Page 141 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

I give him a firm nod, letting him know I can take it.

“What you just did here?” He points to the stage. “Was none of those things.”

I force myself not to smile, but I feel the compliment wash over me.

“You were thoughtful and measured and, Rosie”—he leans in and quietly says—“I believed you.”

Warmth crawls from my belly up to my neck and all the way to my cheeks. I press my lips together, holding in a smile, but the tears in my eyes give me away.

But Arthur isn’t finished. “I don’t know what the director is looking for, but if this were my show, I’d cast you in a heartbeat.”

At that, a tear escapes.

Arthur glances at Booker, then back to me. “Feelings aren’t the enemy, Rosie. Let yourself feel them. Those are your tools. The joy and the elation. The hurt and the despair. They all go together, working in tandem to become the memories that matter most of all. For work and for life.”

It takes me a second to pull myself together, but once I do, I say, “That’s good advice, Professor.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “For both of us.”

He waves me off, his face returning to its usual gruff and craggy expression. “Yeah, yeah.” He turns to go, but I call after him.

“Arthur?”

He glances at me over his shoulder.

I start bouncing to a song that’s playing in my head and burst out into the chorus of “Wishin’ and Hopin’” by Dusty Springfield, which I used to perform in my bedroom using the choreography from the opening credits ofMy Best Friend’s Wedding.

I change “him” to “her” and hope Arthur understands I’m talking about him showing Bertiehow he feels about her.

To my utter shock, Arthur doesn’t grunt and storm off. He actually starts dancing in a goofy little circle, which makes me giggle so much I stop singing, and Arthur has to pick up the music.

I regain my composure and we finish the chorus duet-style.

“Think she’ll talk to me?” he asks when the song is finished.

“If you sufficiently grovel, I think she might consider it,” I tell him.

He points a finger upward. “Right.” He starts for the door, then turns back. “Are flowers a good idea?”

“Always,” I call after him.

Another upward point, and then he’s gone.

I spin a circle on my heel and find Booker smirking at me. “You two theatre geeks are adorable.”

I smile. “He’s a great teacher.”

“And you’re a brilliant actor.” He holds up the phone, where the video is paused. “You ready to send this?”

I walk over, take the phone, and open a new email. Without thinking or doing another take, I type out a quick note in reply to Britta’s email, upload the video to Google Drive...

Then I hit Send.

Chapter 40

I learned in school that where auditions are concerned, the best thing to do is to go in, do your best, and then forget about it.

That method has never worked for me. I tend to dwell and wring my hands and worry, desperate for news about the parts I really want.

But after I send Britta my video, I forget about it. Not because I don’t care, but because things are so busy with the show—the prep, the last-minute checklists. So two days later I realize I never even told Daisy about it.

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