Cassie’s audition goes horribly, and she reaches a critical decision about what to do next for Lindsey.

Goldie calls my name as I rush between cars in the lot.

The parking lot is surrounded by a tall fence, with one long rolling gate that is usually closed during school hours. Right now there’s a jam up of student vehicles at the gate. No one can get through. Stupid kids are honking their horns as if they can’t see the fire department, cops, and ambulance.

The white ambulance takes off down the street. Once it’s gone, the skaters start backing off, freeing the cop to direct traffic out of the parking lot.

Casting a nauseated glance at the mangled bike, I run straight to Jesse, who hasn’t yet backed off with the rest of his crew. He’s standing still, unblinking, eyes fixed on Lindsey’s brown cap.

Standing beside him, I go, “What happened?”

I expect a slam, an insult, some kind of anger. But Jesse doesn’t stop staring at Lindsey’s hat.

“He just hit her,” Jesse says. “Out of nowhere.”

Not thinking, I put my hand on his arm. “You all right?”

Jesse snaps to life, yanking his arm away and taking a step back. “What the hell! Why do you even care?”

My horror is eclipsed by anger. “She’s our friend!”

Jesse coughs something like a laugh. “Really. Okay. Whatever you say. Casshole.”

He drops his Tony Hawk deck to the sidewalk and puts one red-shoed foot on the top.

“Is she all right?” I say quickly, trying to put my anger aside for the moment. “Could you tell?”

He gives me a glare so cold I freeze in place.

“She’s in an ambulance after being hit by a truck, what do you think?”

Then he’s off down the sidewalk, rejoining the other skaters.

I watch him go for a long moment, wanting to shout something cruel back to him, but not having the willpower. Not after what’s happened to Lindsey.

As if drawn by the horror of it, I turn back toward the truck and Lindsey’s wrecked bicycle.

The older man, who I assume is the driver of the truck, is crying now as the cop puts him in handcuffs and leads him gently to the cruiser.

Traffic coming out of the Camelback High School lot is moving now, but not quickly. Everyone has to slow down and stare at Lindsey’s bike.

Ghouls.

The auditioners are still mostly gathered on the little patio area, though a handful have walked nearer to the gate. I march past them, back to the auditorium and go inside. As if my entrance wakes her from a trance, Goldie claps her hands and orders everyone back in.

Ten more minutes pass before everyone is finally seated and quiet as Goldie stands in front of the railing that blocks off the orchestra pit.

“All right, everyone,” she says. “That was clearly very upsetting. Unfortunately, we do need to keep moving ahead. I also want to take this opportunity to remind you that you all have counsellors, and they are here for a reason. If you start to feel too upset or have trouble sleeping, that sort of thing, please go check in with someone in the office.”

She scans the crowd, making sure we heard. No one says anything.

With a final nod, Goldie says, “Okay. Then let’s get started. First up is?”

Eli flips through a yellow legal pad. He’s sitting dead center of the auditorium with a couple other students who are always on tech crews. “Jack Dunn and Cassie Noble.”

I jerk in my seat. Me? Now? We haven’t even had a chance to look at our lines.

And someone I’ve known since I was kid is headed to the hospital…

“Great,” Goldie says, and marches to the aisle where Eli and the other techies sit. “Jack? Cass? Are you ready?”

I turn in my seat. “Um, not really.”

Everyone looks at me. Goldie pauses at the start of her row.

“No?” she says.

“I just mean, we didn’t really have time to look over the sides. And…outside, the girl on the bike, I—”

Goldie frowns a little, considering. “I understand,” she says, though I don’t think she possibly really can. “Do any other groups feel ready to go right now?”

Dozens of hands shoot up. Masque & Gavel doesn’t mess around, and people serious about speech, debate, or drama want to make a good impression.

Masque & Gavel is Camelback’s speech, debate, and drama club. Our one-act plays for the Arizona Interscholastic Association competitions consistently reach state level., Frequently we rank between first and third place, and rarely below fifth. For my brother Brian’s upper class years, they won first place twice in a row. Camelback M&G graduates have gone on to prestigious acting programs, become Emmy winners and Oscar nominees, and founders of their own theatrical companies and studios.

It’s a serious program for serious people.

Goldie and Tully have a knack for spotting talent and putting it to work, along with a well-earned reputation for not tolerating bullshit. Brian is a freshman this year at Arizona State thanks to a theatre scholarship, which he credits to Goldie and Tully’s training and advice.

I’ve been in love with performing since kindergarten, when Jesse, Lindsey, and I did that little show in class. Nothing would make me happier than to learn all I can here from Goldie and Tully, then go grab myself a scholarship like Brian did, whether to ASU or elsewhere.

But I can’t shake that image of Lindsey being loaded into the ambulance. Or the fact that half an hour ago, she was asking me if we could talk.

And that I blew her off.

I mean, if something happens to her, that might one of her last memories.

I feel sick.

“Cassie?” Goldie is saying. “Did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Take ten minutes with Jack, and then I want to see your scene. Are you all right?”

Tell her, I think. Tell her that you know Lindsey and that she was one of your best friends once upon a time and that you need to get to the freaking hospital and be with her.

“I’m fine,” I say.

Jack Dunn, a great-looking senior and current president of Masque & Gavel stands up from his seat. I rise, too, and meet him at the short staircase leading up onto the stage.

“Sure you’re okay?” Jack asks me.

I nod quickly and force a smile.

We take sides—stapled photocopies of our scene—from one of Goldie’s assistants, and head for the hallway backstage.

“You look a little…off,” Jack says as the door swings shut on silent hinges.

“No worries.” I curl the script between my hands to make a cylinder.

“What’s up?” he says, leaning against the white-painted brick wall.

I take a big breath and hold it. This isn’t something I need to get into with Jack Dunn. I can’t explain the entire situation with Jesse and Lindsey with only ten minutes to prep our cold read.

I let the breath out and meet his eyes. “Nothing. It’s fine. We should start.”

Jack doesn’t look convinced, but we wander to the end of the hall and practice our scene.

We run it twice through. It’s Emily Webb and George Gibbs, junior year of high school. Emily is trying to explain to George how she doesn’t like who he’s become over the past year.

We run the scene until the assistant calls us back in. Jack, looking supremely confident as he walks, says, “So you’re really working for the part of Emily?”

“Is it that obvious?” My stomach rumbles nervously, and I clutch a handful of my T-shirt over my belly.

“You’re really good, Cass,” Jack says as we reach the doors to the auditorium. “Just relax and have fun.”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter.

Jack doesn’t seem to hear me.

On stage, we run the scene for Goldie. Despite Jack’s assurances in the hall, I can feel how bad I’m doing. With every line, I’m either thinking about Lindsey, or else straining so hard to not think about her that all my lines come out whiny and distracted.

It’s a courtesy for anyone watching to applaud after an audition. So people do clap, but I can hear how forced it is. Jack does his best to smile and say something encouraging to me as we head down the steps into the house again.

I don’t really hear him. Even if his performance suffered because of me, he’s Jack Dunn—he’ll read again in a little while and walk away as either George Gibbs or the Stage Manager. Some leading role.

I sink low in my seat, stomach still rumbling.

I am the world’s worst friend.

Well, no—that honor belongs to Jesse Redding. But I’m a close second, sure.

There’s got to be something I can do. Some way to make this okay…

Only one option comes to mind. So when Goldie announces a break, I grab my backpack and run out of the auditorium and into Goldie and Tully’s office.

Mrs. Tully is there, poring over schematics for the scenic design of Our Town. “Miss Noble,” she says, peeking at me over her glasses. “How was your audition?”

“Um—not great. Can I use the phone?”

Tully darts a glance between the tan phone on her desk and me as if assessing my need. I guess something in my expression is convincing, because she says, “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

I grab a phone book from the bottom shelf of a nearby bookcase.

“What’s the nearest hospital from here?”

“Good Sam,” Tully said. “Why?”

I find the number for Good Samaritan Hospital in downtown Phoenix and dial.

“I have to find someone.”