Smoke

17: Waiting

All day, between classes, I had been going over the auditions monologue. The words became jumbled in my mind, and the ink began to look harsher against the white paper.
At least when I don't have any friends, I have time to focus. All lunch period, I ate the lukewarm cafeteria food over the script; going over it until I couldn't concentrate. It distracted me from the fact that I didn't know anyone besides Oliver. And from the smoke and fire inside of me, trying to push its way out.

I still hadn't told mother about the fire. I hadn't told anyone. I was holding on for something. For the power to go away. I was hoping something would change that would make me feel better, make me feel less alone. To give me friends, to have my old ones not shun me for changing schools. I always felt so alone. Mother was never enough. Sometimes, Oliver didn't feel like enough, either. I felt so empty all the time, even with the smoke building inside me, thickening my air until it would eventually pour out of me, and it would all start again.

Auditions were after school. I had already turned in my form, saying I wanted to play Juliet. I know I did it, but there was always the fear of forgetting. Gripping the script tightly, I walked to the drama classroom's hallway. It was full of students practicing the monologue. Some were frantic, eyes locked onto the paper trying to memorize. Some were so freaked out that they were floating, or magnetic, or see-through, or had fire coming from their fingers, singeing the papers. Others were sitting against the walls, talking with each other calmly.

Oliver was standing in the hallway against the wall, staring into nothing. I walked up to him, feeling my breathing stutter and feeling my heart in my throat. He was either freaking out or was having a vision. I stood by him for a second, looking around, wondering where his friends were.

I tapped his shoulder lightly. He blinked, mind clicking back into place, and looked at me.
"Sorry. I'm kind of freaking out." He said.
"I think we all are." I replied quietly, motioning to the other students around the hallway.
"Yeah." He smiled quickly, nervously. "We're in the same group, though, for the auditions. So that's good." He was talking with a shortened breath, the ends of his words slightly clipped. I nodded with him.

"Where are your friends?" I asked, leaning against the wall with him.
"They're already auditioning with their group." He shrugged.
I nodded.
"One of them is an empath." He glanced at me. "They were having a pretty horrible time before their audition. With all of the," he took a breath, motioning with his hands at the hallway, "nervous energy and stuff." He nodded at me. I looked around again, seeing people freaking out or repeating lines to themselves.
"Yeah, I bet." I nodded back, eyebrows raising, trying to imagine how awful it must've been preparing for a role with all of the anxiousness. "That probably sucked." I added.
"Yeah." He said.

We didn't talk anymore after that. My anxiousness and smoke blocked my voice. Instead, we just stood by each other nervously, taking comfort in each other's company. I could feel the smoke in my lungs. A few white wisps escaped when I had talked. My heart was beating fast, and I could feel each heartbeat in my throat. We waited for the time when our group could go in and audition.