The mess I now see myself facing started a week ago when Shani and I had auditioned for drama

“Wow, wow, wow!”

I breathe, blinking hard and rubbing my eyes. “They must have made a mistake.”

They must have, I reason as I turn to Shani.

“No, they couldn’t have. You’re really good.” Shani replies, and even though her lips are tipped up into a smile, I can’t help but notice how stretched they look. Or how the light’s refracting off her eyes.

The mess I now see myself facing started a week ago when Shani and I had auditioned for drama.

“It’s our last year,” Shani had said, pulling me toward the sign-up sheet. “This is our last chance to finally be together for play!”

“We’re always together for play,” I’d told her. “We’re in the same production!”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” She rolled her eyes and, without hesitation, wrote my name with a flourish beneath hers. I’d shrugged because I knew who would get the lead, and that person wouldn’t be me. For the past three years, I’ve been in awe of Shani’s ability to capture the essence of a script and her talent for crying on demand. It always amazed me how her acting touched the audience, making them laugh or cry just when she did.

So, when I went into Mrs. Dorfman’s audition room and recited the lines for Rivka, the lead, I didn’t have high hopes; I knew even with my best nonexistent acting skills, I wouldn’t even be cast as the quirky best friend. I was the girl on the sidelines, the one people tended to forget during playtime. The one who did last-minute mending an hour before the curtains rose, or the one who directed dancers backstage, and for three years, I was cool with it; that was how it was. Until now, that is.