she didn’t belong.

  Chapter Two

  Riker

  Riker Lucas was rife with ridiculous ideas. Terrible, even.

  Like showing up for every single inane class on the second day of junior year. Or wearing the tennis shoes that scratched the skin off his heels just because they matched his shirt.

  Or checking his damn email.

  Yeah, peeking at that inbox was by far the most senseless thing he’d done in the past seven hours. Because his emails—much like life in the Lucas household—contained nothing but crickets and rejection these days.

  He reread the message, double-checking that it was as bad as he’d originally thought.

  Dear Mr. Lucas,

  Thank you for your interest in voice acting for Seasons of Dust. We have listened to your demo with interest, but ultimately, we found it is not the right fit for our needs.

  We will keep your demo on file for ninety days. After that time, you may submit work to us for new casting calls.

  Sincerely,

  Goldblarg Entertainment

  So yeah, that happened. Another attempt at voice acting shot down like a waterfowl in Duck Hunt. Riker leaned over in the metal classroom chair and shoved his phone into the backpack by his suffering feet. Maybe the message would disappear if he couldn’t see the screen. Then he could proceed like nothing happened, could resort to scouring the Voice Venture website for the meager voiceover gigs he and thousands of other account holders fought over.

  This email would not disappoint him.

  Disappointment was for people who cared. People who needed to prove themselves.

  It was just that…well…he’d been banking on that part in Seasons of Dust for weeks. After an entire six months of recording voiceover crumbs for pennies through his Voice Venture account, he’d finally—finally!—been personally invited to send an audio demo. Goldblarg Entertainment didn’t say how many people they’d chosen to submit scripted samples, but still, it was the best opportunity he’d obtained to date. Riker had spent the rest of that night recording and rerecording, bringing to life three distinct character voices for the company’s script. Then he’d sent off the sample and cleared his mind by playing his favorite video game, Timescale, on his laptop for the rest of the night.

  And now, three weeks later, digital proof of wasted effort.

  Of course, of course, he had to get this news right as calculus class was about to start. He could’ve survived without listening to another teacher today.

  Never mind that it was the second day of junior year and attendance was mandatory without a doctor’s note. Forget that Riker had a whole new set of classes to attend and syllabi to skim, thanks to the bulky block scheduling at Fir Grove High School. Because despite the legal and rational reasons to make an appearance on this overcast Tuesday, Riker wanted nothing more than to put his pajama pants back on and play his video game next to a bowl of cereal.

  Anything to make him forget that terrible idea to check his inbox.

  Not that school wasn’t…an adequate way to take his mind off his failure to get a voice acting gig. There were just way more sensible things to do than sit through his fourth—and final—period class. Like learning real-world skills instead of that integral and derivative crap his calculus teacher, Mr. Robin, would undoubtedly spew at him by the end of the hour-and-a-half period. Riker had already had Mr. Robin for sophomore year, so he knew the guy was about as enthralling as a turtle.

  Even Timescale was more educational than high school. Riker would wager his lunch money for a month that his calculus teacher didn’t possess the logic to simultaneously build an impenetrable fort against eighteenth-century reanimated corpses and invest in an appropriate ratio of defense spending and tactical training.

  And some day, Riker would even be the person who voiced some of those video game characters. He was hella sure of it.

  It just wouldn’t be now. Thanks a lot, Goldblarg Entertainment.

  At the front of the room, Mr. Robin cleared his throat. With a tablet in hand, he began reading the rollcall. Riker stared through his calculus teacher’s head, eyes focused on nothing.

  Keep doing every little voiceover gig I can get, he said to himself. Try like hell to get a bigger and better one. Be such a badass at it that I can support myself after I graduate from this futile place of learning.

  “Riker Lucas?” came Mr. Robin’s voice. “Yep, you’re here.”

  Riker nodded on autopilot. No matter how far afield his thoughts traveled, the sound of his name would for sure bring him back to the moment. Bonus points that he didn’t even have to raise his hand for this teacher.

  With any luck, he could get through the whole class zoned out like this. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He reached down and scratched the back of each heel, trying to put space between the uncomfortable shoes and each sock. He’d have to burn these shoes to prevent the temptation to ever wear them again.

  Calculus class was unlikely to be the highlight of his afternoon. So far there had only been two positives from the entire span of the first two days of school, both related and on the same day. One—his familiar and trusty Drama class, where he could actually practice the useful skills of talking in front of people and testing out character voices (the chill teacher was an additional perk), and two—the girl with the rapidly blinking green eyes who’d rammed into his elbow by mistake and was already in his Drama class by the time he’d arrived. If he’d known she would be in the auditorium, he would’ve cut his hallway detour short for once.

  He lifted a hand to his elbow, as if just the thought of her made it ache.

  Pull yourself together, Rike.

  He dragged his hand up his arm, then scratc
hed his neck, as if he’d intended to do so all along. Just then, a syllabus landed on his desk, courtesy of Mr. Robin. Riker took this as a cue to look down at the paper and pretend to read it while his thoughts continued to wander.

  Knockout green eyes or not, Elbow-Ram Girl, otherwise known as Taryn, hadn’t shown an ounce of interest in him. Her eyeballs might as well have been flung from a trebuchet for how fast she looked away every time he’d tried to catch her eye. Then she’d bolted out of Drama class at the sound of the bell as if she’d signed up for a sprinting contest between classes.

  Just my luck.

  Somewhere near the front of the room, Mr. Robin said, “Great. If you could all flip to the third page, and…”

  Riker obeyed. Still, he couldn’t understand why every teacher found it necessary to walk through the syllabus on the first day of class. Most everyone would forget all this stuff right after they left the building, and they’d only look at it again when they needed to know what came next. That was how Riker worked, at any rate. Reading the syllabus today was mere busywork.

  God, this place sucks.

  He glanced down at his backpack. Maybe he could pull out his phone and slide it behind a book when Mr. Robin wasn’t looking. He could check his email again, see if maybe he’d been invited to submit a sample to some other company. It wasn’t impossible.

  Stop. No more crappy ideas today.

  The fumes of a dry-erase marker pulled Riker from his reverie. At the front of the room, Mr. Robin had begun to write a list below the underlined phrase “Today’s Goals.” Riker’s fingertips absentmindedly stroked his left elbow.

  Another day, another class. Another hour and—he glanced up at the clock—twenty minutes before the final bell would ring and he’d zip his way to the bus. After fifteen minutes of a bumpy ride, Riker would be in his happy place, Timescale in front of him, rejection email and green eyes and inattentive parents far from his mind. If he was lucky.

  Chapter Three

  Taryn

  Mr. Banley-Zimmerman pushed a whiteboard to the front of the sectioned-off auditorium, the wheels squeaking like a tinman in need of oil.

  Sitting halfway toward the back of the room with no one in arm’s reach, Taryn blinked hard. On the third day of Drama class—the sixth day of school—she hadn’t planned on listening to a lecture. So far, the class wasn’t living up to her expectations.

  Because Drama was nothing like the show Timbre!

  For one thing, no one so far had stood on their chair and belted out a song while gesticulating dramatically. Second, there wasn’t nearly as much kissing. No kissing at all, actually.

  There was about as little drama in this Drama class as there was in the turkey sandwich Grandma had made her for lunch.

  But some things were similar. Her teacher was hokey in an almost-charming way, no seating chart existed, and there were at least two boys and three girls with superb amounts of hotness.

  Speaking of which…

  Down at the end of her otherwise-empty row sat the guy with the sharp elbows, in the same seat as last time with his familiar high cheekbones, matching outfit and meticulously spiked-up hair.

  As far out of Taryn’s league as most people she found attractive. He was the type who could probably tell at a glance that she only stood in front of the bathroom mirror long enough to brush her hair and teeth.

  The kind of guy who never wondered whether he belonged in this class—her polar opposite. Sure, she’d signed up for a class that involved acting, but that didn’t mean she was ready to jump up on a stage yet.

  Good God, Taryn. He’s too hot to touch—don’t even try it.

  Plus he’s not punctual, so…

  Mr. Banley-Zimmerman scrawled “Monologue” across the whiteboard in red.

  “So!” he said, capping the marker and tossing it onto the silver tray below the whiteboard. “Monologues. Anyone want to tell me what those are?”

  Even as a newbie, the answer to that one was pretty obvious. Not that she’d raise her hand or anything.

  Her thousands of Timbre! account followers would drop their jaws if they could see her now. If they discovered that she wasn’t nearly as outgoing in real life as she was online, that she possessed nothing close to the tenacity of the characters on the show. But of course, her fan account was only digital words and images—no eye contact or vocalization involved.

  For some reason, replying to a question in class felt ten times more daunting than getting on a stage and projecting her voice.

  The latter would have a script. It involved the expectation of pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

  As for the former, well…real life didn’t have a script.

  A girl near the front of the room raised her hand and answered, though Taryn couldn’t quite hear.

  “Perfect,” the teacher replied. “Take notes, everyone. A monologue is a lengthy speech by a single character.”

  Take notes? Taryn’s memory of the syllabus was fuzzy, but she’d assumed the whole point of this class was acting, not note-taking. Would the teacher test them on this? At the end of her row, Elbow Guy stretched his arm across the back of the seat beside him, making no effort to lift a pen. Maybe he knew something she didn’t. Or maybe he was just a bad student.

  Better safe than sorry. She pulled a notebook from her backpack and jotted down as much of the definition of “monologue” as she remembered.

  “The type you’ve probably all heard of is called the ‘dramatic monologue’…”

  * * * *

  For the next fifteen minutes, Mr. Banley-Zimmerman lectured about different types of monologues, writing out their names on the whiteboard and adding famous examples in dark-blue dry-erase.

  “So! Any questions?” he asked from the front of the room, eyebrows raised. Around Taryn, shoulders shrugged and heads shook.

  A guy near the front with slicked-back hair said, “Nope!”

  “Good. Because now we get to the fun part.”

  More fun than taking notes, I hope.

  “Now that you’re all experts on monologues—which you obviously are after listening to me—you’ll get to put that into practice for your first assignment. This is on the syllabus, so hopefully some of you saw it coming.”

  Taryn’s mouth twitched. Oops.

  Her teacher walked up to the whiteboard and underlined the word “Monologue” twice. “You all need to find a monologue, memorize it and act it out! And don’t worry, it only has to be two minutes long. One-hundred-and-twenty seconds.”

  Oh God. Was it good or bad that her first acting assignment was solo? At least she wouldn’t have to consult with anyone while she figured out what to do. She could do trial and error in the privacy of her own—well, her grandma’s—home.

  The teacher continued. “I brought a few dozen scripts from my office with monologues in them, so you’re all welcome to poke through to find one that speaks to you. But there are a lot of other places you could look, too. The internet, of course. Or movies. Even a novel if you’re feeling fancy. Just as long as it’s one person talking for two minutes.”

  He looked around with his arms spread out. Taryn blinked back at him. No one in the room said anything, though most seemed to be paying attention.

  “So. Questions?”

  Again the room was silent. Taryn saw a couple of people in front shake their heads. They’d probably done assignments like this a dozen times before.

  “Good. Great. Grand. Wonderful. We’ve got twenty minutes left, plenty of time for you to think about what you want to do. You can use next class to work on perfecting them, so try to pick out your piece before that and bring it with you. You’ll perform the class after that!”

  Wow. This guy wasn’t messing around. They were diving right in, with only one full class period to prepare. Taryn foresaw many long evenings of memorization ahead. Not to mention the time she’d spend freaking out about giving a monologue in front of a bunch of people she didn’t know—in a class where she already had trouble participating.

  But.

  Despite all that, a nagging feeling in the back of her brain reminded her that she wanted to do this. She hadn’t watched three seasons of her favorite show because she hated the idea of the stage. Quite the opposite.