I take a mostly-nervous-but-a-bit-excited deep breath and click the submit button to secure a spot for an audition in And Then She Picks Up The Sword, this year’s middle school play. Reading through the script once again, I try to decide which part to audition for; but there are so many interesting characters. Finally, I land on Lubbock the Knight, fierce warrior, protector of royalty, yet also the keeper of a deep secret. Lubbock is actually a girl, formerly known as Susan. I had decided to audition for Lubbock for multiple reasons—I liked the role itself, I would get to sword-fight, and I related to the character.

Growing up as the laundry maid’s daughter, Susan befriends the young princess, Wimberly. One afternoon after a game of hide and seek, Susan runs away and learns to fend for herself, returning two years later as the manly Lubbock. Susan thinks that she must lock a part of herself away so that she can be who she wants. As the layers of her character unfold, the more convinced I become that with her newfound confidence, the deception was unnecessary—that Susan would have been able to push past or ignore any external judgment about being a female knight, refusing to allow others to determine her destiny.

When I was a child, I used to be very shy, clinging to my mother’s leg, refusing to talk to other adults, never making eye contact. On the advice of a teacher, my mother signed me up for an improv class in third grade. Despite my initial hesitance, I quickly realized that by acting as someone other than me, I no longer had to feel self-conscious; I could do anything without fear of judgment. 

At home, I began belting Broadway songs with my sister and felt brave enough to sign up for the theatre elective earlier this year. The more I performed, the more fearless I became. Like Susan, I began to build up enough confidence along the way, practicing my skills, doing what I loved, and not caring what others thought; or at least I tried my best not to. It was time to audition for an actual play.

I stand inside the Gallery of PAC, signing my name on the form. I hear, “Micki!” get called out. I step forward and enter the Blackbox Theatre. Standing in front of Ms. Julia Davis, Director of the middle school play, Gigi H. ’27, Assistant Director, and Alina S. ’27, one of the Stage Managers, I tell myself to relax and to just be myself. Channeling my inner knight, I close my eyes for a moment, imagining the room around me is empty. Then I begin my audition side.

My voice stutters on the first line, but I stand tall and wait for my next cue. My lines reference Wimberly and Susan’s past together and how Susan runs away. When she returns, she returns in disguise—much like me in my audition, acting as someone who is not me. This thought calms me, and I feel more confident in the lines I am reciting. I make it through the scene with no more mistakes, and I sigh, a large smile brightening my face. 

However, my faith in myself dissipates as I exit the Blackbox. I remember that I signed up for the last audition spot, hoping that I would not miss track and field practice. Since I am last, all my friends have left already, and there is no one there to assure me that I did my best, like I did for them. My courage recedes quickly when I realize no one is there to wish me well or celebrate this milestone. I begin to trick myself into thinking that I failed and that this was the worst decision of my life. Thankfully, though, my sister’s warm embrace cheers me up when I get home. I sleep that night, slightly more at ease, anticipating the fun I know I will have at callbacks.

The next day during callbacks, I tell myself the same words: Relax, just be yourself, and have fun. Although I am less prepared for the scenes I perform today, I do not feel any more nervous. In only one of my scenes am I the knight, but I feel the same confidence when I act as the other characters. I am in my element, and I try to channel that bravery through my words and actions.

After the auditions, I feel liberated, energized. Adrenaline soaring, I take the initiative to go and talk to some of the seventh and eighth graders that I don’t know very well.  As a self-proclaimed introvert, my usual way of doing things would be to wait for them to approach me. That evening when I return home, I feel much more confident in myself and can hardly wait for the cast list.

Sunday morning when my phone buzzes, I immediately pick it up, checking for an email from Ms. Davis. I scream with joy when I see the words, “It gives me great pleasure to offer you the role of Knight Lubbock…” I smile as my family comes over to congratulate me on my role, and I can barely wait to share the great news with my friends.

The first few days of rehearsals go by in a blur, with cast members from both grades slowly warming up to each other. Throughout the many weeks of practice, memorizing my lines and learning how to sword fight, I continue to relax, to be myself, and to enjoy the process. I transform from a quiet little bear cub into a fierce Mama Bear, protective of her children, but strong enough to venture out into the world and explore it for herself.

Many of the behind-the-scenes moments were what made this experience even more meaningful. I remember sitting on the steps of PAC with Shea S. ’28, talking about book plots; drawing the characters of the play the way we viewed them in our minds with Via K. ’28; laughing at all the hilarious dialogue—like “I’m a wombat with super farts, ”Sarineh G. ’28 recites in character as Thomas.

Overall, I have formed so many positive memories by participating in the play. I cannot imagine my eighth grade year being nearly as fulfilling if I had not taken the initiative to sign up for the play. Being a part of the theatre community has helped me in so many ways, strengthening friendships and creating new ones, too. Growing up shy, I always used to stay tucked away in my safe little friend group. However, when the role I landed was the love interest of the princess, played by Clara Y. ’28, I had to get to know her because it would have been even more awkward having to fall in love with her character if I did not know anything about her.

Now I stand in the Blackbox Theatre on opening night, and I take another deep breath. This time, however, that breath is mostly excited with just a touch of nervousness. All the butterflies are still there, but instead of fluttering up and down, they calmly float, having a great time. Although my mind is anxious, my body is more than prepared, ready to swordfight. I just need to let go of my fears. I tell myself, no one will care if I mess up, and they probably won’t notice anyway. Because of how wild this play is, any mistake will fit right in.