Stages, p.1
Stages, page 1
Also By Whitney Amazeen
Meadow Hills Series
A Summer of Dandelions
Carefree Series
One Day Too Late
One Carefree Day
Something Bright and Burning
Copyright © 2024 by Whitney Amazeen
All rights reserved.
Published by Swan Pages Publishing LLC.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Illustration & Design: Andra Murarasu
Editor: Wendy Higgins at Pink Pen Editing
ISBN: 978-1-961559-86-8 (ebook), 978-1-961559-85-1 (paperback)
First Edition: November 2024
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Zach—this one’s for you, little brother.
Playlist
Hunnybee — Unknown Mortal Orchestra
Cool Kids — Echosmith
Stuck — The Aces
When Am I Gonna Lose You — Local Natives
Hollywood — RAC, Penguin Prison
Brooklyn — Fickle Friends
Elevate — St. Lucia
hold on — flor
Something Has to Change — The Japanese House
Cinema — Harry Styles
We Fell in Love in October — Ricky Jamaraz
Illin’ — Black Kids
Enjoy the Silence — Depeche Mode
Nonsense — Sabrina Carpenter
restless soul — flor
Rose Colored Lenses — Miley Cyrus
Hurricane Jane — Black Kids
Autumn Leaves — Ed Sheeran
Fake Nice — The Aces
Adore You — Harry Styles
“I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.”
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Keep in Touch with Whitney Amazeen
About the Author
Also by Whitney Amazeen
Chapter One
My heart thunders in my chest as I stare at the door to the audition room. It feels like I stood up too fast or maybe ate something bad. The last thing I want to do right now is walk through that door and read cheesy lines to a drama teacher who will probably laugh at me. “Remind me again why I’m doing this.”
Carlton chuckles. He places his hands on my shoulders and squeezes. “You tell me.” His voice tickles my neck as he speaks against the collar of my uniform shirt, the sweet, minty scent sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
His presence is the only reminder I need. He’s the reason you’re doing this, Dot. You need to impress him so he’ll finally ask you to be his girlfriend.
I paste a smile on and face him, my eyes fluttering as his gaze meets mine. “I’m just kidding. I’m interested, remember? The way you talk about how much you love this stuff has me curious is all. And I have no other extracurriculars at the moment. This should help my college applications a lot.”
When he grins again, the sight of his bright smile and endearing, golden-brown eyes taking me in practically makes me melt. He taps my nose with his thumb. “You’re adorable.”
And just like that, my heart restarts.
Carlton is the whole package—smart, sweet, Black, and even more boujee than I am. So I lead us through the doors of the classroom.
The brightly-lit room is set up with a heavy, oak podium at the head and groups of seating sprinkled throughout the space. The hum of conversation dims a little when we enter, and I notice several inquisitive gazes on my face, noting me and Carlton standing so close together. I feel a swell of pride at the idea that they might assume we’re together. Carlton cocks his head at an empty cluster of seats, and we sit. Our wood desks creak beneath our weight, and I wonder if they, like the rest of this prep school, are old enough to belong in a history book.
More students enter the room one by one, filling the remaining empty seats. When the rest of Carlton’s friends arrive—the offensively pretty Evans twins and Rue Sullivan, they have to lean against the wall because there are no more seats available.
“There are so many people here,” I whisper to Carlton. “Do they all want to audition?”
He nods. “The drama club here is fire. Everyone and their mom wants to be part of the play.”
I frown, struggling to remember some of the details he shared with me this summer before term began. “Because of that gossip columnist, right? Everyone wants to be featured by her?”
He nods, holding my gaze like it’s a shared secret between us. “Yeah. And Little Birdie only talks about the drama students for some reason. It’s wild.”
I’m about to ask more questions, but I’m interrupted by the appearance of the drama teacher, a tall, balding gentleman with pink cheeks who looks fifty-something. When he makes his way to the blackboard, some of the chatter in the room dies down. He writes his name, Mr. Saltzman, at the top of the board and turns to stand at the podium, straightening his stack of papers on the surface.
“Hi there, everyone. My name is Mr. Saltzman, and I’m thrilled to be leading this year’s auditions for Fallbrook Christian Prep’s winter performance of the beloved Wuthering Heights.”
There’s a smattering of claps.
“Before we begin,” he continues, straightening the square glasses on his nose, “I just want to stress something. There is no small part in any production. Every role in this play is as important as the lead, and I mean that. With that being said, if you don’t receive a callback, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. That could mean that I know exactly what role will best suit you and that’s that.”
A few people snort.
“Callbacks are almost always a good thing,” Carlton whispers. “At least, if you want a main part.”
I shrug. “And I don’t want that, obviously. I’m just wetting my feet here.”
“Our first audition today will be Meredith Evans and Nicolas Saffron,” Mr. Saltzman continues. “Please follow me to the adjoining room next door.”
Meredith, the green-eyed Evans twin, blinks in surprise. Her sister, Mabel gently nudges her forward, and Meredith follows another classmate to the door where the teacher is waiting.
The three of them disappear, and the chatter resumes full force. A few students crowd around Carlton, firing off questions for him about last year’s play and asking if he thinks he’ll get the lead this year.
“I really, really hope so,” he says. As he describes his role in last year’s production, he idly traces shapes on my panty-hosed knee with his pinkie, making heat travel through my body.
“It will either be you or Zayne,” someone tells Carlton. “That’s my guess.”
His finger briefly stills on my tights, and then resumes. “I guess we’ll find out,” he murmurs.
After what seems like fifteen minutes, the door opens at the front of the classroom, and Meredith and Nicolas exit, followed by the instructor. Meredith is grinning, practically oozing confidence, but Nicolas is wearing a grim, sullen expression.
Without preamble, Mr. Saltzman returns to the podium and picks up his list. “Up next is Zayne Silverman.” He scans the page with intensity. “Zayne, let’s have you read with Bardot Bennett.”
Oh, crap. My heart beats like a drum as I stand from my desk, painfully aware of all the curious eyes watching me. As the new girl at Fallbrook Christian Prep, it’s only expected I’ll stand out. I’ve been mentally preparing for random glances and questioning gazes all month. But with the classroom full of attentive stares currently on my face, I feel like a giant spotlight is permanently fixed above me. “It’s Dot, actually,” I tell Mr. Saltzman, and clear my throat when my voice comes out too quiet. “I just go by Dot.”
“Dot,” he repeats, making note of it on the paper.
A boy—Zayne, I presume—stands. All I can see is the back of his head, his undercut topped with short dreads as he makes his way toward Mr. Saltzman.
Carlton offers my knee a final comforting squeeze like a sendoff, and I make my way forward, following Zayne. We stop in front of the door that leads to the classroom adjoining ours. The audition room.
Mr. Saltzman smiles warmly at me. “You must be new here, Dot. Welcome.” He extends his hand and I shake it. His frien dly gray eyes, framed by those stylish square glasses, do little to ease my nerves.
“Hi.” I try not to glance behind me at the classroom full of theater students still waiting their turn to audition. I can practically feel the heat of Carlton’s gaze on my back. After the summer we had together before school began, the feeling of it has become somewhat familiar.
Unable to resist, I look over my shoulder.
Just as I expect, he meets my stare. The corner of his full mouth lifts, and I can’t help but smile in return.
“If you’ll both follow me next door, we can begin the audition,” says Mr. Saltzman, holding the door open for us. The boy standing next to me nods. I take a peek at him, and my eyes almost fall out of my face. He’s tall, with velvety brown skin and strong cheekbones. Lean muscle stretches the arms of his grey v-neck sweater. Long lashes frame his warm, deep eyes, and there’s a hint of sweetness in the air surrounding him. I look away before he can notice me ogling him and follow Mr. Saltzman to the classroom next door.
The room is empty, save for the three of us. As we walk in, dust particles stir in the air, catching the light filtering in through the tall, narrow windows. Mr. Saltzman leans against one of the heavy, wooden desks, crosses his ankles, and hands each of us a script. “We’ll be reading a scene from the middle of the play,” he says. “Dot, I’ll have you read for the character Catherine at the top of page twenty-six. Zayne, you read for Heathcliff.”
Zayne walks to the front of the classroom, so I follow him. We stand before the whiteboard, which is covered in a half-erased chemistry formula. I flip through the Wuthering Heights script to the correct page, my stomach a bundle of nerves. Why am I even doing this, again? I’m not an actor. I’ve never acted in anything before. Yet, here I am, standing in front of the acting teacher, auditioning for a play at a new school where I hardly know anyone.
Just get through this audition, I tell myself, and you’ll fit right in with Carlton and his theater friends. Besides, you’ll probably get cast as a tree or something. No biggie.
When my family first moved to Cambridge from our small, rural Massachusetts town, I’d been worried about starting over at a completely new school and having no friends. So, when the cute guy in my new neighborhood told me we’d be going to the same school, I latched onto him immediately. Anything to avoid being a loner, which is why I couldn’t resist when he invited me to check out the drama club to see what he and his friends were all about.
But now that I’m actually here, it’s more nerve-wracking than I was prepared for. I take a deep breath.
The boy—Zayne—reads his lines with concentration, sounding dark and broody. I want to laugh for some reason, even though I’m kinda impressed.
When it’s my turn, I blink myself back to attention and fumble with my script. “Don’t you know…uh.” I clear my throat, scanning the words on the paper for where I’m supposed to speak. “Don’t you know I’ll always come back?”
Zayne stares at me with narrowed brows, and I feel my cheeks get hot. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m new at this.”
He ignores me, reading the rest of his lines. Shoot. Wasn’t supposed to break character yet.
Zayne takes my hand, and I jolt in surprise. Is this part of the scene? “Come away with me then, as we planned,” he murmurs, staring deep into my eyes. His expression is entirely focused on my next words.
My heart pounds in my chest. Wow, this guy is good. I glance at my lines on the paper in my other hand. Something about how seriously he’s taking this makes me want to try a little harder. “I can’t,” I read. “I’m frightened.”
“Of what?” Zayne’s frown deepens and he leans in so our faces are almost touching. Oh, wow…“Of poverty?”
I blank again because he makes the question sound like he’s asking it, not his character. But then I remember all my lines are written down, so I check what my character says next. “You’re asking me to risk my reputation.” I crack a smile when Zayne’s lips turn down at my response because this is actually kinda…fun. “Once a woman loses her reputation, she has nothing.”
He scowls. “The old Cathy would never have said such a thing.” He forms a fake grip around my arms and pretends to shake them. I swallow down a giggle. From Mr. Saltzman’s view, it probably looks like Zayne has an iron grip on my arms, when really he’s barely touching me.
“The old Cathy didn’t know any better.” I turn my nose up in the air.
Zayne searches my face. “If you’ve become indifferent to me, at least do me the favor of releasing me.” The words are anguished. Tortured. I almost believe him.
Line…what was my next line? I scan the page and meet his stare again. “I’m as trapped as you are.”
As we continue going back and forth, the weirdest thing happens. I stop bumbling my lines and let myself really fall into the whole thing. It’s like everything else melts away and I can’t deny how good it feels to stop being Dot, just for a moment.
This is the most at ease I’ve felt in ages, going back and forth with Zayne like this, throwing myself into the dialogue, the face expressions, the hand gestures.
And when we’re finished, Mr. Saltzman looks…impressed. He claps for us. “Outstanding, you two.”
It’s because of Zayne. Not you, Dot. He carried that entire audition.
But it feels good to pretend anyway—just for the moment—that Mr. Saltzman is also impressed by me, too.
I drive home after my audition. As much as I wish I could have waited with Carlton till his turn was over, Dad wouldn’t like me missing dinner.
Or tonight’s phone call.
Still, I’m excited to hear Carlton tell me how his audition went when I call him tonight.
The weather is warm, the last remnants of summer barely in the air, so I roll down the windows of my yellow sedan and let my long braids whip out behind me. There’s so much traffic here, it almost makes more sense not to own a car. But, coming from a town like Stockbridge, which is full of vast expanses of nothing, I’m used to driving. It’s not a bad thing either; being stuck in New England traffic. The trees have already begun to shift from lush green to orange and maple. The stunning scenery of Boston passes me by as I arrive in East Cambridge, my new neighborhood. Tour boats float along the twinkling Charles River that separates Boston from Cambridge. The bulbs in the green iron streetlights lining the road illuminate as the day starts to dim, and the brownstone I now call home comes into view.
This is the life.
Or, it will be once I impress Carlton with my ability to fit in. Then his impression of me might finally shift from “that cute, new girl who doesn’t have anything in common with me and my friends” to “girlfriend material.” After today’s audition, though, I’m a little doubtful. Zayne’s performance definitely put mine to shame. I’ll be amazed if I get a part at all.
I park on the street and grab my leather backpack from the passenger seat. From the outside, the average person walking by would take one look at our elegant home right on the Charles River and think we’re living a dream.
But from the outside, my life is a lie.
When I open the front door, Dad’s favorite jazz station greets my ears, floating down the hall from the TV. I plop my bag on the entryway table and make my way down the hall. I stop in front of the first door, knocking. “Beau?”
The door opens and my younger brother peeps his head out. “When did you get here?”
“Just now.” I ruffle his curly hair. “What do you want for dinner?”
