Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi, or Color by the Maine
Erm, last paragraph is a trigger warning. I don't write those often, so I will just give you a little heads up now.
We're just trying to find some color in this black and white world.
Clare
"Clare Edwards – Understudy for Hazel"
My heart sank, reading these words. I worked so hard. Fiona even assured me – I was sure to get the part. I was a shoe in. It was meant to be. It was supposed to happen. But even she said it – she didn't have the ability to give me the part. The director - I learned his name was Jake - held the final decision. But still, I was confident that for once something would go my way. But evidently not. I felt almost lied to; and the stabbing in my chest was only a fraction of what I actually felt. I felt let down. But I didn't let tears fill my eyes – I remained collected, but yet, I was angry on the inside.
With a spur of courage, I approached Jake. At first, I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, and the words just didn't come out. I didn't thoroughly think this through very well. His hazel – how ironic because I wanted to be the character of Hazel – stared at me oddly. Finally I said, "Hey, um, Jake. My name is Clare Edwards. I'm the understudy for Hazel." My heart retched at the sound of me saying that word, but I bit my tongue and reached out my hand and he cautiously took it, "Oh, that's who you are. I didn't see you audition, so I didn't recognize your face. Please excuse my ignorance," he said kindly, almost mockingly, those hazel eyes twinkling and he gave me a once over. My heart rate picked up, but I shook it off. He was trying to flirt with me to make me stop bothering him, or the other way around. I had a feeling he used his looks to get ahead in life, or in girls' pants.
"I was wondering…why wasn't I picked to be Hazel? Fiona said that I would have played the part well, and I'm curious as to why I didn't get it. Please excuse my curiosity," I mocked his previous tone, batting my eyelashes.
"Because Imogen is the best. She has been the female lead in every play since I've been director. She is the best we have," Jake shrugged, blushing before quickly covering up: "She's punctual and accurate on her lines," he coughed.
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head a little, "So because she is the best, she automatically gets the part? What is so bad with switching it up?" I challenged.
"Change is bad for business, little Clare," I twitched at the term little, as he called me – as if I was a little toddler compared to his precious Imogen. I shifted in agitation. I was not one to be underestimated.
"So do I just come to every rehearsal and pretend that I have the part when I don't?" I asked angrily, raising my eyebrows. Maybe fighting him back was just the way to get what I wanted. Jake chuckled at me as if I made a minor joke. His dimples showed at the corners of his mouth and little pieces of his hair flicked into his forehead, and he didn't brush them away.
"Oh, little Clare, you have so much to learn. You will do precisely that – come to every rehearsal. Know your lines. If Imogen doesn't show for a rehearsal, you take her place. And if for some extremely rare chance that she can't make the show – you resume her position. But I doubt you'll be doing much. She is quite reliable," Jake said with an edge, doubting me. He doubted me. He didn't even know me and yet I was something to doubt. I pursed my lips, and nodded an acknowledgement as I walked away, annoyed.
From out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my demise staring me right in the face: Imogen with a downright murderous look on her face. She radiated hate, and it almost made me take a step back. I stared blankly back, narrowing my eyes in confusion at her. But still she stared. Eventually, I broke hold, and I walked out of the auditorium and to my awaiting mother's car, but as I left, I could still feel the burning eyes of Imogen on the back of my head.
The next morning, I walked up to my locker, noticing colored marks written all over the metallic black surface. Written in what seemed to be lipstick, colored bright purple, was "UNDERSTUDY" written in bolded capital letters. My heart dropped, and immediately tears filled my eyes. I ran to the bathroom, crying like I haven't in a long time, and slamming the door behind me, hoping that nobody was there to see my crying eyes.
I searched my pocket for my glasses case. Wrapped in a little silk cleaning cloth – I found my salvation. I touched the razors sharp edges with a little force – drawing blood at my fingertips. Using toilet paper to keep my blood from draining the life of me as it flowed out of my veins – I seethed out my emotional turmoil, placing rough, sharp kisses all over my forearm using the razor blade. The pain numbed me, and brought me to this feeling of bliss, but maybe it was just the numbing pain. I wrapped my arm in a bandage that I kept handy, and lowered my sweater sleeve onto my arm – which was now covered in fresh scars that no one would ever see.
Collecting myself in a few practiced breathing techniques, I left the bathroom and heard manic giggling from the other side of the hallway. Wearing bright purple lipstick and a smirk on her stained lips, was the one and only Imogen Moreno.
End of Chapter Four
