CHAPTER 15 – Cornflake Girl

In the end, with her friends glaring at her back, they attended the theatre without Eppie catching up on her MySpace.

Back at 1 PM in the Marley floor studio, the atmosphere was thick with the nervous energy of students who realised that it was only week two, and they already had a seemingly insurmountable competitor.

The gaze of her peers ranged from curiosity to excitement to obvious envy. The pretty blonde with a figure to match, whose name she forgot, stood so close during Circle that Dr Costello had to bark at her to back off and focus, or take a hike.

Their opening exercise this time was a grid exercise in which students walked through invisible grids without invading one another’s personal space. At his clap, each student turned 90 degrees and continued until the invisible edge, where they would make another turn, matching the collective’s pace.

Unlike her first week, Eppie’s [Agility], combined with [Athleticism] and [Physicality], was more than enough to keep her from bumping into others, all the while pacing to the sound of an internal metronome.

Once he was satisfied, Costello asked the students to return to neutral by stretching their warmed-up bodies, while he explained the department’s decision regarding the Fall Showcase.

“There will be THREE scenes, full costume, modernised prose,” Craig Costello explained as he ventured into view of the attentive students. “Listen well. I shall not be repeating myself until the scripts are out.”

Her instructor had everyone’s attention, including herself. With her growing awareness of the craft and her developing [System] skills, it was only natural that she wanted to exercise them.

“Scene One: PROLOGUE. Antigone and Ismene. For those of you who want to stand out, this is the one. Two characters, both girls—though we may entertain two brothers as well—pending on auditions. The Rule Breaker and the Rule Follower. The ensemble will represent their internal conflicts.”

Eppie tried to imagine it. She could see it in her head as cinema, but not what it would look like on stage.

“Scene Two: CONFRONTATION. Antigone. Creon. Sentry. Antigone is caught, and she is brought before the king. A full half of you will act. Some of you are the paparazzi, some of you are bystanders. Others are judgmental custodians or sympathetic observers. Antigone will back-talk to the King. Creon shall declare his decree.

“Scene Three: THE ROAD TO PERDITION. Antigone and the Chorus Ensemble. A full half of the class will join as spectators to an Antigone that is caught between “Two Deaths”. We shall all manifest as public opinions upon her stubborn resistance. The core focus here is the Chorus. YOU will become the mouth of the Cave. You will swallow Antigone with your judgement.”

Mid-stride, her teacher paused as if delivering a plot-worthy aside. “We fully expect half of you to assume the position of the tech crew. You will be the architects of the production, without which the show cannot go on. The best Tech will be assigned as the Stage Manager, guided by Mr Cooper. Two of you will be assigned to Sound Design. Two or more to Lighting. Three will assume the role of the Deck Crew, assisting the Property Master. For now, Wardrobe will be managed by your Seniors, and a group of Juniors who have volunteered for hair and make-up. If you are interested in either position, talk to Mrs Seyrova or me.”

Her instructor’s effortless patrol continued. “You’re not Freshmen anymore, but let me remind everyone, nonetheless, of how this all works. There will be a divide in this room. Not everyone who wants to be in the theatre will be in the limelight. However, that does not make your role any less essential to the success of a production. In a Company, WE ARE ALL EQUAL. Woe unto the diva who thinks herself capable of performing alone!”

For some reason, Costello stopped for a moment beside Eppie, while she was mid-splits and unable to move away.

A few of the students laughed, and Costello continued.

“As a Company, we are unibody. In true theatre, there is no cast that can exist without the crew—ironically, it is arguable to say that the cast is infinitely more replaceable. No matter how compelling, pretty, or gripping you may be, a mistimed non-diegetic tune, a missed moment of lighting, will make or break a production.”

“And another thing,” Craig’s voice grew low and resonant. “The Fall Gala will be a test run for the Spring Showcase and LAPAGANZA. Only those who survive the Fall Showcase will be considered for our newest and largest conference. As you know, we will be doing Titus Andronicus. Mr Cooper is working on a postmodern series of vignettes, derived from the Fall production. If you desire a role, we will offer initial calls in January for all departments.”

For the next few minutes, their instructor gave them time to digest the news.

“I hope the implication is clear. If you can’t handle the marrow of a tragedy in late October, you won’t be involved. LAPA has a reputation. No-shows from the Sophomores are better than a half-arsed showing. If you drop now, you will get another chance at the Spring showcase. Fail that, and there will be no LAPAGANZA. You may try again when you’re Juniors.”

The class that followed had a changed mood.

There were only a few students, such as Min-jun, who were dead set on joining Tech Crew from the very beginning. Almost everyone present had dreams of stepping into the limelight, either as the protagonist of a theatrical production or as a last-minute line for the audience.

What Costello had imparted was a harsh truth.
A Company had its roles, and everyone would fall into them, each according to their abilities, not their wants or needs.

For the next hour, the theatre students practised in a five-point star formation. Min-Jun, already assuming his role as the “sound crew,” provided the metronome for the other students to follow, speeding and slowing their actions as Costello instructed.

If anyone was a beat off, Costello would restart the routine, eventually passing the torch to his new favourite student so that he could toy with the actors “on stage” himself.

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Throughout the exercise, Eppie struck each beat with near-perfect precision, following the person in front and wary of the person behind, exercising her [Physicality] to its utmost.

“Stop!” Min-jun’s voice filled the room. The actors are tired. They are exhausted from the news and the hour of gruelling body control. “Er… Maddy, you’re falling behind. Then you started leading Rachel behind you… Sorry.”

The girl that Min-jun addressed was a leggy Sophomore with the proportions of a Sports Illustrated model and a face that made teenage boys blush for shame. The name of the young lady was Madison Evans, Eppie’s rival, or so Min-jun had stated.

In ten years, Madison Evans could probably make a living hawking health products as a yoga guru on Instagram, but for now, her options were limited. For some reason, it wasn’t Min-jun that “Maddy” looked at, but Eppie.

First to Eppie, then to Costello, then to the floor, biting her lips like a sultry child.

Ergh… Eppie read the atmosphere at once. Maddie was the girl who was berated by Mrs Kirby in the morning for being shallow. Two setbacks in one day? She could feel the drama brewing in a teacup.

“Sorry…” was all Madison could say.

The weather was hot, and the humidity was unrelenting.

In the windowless theatre box, every actor and actress understood Costello’s words.

In two months’ time, they needed to strut alone into a room, announce their roles, then read their lines live before a trio of judge, jury, and executioner.