The Crucible 

1. ‘The cast list! It’s up!’ I hear as I near the drama room before sixth period. Squealing people press around the drama noticeboard. I walk by, staying cool. 
2. Right after the bell, I reverse course and head back to the now-deserted drama room. There it is: ‘Cast List for The Crucible’. I scan the list, softly chanting ‘Abigail Williams, Abigail, Abigail’ for luck. All my work has to pay off. Give me Abigail! 
3. Here’s my name: Trissa Smith. Next to it is my role: Mary Warren. 
4. Mary who? Who even is that? Some servant or something? 
5. And Abigail? Claudia Wilcox gets Abigail.
6.  I can’t see straight. I rush to the bathroom, try to calm down. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Dad would say I’m being a drama queen. ‘Just deal with it, Trissa,’ he’d tell me. Thinking about Dad makes me even more upset. It’s so unfair. I auditioned for The Crucible because I wanted Dad to finally see that I’m a serious actress, playing Abigail after all those ‘piffle parts’ in community theatre, as he calls them. 
7. I’m still in the bathroom, not quite ready to leave. Nobody understands how hard I prepared, how much I needed this part. Why did I even try? I count to three, and then I wash my face, fix my makeup, brush my hair, open the door. 
8. Claudia is standing there. My nightmare is complete.
9.  ‘Trissa!’ Claudia says, as if we’re friends or something, but I can see right through her. Cleverer people than Claudia have tried to worm their way into my life. ‘Congratulations! Mary is a great part. I’m so happy we’re both in the play.’
10.  ‘Uh.’ That’s my brilliant comeback. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
11.  Claudia keeps talking. ‘I hope we can practise together. I’ll need help with my lines, and you’re always so quick to get off-book.’ I raise my eyebrow. This must be why she got the part, I realise. She’s not a better actor than I am, but she’s clever—a manipulator. And now she’s asking for help. 
12. I continue standing there, speechless. I do, in fact, have the Abigail part memorised, because it was supposed to be mine. Finally, I mumble congratulations, tell her I’m late for class and leave. 
13. Ugh, ugh, ugh. 
14. At home, I dump my backpack in the hall and head for my room, throw myself onto my bed. The Crucible is sitting on the bedside table. I knock it to the floor. 
15. I’ll just quit the play. If they don’t want me as Abigail, they don’t want me. Right? Then, my eyes drift to the book. I’ll read through the stupid Mary Warren part once, then email my resignation. 
16.  I’ve never focused on Mary before, but rereading her part, I see that she has some very meaty scenes. Like this courtroom scene, where her testimony is the key to everything? Wow. The whole drama focuses on Mary.
17.  The next time I see Claudia, I relent and we schedule a practice date, but I make sure it’s at her house. That way, I’ll know if she just wants to hang out with me because of Dad. Most of the time, I’m used to practising my lines alone, but once we start rehearsing, I enjoy the back-and-forth of practising together. I give Claudia some tips about playing Abigail, and Claudia has surprisingly good insights about Mary. 
18. Ms Shinsky is directing the play. She has some weird techniques (‘Pretend you’re a butterfly, Claudia!’), but she’s great at getting her actors to dig deep and bring real heart to their roles. I’m working hard to develop Mary as a character, though I can’t say I took all of Ms Shinsky’s advice. 
19. The first time Claudia and I practise at my house—normally, we’re at her place, but her family’s painting the kitchen—she blurts out, ‘I love your dad’s films,’ or something like that. Here it comes, I think. She’s looking at our huge living room and now she asks if we have celebrities over a lot. My stomach tightens. I’ll vomit if she keeps this up. Then she says, ‘I was actually scared to be friends with you before because I was so afraid of running into your father.
20. That’s a new one. I answer, ‘He’s not around much. He’s always away, filming some project.’ I give her the bad news: ‘he won’t even come and see our play.’ I’d hoped he might make at least one of our performances, but as usual, he’s otherwise engaged. Lately, though, I’ve been too focused on the rehearsals to think about his schedule. ‘Anyway, we don’t really get along,’ I say, and laugh like it’s okay. 
21. She looks concerned, like she wants to tell me something important. Then she just laughs, warmly, her hand on my shoulder. ‘Well, I’m relieved he’s not coming to see us. That would be terrifying.’
22. From then on, Claudia and I rehearse at my house; there is, after all, a stage in my basement. Claudia even got to meet Dad once; he was running out of the house and didn’t have much time to charm her. She seemed happy, anyway. But not as happy as when she finally nailed her monologue, or even as happy as when I finally worked out how to sob convincingly as Mary. 
23. Opening night is just around the corner—I do wish Dad could make it, to see how much I love this. He might be right; maybe I won’t make it big in show business. But at least I’ve found a place to be me (being somebody else). I even think he might understand that.