Rehearsal number one. Her parents had suggested that it might be good if she got out of her shell a little bit and did something creative and interactive. Back in Ireland, Siobhan had found that she was best able to interact with people when she wasn’t being herself. The easiest way to do that was to pretend to be someone else for a little while.

Since she was at a small school specifically for mutants, there weren’t many clubs that were offered through Xavier’s itself. Thankfully, there were ways to get around that. Headmaster Ruddy had set her up with an after school theatre program with one of the arts schools in New York. At first, it had seemed far too intimidating for her to even consider, but a phone call with her mother had pushed her to audition for that year’s musical, and so she had. It had gone even better than she’d expected, and she’d been cast as Heather McNamara in Heathers.

It was the first rehearsal, though, and already she could see how much of a mistake it was for her to assume that she could do this.

All the actors, singers, dancers, and members of the pit band had gathered on the main stage at the school and were waiting for some sort of direction. It was a school, though, and people knew one another. They spent time together; went to classes together. Siobhan, on the other hand, really had no place there, and she could feel it in the air. Watching everyone bundled together made her want to just turn invisible and be done with it, but she knew that couldn’t happen. She’d already committed to being in the play and she’d already paid the cover charge. She couldn’t just back out.

Oh, but it would be so easy. She was wearing a casual fall dress and ballet flats, both of which would turn with her easily. The only issue would be her purse, but she was sure she could smuggle that out of the back room without too much difficulty.

Despite her desire to run away, Siobhan was mentally committed to sticking it out for the remainder of that day’s rehearsal. After that, she could revaluate. She would probably have to, too, considering how comfortable everyone was around her. Especially the girl beside her. She seemed to be right in her element.

Marisol felt entirely out of her element. Well, maybe not entirely. She was in an auditorium sitting on a stage preparing for the first rehearsal of a show. Those things were all distinctly her element. If she felt out of place, it was because, despite being a junior, Marisol was still a newcomer to Fiorello H. Laguardia High School. Many of the people on the stage had experience working with one another in productions over the years. There was a familiarity in the group that Marisol felt firmly on the edge of; she was the observer of the group dynamic.

Some of her nervousness also came with the role she managed to earn. When audition time came around, Marisol took a shot at Veronica Sawyer, feeling the role would fit right in her wheelhouse. She had to hide her surprise when the director asked her after her first read to try reading Heather Chandler. Hiding her surprise was impossible when the cast list went up and her name was right there next to the red-scrunchie-wearing mythic b**** of Westerburg High.

It was a role that was very out of character for Marisol, in her humble opinion. She could come across as cold, but was she really mean girl material? Still, it was a major role and it would be an exciting challenge for Marisol to broaden her range and her depth as an actress. The selection of the show was already inspiring some controversy from nosy morality police in the city, which meant plenty of outrage publicity, and as Heather Chandler, Marisol would be one of the targets of the controversy. In a strange way, it was a thrilling affirmation of her identity as an actress, pushing the envelope on stage.

Marisol had her nerves, but they were not apparent because she had her nose buried in the script. She was very familiar with the musical, but she wanted to really pour over the stage directions and lines for her character, Veronica, and the other Heathers. It was a first rehearsal, so she doubted things would get intensive, but she dressed for comfort anyway. Marisol wore black leggings a black tanktop with a long, off-the-shoulder sweater dress to conceal the fact that her leggings were not opaque. Marisol doubted there would be much choreography to work on, but wore comfortable ballet flats just in case. She almost considered buying a red scrunchie of her own, but decided not to out herself as a total nerd immediately. She did tie her hair back into a ponytail with one of her pink ribbons.

Thumbing through some pages of Heather-heavy dialogue, she muttered aloud, ”Man, I’m not sure if I’ve ever come close to being this mean.” Heather Chandler was a good litmus test to decide if she was socially-awkward or intentionally vicious.

Siobhan’s feet tapped against the stage floor as she watched the people gather around her. Everyone had a script in hand and people were chatting eagerly about the roles that they were going to be filling. The girl who was set to play Veronica was talking eagerly to the actor that was supposed to be playing J.D., and the rest of the cast were holding little conversations. The pit band seemed to be having none of it, but even they were talking amongst themselves.

Awkwardly, Siobhan looked down at her script in order to look busy. She’d been up late the night before reading to make sure that she was good enough to be playing the role that she’d been chosen for, but there was never too much reading over that one could do. Or looking busy, for that matter. If she had to stand there with her hands clasped, looking uncomfortable for much longer, then she was sure that she would end up breaking her promise to herself.

>>”Man, I’m not sure if I’ve ever come close to being this mean.”

Surprised by the noise that didn’t seem to be accompanied by a surrounding conversation, Siobhan turned to her left to look at the girl next to her. She was the one that she’d pegged as being totally on top of things just a few minutes before, but she actually sounded nervous. Was it possible that not every single person at that crazy school was completely confident all the time? If so, then that was excellent news.

The girl seemed to be just talking to herself, but she was also one of the only other people standing all alone, and Siobhan was just getting more and more uncomfortable. Maybe it would help to talk to someone else. How scary could another girl her age be?

”It is a difficult role to fill,” Siobhan noted quietly through her Irish-Korean accent mix. If the girl didn’t hear her, then it wasn’t meant to be. She was sort of split on whether or not she did want her to hear it, though. On one hand, it would be nice to have a friend to talk to, but on the other, the girl could be totally awful and she would be stuck in that conversation. Perhaps for the rest of the time they were working on the play.

Oh god, she was spiralling.

It was a new experience looking through the book for Heathers and focusing on the role of Heather Chandler. She always saw herself as a Veronica or a McNamara. Marisol had experience under her belt, but she was still a newcomer, so she knew it might be a stretch to expect the lead role in her first show. She expected to jump into the role of the sweetest, most timid Heather, but as it turned out, some new girl was brought in from another school to join the cast. Marisol was interested to meet “Siobhan Song,” the girl whose audition made her a rare non-student cast member.

Everything Marisol understood about Heather Chandler led her to believe her delivery should be sharp and decisive. Intentionally being rude and arrogant was new because if she was ever either, it was unintentional. Heather was not a very complex character in terms of growth: she was a b*tch, she dies, and she is an equally b*tchy ghost. If Marisol could unlock the key to her character, she would be set for the entire show.

And so, she was in her head, silently running lines to figure out what she needed to be. How much sass? Was there disdain for her peers, or was she so self-centered no one else mattered. Maybe, in a roundabout way, Heather Chandler was actually relatable. The west coaster certainly did not go out of her way to connect with her peers, and she worked best when she was focused on herself.

Marisol was so preoccupied, the voice of the girl behind her caught her by surprise. ”Eep!” Marisol turned to look at the quiet-voiced girl. ”I’m sorry, did you say something?” Marisol did not intend for her question to sound so blunt, but the tone of Heather Chandler in her head seeped into her voice before she could catch herself.

>>”Eep!” I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Mayday, mayday! Abort, abort!

The girl next to her had seemed so sweet. She seemed like she would be approachable and kind, maybe even not judgemental. Siobhan had been so, so wrong. Her voice was even comparable to the mythic b**** herself. Maybe she was even the girl that was supposed to play her? If so, she had it down pat.

Siobhan’s face flushed red and she looked down at her feet, trying to make it look as if she had never said anything in the first place. ”Uh, no, no. I didn’t, sorry,” she mumbled, trying to smooth things over with the crazy girl next to her. Hopefully she didn’t take too much offense to it.

Things were now worse than before, though. Not only was she standing alone, but she’d just pissed off the only person she’d talked to. Great going, Siobhan, she silently chastised herself. How on earth was she supposed to make friends or meet people when that was how she interacted with people? She just wished that her sister Sybil was there. She always managed to make everything better.

She wasn’t, though, and there was nothing she could do about that. Nothing she could do other than slip out unnoticed and pretend she’d never even come in the first place. For an invisible girl, it wouldn’t be a hard thing to do at all. She could just turn and then slip away through the back. No harm done, and they could just find a new Heather McNamara. She was sure that there were plenty of people that were waiting to fill the role.

It was a simple thing for her to turn invisible. All she had to do was think about it, and it would happen. Except, it wasn’t happening. She wasn’t turning. Was something wrong? The only time that that happened was when she was around Sybil.

A panicked look came upon her face as she felt the room start to descend upon her. There was no way for her to get out of there, and it felt very much like everyone was laughing and watching her as she fretted her way through her uncomfortableness.

Just as she was about to run to go to the bathroom, a teacher appeared in front of the crowd. It was too late. She’d missed her chance. “Alright, cast, gather together. We’re going to do a few scene run-throughs today and work on some vocal exercises.”

Marisol never set out to be rude to other people. To the contrary, since she was still so new to New York City, the Californian had been making a more concerted effort to be socially welcoming. The problem was her desire to be friendly directly contrasting her natural instinct to shy away from people.

The poor girl next to her caught her at the wrong moment, but Marisol was too oblivious to realize how embarrassed the girl felt after the response she received. She was asian and she was objectively pretty, which was the only kind of pretty Marisol was good at picking out. Even after a few weeks of classes spent familiarizing herself with some of the other theatre kids, Marisol did not recognize the girl beside her. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the mystery student name and the new girl’s ethnicity, Marisol wondered if she had accidentally stumbled upon her Heather McNamara.

Potentially-Siobhan claimed she did not say anything, which did not sit well with Marisol, who was sure she heard something from the other girl. ”I mean, I’m pretty sure you said something,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Marisol was too in her head to catch what the girl said, but she knew she said something and the denial of that made her curious.

The perplexing situation only got worse when Marisol saw some kind of panic flashing in the girl’s eyes. She wondered what the girl’s damage was until, for a moment, the Heather Chandler in her mind subsided for Marisol to actually come up for air. The girl looked panicked and it was a look Marisol was familiar with; it was the same look she wore when a social situation became to overwhelming.

Maybe Marisol could be a better presence for the newcomer. Their situations were probably not very different and she had made the commitment to be more social, after all. ”Silly question, but would you happen to be Siobhan?”

The moment Marisol finished asking the question, Mr. Bigelow, the director, appeared on stage to start rehearsal before she could receive an answer. As much as she wanted to be friendly, Marisol could not afford to ignore the director, so she turned her focus to the enthusiastic, middle-aged, curly-haired man.

“Can I have Veronica, my Mrs. Flemming, and of course, my Heathers ready to run through the bathroom scene from ‘Beautiful,’ please?”

Marisol got to her feet so she could approach the center of the group, checking out of the corner of her eye to see if her suspicions of the girl next to her were right.

She’d tried to deny the fact that she had said anything; act like it hadn’t happened at all. If the other girl had any sort of a soul, she would have recognized that and played along. However, in true Chandler fashion, she only pressed harder, insisting on the fact that Siobhan had, in fact, said something. It was too cruel. Was everyone at that school like that? It certainly seemed like it.

An intense red blush spread across the Irish girl’s cheeks, which could still be seen, since she couldn’t seem to turn invisible. Was this some cruel trick of nature? Was it all a joke to someone up above? She couldn’t even run away.

>>”Silly question, but would you happen to be Siobhan?”

Great, now she even knew her name. Well, she knew the spelling of her name. The pronunciation? Not so much. The girl cringed as her name was transformed from the natural “shi-von” to “sey-oh-ban”. She was used to having her name butchered during her time in the US, but it still hurt every time something like that hit her ears. She wished that she could just block it out, but she couldn’t.

”Shi-von,” she corrected quietly, trying her best not to cry as she experienced one of the very rare malfunctions of her power. She was stuck with the girl until the director told them otherwise.

Which, thankfully, he did. She and the other members of the scene had been called away to run an important scene, in which the main character, Veronica, would be dragged down into the depths with the Heathers. She’d always liked the scene, connecting with the feeling of needing something to make you more popular and likeable. It was an easy trap to fall into.

Siobhan got to her feet with a relieved sigh, figuring that she would be out of the grasp of the awful girl for the rest of the rehearsal, at least.

However, when she turned her head, her heart sank. The other girl was standing up too. That meant that she was either a Heather, Veronica, or Miss Flemming, and she had lots of scenes with all of those characters. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Why the hell weren’t her powers working? Now, of all the times for them to stop?!

Introductions were hard, particularly when it was an introduction to a total stranger. Marisol did not know how people initiated conversation with someone new for no reason. It sounded so presumptuous to just go up to someone and say, “Hi, I’m Marisol.” Why would they care? It was just as hard to find some excuse to engage someone, as she just attempted with Siobhan. Instead of saying something about the musical, (which in hindsight would have made a world of sense,) Marisol jumped the gun by pointing out that she knew the girl’s name.

The director took the stage, but Siobhan managed a weak response, correcting Marisol for her failed pronunciation of the girl’s name. Marisol’s cheeks warmed up and she turned her attention back to the director. She should not have assumed she knew how Siobhan was pronounced. When she saw it on the cast list for the first time, she should have looked it up online. It was frustrating how easy things were to avoid in hindsight. She tried, she failed, and she could give up. It was rehearsal time, which meant no more small talk. Marisol loved rehearsal.

The bathroom scene was a perfect way to set things up for the rest of the musical, in Marisol’s opinion. The Heathers’ dynamic was established with their first interactions, and everything else set the stage for Veronica’s time as an honorary Heather. It was a great place to start the first of many rehearsals.

With Siobhan’s name finally confirmed, it was no surprise to see the girl stand along with her. Siobhan was going to be her McNamara, a girl with curly red hair joined them as Heather Duke, and a girl with short black hair and freckles would be the lady of the hour, Veronica Sawyer. The director assured them that staging would be established later; he wanted his main group of girls to work on developing their characters and chemistry.

Developing better chemistry with her fellow actresses, particularly Siobhan, would be helpful in the long run, but until she could figure out a way to do that, she would settle for develop synergy in character. She was a professional, after all. (Okay, she was an amateur, but she carried herself like a professional.)

With some quick guidance from the director to set the scene, Marisol waited for the telltale retch from Heather Duke to start the scene. It was always a challenge to be in a show she knew so well, because she had to fight the instinct to mimic the original actress, which she thought resulted in a cheap, knock-off performance. She had to figure out what Marisol-Heather would be like.

”Ugh, grow up, Heather. Bulimia is so eighty-seven,” she replied condescendingly, setting the scene for Siobhan to join in.

Siobhan took a deep breath as the director set the scene for the five actresses, putting them where he needed them in the moment. Staging wasn't as important as lines by that point, but they still needed to get a sense of who was going to be playing who, and where they were going to be playing them. It was a big deal for the first run through, and it was a bigger deal for Siobhan, who still didn't really know anyone and who was immensely nervous.

As she stood next to the awful Heather Chandler, a million thoughts were running through her head. Why had she signed up for this? Why had she thought that this was a good idea? This was a terrible idea! She didn't even go to that school, and she had stolen a lead role from a bunch of arts students. They were going to stuff and mount her on the wall for this. What on earth could she do?

It was too late now. The telltale retching had begun, thanks to the very pretty redheaded girl that was playing Heather Duke. Of course the rest of the cast would be absolutely beautiful, and it would be even harder for Siobhan to focus on the issues or what she was actually doing.

Before she knew it, Heather Chandler (she still didn't know her real name) had said her line, which meant that it was Siobhan's go. "Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather," she suggested confidently, in a manner that she knew that Heather McNamara might have adopted at the beginning of the play. She had watched the bootleg and listened to the music enough times to know the character that she was playing inside and out, and because of the hours of practice that she'd dedicated to practicing, playing Heather was starting to come as second nature. There were enough similarities between the two misunderstood girls that it was hardly a stretch.

"Yeah, Heather, maybe I should," the redhead responded. Even at the first rehearsal, things were starting to go well. It would all seem too good to be true if not for Chandler and her desire to make Siobhan's life worse. The brunette's thoughts were interrupted by another retching noise.

"Ah, Heather and Heather... and Heather. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell over all the vomiting. You're late for class."

Siobhan looked to her right to hear the next line from her castmate.

It was important to focus on her own lines, but Marisol could not help but be curious about Siobhan’s portrayal of Heather McNamara. As a fan of the show, Marisol often considered the roles she might be suited for, and if she was cast as one of the Heathers, she always expected she would fit the McNamara role. Now that she was cast as the Queen Mean Girl, it would be interesting to see what Siobhan did to make the role her own and how different that would be from Marisol’s McNamara.

First impressions: her Heather was self-assured, but clearly sincere. McNamara was the most genuine Heather, and it was important to set that up right away in contrast to Chandler’s snarky bossiness. Duke was down on herself and in need of validation, and in a handful of lines, Marisol could see all three actresses establishing the bases of their characters. Duke goes mad with power, McNamara gets redeemed, and Chandler’s hubris leaves her as a snarky corpse.

Mrs. Fleming, a girl with a blonde pixie cut, intruded into the scene, leading to Marisol’s return to the conversation.

”Heather wasn't feeling well. We're helping her,” Marisol answered, justifying herself against the teacher’s accusation.

“Not without a hall pass, you're not. Week's detention”

“Um, actually, Ms. Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass,” Veronica interjected. From what Marisol understood, the black-haired girl was an accomplished senior, so it was no surprise to hear her line read go flawlessly. “Yearbook committee.”

“...I see you're all listed. Hurry up and get where you're going.”

Body language was unnecessary in a line reading, but Marisol still looked pensively, like she was evaluating something. She wanted to represent the pleasant surprise of finding something of value where it was not expected. ”This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”

“Uh... Veronica Sawyer. I crave a boon”

”What boon?” Her voice was laced with skepticism and judgment. Heather Chandler did not strike Marisol as the type of woman to do favors for people.

“Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone...”

Marisol burst out into laughter alongside her fellow actresses, like Veronica was proposing something outrageous. From the corner of her eye, Marisol noticed the director jotting down a note, but she tried to push the action from her mind. She had a scene to focus on and notes could matter later.

“Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes”

“How about prescriptions?” piped the redheaded Duke.

”Shut up, Heather!” Marisol spat, dismissing Duke’s question and really, her right to contribute to a decision.

“Sorry, Heather!”

Marisol resisted the urge to pantomime the grabbing of Veronica’s face before she admitted a realization. ”For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure…” Now that she was in the Mythic B*tch role, Marisol realized how much Heather Chandler dominated early conversations in the show; it easily made up for the lessening of her role in the second act when McNamara was the undeniable Heather of note, in Marisol’s opinion.

It was easy for Siobhan to embody her character. They were one and the same; a teenage girl who was trying to figure out her identity in a world of people more powerful and more influential. She’d always felt a connection to that particular Heather, and she had a feeling that the directors might have seen that when they were working on finalizing the casting list.

She moved around the scene just a little as the other actors ran through her lines. She stuck close to Heather, just a little in her shadow. It was what she would have done in her situation. The director gave her an encouraging nod when she looked over and then made a signal for her to keep her eyes on the other actors.

It was good that he had done that, too. If Siobhan hadn’t looked back, she would have missed her line completely, and then she would have held up the entire scene. That would have been awful! Everyone would have looked at her and realized what a mistake they made by letting her in there. They would have sent her back to the Xavier Institute and never looked back! Oh god, it was happening. She had frozen with all that thinking.

Normally, she would have automatically turned invisible and made it a whole thing, but she still couldn’t seem to do so. Now she was in her own head, making a big deal about how with each passing moment that she considered the worst, the worst took hold of the situation. She could see Veronica staring at her, nodding her head toward her and giving her a prompt, but all that Siobhan could do was stare at her with wide eyes. This was it. This was the absolute worst case scenario.

If she wasn’t going to turn invisible, then she had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there forever with her breath gone and her expression blank. So, she dropped her script on the stage, muttered a squeaky, ”I’m sorry,” in her natural accent and ran off the stage. There had to be a washroom somewhere that she could hide in.

Being an actress had an interesting aspect of duality to Marisol because, while she was living and breathing the art, she was also a huge fangirl for most of the subject material she worked with. Marisol loved Heathers: The Musical, so she was just as eager to hear her castmates lines as she was to perform her own. Siobhan in particular had one of Marisol’s favorite lines in the show right in that first bathroom scene. The meat cleaver line was a genuinely funny example of McNamara’s well-intentioned yet tactless logic.

At least, it would have been if Siobhan spoke her line. There was an unexpected pause and, when Marisol turned to look to her castmate, she was frozen in place.

It was oddly reminiscent of the nightmares Marisol would have leading up to a big show, except it was real and happening to another person. It was still rehearsal, so it could have been worse. Siobhan could bounce back and regain her footing.

…Or she could run off! Marisol stood on stage in surprise as the girl made a quick exit with a muttered, accented apology. It was a kind of stage freight Marisol was unsure she ever had, but she had to realize what the girl was dealing with. She was in a new place with people she never met who were literally going to school to act. In her head, she was probably surrounded by judgy elitists and, really, she might not have been wrong.

The director sighed. Mr. Bigelow was not known as a particularly patient man, so Siobhan’s exist did her no favors. “Day one and I lose my McNamara,” he grumbled. There was an understudy, but the idea of the poor, out-of-place girl could lose her role so quickly pained Marisol’s heart. The stage freight was not an issue Marisol dealt with, but feeling like an outsider around everybody was something she could understand intimately.

Acting quickly, Marisol dropped her script (carefully) on the floor and squeaked, ”I’ll go get her!” She was off the stage and out of the auditorium before the Director could protest.

Looking up and down the hallway, Marisol heard the sound of a door closing. Where would she go if she was fleeing people? The answer was easy; the only room with individual stalls to close one’s self in. Marisol walked with urgency toward the nearest washroom and called out, ”Heather?” before shaking her head and returning to the real world. ”I mean, Siobhan! Are you in here?”

Siobhan ran quickly down the back hallways and into the actual school in search of a washroom. She knew that whatever chance she had had in that play was ruined, all because she got nervous. It was so unbelievably s*****, and she just needed a place to sit and cry about all the awful fallout that would come with the situation.

Thankfully, when she got a few feet away from the room, her powers turned right back on, meaning she could run away in peace. It was so weird. Maybe someone had set up something that cancelled powers around the stage? Whatever it was, she was almost glad that she probably wouldn’t have to go back to it. Someone else could have her role. She could go back to the Xavier Institute with her tail between her legs, for all she cared. So long as she never had to deal with that again.

The “ladies” sign stuck out to her as she passed doors as she ran down the hallway. An invisible girl pushed open the door and quickly locked herself inside a stall. Finally, peace and quiet. A place for her to cry alone. Tears streamed down her face as she tucked her legs up to her chest on the floor. This was fine. She could settle herself in there and leave out the door. She could go back for her stuff later.

>>”Heather? I mean, Siobhan! Are you in here?”

Siobhan stifled her sob as soon as she heard that awful voice. Why had she followed her? And why was she trying to rub her face in her failure? Was she seriously that deranged?

All she had to do was keep quiet. She couldn’t see her, after all. She was in-

What THE HELL? She was visible again, and her powers didn’t seem to want to let her change back. What the hell was this? Had the power dampener spread? Unless… she had powers like Sybil’s…

It was too late to do anything about it. All that Siobhan could do was try to keep quiet as the girl passed and that she wouldn’t look under the stall doors.

It was a shot in the dark assuming Siobhan would retreat to the bathroom; even if it was her goal, it was still quite possible she would just end up wandering the halls of an unfamiliar school. All Marisol could do was trust her instinct and hope that girls panicking in social situations shared the same escape strategy.

In the grand scheme of things, going out of her way was nothing Marisol had to do. People freaked out and lost roles; it was just a thing that happened in theatre. It was a stressful world and not everyone was made for it. It was unrealistic to try saving everyone who got in their own way on stage, but Marisol still felt the need to talk to Siobhan. There was a sense of camaraderie as the two newest girls on the cast. Besides, if Siobhan really claimed a spot in the school’s play despite going somewhere else, she had to be a great actress. It was wrong to judge her for one bout of stage fright.

Looking around the bathroom, things got quiet after Marisol spoke, but she was certain there were sounds when she entered. Crying sounds were not easy to contain, and Siobhan had every reason to cry.

Marisol was not going to duck down and check stalls for Siobhan, but she was still confident the girl was somewhere in the room with her. Hopping up to take a seat on the countertop lined with sinks, (and regretting that choice when she realized she chose a small wet patch,) Marisol started speaking clearly enough to be heard through the bathroom.

”Listen, Siobhan—and I think I’m pronouncing it right now. Really sorry about that, by the way.” That was an apology she had been meaning to get off her chest. ”I know this place can be intimidating. This is my first year here, so I get it. Everyone’s talented and there’s a lot of pressure to get it all right immediately. But this is still just our first rehearsal. Even those kids out there will screw up, so… maybe don’t beat yourself up? I’m sure you’re a good actress or you wouldn’t be here.” It was the truth, even if it was delivered matter-of-factly.

Sighing, Marisol looked at the stall she was fairly certain she heard the shaky breathing of a cryer behind. ”It’s up to you, but… I think you should come back out with me. I can’t be a Chandler without a McNamara.” Marisol could have gotten up and left, but she wanted to linger and see what Siobhan would do or say, assuming she did or said anything.

Siobhan had managed to calm herself down enough that she no longer had to hold her hand over her mouth to stop the sobbing from coming through. With any luck, she would be breathing completely normally in a few minutes, too. It was just a matter of letting herself settle down and not getting too upset about the fact that Chandler was outside the door, waiting to tear her apart. It was just like something out of the play itself.

Only, Chandler didn’t seem like she was there to be mean. It could have been some cruel trick put on by a girl who fancied herself a good actress and an even better bully, but she did seem sincere. Siobhan listened carefully as the girl talked about how she was a good actress and the play needed her.

It wasn’t true, though. They were at a school full of talented people who could do a much better job than she could. There had to be plenty of people who could fill her shoes and pull off an excellent McNamara. Heck, maybe they could even gender-bend it and make it a whole thing to have a male Heather. There were already better options streaming into her head.

”It’ll be fine without me,” Siobhan told her quietly, burying her head in her arms. ”They can find another McNamara.” It wasn’t all that much to ask of an arts school, after all. She was sure that there were lots of people dying for a lead role. One of the choir members or a background actor. Maybe even someone who didn’t make the original cut. She was doing them a favour.