Starring Role: Chapter 4
| December 7, 2021I don’t think I fooled her one bit, but I escape the office without looking back
Of course, by the time my face looks semi-normal again, and even Baylee wouldn’t be able to tell I’ve been crying, class is in full swing. I’m halfway to my locker to grab something to eat
Busted, I think, then turn to face the assistant principal, Mrs. Kirsch. Well, I guess I’m lucky — if Rabbi Fein had caught me, there’d be trouble.
Mrs. Kirsch is one of the favorite people in my school. Not like Miss Weller, who every ninth grader is obsessed with and half my grade hangs around through lunch period to talk to; Mrs. Kirsch is just someone I admire, in a more serious, dignified way. She’s warm and nonthreatening even when she catches you out of class, and she has this motherly air about her as if she’s about to offer you cookies and milk. If I had to choose one teacher to confide in about something, it would be her. Theoretically, of course — I’ve never been the type for that sort of thing.
But maybe I’m becoming the type, because as soon as I see Mrs. Kirsch, my eyes start to water again, and when she puts a hand on my shoulder and asks, “Is something wrong?” the tears start to spill. I have to summon all my willpower to force the rising emotion back down.
“I’m — fine,” I mumble.
“Are you sure, Rena? Here, come into my office.” She sits me down, walks out, and comes back a minute later with a cup of water. By now, I’ve composed myself, but as soon as I try to speak, to convince her I’m really okay, my eyes well up again.
Mrs. Kirsch busies herself with papers, avoiding watching me. Like I said, she’s nice. Finally, she looks up and says, “You know, Rena, you’re blessed with many talents. Singing, dancing, drawing… when we had a meeting about 12th-grade jobs, yours was a unanimous choice.”
I give a small smile, even though I have no idea what my 12th-grade job — art director of the yearbook, one of the four girls on the yearbook committee — has to do with anything.
Mrs. Kirsch continues, delicately wording her next sentence. “So, Rena, when it came to the play — sometimes, it’s hard to choose between a few girls who all have the talent to do a good job. What we decided to do, even before tryouts, was to try to give the largest roles to those girls who don’t get any recognition the rest of the year. Girls who have been more… overlooked throughout their time in high school. And although we know you’re a talented actress — after all, it definitely runs in the family — in all fairness, we also had to give other girls the opportunity to shine.”
My mind races furiously. Wait, she knows? She knows why I’m upset? Is it so obvious? Does Baylee know too? What about the rest of my classmates?
“I-I’m fine with my part,” I say, stumbling over the words. “I just… wasn’t feeling good.”
I don’t think I fooled her one bit, but I escape the office without looking back.
The main hallway is still empty, and I stumble across to the only place I know I’ll have some privacy. The thoughts crash through my mind: They planned this, the teachers all knew, I wouldn’t have gotten the part anyway. Miss Weller and the other teachers had robbed me of my dream before I’d even had a chance. My tryout, all that hope and anticipation, it had been a farce; I wasn’t going to be chosen in any case. Why? Why, why, why? So I’m good at art. So I’ve been in dances and choirs, so I can sing. Why does that mean I can be discriminated against? Doomed to the sidelines in production because I have other chances to shine? I don’t have any other chance to star; to stand in the spotlight; to finally feel like a someone instead of cute little Rena, one of the dancers, one of the singers, oh, but she’s also good at drawing.
The bell rings. I make it to the door just in time, before my classmates flood out of the classroom and catch me.
And just like that, I’m bawling in the bathroom again.
To be continued…
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 889)
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