cue: confusion [IT FANFICTION]

peek a boo, it's the bitchy pushover

I'd like to preface this recount by saying that I have lots of respect for the theater! I've even written a one man show called "Story of My Miserable, Shitty, and Morbid Life".

(The title is a work in progress.)

I might even produce it one day or share it with my vast amount of fans, AKA the losers, but for now it stays in the drafts, albeit with love.

But seriously? A Midsummer Night's Dream? Just because I'm in all Honors classes doesn't mean I can turn a stutter on and off.

"When is this audition, you ask, a hint of desperation in your voice because you want to audition so desperately?" Richie saw my "get this the fuck over with" look and reeled himself in a bit. "It's two days away, so there's plenty of time to practice. AND, of course, I brought all of you flyers!"

Richie handed out the flyers to everybody, and I meekly shoved mine back. "No th-thanks."

"What?"

"D-doesn't th-th-th-this answer your q-question?"

Richie let out a groan. "Come on, man, you don't even have to be any good!"

Well, ouch. Now I don't even want to be good anymore.

"Come on, Bill, it's just one audition." Eddie said. "I already know I don't have a chance and I'm auditioning."

Richie threw his hands up. "Thank you!"

"Shut up, Richie. Actually, Bill, don't audition."

"H-happily." I said, a sulky tone prevalent in my voice.

Richie was still holding out the flyer, and his expression looked genuinely disappointed. "Bill, please. I don't want to go in alone. Just do this... for me?" Eddie glanced at Richie with a sour look that I didn't register.

I did register the genuine tone in his voice and the puppy eyes that I thought I would know not to trust by now, and I meekly replied, "Fine. I'll g-go."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

I sat on the edge of my bed, my fingers tracing the frayed edges of my quilt. Richie's voice still echoed in my head, all full of snarky enthusiasm: "Come on, Big Bill! You'd be perfect for the play. You've got the drama, the brooding hero thing going on. Plus, think of the ladies!"

I had rolled his eyes at the last part. I wasn't interested in impressing any girls, or anyone for that matter. I was more concerned about the thought of standing on stage in front of a bunch of people, trying to force words out of my mouth that didn't stick in my throat or break up into pieces like shattered glass.

I hated that Richie was right. I was a pushover. I could have said no, but Richie had that way of getting into my head, of making me feel like I was missing out on something if I didn't do what Richie suggested. It wasn't that I wanted to be in the play, but now the idea was lodged in my brain, impossible to shake.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I stood up and walked over to his desk, where a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick lay open. I'd been trying to read it for weeks, but my thoughts kept drifting, much like now. My eyes fell on the crumpled flyer Richie had shoved in my hand earlier that day.

"Casting for A Midsummer Night's Dream– Auditions in the Auditorium, Thursday at 3:30 PM."

I stared at the paper, feeling my chest tighten. I wasn't sure why the idea of the play bothered me so much. Maybe it was the thought of embarrassing myself, of standing up there and feeling all those eyes on me, expecting something I couldn't give. Or maybe it was the fact that the play meant spending more time at school, and if the asshole auditioned...