Exit Stage Left Read Online Free

gotta go.”
    “Right. What are you working on?” I ask. Amanda religiously practices piano for an hour each night, and for two on the weekends. She’s as obsessive about her piano as I am about theater. Sometimes she props the phone beside her on the bench, and I listen as she plays. It always sounds perfect to me, but she usually has a long list of mistakesto break down afterward.
    “This great new Chopin piece.” Amanda goes on and on about it, diverging into Serious Piano Talk. I pay attention, but I can pick up only about half of it. “And here comes my alarm clock. . . .”
    Mrs. Reynolds’s voice echoes through the phone. “A- man -da! Are you going to practice?”
    “See you tomorrow,” I say.
    Gabby. I can’t believe it. Why does the local Commercial Queen have to show up and ruin everything?
    Maybe she’ll have a cold and will sniffle her way through the audition. I hope.

Chapter Four
    Gabby doesn’t have a cold. Instead, she has gorgeous highlighted hair, big blue eyes, and a voice to rival Kristin Chenoweth’s. I sink into my plush red theater seat.
    “Look,” Amanda says. “Gabby’s good. But who cares? You’re the one who scored the lead last year.”
    “Until I got mono and had to quit.”
    “Well, you shouldn’t have been all over Jackson Neal,” she says with a smirk.
    “I wasn’t!” Okay, maybe I was. Once. Or twice. I liked the way he moved the set pieces around onstage. Trevor and I were in one of our Between phases then. But anyway, that’s not how I ended up with mono. And I know Amanda’s just trying to distract me from freaking out about the auditions.
    Amanda turns in her seat and pulls a leg up under her. “Look, you know you can go up there and sing even better than that. So, forget about Gabby. Just get on that stage and kick ass like you were meantto.”
    I laugh. Amanda would make a great football coach, if we weren’t so afraid of sports that involve balls. Ms. Sharp twists around in her front-row seat next to Hannah Goldman—who has the unfortunate role of student director—and glares at us before calling Amanda to the stage.
    Amanda stands up, sheet music for “Think of Me” from The Phantom of the Opera rustling in her just-slightly-shaking hand.
    “Break a leg.” I draw an X over my heart and do jazz hands. It’s super corny, but we’ve been doing it since our first audition in middle school. And if something works, why change it? Even if you are juniors and shouldn’t really need ultimate-best-friend hand signals anymore.
    Amanda gives me a stronger smile and then moves toward the stage.
    I lean forward in my seat to watch her. She takes her place at center stage behind the microphone, clasps her hands in front of her, and waits for the piano. Amanda’s voice is high and clear, and she hits every note perfectly. As she moves through the song, she loosens up. And when she ends, she looks as if she were born on the stage.
    Hannah hands Amanda a script, and Ms. Sharp has her read for four different parts. I try to be fair, which is hard since I’m obviously biased toward my best friend. But playing If I Were the Director is one of my favorite audition games. So, if I were the director, I’d cast Amanda as Liesl or the Baroness. I’m sure she’ll get a part. At least, she’d better get one. I can’t imagine being in the play without her. Thecast becomes its own little community during a show, and not having Amanda there would be . . . awful.
    “I was so nervous I nearly threw up onstage,” she says as she slips back into her seat. “How’d I do?”
    “Perfect.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re getting a real role this year, or I’m going to have words with Ms. Sharp.”
    Together, we watch as Kelly sings “Send in the Clowns,” her curls swaying as she moves her head back and forth looking all sad and nostalgic.
    “Casey Fitzgerald!” Ms. Sharp’s voice booms through the theater.
    I wipe my sweaty hands on the Maria-like gray wool skirt