Callbacks

Madde and I didn’t bring sheet music. We belted our songs a cappella, over the heads of professional actors, all adults, most conservatory graduates. We were in sixth grade.

The casting assistant dismissed us. As we left, the callbacks lined up to learn the choreography. At the stairs to the street, Madde pivoted.

“Walk toe, then heel, like dancers do,” Madde said. “Follow me.”

She marched back in.

“Our moms are waiting,” I said. They were in the car because Madde’s was too weak to walk.

Madde turned around, eyes burning. “Always make them tell you no twice.”

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