Unnaturally Green Read Online Free PDF

out across a musical score. As Julie had said, I needed to find the source of Elphaba’s passion—to tap into something that meant something to me. To remember something that would resonate, emotionally.
     
     

     
     
    Two days later, nearing the end of my audition, I’d made it to the end of “Defying Gravity.” I lowered my voice and rumbled from my gut, daring anyone who’d ever hurt me to try and do it again.
    “Maaaa naaaa!”
    I let go, releasing all of my sound, from head to toe.
    Then it was over.
    “Thank you, Felicia.”
    I looked over to the pianist then back to Craig, sweaty, out of breath. My mind was contracting, then expanding, and my body felt wrecked. I wandered over to the piano to get my stuff, then back to the door.
    “Thanks.”
    As I turned the knob, tears started to run down my cheeks. I didn’t know the exact reason, but my body was telling me it was time to cry.
    Back in the terminal, I reunited with Lipstick Loop and the other misfit toys. Teardrops speckled my burgundy collar, which fed down toward my armpit stains, like two rivers meeting the sea. I imagined I must have looked exactly as the others had: bleary-eyed, dazed, a shell of a person.
    “Fierce,” I heard somebody say.
    “ Fierce! ”
     
     
    After changing into jeans in a bathroom stall (pleasantly larger than a dog kennel), I consulted the mirror. My nose had become positively clown-like from crying, and the only course of action was to deploy urgent de-puffing reinforcements. As I blotted it with a cold paper towel, it occurred to me that if I ever had to cry on camera, they would need a wide-angle HD lens to capture the girth and saturation of my truly majestic schnozzer.
    Once my nose was no longer visible from space, I took the elevator down to street level, since it was time to head to my afternoon Chanukah rehearsal. As I walked through the glass double-doors, I caught sight of a familiar silhouette hovering on the sidewalk. He turned and smiled, scooping me up for a bear hug.
    “Marshall! What the—!”
    Enter Marshall Evan Roy, my brand new sort-of boyfriend of several weeks. He was caring, reliable, told me how he felt, loved to cook, and had the physique of a Greek god. With a man that perfect, there had to be drawbacks. I was certain that one of these days I would see his face plastered on the news, below the headline, “Con Artist Slash Occasional Fitness Model Dupes Heartbreak-Weary Girl Into Thinking He’s Perfect, Steals Her Bananas.”
    It would be a long headline. But, still: it was such an obvious plot twist.
    “You mentioned the name of the casting office over the phone,” Marshall said, “so I Googled it. I wanted to surprise you. Here.” He handed me a baggy. “I brought you an oatmeal raisin cookie.”
    “Marshall! How the—!”
    I was speaking in half-phrases, a dead giveaway that the cat had gotten my tongue and the butterflies had colonized my stomach. “Thank you,” I said, through a mouthful of oatmeal and raisins, planting an ill-timed cookie-crumb kiss on Marshall’s lips.
    He had shown up unannounced, but Marshall’s thoughtfulness came as no surprise. Instead, it was a trend; from gourmet dinners, to homemade cocktails, to tickets to Broadway shows, our dates so far had been off-the-charts.
    ( GREEN. 5. fresh, recent, or new: a green relationship )
    We’d been set up on a blind group date by mutual friends from childhood, his best friend Francesca and my best friend Becky, who, for years, had been pitching me like the next billion-dollar ad campaign. Our date location of choice was (brace yourself) Serendipity on the Upper East Side—the one from that terrible John Cusack movie. (“ You don't have to understand. You just have to have faith! ” “Faith in what?” “Destiny!” )
    On said group date, at one point I squeezed Marshall’s upper arm. Based on what I felt, he earned a second, solo date. I do not remember any of this second date, so distracted was I by the