Page 63 of Fractured Heart

Maybe I can do that, too.

The guys have done plenty of rehearsals before. I don’t need to give them complicated directions or treat them like they don’t know what they’re doing. If I just tell them where to stand and what to sing, it might be enough. Then, the guys can take care of the rest.

I grow more confident as the warm ups progress. By the time I take over from Silas, I’m even able to speak. “Let’s begin. Tate, you stand near the front, on the right…” I hold up my hand and divide the imaginary stage in two.

“Stage left,” Silas calls out, challenging me.

“No. Right,” I shake my head and point at the spot where I want Tate to stand.

“Stage left,” Silas repeats, his tone mocking.

“Stage left and house right are the same thing,” Charles purses his lips. The look is aimed at Silas, not me, but I still feel like an idiot.

“W-what?” I whisper.

“If you want us to move to our left or right, say stage left or stage right,” Charles says. “But give directions from our perspective. Since you’re in the audience facing us, your left and right are reversed.”

“Right.” I nod. I should have known that. I’ve probably heard it before, in rehearsal videos, and just never paid attention.

“Left.” Silas rolls his eyes.

I suddenly want to cry. Or scream. Probably scream.

Tate speaks up before I get the chance. “If it helps, you can turn around and stand on a pretend stage,” he offers. “Or say house right and house left. The audience sits in the house, so those are from your perspective.”

Silas scoffs loudly at the idea that I might need to do either one.

My throat goes dry. I open my mouth to direct Tate to stage left, but no sound comes out. I try again, but when I get the direction past my lips, my voice is weak and crumbly.

“Do you need to get some water?” Tate offers.

I nod desperately and he jogs over to his backpack and retrieves a water bottle. He hands it to me, then moves where I want him at stage left. The icy cold bottle gives me something to focus on other than my fear. Biding my time, I take a long, slow sip of water. With a nod, I thank Tate and set the bottle down on the piano bench.

“You know we only booked the room for an hour, right?” Silas mutters impatiently.

My mind goes blank. I can’t remember what I was doing or where anyone was supposed to go. I look at the guys with panicked eyes and stop when I reach Charles. He towers over the others, his posture tense, but there’s something in his eyes. They tell me that he believes in me, and I see the same look reflected on Tate and JJ’s faces. Silas is still glaring, but I ignore him.

“T-Tate, please stand stage left,” I say, my confidence slowly coming back even if my voice still quavers. “And Charles, you’re at stage right.”

The guys quickly take their places.

“JJ, you’re in the middle.” He gets into position and I smile. “Silas, you’re over there behind Charles.”

Silas stays rooted to the spot. “Should I be?” he asks like he’s talking to a small child. “Basic rules of art suggest symmetry, and Charles is taller than the rest of us.”

Charles shifts his weight and pulls in his shoulders, almost like he’s trying to look smaller. Of course, at his size, it proves impossible.

“You have everything off-balance,” he continues, “and we haven’t even started. Charles, you should stand on the other side of the stage, behind Tate.”

Charles looks at me hopefully. I can tell he wants to move, and I quickly nod.

“Tate, you’re good where you are.” Silas nods approvingly. “And JJ, you’re at stage left. I’ll take center stage.”

The guys move into position. It’s not at all how I pictured it, but Silas is right. The guys do look a lot more at ease. Their postures relax and they smile—at least Tate and JJ do. Charles has a blank expression on his face and Silas a smug one.

I force down my frustration. The Dark Prince has clearly been doing this a lot longer than I have. He knows what he’s doing. I don’t. So what if this new arrangement doesn’t feel right? So what if it’s not how I pictured it? Does it really matter where the guys stand?

My mental image of how the song should be performed gets a little blurry, but I push through. It’s their audition. If this is how they want to stand, I need to make it work.