8 All the World’s a Stage

CHAPTER EIGHT ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE Law (noun). In science, a law explains a cause and effect that is always the same under the same conditions. It is accepted as true. So if someone makes a goal every time they play soccer—that could be a law! "WHAT IF I DON'T GET assistant director?" I said. Birdie squinted at me as we sat together in the school auditorium a little over a week after we had decided to do drama camp. It was Monday morning and the first day of fall break. "You not get assistant director? Um. That's not possible. You really are the best one for the job." While Mrs. Hansberry had everyone audition for a speaking role on Friday, we wrote down our info on a sheet if we wanted to be part of the stage crew and what our qualifications were. I ended up needing a second sheet to explain why I thought I'd be a good assistant director. "I'm sure when Mrs. Hansberry heard me sing during auditions, she knew I couldn't be in the

cast," I said, "but maybe she could just give me a different crew job." I was worried. "Nothing is for certain." In science, laws are widely accepted as true. And there was no law saying that I was going to be assistant director. "Look, Kate. It has to be someone organized. Check. Someone who doesn't mind telling other people what to do. Check. Someone who can keep track of many things at once. Check. The assistant director position has your name all over it. And you submitted such a good application!" "Seriously. What if I don't get it?" "Then you'll do something else," said Birdie, who sat next to me in the second row. In front of us sat Avery and Phoenix while Elijah sat with his friend Jeremy Rowe in the aisle across the way. We were all waiting for Mrs. Hansberry to announce who got what part or position for the musical. About two dozen other kids sat in the seats also waiting. I guess being prop master could be okay. That was my second choice. But it wasn't as good as assistant director. I glanced at the sleek leather backpack by my feet. My mom let me borrow her leather bag. I had packed an emergency theater supply kit so big I couldn't get my regular backpack to close. My emergency kit included thick rope, two

bottles of water, tape, glue, a measuring tape, and scissors. I wanted to be prepared. "I really hope we both get what we want," Birdie whispered. "You will," I told her. "You're an amazing singer. Even when you're upside down!" Birdie blushed. She's not very good at compliments. "Uh, thanks." "You deserve the lead unicorn. Seriously. There is nobody in the entire fifth grade who knows more about them. And if—" "Shhh," said Birdie, pointing to the stage, which was completely empty. "Mrs. Hansberry's coming. I heard her voice." "Right." Birdie has super good hearing. She can hear my dad snoring when she spends the night, even when we spread out in sleeping bags downstairs in the basement.

"Hey," I said, leaning over to look at Birdie's drawing. "Can I see?" She snapped shut her drawing pad. "Aw, c'mon, Birdie." All I caught a glimpse of was where she had signed her name—Brinda Bhatt. She always signed her art with her real name. Birdie was just a nickname. "I'm sure it's fantabulous and could be framed in a museum." She stuffed the pad into her backpack. "Another time." She was such an amazing artist. Every year since we were five, she had drawn me a handmade birthday card. I kept them all in a box under my bed. But sometimes she was private about her artwork. Kids murmured and pointed as Mrs. Hansberry made her way to the front of the stage. Like always, she was dressed dramatically. This afternoon, she wore a bright green shawl and long dangly earrings in the shape of theater masks. "I'm going to announce roles and positions," said Mrs. Hansberry, "so if I could please have your attention." Actually, Mrs. Hansberry didn't need to say that last part. The place was as silent as outer space. I couldn't wait to hear what she was about to say.