The Year I Turned 15

I stared out the window during English class. God, how I hated Mr. Stein and his old-fashioned style of teaching. I mean, you'd think he was an extra on Little House on the Prairie. He was a short old man, always wore dress pants and a tie, always had a strong look on his face and a receding hairline. Usually I would enjoy English class, but not with Mr. Stein as my teacher. Besides, it's not like I had friends to whom I could pass meaningless notes and keep them in a shoe box underneath my bed. That was then, this is now.

The clock ticked and ticked and ticked and— “Katharine,," Mr. Stein exclaimed, “you wouldn't happen to know the answer to question four, would you?”. I stayed quiet. He shook his head at me and I could feel the “Jeopardy” music playing in the back of my brain. I still stayed quiet. I wouldn't give this man the time of day, let alone the answer to a question I had no knowledge on. He rolled his eyes and mouthed the word “okay” to himself before returning his attention to the big, green, ugly chalkboard. (If this doesn't scream early 1900s to you, nothing will.)

The bell finally rang.

“Katharine," Mr. Stein called me over to his desk. “As much as I’d love to talk about my behavior, I really have to catch the bus," I tried explaining but he kept on talking. He smiled, “That was quite a show you put on today”. “Thanks," I replied, “I’ve been working on my act”. This time he laughed. It was like the moment he stopped teaching he was normal.

“I have a proposition for you," he announced. Dear God, what could that be? I thought to myself. I could feel my palms sweating and my books slowly slipping out of my hand. I never thought about book covers until this moment. “I see a light in you, a special and bright future,," Mr. Stein began talking and moving about around his desk, nearly knocking over a stack of papers, “You’re going to fail for the term and probably the year, so, here’s what I’m proposing to you. If you be the Assistant Stage Manager for this winters production of “Hairspray," I’ll give you extra credit so you don’t fail. How’s that?’

“Mr. Stein, I don’t dance,," I started laughing softly to myself, “I don't sing either”. “You don’t have to sing, or dance, or do anything. All you have to do is write whatever Ms. Lindsay tells you to on a clipboard," Mr. Stein said. I was apprehensive but I over all ended up agreeing to the simple task. How hard could this possibly be? “Great! You start today!”, he exclaimed. “Today?!”, I replied frantically. “You better get your butt down to the Music Hall!”, he laughed to himself.

I left the classroom and made it to the Music Hall as quickly as I could, texting my mom on the way, asking her to pick me up at school later. She didn't question it, she probably thought I had detention.

I opened the door to the hall and what felt like the entire student body turned around; It couldn't have been more then 20 people. “Hey! You hooligan! This is a private rehearsal. I—“, Ms. Lindsay yelled while a few of the theatre kids laughed. “Mr. Stein sent me, ma’am,," I spoke over her, “I’m here to be your assistant”. She hit herself in the head playfully and giggled, “That’s right! Let me see, what did he tell me your name was? Kathleen? No…”. “Katharine," I told her and she gave me a thumbs and gestured to a chair next to her. I made my way through the rows of seats and sat down next to Ms. Lindsay. The first thing she did was hand me a clipboard. Wow, I thought, it’s almost Mr. Stein has ruined other kid’s social lives.

Ms. Lindsay clapped and the room fell silent. “Okay. Katharine, Im going to need you to read off the names of the auditionees," she whispered to me and I nodded. “Lacey Rivnay," I announced as loudly as I could. That name sounded vaguely familiar. I soon learned why.

A girl with obnoxiously long blonde hair that was braided with an array of lace and ribbon stood up. She made her way to the stage with tiny, quick steps. Her steps were so tiny, in fact, I was expecting her to trip and make a big scene. She positioned herself in the exact middle of the stage, bowed her head, fixed her pink cardigan, lifted her head again and sang. Her voice rang through the auditorium like a bell being rung by a rich republican on Martha’s Vineyard. It was over as soon as it began. Everyone clapped, Lacey bowed, I hit my clipboard repeatedly seeing as I didn't feel comfortable putting it down.

I looked down at the list. “Elle Keeton," I spoke even louder this time. I knew Elle, she was popular. Before she stood up, she high five-d her friend and they exchanged some words. After keeping the group for almost 2 minutes, she stood to the left of the stage, closer to Ms. Lindsay. She fixed her perfectly straight, auburn hair and then began singing. I was amazed by the power of her voice. I knew she could sing, I just didn't know she could SING. Ms. Lindsay was certainly impressed. After her snipet of a song was over she struck a pose, one hand on her hip and her body was tilted to the right. Everyone clapped, Elle blew a kiss to the “audience”, I hit my clipboard again.

Lacey came up behind me without me realizing it. “You know she takes theatre ve--”, she tried explaining but I screamed. Everyone stared at me and Lacey looked both frightened and concerned. “This is a theatre”, she sounded serious, but in a humorous way. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to just come up behind me”, I said while still trying to catch my breath. “I didn’t expect you to scream”, she defended her blunt actions.

“Yes, new girl!”, Ms. Lindsay sounded excited, “YES”. Everybody here is delusional, I thought to myself. I didn’t know what to think about the straightforward action and Ms. Lindsay’s excitement for me screaming bloody murder.

Lacey decided to go sit with Elle.

Dozens of other people sang. Some more well than others, but I still clapped.

“Maia Dowell,” I yelled the last name out tiredly. Maia rolled her eyes in my direction, offended that I said her name lazily. Elle wished her good luck and they did the handshake thing again. As she was walking, her soft curls bounced as she pushed herself onto the stage. She smiled to Ms. Lindsay and stood in the same place as Lacey. Her voice was effortless, like she could've rolled right out of bed and belted an F#. It was sweet but loud at the same time, like salty and sweet candy. As soon as people started clapping, she ran for her seat. I assaulted my clipboard for the 23rd time.

Audition, Lacey mouthed to me from two rows over. Was she always this plain-spoken?, I thought. I smiled politely and declined her offer.

“Jesus, Lacey.”, Elle looked at me and back to Lacey, “You’re making yourself sound so desperate.” “Right”, Lacey replied.

Lacey was sweet and carried herself like a Disney princess, I was almost positive we could be friends. Elle could maybe be my friend, but I wasn't sure if I could stand the cheap perfume and glitter. Maia seemed like a shadow, like that girl who is the mean girls best friend but then realizes she could maybe have her own opinion and decides to convert to civilian life.

I still wish I wasn't so afraid of what people thought, but their opinions meant everything to me.

I was picking up my coat when I felt a tap in my shoulder. I turned around to find Elle standing there with a daffy grin on her face. “Oo! Give me your phone!”, she demanded. I reluctantly handed her the phone. After a few moments she handed it back to me and skipped away.

What the hell was that?

I made my way out the door as quickly as possible and was overjoyed when I saw my parent’s car parked on the corner.

My dad picked me up that day. I was glad he was there early because I wanted to get as far away from that asylum of a school and back to the comfort of my own home. I got into the car and caught my breath for a few seconds before taking my seat belt and locking it in place. My dad looked over at me and rolled his eyes before turning the car on.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well", he stated and I didn't reply. I stared out the window and waited until he pulled into the driveway.

“I hate it”, I announced abruptly. All he could do was look at me with so much disappointment. “Why do you quit everything you start?”, he asked me before sighing. “I don’t know, ask your wife. You know, the child psychologist”, I replied without even looking at him. “I’m not letting you quit. This will be good for you. You need friends. Go be a teenager--”, he probably would’ve went on and on but I quickly got out of the car and stormed upstairs and into my room.

“This will be good for you”, I mimicked him to myself.

I would never step foot into that music hall again.