The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre

I blink. His tone’s astonishingly rude for a guy who, as far as I know, has never been in a show here. “I need your audition form, Nicholas.”

He passes me the paper and turns down to study his sheet music. “It’s Nick, actually.”

“Okay. I’m Mel. I’m the stage manager.”

He shrugs without looking up, like the fact that I have a name couldn’t possibly be less relevant to his life. How very actorly of him.

“Good luck, Nick!” a senior girl calls from across the hall.

I sigh. “You mean ‘Break a leg.’”

Nick winks at the girl, then turns to me with a smirk. The girl looks contrite, though, and I realize I know her. Her name is Selah, and she’s been in the ensemble for all the shows I’ve worked on. She knows the rules. “Whoops, sorry, Mel. Should I do the countercurse?”

“No, it’s okay since rehearsals haven’t started. Always better to be in the habit, though.”

Selah nods, and I nod back to show her we’re all good. It’s never smart to be casual with theater superstitions, though. It’s like how you shouldn’t drive through a red light even if there aren’t any cars coming. Rules exist for a reason.

I take Nick’s form and lead him into the choir room. From the way Ms. Marcus and Ms. Qiao nod, it’s clear they both recognize him. “This is Nick Underwood, junior, singing ‘How Glory Goes.’”

Nick looks a little confused when I sit down, like it hadn’t occurred to him I’d stay in the room, but I meet his gaze, impassive. He breaks eye contact first, which is pleasantly satisfying, and goes over to Ms. Qiao with his sheet music. I settle into my seat and prepare to tune him out.

But when he starts singing, I sit back up again.

Nick Underwood is good. Really good.

I glance at Ms. Marcus. She’s staring right at Nick, her face blank as usual, but she’s got to be registering this. His singing is up there with the best we’ve heard all day.

Plus, he isn’t swaying around or making weird faces, like most of the other guys have. He’s standing with his feet planted, and his hand gestures and facial expressions actually seem to go with the song—as though he’s really playing the character who’s singing. And since that character is trapped in a cave and about to die, it’s doubly impressive.

When his sixteen bars are done, Ms. Marcus writes something on his audition form and Ms. Qiao looks up from the piano.

“Thank you, Nick,” Ms. Qiao says. “That was a very interesting song choice.”

Nick grins at her. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Ms. Qiao looks like she wants to say something else, but instead she turns my way and nods. I stand up to show Nick out.

He doesn’t look at me as I hold the door for him. He’s already taken out his phone. I sigh and check my list for the next name.

Gulp.

“Odile Rose,” I say, trying to sound as neutral as possible, even though every head in the hallway has already snapped up to watch her walk by.

I can kind of see why. Odile walks with her chin lifted, as if she’s expecting you to watch her make her way down the hall. As if that’s just what happens when you’re her.

The words stick in my throat when I introduce her to the teachers. It feels ridiculous—they already know exactly who she is. “This is Odile Rose, senior, singing ‘I’m Not Afraid of Anything.’”

The teachers smile warmly as Odile takes her music to Ms. Qiao. And when she starts singing a moment later, the whole room changes. As though we’ve all been transported to another space altogether.

Odile’s voice is stunning. That’s all there is to it. The last time I heard her sing was on closing night of Joseph last year, and I remember her being fantastic then, but either she’s gotten better or I’d forgotten what she really sounded like. As though she was born to sing.

Her voice is beyond powerful, and her performance is somehow straightforward and dazzling at the same time. She’s playing her character, but she isn’t showy and dramatic about it the way Nick was. It doesn’t feel like she’s acting at all. She simply is the character, reflecting on her life with this deceptively plain, pretty song.

I feel unbelievably lucky to be getting this private performance. It’s as if the teachers aren’t even here—as though she’s singing just for me. The whole world is the two of us, and the rest of humanity’s tucked off into the wings.

When she finishes, she has that same glow on her face she had years ago, the night I first saw her. The same pure, shining delight.

And I get why she looks so happy. That’s how theater makes me feel, too. When everything goes right—when the sets are stunning, when a perfectly executed sound mix elevates the voices to sparkling, when we haven’t flubbed a single cue—this is what it feels like.

I didn’t know how that felt three years ago when I first saw Odile perform. But she did.

Today she isn’t standing in a pool of perfectly calibrated light, or gazing out from an elaborate set. She isn’t wearing a costume or stage makeup, or singing into a microphone that carries her voice to every corner of the room. Yet somehow, everything about her radiates drama. The best kind of drama.

It’s obvious why she keeps getting bigger and bigger roles. When Odile’s in front of people, her very essence shimmers.

And as her song ends and the last notes of the piano fade, she looks right at me, still smiling. The emotion is so strong, so overwhelming, I have to look away.

I can’t afford to be dumbfounded by the Odile phenomenon. I have work to do.

Besides, she’s probably straight.

“Thank you, Odile.” Ms. Marcus smiles and studies her audition form. “Based on your song choice, I’d guess you’re most interested in playing Fantine. Is that right?”

“That’s right.” Odile beams at Ms. Marcus. I keep my eyes focused carefully over her left shoulder.

Huh. I was sure Odile would want Éponine. It’s the most ingenue-y role in the show.

“And you wrote on here that you don’t have any conflicts in April or May, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Odile bobs her head. It’s interesting to see how different she is with the teachers than with the rest of us. When Christina and Leah came up to her in the hall, she gave them that carefully calculated smile, but here she’s surprisingly relaxed and cheerful.

“It must be a nice break for you to be in town long enough to do the musical.” Ms. Marcus smiles back. “I know you’ve been on the road a lot this year.”

“I can’t wait.” On the last word, Odile’s voice shifts into a high-pitched squeak, and I almost want to laugh. She sounds like anyone else who’s excited about being in the play.

But why would she be excited about this? Odile’s performed on Broadway. Who cares about the Beaconville High spring musical?

But Ms. Marcus is still smiling at her, and as Odile smiles back, a silent understanding seems to pass between them. And I think I sort of get it.

Auditioning for our teachers is probably a lot more fun than auditioning for Martin Scorsese.

I do my best to act nonchalant as I show her out of the room, but my hands falter when I reach down to flip to the next page on the sign-up sheet. I grimace when I hear myself stumble over my words again. “Ah. Um. Tasha Barnett?”

Somehow, we make it through the rest of the afternoon. Some of the singers are good, some are terrible, and a lot are in between. But not a single person is remotely on the same level as Odile.

I call more names, I walk people in and out, and I give everyone exactly the same smile—the one that isn’t supposed to let on what I’m thinking.

But as I show the last actor of the day out the door and Ms. Qiao cracks her knuckles and climbs to her feet behind me, that smile Odile—the real Odile—was wearing when she finished singing for us here in the choir room still lingers in my mind.

And I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to see her smile that way again.

Spring Musical Callbacks

Please note, we’re holding callbacks for the role of Jean Valjean only. The full cast list will be posted Friday, and many students have already been selected for other roles. So don’t worry if you tried out but you don’t see your name on this list!

Students listed below should report to the choir room at

3:00 p.m. Thursday:

Dominic Connor

David Patel

Malik Sexton

Nicholas Underwood

No advance preparation for the callback is necessary. See you Thursday!

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