Stagefright, Page 4

  Taleb looked like he’d just swallowed something unpleasant.

  “I’m a bit rusty because we had to sell our piano,” Velvet said.

  Taleb rummaged through a pile of sheet music.

  “Clarinet is my first instrument.” Velvet didn’t know why she felt the need to explain herself to Taleb.

  “Try this. This is probably your sort of thing, since you don’t know any music from this century.”

  He handed her some sheet music. It was The Best of Simon and Garfunkel. Velvet opened it to the first song, “The Sound of Silence” and struggled through a few bars.

  “I can’t play something just like that, without practising.”

  “So practise. Do it again.”

  She started again.

  “Your fingers are too stiff,” Taleb said. “Loosen them up.”

  Velvet stopped in the middle of a bar.

  “Don’t talk to me while I’m playing! I can’t play and listen to you at the same time.”

  Mr MacDonald returned from the dentist with a swollen jaw. He collapsed onto a chair, moaning.

  Taleb picked up his guitar and started playing “The Sound of Silence”. He played it perfectly. He swapped to a country and western version, then a heavy metal version and finally a syncopated jazz version. He was a talented guitarist, but that didn’t mean he was any good at teaching piano.

  “I don’t think I’ll take lunchtime music after all.”

  “You need all the practice you can get,” Taleb said.

  “Yeah, well we can’t all be musical geniuses.” Velvet stuffed her Andrew Lloyd Webber book in her bag. “If I was a great pianist, I wouldn’t need lessons.”

  She stomped out of the room, thinking how pleased her mother would be that she was saving her the thirty dollars a week it would have cost for piano class.

  Mr MacDonald’s enthusiasm for the performance had worn off over the holidays. He came into the cultural studies class with the employment section of the newspaper under his arm, and asked Peter to show him where to look up jobs on the internet.

  “Aren’t you going to help us with the play, sir?” Jesus asked.

  “I’ve started you off. You can carry on by yourselves.”

  “But we need someone to tell us what to do,” Roula said.

  “Yeah, like in the movies,” Jesus said.

  “We need a director!”

  “I need coffee,” Mr MacDonald said. “Can someone get me one from the staffroom?”

  No one volunteered.

  “Velvet, you’ve done drama.” Mr MacDonald put down his newspaper and went to the door. “You can be the director.”

  “I played a non-speaking schoolgirl in The Mikado!”

  “Come on, Mr Mac.” Even Peter failed to persuade him.

  Mr MacDonald shut the door behind him.

  Velvet wasn’t about to let everything fall in a heap. “We can do it by ourselves.”

  “You just want to be in charge,” Drago said.

  “Someone’s got to get organised.” Velvet took a folder from her bag. “Over the holidays, I listened to some music to get inspiration and …” She opened the folder. Her copy of the play was inside. “I made some notes.”

  “You would.”

  “Seriously. You’re such a try-hard, Velvet.”

  Velvet had had plenty of time to think about the school play over the holidays. “Are we going to do it or not?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to do it, ’cos we have to,” Peter said, “but we don’t have to be enthusiastic about it.”

  “Did everybody read the play?” Velvet asked.

  Silence.

  Velvet’s photocopy had bits highlighted in magenta. “Did anybody read the play?”

  “I don’t do schoolwork in the holidays,” Hailie said. “Ever.”

  “What’s the point? I give up.”

  “Come on, Corduroy, don’t sulk. What else have you got in your fancy folder?” Drago snatched it out of her hand.

  “Give it back.”

  Drago peered at Velvet’s notes and then handed the folder to Peter to read.

  “Overture, chorus. Scene one, Richard’s song. Scene two, murder of Clarence. Murderers sing funny song.”

  “Give it back!”

  “Let’s see what music she’s been listening to.” Taleb picked up Velvet’s phone and opened iTunes. “Phantom of the Opera!”

  “I was just listening to it to get ideas. What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s sickly rubbish.”

  “It’s famous.”

  “It’s crap!”

  Velvet had seen the stage production three times, and lost count of how many times she’d watched the DVD.

  “I suppose the fact that millions of people went to see it means nothing?”

  Velvet and Taleb were facing each other – Velvet with her hands on her hips, Taleb with his arms folded.

  “Just because you can play a couple of classical pieces on the piano doesn’t make you a musician.”

  “So you’re a musical maestro, are you? You don’t need to learn anything.”

  The others sat mesmerised, as if they were watching a play. Mr MacDonald came back with a mug of coffee, ignored the noise and sat down at his favourite desk at the back of the room.

  “I know I’m not a proper musician,” Velvet said. “But I passed my Grade 7 piano exam, and I was runner up in the Theodora Craddock Award for musical achievement at St Theresa’s last year!”

  “That means you know how to copy other people’s music.” One of the little fluorescent-pink rubber bands that hooked Taleb’s top braces to his bottom braces pinged off and hit Velvet on the cheek. “You don’t know anything about creating music.”

  “Those awful noises you make with your guitar aren’t music. Anybody could do that!” Velvet snatched back her phone. “If you’re so clever let’s hear what you’ve done over the holidays.”

  Taleb picked up his guitar. Instead of the purple electric one, he had an acoustic guitar. He sat on a desk and tuned it. Velvet glared at Mr MacDonald, who hadn’t done anything to support her. Taleb played an opening melody and then started to sing.

  “Now winter turns to summer and the sun begins to shine.

  Every face you see is smiling, every face that is but mine.

  For I am not a pretty boy.

  My face is not my pride.

  When I smile at a woman,

  She turns her head aside.”

  Taleb didn’t have a great voice but it was a catchy melody and he sang in tune.

  “Now the gruelling war is over, I should celebrate the peace.

  But I can’t stop from wishing that the fighting didn’t cease.

  For I am not a pretty boy.

  My face is not my pride.

  When I smile at a woman,

  She turns her head aside.”

  After the second verse he gained confidence and his voice seemed to brighten the dingy classroom.

  “In the war I was a hero, everybody called my name.

  But the battle cry has faded and with it went my fame.”

  He sang the chorus again and finished with a plaintive guitar melody.

  Everyone sat in silence. Now that his anger had disappeared, Taleb was too uncomfortable to look at them.

  Mr MacDonald was paying attention again. “I think we have our musical director.”

  “That was beautiful, Taleb,” Hailie said.

  “Yeah,” Roula said, “like a proper song.”

  “I have to work on the riff a bit.” He twiddled the tuning pegs.

  Jesus punched him in the arm. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  Taleb shrugged and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind his ear.

  “We’ve made a start.” Mr MacDonald sounded surprised.

  Everyone nodded.

  At home time the others were all out of the door before the bell had finished ringing, except for Taleb who was putting his guitar into its case. Velvet took her time c
ollecting up her folder and pen.

  She swallowed her pride. “That was good, what you did.”

  Taleb looked up at her, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You broke the ice. You were the first one to perform. The others didn’t say anything, but they were all terrified of acting or singing in front of everyone. Now you’ve done it and they won’t feel so uncomfortable when their turn comes.”

  Taleb did up the clasp on his guitar case. “I’m used to performing.”

  “You don’t get nervous?”

  “Yeah, I get nervous. I’m used to that too.”

  They walked towards the gate together. Taleb stopped at the bike rack, unlocked his bike and slung his guitar on his back. He turned to Velvet. She noticed that he’d replaced the little rubber band on his braces.

  “Sorry I yelled at you,” he said and rode off.

  CHAPTER 9

  Mr MacDonald, who was looking in the employment columns less and talking about the play more, had asked the cultural studies class to work out what scenes they wanted to use from the play’s first act. He wasn’t getting much response.

  “When do we get to the battle scene?”

  “Shut up, Jesus. The battle scene’s last.”

  Mr MacDonald continued, “Richard has to get everybody who’s in line to be king out of the way. So he’s got to kill his two brothers and King Edward’s sons, the little princes.”

  Mr MacDonald continued to go through the play line by line, but after twenty minutes the others had lost interest.

  “Okay. It’s time we started casting,” he said. “I think everyone will get into this a lot more if they know who they’re going to play.”

  There was a murmur of approval.

  “So who wants to take the part of Richard?”

  “Richard is such a horrible person,” Velvet said, not really helping the casting process. “He’s mean to everybody. He tricks Lady Anne into liking him even though he killed her husband. And he looks creepy.”

  Mr MacDonald agreed. “He’s probably the most hated king in British history.”

  “No wonder,” Peter said.

  “It’s a great part.”

  A rare silence settled over the cultural studies class.

  Velvet broke the silence. “I think Drago should play Richard.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I just think the role would suit you.”

  “Because I’m the most hated kid at Yarrabank?”

  “That’s not what I meant. But you do have a chip on your shoulder.”

  “Me? You’re the one who’s always moaning about how it was better at your old school, wishing things were how they used to be. You play Richard!”

  Velvet was about to argue the point, but Mr MacDonald cut in.

  “We’ll audition,” he said. “Peter, you go first. Read some of the soliloquy – the opening bit.”

  Peter read quite well. Taleb read in a boring monotone. When it came to Drago’s turn, he struggled and stumbled over the unfamiliar words.

  “I don’t want to read this crap,” he said and stormed out of the room. This time he slammed the door so hard that pots of paint teetered and basketballs were dislodged from their pile and bounced all over the room.

  “You’re right, Velvet,” Mr MacDonald said. “He’s perfect.”

  “He’ll never agree.” Peter said. “You could have been a bit more subtle, Velvet.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You practically said, ‘You’re ugly, you’re mean, the part’s yours’.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Drago can’t have the main part,” Roula said. “Seriously. He can’t read normal books.”

  “He doesn’t have to read. He just has to remember.”

  “Peter was better,” Hailie said.

  “How can you have a Vietnamese king of England?”

  “It’s the performance that’s important, Jesus,” Mr MacDonald said. “What do the rest of you think?”

  “Peter’s not right for the part.” Hailie looked at Peter with what she probably thought was a seductive smile. “He’s too good-looking.”

  “Drago’s angry with the world just like Richard,” Velvet said. “It has to be him.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “Someone better find Drago,” Peter said, “and break the news to him.”

  “I’ll go,” Velvet volunteered.

  She found Drago smoking under a tree and sat down next to him.

  “We all want you to have the lead role.”

  “You mean no one else wants to play Richard because he’s such a creep.”

  “You’ve got the right edge to play him, Drago. You can be mean and angry and you’ve got … an attitude.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Peter hasn’t got a mean bone in his body, Taleb can’t act and Jesus is a total jock. It has to be you, doesn’t it?”

  “Like I said, no one else want’s to do it.”

  “It’s not like you’ve got anything more important to do on Thursday afternoons. You said you thought you could act. You’ll be the star of the show.”

  “I can’t say all that dumb Shakespeare stuff.”

  “We’ll rewrite it. You can play it any way you like as long as it gets across the same message.”

  “Any way?” Drago smiled maliciously.

  Velvet gave him a suspicious look. She couldn’t begin to imagine what Drago’s warped mind could do to Shakespeare.

  “Almost any way. I think you’ll be good. Will you do it?”

  Drago shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  They went back inside.

  “Drago’s agreed to be Richard.”

  Everyone clapped. Drago tried to look like he didn’t care.

  “But we’re going to rewrite it a bit, if that’s okay, Mr Mac. So it’s more like modern speech.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “We’ll start with the scene where Richard woos Lady Anne,” Velvet said.

  “Okay, now we’re making progress,” Mr MacDonald said. “Look, it’s too dismal in here. I think we should continue this casting meeting in Hades.”

  “Great idea.” Jesus was already on his way to the door.

  “Who’s going to pay?” Drago asked.

  Taleb was searching his pockets. “I haven’t got a cent.”

  “I’ll shout,” said Mr MacDonald. “But don’t think I’m going to make a habit of it.”

  They strolled nonchalantly past all the straining and sweating athletes. They were all trying to make out like it wasn’t a big deal, but there was no doubt about it, walking out of the school gates and over to the coffee shop across the road in school time was a buzz. Even Drago was smiling. Velvet felt a bit guilty. She didn’t want to actually start enjoying being at Yarrabank.

  True to its name, Hades was warm. They pushed two tables together next to the open fire and peeled off their hoodies. The walls were painted black with orange flames. Red devil toys hung from the ceiling. The decor in Hades was really tacky, but it was a big improvement on T6. The owner had banned Drago from setting foot on the premises for putting sugar in the salt shakers, and Mr MacDonald had to plead for a good behaviour bond.

  Their orders arrived and they all sipped frothy coffees and hot chocolates and started thinking about the play again.

  “There aren’t any good parts for girls,” Hailie grumbled as she wiped some foam from Peter’s top lip and licked it off her finger.

  Roula and Velvet exchanged a glance.

  “There’s Lady Anne. That’s a good part.” Mr MacDonald leafed through his photocopy. “Turn to page three. She comes in mourning the death of her husband, who Richard killed in battle. What happens next?”

  They all studied their photocopies.

  “She slags off at him,” Peter said. “She calls him names. A toad and a hedgehog.”

  “Oooooh, serious stuff.” Drago was following the words with his
finger.

  “And she spits at him.”

  “Nice.” Even Jesus was interested.

  “Yes, but underneath the nasty exterior, Richard is a real charmer,” Mr MacDonald continued. “Even though he’s just killed her husband, he manages to win her over. He offers her his sword to kill him, but she can’t do it. He gives her his ring.”

  “And she’s sucked in badly.”

  “We’ll need a song for Lady Anne there I think, Taleb.”

  Taleb shrugged.

  Velvet was impressed. Mr MacDonald was managing to get the cultural studies class interested in Shakespeare.

  “How come you know so much about this play, sir?” Peter asked.

  “I studied it at uni.”

  “Which part did you play?” Velvet couldn’t picture Mr Mac as a young man.

  “I didn’t act in it. I wrote an essay.”

  “Did you get a good grade?” Roula asked.

  Velvet could see that they were getting off track again. “That’s one girl’s part. But there are three of us.”

  “What about Margaret, the old queen? There’s a terrific scene where she curses everybody. And there’s Edward’s wife, Queen Elizabeth, and Richard’s mother, the Duchess of York. Plenty of female roles.”

  “Great. So someone gets to play Drago’s mum,” Hailie said. “Very romantic.”

  “It’s a boys’ play,” Velvet said. “We should have done A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Much Ado about Nothing.”

  “Quit whinging,” Drago said. “We’re not changing now.”

  “It’s all right for you,” Roula continued to whinge. “You’ve got the main part, you’ll be in practically every scene.”

  Mr MacDonald waved his spoon. “Perhaps we can add another scene for Lady Anne. Velvet, I want you to do some research. Find out something about Anne that we can work in.”

  “Okay. Does that mean I can play Lady Anne?”

  “Acting is only part of a production, Velvet. We’ve also got to adapt the play for our purposes. There’s no point in having good actors if the script isn’t good first. The scriptwriter is very important.”

  Velvet liked the idea of being a scriptwriter.

  “We’ll do the female roles next week,” Mr Mac said. “Let’s finish casting the boys.”