Waiting for Callback by Perdita Cargill Read Free Book Online Page B

and ready to be cast. I didn’t. I was going in there metaphorically naked. I needed time to prepare –
dramatically (I’d planned on begging Lens to give me lots of one-to-one tuition before every audition), physically (I had a spot lurking in my left eyebrow) and emotionally (I was so not
calm).
    ‘Have I got any lines to learn?’ I asked Mum, looking at my watch, but hardly able to read the time I was so stressy.
    ‘No,’ said my mother, narrowly missing running over my maths teacher (wasted opportunity), ‘but don’t worry. Stella’s filled me in on everything you need to know.
They’re looking for a dead girl – well, to be accurate, a good actress who can convincingly portray a dead girl.’ She was obviously parroting Stella.
    ‘A dead girl? How hard can that be?’ I was crushed. At first sight, it didn’t sound like the role had a lot of potential.
    ‘Well, Stella said they were looking for a strong actress.’
    ‘She was just trying to be nice. What if this is my first audition because she thinks that’s all I can do – be dead.’
    My mother looked at me carefully.
    ‘Keep your eyes on the road, Mum, or I
will
be a dead child.’
    She didn’t say anything, just handed me a tube of spot concealer.
    Now I came to think about it (and now that I only had about twenty-five minutes to go) maybe convincingly portraying a dead girl
did
require talent. I mean, what exactly did dead girls
look like?
    What do dead girls look like? It was an emergency so I texted Moss.
    ???????????
    Audition!!!!!!!!
    Oh. My. God. And then, How dead?
    ‘How dead am I?’ I asked my mum.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, like, have I just drawn my last breath or am I practically decomposing? Do I have a tinge of blue about the lips or am I at the maggots stage?’
    My mother shuddered. ‘I don’t know, Elektra. Stella just said dead.’
    ‘You didn’t
ask
?’ I wailed.
    ‘She sounded busy.’
    I don’t know how dead I am , I texted Moss, wishing there were an emoticon for despair (there probably was, but not on my ancient phone).
    I meant how did you die? Disease? Knife? Poison? Gunshot wound to the head? Or sleep? She was right on it.
    ‘Mum, did you ask how I died?’ I asked, wondering how you could die of sleep.
    She shook her head. It didn’t seem to have occurred to her to find out anything useful at all.
    Mosssss, nightmare. I don’t know how I died.
    I think it will make a difference. Not sure what Google images to look at.
    Yep, presumably, dead girls who’d just gone through something very violent – or worse – would look different to girls who’d just quietly stopped breathing. Maybe it was a
period drama and I had been carried away by consumption or whatever it was that carried teenage girls away in period dramas – although I wasn’t sure I was thin enough to carry off death
by consumption. Maybe it was a ghost thing – then the character
would
have potential. Cool but unlikely.
    Google pics of dead girls are gross and prob not very helpful. Suggest you go with the flow. You will be a beautiful corpse.
    I won’t be a beautiful corpse. I am wearing school uniform
    Even Moss couldn’t think of an upbeat reply to that one.
    ‘Mum, have I got time to go home and get changed? I can’t go like this.’
    ‘We’ve hardly got time to get there full stop. Don’t worry. Stella said your school uniform would be perfect.’
    ‘But it’s
purple
. I can’t die in
purple
.’ I was prepared to do my very best, even in these difficult circumstances, but how good could I be wearing purple
polyester?
    ‘The colour brings out your eyes,’ Mum said (lied), but nothing was going to reconcile me to looking like an aubergine. Also my skirt (bought ‘to last’) was at least
three sizes too big. I was a tragic, droopy, nervous aubergine with mud-brown eyes. Maybe I was going to die of shame.
    I tried calling Lens, but he didn’t pick up. Then I tried Daisy . . . Nope, she wasn’t picking up