Chapter Text
First rehearsals were always tense, and this one seemed to be no exception. For many, it was the first time seeing those who they had gone up against in hopes of securing a part since the audition - whether you had been successful or not, there were nevertheless certain societal expectations that were incredibly taxing to follow. At Oakland Academy’s not-at-all prestigious theatre department, the first rehearsal was always a table read, which meant that whatever sixth years had a free period were expected to come along and help manoeuvre tables into a great long snake that stretched all the way across the drama studio, while Mr Murray - or Mitchell, as he always insisted that the students call him - the school’s overzealous drama teacher and the program’s director, lamented the fact that he couldn’t arrange them into an Algonquin-style round table (unfortunately, Oakland, as expensive and well-funded as it was, seemed unable to afford anything other than basic square desks that could be dragged into the assembly hall to be used for prelims or exams when the time came, a fact greatly resented by Mitchell). And so I was forced into physical labour, a role I was not at all suited for.
Emilia, too, was standing off to the side, trying to appear busy sorting through a box of scripts in hopes of evading the arduous task of carrying the tables from the cupboard into the studio. “This is my least favourite part of shows,” she sighed, casting a sideways glance to Mitchell, before more closely examining a stack of photocopied pages when she noticed his gaze falling on her. “I vote we collect all of the misogynists and make them do it. If they think they’re so much better than me just because I’m a girl, let them do this shit. God knows there’s enough of them in my Maths class.”
“Remind me why you picked Advanced Higher?”
“I’ve already forgotten. Uni? Although I’d much rather study English, hence the second Advanced Higher in that, and the third in History, because Shakespeare.”
“You really don’t give yourself a break, do you?”
“Why should I? It’s only a year, and my parents are shelling out a veritable fortune for me to be here. I might as well make use of this school being as annoyingly good as it is. Besides, Maths honestly isn’t all that bad. It’s just logic - almost comforting, in a way. It’s just the people.”
“Well, ‘they are all but stomachs,’” I quoted, grinning wryly.
“’And we all but food,’” Emilia continued, flipping through the pages of the Libretto in a doomed attempt to appear busy. “They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, they belch us’ (1). So many of them laughed at and ridiculed that line last year in English when we studied Othello. It seems they completely missed its meaning.”
“You two!” Mitchell called, whipping the end of his offensively turquoise scarf in the air to further attract our attention, almost like a colourblind matador trying to entice a bull. “Are you here to help, or to gossip? Because if you’re gossiping, you know the rule. You have to tell me everything at the end of rehearsal!” He cackled loudly, slapping a hand on the desk in front of him for support. Emilia and I groaned, exchanging a knowing look and an eye-roll, and returned to our forced labour.
The studio door swung open with a bang, colliding with a stack of chairs that were set halfway out the cupboard. “Nice of you to finally show up, Cass,” I called. “Is Otho with you?”
“Thank you kindly for the warm welcome,” he laughed, righting the chairs and crossing over to Emilia and I. “Otho’s got football - the lucky bastard managed to escape setting up, and probably the awkward icebreakers too if he takes long enough in the showers. Congratulations, Emilia, by the way - I didn’t get a chance to speak with you on Sunday.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “You too!”
He mimed tipping a hat, jumping up to sit on a nearby desk. “Where’s James?”
She shrugged. “Physics, maybe? I haven’t had the chance to memorise my own timetable, yet, let alone his. All I know is that our frees are in different periods, so he’s in some class or other right now.”
“He’s in Music,” I corrected. Emilia glanced at me incredulously, questioning how I knew her boyfriend’s whereabouts better than she did. “He snapped me a picture of his timetable over the holidays - he wanted to know if we were in the same period for Drama. I checked his and a few others’ during PSE last period, so that I could know who to expect for setup. That’s why I was confused about Otho. He was listed for PE while I had PSE, and a free now, so I thought he’d be here. I guess he has extra practice.”
“Or he just wanted out of this,” Cass laughed, sliding down from the desk and going over to another stack that another of the sixth years had wheeled in. “Thanks, Mohammad,” he nodded, taking a few off the top of the stack and carrying them over to the end of the snake. “On a scale from one to ten, how tense do you think it will be tonight?” he called, turning back to Emilia and I.
“Seven,” I floated. “Worse than Anything Goes, but not quite as bad as Into the Woods.”
Emilia choked out a laugh. “God, I had totally forgotten about that. The first read through was awful.” Choosing a show in which the ensemble were in a grand total of about four scenes had not been a good idea on Mitchell’s part. When people had found out just how little they were going to be in the show, they had almost rioted, turning on not only Mitchell, but also those who had been lucky enough to get parts. Emilia had been the Baker’s Wife, and Cass the Wolf/Cinderella’s Prince, so they had both been on the receiving ends of their castmates’ rage. I had had the chance to speak to a lot of the principals that day the cast list came out, so I knew that (with the obvious exception of James), most people were happy enough with their parts. But the ensemble list hadn’t been posted until later that night, so I hadn’t had a chance to speak with many of them. “I just hope it goes at least decently well,” Emilia continued, shifting a table. “This is our last year. I don’t want anyone to ruin it.”
“What do you think the fourth term musical will be?” I asked.
“Hopefully something good,” Cass called, shooting a glance at Mitchell. “Les Mis, or Phantom.” His voice was growing progressively louder and more pointed. Mitchell was never one to really care about the wishes of his students - he picked whichever show he was obsessed with at that moment of time, even if he didn’t exactly have the cast for it. Although, in all honesty, the mad scramble to try and learn a song significantly out of your range was part of the fun, sometimes. A girl in the year above us, who had left the year before, had been forced to learn how to opera sing for a show once.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise, Mr Michaels,” Mitchell chided, strutting past them with a smirk. “Now, hurry up and sort these tables. The bell’s about to go.”
“Yes, sir!” Cass barked, raising his hand in a mock salute. Eventually, we managed to get the tables lined up, just in time for the chiming of the bell to signal the coming of the rest of the cast.
“Assigned seats!” Michell called over the buzz of conversation, eliciting a groan from across the room as he began to direct people to their desks.
“James,” Emilia called, greeting him with a wave and a smile. He did not return either. He didn’t even greet her - just made a beeline to his seat. Emilia frowned, deflating slightly before taking her own seat beside him. Mitchell pointed me towards my chair, right in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped table at which all of the principals were seated. Rory, the kid playing Jojo, squirmed in his chair on my left, while the seat on my right, which I assumed was reserved for Otho, sat empty. I could hear the ensemble chattering behind me - it was massive this year, bigger than it usually was, with a surprising amount of boys - somehow, they were evenly matched with the girls. Anything Goes has been a pretty big success the year before, with almost every single ticket sold for each of the four shows. I suppose it must have inspired people to join. Mitchell would be happy: he had expressed his desire to have his production of Seussical be on a ‘sweeping scale’ when he had announced the show the day before the summer holidays, but none of us had really expected him to get it. Now, it seemed, he would.
“Welcome, welcome!” Mitchell called, re-arranging his ridiculous scarves.
Mitchell sung, re-arranging his ridiculous scarves. “I am so incredibly excited to welcome you all to Oakland Academy’s production of Seussical the Musical! For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting me yet, my name is Mr Murray, although I strongly encourage all of my beloved theatre pupils to call me Mitchell. As I’m sure you know, the cast list was posted on the theatre club notice board last night. As is the case every year, my decision was an incredibly difficult - no, impossible - one, and I would like to thank you all for providing me with such a high standard of auditions. As is the case every year, I will continue to cast smaller principal roles throughout the course of rehearsals, so please ensure that you show up to every rehearsal and always present yourself in the best possible light. I didn’t have space to list it out on the cast list, but I have divided the ensemble into two sections this year - the Who ensemble and the Jungle of Nool ensemble. This means that you might not necessarily be called all the time, or be in every scene, but it was the tidiest way to ensure that there weren’t too many people on stage all at once and that everyone gets an equal chance to shine.”
As he began to read off the lists of the two ensembles, I glanced around the room. It seemed that my estimate of ‘level seven tension’ didn’t even barely cut it. James was sitting hunched back in his seat, arms crossed as his eyes shot daggers at Otho’s empty chair. Dess twitched with nervous energy, fiddling with pencils and rubbers and hair bobbles, and frequently dropping them. Every time one hit the floor with a small clatter, Tia rolled her eyes or laughed into her hands. Poor Bianca, caught between them, had her gaze fixed on her script, hesitant to antagonise either party. Emilia already looked on the verge of a small breakdown.
Mitchell finally stopped rattling off the names from the lists, pausing for a moment to take another brief glance at his notebook. “And, oh, it completely slipped my mind. The role of Baby Kangaroo, which was not included on the cast list, will be given to Miss Ellie Davis.” The cast clapped politely, smiling, while a tiny little first year girl - Ellie, surely - stared awkwardly at the ground. “Furthermore, understudies will be announced at the next rehearsal. This year, however, we will be selecting five understudies, instead of four. The lead male understudy will cover Horton and Cat, the lead female Gertrude and Mayzie, the supporting male Mr Mayor, General Schmitz, and the Wickershams, and the supporting female Mrs Mayor, the Sour Kangaroo, and the Bird Girls. In addition to this, we will choose a first or second year student to serve as Jojo’s understudy, in order to ensure that the actor playing Jojo looks young enough beside the ‘adult’ characters. Please do not underestimate how much work these understudy positions truly are. Although, despite my warning, I am sure you are all more than capable of-”
The doors to the drama studio swung open, cutting Mitchell of mid-sentence. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mitchell,” Otho said, gently closing them behind him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. The PE teachers kept me back for an additional football session in preparation for next week’s game.”
“It’s no problem,” Mitchell soothed, directing him to the empty seat. “You’re my star; I trust your ability to manage your own rehearsals.” I could sense the way James’s breath caught as he heard Mitchell utter the word ‘star’; could see the way his fingers twitched and jaw clenched. If looks could kill, Otho would have dropped dead on the spot. “Let’s get back to business. Unfortunately, as these are rental scripts, we only have enough for those in principal roles. I will eventually get copies of the lyrics and music onto the Teams page, but for tonight, if you’re in the ensemble, just listen to the read-through and try to take notes on what scenes you think you will be in based on the group I just assigned you. Now, let’s open to the first page of the Liberetto. Rory, if you’ll start us off?”
Rory nodded, carefully opening up his script and starting to read. “Now that is a very unusual hat. I wonder what’s under a hat such as that. It could be the creature they call the gazat, which balances things on its head, ‘cause it’s flat! Or a stripe-loving pipester from upper Mount Bat! Or a sort of a, kind of a, hat-wearing cat!”