How I Paid for College by Marc Acito

Author:Marc Acito [Acito, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Oh. My. God. The Drama Division prides itself on being the inest training ground for the best young actors in America. We sincerely hope you will make Juilliard your school of choice.

This has got to be a mistake. Right now poor Walter Mancus is opening a rejection letter and thinking, “But I did such a great job.”

I grab the telephone and punch in Paula's number. After about ten rings I hear a groggy, distracted voice that has to be Gino trying to speak through his wall of hair. Either that or it's the transvestite hooker from down the hall.

“Is Paula there?” I ask.

“She's . . . uh . . . busy,” he says.

“Gino, this is Edward. Listen, I've got to talk with

her.” I hear Paula's muf led voice say, “Who is it?” to which Gino replies, “Ouch, baby, watch the teeth.” The phone drops and there's some shuf ling in the background.

“Hello?”

“It's me,” I shout. “I'm in, I'm in, I'm in!”

“I knew it!” Paula crows. “Congratulations!” “ARE THEY OUT OF THEIR FUCKING MINDS?” I

shout.

“What are you talking about?”

“Sis, I vomited on their school.”

“It's an arts school. They're used to eccentric

behavior.”

“But I sucked.”

“That's not what I heard,” Paula says.

“What?”

“If you'd answered my calls you would have

known. I asked my improv professor about you, you know, the one who gave me an A plus when I reenacted losing my virginity?”

I hear Gino shout “Hey!” in the background. “Gino, don't be such a fucking Neanderthal,” she says to him.

“Is he an old guy or a middle-aged guy?” I ask.

“He's a middle-aged guy with beautiful hair and a bored expression.”

“He didn't hate me?”

“No, he always looks like that. He's not bored, he's deep. Anyway, he said that in all his years of teaching he's never seen an audition like yours.”

That's for sure.

“He said you were like a raw exposed nerve, a gaping open wound.”

“And that's good?” I say.

“Are you kidding? That's what every actor dreams of. I knew you had it in you, I just knew it. I'm so happy for . . . oh dear . . . cut it out, will ya', I'm on the . . . just . . .”

I hear more shuffling bodies.

“Listen, I've got to go,” Paula says, giggling. “Something's . . . uh . . . come up. But know that I love

. . .”And she's gone. I return to school revived and invigorated. Finally my baggy life seems to it. I am one of the Best Young Actors in America. I am a raw exposed nerve. I am a gaping open wound. And I am not going to let that Austrian bitch stop me.

The whole school seems to know the good news and even people who never talk to me, like Amber Wright, offer congratulations. I can't stop smiling. My life is bathed in a rosy glow, like an MGM Technicolor musical.

For four periods.

In a stunning display of colossal stupidity, I have, once again, missed the sign-up for the cushy sports in gym. Ms. Burro initials

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