Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“What the hell?” James muttered, running his finger along the carefully printed cast list. “What the hell?”

“Lighten up, James,” I snapped back. “It’s just a show.”

Emilia, hanging off his arm as always, took a decidedly more diplomatic approach. “You’re still a principal, James,” she smiled, her voice bright and sweet.

“-Supporting,” he cut in, not quite managing (though privately, I doubted he was even trying) to bite back a scowl.

“-And we’ll get to play a couple. That’ll be fun! Plus, that Rory kid seems pretty sweet.”

The aforementioned ‘Rory kid’ chose that moment to break through the circle of theatre kids that had formed around the first-floor noticeboard, a smile dawning on his face as his eyes darted along the list of names. “Yes!” he hissed, pumping his fist.

Emilia smiled. “Congratulations! Is this your first lead?”

“Not really. I was Gavroche last year in a production of ‘Les Mis’ in my town hall. Congrats on Mrs Mayor!” he turned away, but then turned back again. “Does that make you my mum?”

“I guess,” Emilia laughed.

Rory just shrugged. “Sure! Congrats to you as well, James!” And with that he left, running off to do whatever first years managed to fit in on a Sunday night before their 10pm bedtimes.

“Little brat,” James hissed, prompting Emilia to elbow him in the side. “How is he a lead, when I’m not? I deserve to be Horton! That role was mine!” He detached himself from Emilia. “And you, losing Gertrude to

some awkward little fifth year. It’s so humiliating! We should have just done Othello!” He turned on his heel and flounced off, his face reddening with poorly contained rage.

“I’m sorry about him,” Emilia muttered, migrating over to me. “I should have tried harder to calm him.”

“’Come not between the dragon and his wrath’”, I mused. “I’m sorry about Gertrude.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t have suited her. Beside, I’m thrilled for Dessie. She’ll be perfect.”

“Why audition for her, then?”

“James had some vision of us playing Horton and Gertrude. Stupid, I know. And he basically made me audition. After all, ‘I nothing, but to please his fantasy’.”

“So, you’re happy?” I confirmed, taking another look up at the cast list. 

“As happy as anyone can be about being in Seussical at the ripe age of sixteen years old,” she smirked.

“’With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,’” I quoted. “Congratulations, ‘Meels.”

“To you as well,” she said, frowning at the nickname. “You’ll be great as the Cat.”

I rolled my eyes performatively, trying to capture James’s trademark arrogance as I ran my hand through my hair. “I know.”

But our privacy did not last for long - within a minute, Dess was practically sprinting up to the noticeboard, Otho on her heels. Dess was known to be an anxious auditioner - each time a new show rolled around, she left the room shaking and almost in tears and then barely slept for the next three days, until the cast list was finally posted on the Sunday evening after a wait so long that it surely should have had the school investigated for undue cruelty against its students. As a consequence, no one ever really believed her when she said that her audition went disastrously wrong - they knew that she was simply catastrophising, overanalysing every weakly-hit note, every little slip of the tongue. But that year, she had been so inconsolable that they had all begun to believe her horror stories about her supposedly awful audition. Though judging by the list on the noticeboard, it had been yet another overreaction.

When Dess saw her name, she let out a shriek that echoed throughout the hallway, grabbing Otho’s arm for balance. He too was staring incredulously at the list, his muscles tensed as if he was expecting someone to jump from the nearest cupboard and inform him it was nothing more than a practical joke. “Congratulations, Dess,” Emilia smiled warmly. Dess released Otho and launched herself at Emilia, pulling her into a tight hug. “Dessie, you’re shaking!” she laughed.

“I think I’m in shock. Are we sure I’m not dreaming? Or dead? Pinch me, Emilia, or else I might go up to the third floor and jump out the window to see if I can fly, or ask Mr Spencer to give me an extension on my homework.” Mr Spencer, a Higher maths teacher, was notoriously strict and unforgiving, particularly on matters of overdue homework. Throwing herself out the window perhaps would have been the kinder way to go. Emilia lightly pinched Desdemona’s upper arm, laughing.

“You’re alive and awake. You’ve earned this, Dessie. And you, Otho!” she said, turning to face him without releasing Dess. “I cannot wait to watch the pair of you sing ‘Notice Me, Horton’. Although, I suppose it might bring back painful memories of before the two of you started going out, when Dess was pining over you day and night, relentlessly. I could never get a break! It'll be more like a war flashback than a song.”
Otho and Dess both laughed, Dess flushing a deep scarlet. “How did you start going out, anyway?” I prompted. “I didn’t even realise you had gotten together until I saw the Instagram post of the two of you together.”

Dess laughed harder, releasing herself from Emilia’s grasp and moving closer to Otho. “It’s a pretty long story,” he shrugged. I raised my eyebrows - he knew my views on long stories… being that the longer it was, the better. Complex, convoluted tales of love and betrayal and confusion were why I loved Shakespeare so. “I was doing some work for Dessie’s father - I’m still not convinced that she didn’t have a significant part in him choosing to hire me, for the record, despite her protests - so I spent a lot of time at her house over the summer. He seemed to like listening to stories of my life as we worked - the places I’ve lived, what I did there… all of that. Turns out, Dessie was listening in, and hearing them just made her fall even more madly in love with me.” He grinned at this. Dess’s face turned even more red, if it were possible.

“Eventually, I told him that if one of his friends ever wanted to gain my attention, all they had to do was tell his stories,” Dess said, taking over the story. “At last, he managed to take the hint, and asked me out the next day. I, of course, said yes.” She laughed again, ducking her head. “My father was not happy about it, though. It seems he liked Otho as a person, but not as a boyfriend for his only daughter.”
Otho shrugged. “I guess Nigerian orphans on performing scholarships with no ambitions but making the West End aren’t exactly the best son-in-law material,’ he said, chuckling self-deprecatingly.

Dess looked up at him, hurt in her eyes. “It isn’t true! My father’s an idiot. Please, believe me when I say that.”

“I’m only joking, Dessie. Don’t worry.”

She nodded, explaining, “He kicked me out of the house when he found out.” Though exiling your only child simply for her choice in boyfriend was certainly an extreme overreaction, I had met Dess’s father once, after a production of Newsies in which she had been playing a Bowery Beauty. From where I had been standing in the wings, I could see his face swiftly growing more purple throughout the course of ‘Don’t Come A-Knockin’. It had looked like he was on the verge of heart failure. He had then spent the entire interval threatening the director for putting her in such an ‘undignified role’. Really, it wasn’t even that bad. Her costume was a leotard and fishnets, sure, but she was covered up by a gigantic purple feather fan for the vast majority of the song. The choreography wasn’t suggestive in the slightest. And honestly - she had been a nun five minutes earlier. Compared to what some of the girls had had to do in Chicago or Cabaret (both productions limited to only the fifth and sixth year students) it was child’s play. The man then became a subject of ridicule for the entire cast - encouraged by Dess, of course - who liked to joke that the man was practically Reverend Moore from Footloose, only with no real reasons for his staunchly traditionalist behaviour. “I stayed with my aunt and uncle for the rest of the holidays, and will be, for the foreseeable future. Lewis was not happy about that.”

Emilia and Otho laughed. “Has he seen the cast list, yet?” Otho asked. “He’ll be happy.”

“I doubt it,” Dess frowned. “I mean, he enjoys being in shows, but he was never really one for being excited about cast lists. He’ll do well as a Wickersham, though - he’s basically half gorilla already.”

The girls laughed again, and Otho shook his head, smirking. “Should we go and tell him?” Emilia suggested. “He probably won’t find out until Tech Week if we don’t.” Dess voiced her agreement, and grasped onto Emilia’s hand. The pair ran off, chattering excitedly, with Otho lagging slightly behind.

“Congratulations on getting the Cat, by the way!” Otho said, turning back as if only just remembering I was there. “You’ll be incredible. I’m excited to work with you.”

“Thanks,” I nodded. “You too.”

Giving me a final smile, he turned back to the girls and rushed forwards to catch up with them. I knew I would stay, at least for a little longer. I always liked to hang around for a while on Cast List day. It was interesting, grimly so, to watch everyone’s reactions to their parts - and, more enticingly, to the parts of their classmates. It helped me get a sense of what tensions were sure to exist within the cast; who would be putting in work and who would be neglecting their responsibilities because they were unhappy with their role; who would be secretly hoping for another’s downfall so that they could swoop in and steal their part. It was one of my favourite pre-rehearsal rituals. I only hoped that someone would appear soon - I didn't exactly look particularly cool, standing alone by the drama club's noticeboard. 

Thankfully, I did not have to wait long. Within two minutes, the next group arrived - Cass Michaels racing up to the noticeboard, with Tia and Bianca following closely behind. "Fuck yes!" Cass called, earning a disdainful glare from a passing teacher. "Sorry."

"Excited to bully some children, are you?" Bianca asked, sidling up beside him. She offered little reaction to her own fortunate casting; only a slight hum of satisfaction and a brief nod. It was basically a forgone conclusion that she would be getting the part of Mayzie. She was perfect for it, really, with a strong voice, a sharp tongue, and a wicked sense of humour. Tia showed slightly more emotion, but still not much compared to Cass's passionate display. 

"Always," Cass said, rolling his eyes. Cass was the drama club's self-titled 'Loose Cannon' - he had a flawless voice that sat nicely between baritone and tenor and extended well into the extremes of both ranges, the ideal love-interest appearance (tall and vaguely muscular, with loose brown curls that hung limp over his eyes and a charming, heart-melting smile), and a sarcastic, self-depricating comedy style that lent itself well to both improv and scripted romantic banter. However, he also auditioned for only the most random and mismatched roles: he could have been a Valjean or Marius whose performance got him an Olivier nomination at the age of seventeen, but he wanted to play Thenardier, or even Bambatois, the sailor who attacked Fantine. He could have met international praise as the Phantom, but instead he would have auditioned for a manager or Buquet. He could easily have gotten Horton if he tried, but no: he wanted to talk-sing his way through 'The Military' and lead 'Green Eggs and Ham'. He had also spent most of the summer in rehab after his drink-and-drug problem reached a breaking point after the cast party on closing night of Anything Goes, their third/fourth term musical the year before, in which he, of course, played Moonface. 

"Oh, look!" he cried, pointing to his brother's name. "Chris is a Wickersham. I must admit, I'm slightly jealous. 'Monkey Around' seems pretty fun to sing. And you girls must be happy. 'Amazing Mayzie' will be spectacular, and it'll be great to hear Tia get to riff again." He then turned to me. "You'll be great as the Cat. And you'd better be as unhinged as possible during 'How Lucky You Are'."

"Who do you think I am, Cass? 'Unhinged' is practically my middle name."

"Of course. I must admit, I'm excited for Seussical. James won't be happy we lost Othello though. Especially since it was me who suggested it."

"Really?" Bianca scowled. "I have to dress up as a bird because of you?"

"It'll be fun, Bianca, and you know it. But James was pretty mad. He takes himself far too seriously; he always has. I'd better start watching my drink for poison."

Normally, I preferred not to engage in the idle gossip that was all too common amongst theatre kids - I preferred to listen in, to gather information that I would keep close to my chest for when the time was right. But this time, I couldn't resist joining in. "And he's even less happy about not getting Horton. He basically pouted the entire time he was here, chewed out poor Emilia when she tried to make light of it, then stormed off."

"Why does she stay with him?" Tia asked. "For one thing, she could do far better than him... appearance wise. I hate to admit it, but she's prettier than she thinks. Plus, he treats her terribly."

Not wanting to provide them with any more information, I just shrugged, while the other three continued to speculate about their relationship. Eventually, the topic changed to Otho and Dess's burgeoning romance, something I was much less hesitant to weigh in on. It was common knowledge, after all: Dess had posted an - admittedly adorable - candid photo of the two of them singing 'All I Ask of You' at one of her cousin's famous karaoke nights. She was wearing his football team jumper over her white dress - somehow, that maniac managed to split his time between both the theatre and the football team - and blushing as the karaoke screen behind them read, "Say you love me"/"You know I do." The entire drama club seemed to have arrived at the consensus that they were the perfect couple. 

"Have they chosen understudies, yet?" asked Bianca, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. Sure enough, there were no understudies or swings listed on the cast list - unusual for our drama club, which usually appointed a 'Lead Understudy' from the supporting cast and a 'Supporting Understudy' from the ensemble for each gender. 

"Maybe they'll announce it at rehearsals," I speculated. "They've done that before."

"Well, if James gets Lead Understudy, we'd better put Otho into witness protection," Cass joked. "On second thought, that's not even a bad idea."

I smirked, slightly. "I can already tell that this year's going to be... eventful."

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!”