Meet Me After Class

Chapter 16: Lines and Lyrics

"I believe Mason Lucas is auditioning for Thomas Ainsworth," Ms. Dartwood finally said.

Soon after, Mr. Scott joined us behind the long table as Mason walked up to the stage. Mason scanned the audience, acting as if we should all be privileged to witness his performance. He even threw a wink in Megan's direction.

"Go, Mason," his soccer buddies cheered, chuckling at some inside jokes.

"What will you be reading for us, Mason? A snippet from the actual play or..." Melissa trailed off, sounding like he was only wasting her time.

"Right, so, I read a couple of lines, and they're really very... I don't know... boring?"

Boring?! My jaw clenched.

"What do you have in mind, Mr. Lucas?" Mr. Dartwood asked, trying to look more patient and understanding.

"So, I memorized the line, but could I... like rap it? You know, give it a modern twist. I actually think the audience could relate more."

"So, I memorized the line, but could I... like rap it? You know, give it a modern twist. I actually think the audience could relate more." His friends laughed, encouraging his idiocy. My ears were on fire. Was he serious?

I wanted to tell him there was no way he was going to give Thomas Ainsworth's character a modern twist, but thankfully, Mr. Scott beat me to it.

"Mr. Lucas, the play is set during the Regency Romance Period. Please show us what you have, but we will still go with the theme."

Mason shrugged, clearly unbothered, and cleared his throat.

"So yeah, hey, Anne! What's up, darling? I heard poor gentleman, Edmund Cranford, poured his heart and soul to you..."

I closed my eyes. Confident? Sure. Acting skills? Nonexistent.

After his cringe-worthy audition, I could confidently say Mason Lucas sucked, and I hated him for butchering Thomas Ainsworth's dialogues like he couldn't care less.

"Thank you, Mr. Lucas," Ms. Dartwood intervened, cutting short Mason's mindless yapping. "You may leave the stage now."

"And never come back," Melissa added under her breath. I couldn't help but smile.

"What do you think?" Mr. Scott asked, not even looking my way, but I knew the question was for me.

I grinned. "Didn't you hear what Melissa said?"

He chuckled softly as Ms. Dartwood called the next student. As the auditions continued, I found myself oddly enjoying them. Contrary to my expectations, no one harshly criticized the play—except for Mason's absurd suggestion. But that wasn't even a comment; it was just a dive into the abyss of cringe.

No one dared to compare my play with Melissa's. I just hoped it would stay that way come opening night. No matter how many times Adam had sung praise for "All's Fair in Love," deep down, I knew it was mediocre compared to Melissa's previous masterpieces.

"Okay, Ms. Jones, please hand over your sheet to Melissa," Ms. Dartwood said, adjusting her glasses on top of her nose, looking timid and self-conscious. Could it be because of Mr. Scott's imposing presence?

Despite her reserved demeanor, Ms. Dartwood didn't look too shabby with her slender physique, favorite sweater, and A-line dress. She even seemed too young to be in her mid-thirties. Her ginger hair and light blue eyes were an intriguing combination. And she was undeniably sweet and caring, making me wonder about the untold story between her and her husband.