The Better Half(36)

“I know you’re a good singer, love, but did you make any mistakes? What could have happened?” My potential sympathy has turned to confusion. Xandra is anything but lazy, particularly when it comes to singing. She’s a third generation Morgan who lives to show off her vocal skills.

“I don’t know. I came right back to my room after checking the cast list that was posted when I saw how far down I was on it. It was SO embarrassing, Mom; all the other kids were high-fiving, and I looked like a fool.”

“So, your tryout was great, but you got a small part?” As Xandra’s mother I want to believe my child’s telling the truth, but all my years working with kids, with only that tidbit of the story I know something’s not adding up. I’ve had dozens of kids sent to my office for acting out in school, ready to sell me their version of the truth. I know when there’s more to a story. “Go back to the beginning. I want all the details.”

“The first day I was a tiny bit late. Maybe missed the first few minutes of auditions.”

“So, the reason you got a small part is because you were late?”

“Heather walked in with me and Dash. She was late, too, but she got a lead part.”

“And Heather is . . .”

“White,” Xandra answers; she knows the question I’m asking. That’s it. I google Mr. Petrov. I need his email. He’s getting an eyeful from me in his inbox. I’ll have my facts together right before I go buck wild on this teacher.

“Okay, let me make sure I have all the details. You, Dash, and Heather showed up at tryouts a little bit late, and Mr. Petrov punished you and Dash by handing out ensemble roles, but Heather got a lead role. Is that what I’m hearing?” I’ll need to have Marisol read my email, so I don’t regret what I send.

Silence.

“Did I get that straight, Xandra?”

“Sort of. Supposedly Mr. Petrov made all the announcements about casting before we could even get there. Somebody told me later he said only upperclassmen get the lead roles.”

“And Heather is?”

“A junior.”

“Why didn’t you know this information if the announcements were at the beginning of tryouts?”

“He only talked about that part in the first fifteen minutes.”

“You were fifteen minutes late?! That’s not a ‘tiny’ bit late.”

“Mom, it’s not that bad.”

“You showed up late for the audition, disrespecting this man’s time. Did you talk to Mr. Petrov after to find out the information you missed and to apologize for your tardiness?”

“Well, Heather did, and she confirmed only upperclassmen get leading parts, that’s how I know for sure.”

“There’s your reason, Xandra!” Thank goodness I got the whole story before I fired off that email. This girl would have had me cussing people out cross-country. “You should have talked to Mr. Petrov afterward like I taught you. I’m disappointed you didn’t find out on your own what you missed.”

“Okay, okay, Mom, you’re acting like this is all my fault. Did you not hear me say there are no Black kids in the leading cast! I’m telling you the arts department is racist!”

“Xandra, please, save the dramatics for the stage. Just get your behind there on time.” It’s just like a teen to converge tardiness with racism.

“Dash told me this is exactly how you’d react. You’ve lost your edge for the struggle of our people sitting up in that fancy office of yours all day.”

Direct from Pemberley my baby DID NOT just call me bougie. Damn, Graham’s right. We’ve definitely got a situation.

FROM: Nina Morgan Clarke

DATE: November 16

SUBJECT: Xandra

TO: Graham Clarke

Graham,

Between your call in September, my conversations with Xandra lately, and her current conflict in the play, we do have a problem. I still don’t have a clear picture of what’s going on with her, but I know I don’t like this new Xandra.

Thanksgiving is almost here, and Christmas is right around the corner. I don’t want to ruin your holidays or mine, but confrontation time is coming.

Nina



Leo 3:30 PM

I know you’re at work but I’m in the airport and thought I might catch you. I’m traveling through Borneo the next couple of days. It’s going to be pretty remote, so we’ll talk when I’m back in cell range. I miss you like crazy. I still can’t believe I’m going to be a dad! When can I tell people?

Ugh, I didn’t see Leo’s text until close to five o’clock, and by the time I hurriedly called him back to hear his voice, if only for a minute, his phone went right to voice mail and my spirits sank. Our infrequent conversations the past few weeks have resembled more of a doctor-patient relationship than desperate lovers missing one another. Leo wants a blow-by-blow description of what I’m eating, how much sleep I’m getting, if I’m remembering to take folic acid up until my twelfth week but not a day after, and for the love of God I better be staying away from tuna. Or more vital to me, my beloved Sunday afternoon greasy tuna melts with waffle fries. I had to cut him off before a mention of future hemorrhoids surfaced. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Amazon Prime delivered What to Expect When You’re Expecting to Leo’s Singapore apartment. I much prefer our brief texts when Leo professes how much he misses me.