Exit Stage Left Read Online Free PDF Page A

me.
    “That’s it, people!” Ms. Sharp says. “Check the bulletin board outside the theater tomorrow. Casting should be posted by noon. Remember! There are no small parts, only small players.”
    I roll my eyes. Easy for her to say. Her entire life isn’t riding on this one play. No way will one of Ms. Sharp’s former Broadway director friends recommend someone who lands a pea-sized role. Or worse—chorus.
    We stand up to leave. Silent Hollywood Guy brushes past without seeing any of us. Trevor follows, the Grimaldis trailing after him. I try to look like I’m super busy with . . . picking lint off my top.
    “Hey, Case,” he says in that melting-chocolate voice. “Nice job.”
    I pry off a really stuck ball of fuzz and finally look up at him. “Thanks. You too. I’m sure you’ll get the lead.” It’s stating the obvious, and I say it in as bland a voice as I can muster.
    Trevor’s giving me a look like I just handed him the part along with a million dollars and the key to Broadway and a vocal role in the next huge Disney animated film. “I hope so.”
    False modesty. He knows he’s getting the lead. I’d usually feel the same way about myself, but it takes everything I have to force a smile right now.
    “See you in rehearsals,” Trevor says, grazing his fingers across my arm as he follows the Grimaldis out of the theater. My traitor skin breaks out in goose bumps.
    “I hope I see Silent Hollywood Guy in rehearsals,” Kelly says. “And I hope he’s un-silent.”
    “Ooh, me too,” Amanda agrees.
    As we walk up the aisle, Gabby flies past us, somehow managing to knock my purse off my shoulder. I reach down for it, and when I look up again, she’s shoulder to shoulder with Trevor up ahead.
    Not my problem to deal with anymore. And that makes me smile for real.

Chapter Five
    I’ve spent the entire lunch period pushing mixed veggies back and forth across my plate.
    Just fifteen minutes until Ms. Sharp posts the cast list.
    Harrison is stirring his soup but not eating it. Across from me, our one non-theater friend, Chris, chomps down on a stomach-turning pile of six peanut butter sandwiches and an entire bag of Cheetos. Amanda and Kelly are chatting away, like they aren’t even the tiniest bit concerned about what parts they’ll get.
    I dump my uneaten lunch into the trash and balance my tray on the towering stack of dirty ones. I glance around the cafeteria. Groups of people talk and eat, like it’s any other day of the week.
    That’s it. I can’t hang around the cafeteria any longer. I go back to the table and grab my backpack. Harrison jumps up and follows me.
    Without talking, we walk across the lobby and around the corner to the hallway that runs next to the theater. The bulletin board holds signs advertising yesterday’s auditions and other artsy projects.Apparently the Objets d’Art Club is hosting a Throw-In, whatever the hell that is, and the ballet company is planning a production of Cinderella . I dump my backpack on the floor and sit against the opposite wall. The painted cement feels cool against my back. Harrison slides down next to me. The hallway is deserted except for us. Sounds echo from the cafeteria, where everyone is happy and unconcerned about whether my future works out as planned.
    Harrison’s stomach growls. We both stare at the bulletin board as if the cast list will magically appear. I’ve done this so many times now—waiting in this hallway, at this very spot, my entire body a mess of nerves and excitement and dread. Freshman year, I parked here with Amanda and Harrison, having no idea if any of us even got into the cast, much less a speaking role. Amanda and I played endless rounds of MASH to distract each other while Harrison drilled holes into the bulletin board with his eyes.
    At one point, I told Amanda that I didn’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get cast, and she looked me right in the eyes and said, “Casey Fitzgerald. If you don’t get into this play,