Crossing by Stacey Wallace Benefiel Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m mortified. Awesome.” I rush over and grab my backpack.
    “Dani, no—”
    “Forget it,” I say flustered, already heading for the door.

Chapter Six

    “Break both of your legs and don’t forget your lucky lipstick,” Elizabeth says to me on the way out the door.
    “Right.” I lean back into the’plex and swipe the tube of Perfect Red from the front pocket of my fleece on the chair.
    Lipstick always fits and it transforms my mood nearly as much as it transforms my face. Perfect Red is my lucky color. I wear it during midterms and finals, when I do poetry slams, and most importantly, when I sing karaoke.
    It helps me kill and has never let me down. I’ve got thin lips, but when I’m wearing lipstick and remembering to apply it repeatedly over the course of the day, people pay more attention to me. I’m convinced it’s because they can clearly see my mouth. No foolin’ where the sound is coming from, people. Right here, outta this pucker.
    I hoof it over to the theatre building, mentally running through the new monologue I spent all last night memorizing.
    After I’d run from the practice room yesterday like a fucking emotional cripple, I went directly to the green room, grabbed four monologue books, and hid in the women’s dressing rooms until I was absolutely sure Liam had left the building.
    God. Liam. What an embarrassing mess. What he must think of me. I’d told Elizabeth what happened, and she’d wanted me to do the monologue for her, but I just couldn’t. It was ruined. The conclusion I’d come to was that Liam was disgusted with me for trading on my friend’s death to get a part in a play. Which, the more that I thought about it…Jesus. Yeah. How gross of me.
    So, now I’m doing a monologue from a popular play and I’m sure at least one other actor will be doing the same one, but whatever. It’s not like I’m going to get the lead anyhow. Maybe I’ll get Eccentric Best Friend, but I don’t know. I’ve been in the acting program less than a month, and half the time casting decisions are made more on who you know than how your audition is. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
    I bypass the crowded hall where everyone is milling about talking to themselves and going over their lines in favor of the quiet of the dressing rooms downstairs.
    I close the door and check myself out in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of it. I look good, for me. I’ve got on funky vintage black and red pumps, my stockings with the seam up the back, a black pencil skirt, and a fitted red v-neck cashmere sweater. Elizabeth helped me hot roller my hair so it’s wavy and falls across my forehead just above my eyes. I take the lipstick out of my backpack – my only less than chic accessory – and reapply it. Sticking my index finger between my lips, I pull it out, making sure I didn’t get any Perfect Red on my teeth. That would be less than perfect.
    I pace around the room a few times before facing the vanity mirrors over the dressing tables and running my monologue. I’ve got it and I’m happy Maren turned us on to the trick about acting the intention, because that somehow makes me freak out less about forgetting my words.
    Squaring my shoulders, I thrust my chest out and wink at myself in the mirror. I will not embarrass myself. I will show promise. If I don’t get cast in this show, there will be another chance. There is always another show.
    I gather up my backpack and pea coat and head upstairs to the upper entrance of the Little Theatre. The auditions have just begun and India is pacing the hall outside, chewing on her nails.
    “You ready?” I ask, hoping I come off as friendly and not competitive like I did when the audition was announced. Competition makes me ugly.
    India shakes her head, too distracted to be bitchy to me. “I’m doing the same monologue as the girl that just went in.” She points to Cassandra and Evelyn over in the corner by the door, talking in hushed tones.