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November, Woodfield Primary School, Chester, UK
My favourite classroom was the small auditorium where Mrs Moss taught us Music. One might imagine a large hall with tiered seating — stands, as we call them in England. But no, it was just a slightly wider and longer classroom, with cheap plastic chairs strewn around the place. Mrs Moss didn't like desks in there because we were too small to be relied upon to move them aside, and I suppose she didn't want to move them all by herself.
My classmates liked going to this auditorium because it meant we wouldn't have to write any musical facts or notes. Going to this hall meant we could play and sing. Mrs Moss called it the "studio," even though the school had officially named it the Primary Hall. There was only one hall bigger, and I had a sneaking suspicion that one would be used for our play — owing to the fact that it had the only stage in the school.
The Primary Hall had transformed during the month of November, and we were no longer even guaranteed seats or chairs. More often than not, we sat on the ground to practice if the seats were not placed inside already. Mrs Moss had conducted a fresh round of auditions, with all roles open to students from Year 4 and up. I hadn't chosen my role yet at the time, so at least Mrs Moss wasn't lying when she said everything was still up for grabs.
Throughout the month, our Music class turned into something closer to Art and Drama. Not all the children could be in the play, so they were given other tasks — crafting props and costumes while the rest of us practiced the musical numbers. Mrs Moss did her best to keep things balanced and everyone involved.
Most of the real activity happened after school. Normally, we'd leave at half past three, but now, those of us involved in the play stayed late. All the students from Year 4 to Year 6 who passed Mrs Moss's audition were part of the production — 36 kids in total. Mrs Moss wanted as many participants as possible, so most had non-speaking roles and joined in for the group songs. I should refer to the "play" as a musical because these were two very different things. Or that's what Mrs Moss kept insisting on.
In time, I would develop a true obsession with performing, but in November, I was mostly just curious about acting. I should clarify — there were no deep revelations about the industry. That's not entirely true. I had a broad idea of acting, but I had never really practised it in my past life. Revelations had given me enough clues to reveal that I was a singer in my "past" life. Clearly not an actor — also, just as I suspected I hadn't lived in England before either. I simply couldn't believe that I'd know nothing about England other than London if that were the case. I had many theories, but at the time, I believed I was probably from Wales. I seemed to know a lot of random facts about Wales. I was continents off and didn't know it.
—✦—
"Director says, sit down! Make a funny face! You've messed up — come here, Maude," Mrs Moss called out.
We were playing Simon Says, though Mrs Moss customised Simon to a "Director," altering the game. The goal was simple: a focus-based game to promote quick thinking. Whenever someone messed up, they had to reenact a scene that Mrs Moss would seemingly pull out of thin air.
"Maude, you're a girl with a really bad boyfriend who hits you, but you can't run. Henry, come up here too — you're the bad boyfriend!" Mrs Moss directed the girl,
Everyone laughed and giggled, giving Henry the classic peer encouragement that children are all too well known for.
"Here are your lines," she said, handing them both a copy of the same script. "This is an argument after Oliver gets caught, and Fagin — the master of thieves — is scared Oliver might reveal who they are. I'll be Fagin."
We laughed again — we still couldn't believe Fagin was a real name.
"Line two. Fagin. Director says — action!" Mrs Moss said before her demeanour changed entirely.
She was no longer our kind music teacher. Her eyes widened manically, shoulders hunched over.
"You shut your trap, Dodger! You've caused enough trouble," she snapped at an empty wall before turning sharply to Maude. "It's got to be done quiet. We don't want any fuss." She grinned cruelly and added, "The very thing! Nancy, my dear — you're so good with the boy!"
Maude wasn't even looking at her. In my limited opinion, Mrs Moss had just delivered an amazing performance. However, Maude was still focused on reading her lines, her finger tracking the script to find her place. When Mrs Moss finished, Maude read her line in a quick clipped manner:
"It's no good trying it on with me," she read.
Henry followed her line by striding towards her. Maude flinched — there was genuine fear in her at the sudden movement from Henry.
"And just WHAT do you mean by that remark?" Henry asked menacingly, rising his voice in some parts.
Whoa, he's good! I thought. For some reason, Henry was believable. He'd sold me that he was a bully.
Maude stumbled through her next line in the same stiff tone, which wasn't helped by her rattling off the lines to end this embarrassing situation.
"What I say, Bill. I'm not going. Why can't you leave the boy alone? He won't do you no farm — I mean no harm." She glanced at Mrs Moss, who simply nodded for her to continue. "Why can't you leave him where he is — where he'll get a chance at a decent life?"
Henry's face darkened, his expression fierce, voice rising ever so.
"You'll get him back 'ere, my girl! Unless you want to feel my hands on your throat!"
He pushed Maude away, who exaggerated her fall so dramatically it turned comical.
Mrs Moss then jumped back in with her next line, but Henry interrupted her delivery.
"—She'll go! Fagin." He said turning away,
Maude continued the contentious scene, this time more confidently, likely having read ahead.
"No, she won't, Fagin!" She insisted,
"Yes, she will, Fagin!" Henry said, winding his arm back for a slap.
We all gasped at the sharp sound — it was believable and even violent. Then only we realised he hadn't actually touched her.
"Bullseye!" Henry said with a cruel smile before rejoining the line of children.
Then something unexpected happened. Maude, still on the floor, jerked away from Mrs Moss's helping hand and spat on the ground near her. This time, the gasp was louder.
For a moment she looked proud of her acting — then she glanced at the script again. Her face sunk, shoulders sagging.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs Moss. I read it wrong," she cried out,
Mrs Moss burst out laughing, something we'd never seen her do before.
"No, that's quite alright, Maude. Reckon, we'll recite the lines first from now on. Then do the rehearsal after everyone's on the same wavelength."
Slapping the ground, Mrs Moss stood up to face her pupils.
"Well in, Maude. But you'll need to get the mop. No spitting in the classroom, young lady," she said in her Fagin voice.
"Yes, Miss." Maude went off to fetch a mop.
"A round of applause for Maude and Henry. Amazing job!" Mrs Moss said.
We clapped, of course. Everyone got their applause — even if they were as terrible as Maude or as good as Henry. No one wanted to hear crickets when they were up.
"Henry, you seem properly natural at this. You can think on your feet and improvise. Also, good job on the fake slap. It was very convincing, it was."
The kids nodded and murmured their surprise at how real it looked.
"Maude, we'll try again with you. You struggled reading the script, but you were much better by the end. It seems an issue of confidence rather than talent. Good job."
Maude frowned but was smiling by the end.
"Director says… make a face!"
We made stupid faces.
"Director says… make it even sillier!"
So we did, and laughed at each other.
"Director says… cry a tear!"
I saw kids squeezing their faces in strange ways, trying to make themselves cry but they only succeeded in making more silly faces. I couldn't help but laugh at them. At us.
"Ah, what a shame. No one cried a tear," Mrs Moss said in a sarcastic sigh.
She was a natural at manipulating people to do her bidding, she'd done it all throughout the day. Rewards and punishments but both served to accomplish her goals for the day. She was an evil genius, I had so many things to learn from her.
—✦—
"Here's the script. We'll sing that song."
Mrs Moss then pointed to kids to assign roles.
"Wilf, you're Oliver. Olivia is the strawberry seller. Maude, milkmaid. Joseph, knife-grinder."
According to Mrs Moss, at this point in the musical, Oliver had just arrived at a rich family's home and wandered out to a genteel market district. Mrs Moss sat in front of her piano and began to play notes.
"Joseph!" she called out,
"Who will buy?" he sang cleanly,
"Very good. Olivia."
"Who will buy?" Olivia sang, slightly off-pitch.
"More like this," Mrs Moss sang the line herself to demonstrate, "Try again."
"Who will buy?"
"Brilliant."
"Step forward, Maude."
"Who will buy?" Maude sang,
"Mary!"
Mary sang her line at her name being called.
Then came the chorus, Mrs Moss encouraged us all to join.
Who will buy
This wonderful morning?
Such a sky you never did see!
Who will tie it up with a ribbon
And put it in a box for me?
There'll never be a day so sunny
It could not happen twice
Where is the man with all the money?
It's cheap at half the price!
Then came my solo. Mrs Moss softened the piano for my part. Changing the beat.
There must be someone…
"Olivia!"
"–Must be someone…"
Maude picked it up next,
"–Must be someone…"
Then Henry with his charming voice sang,
"–Must be someone…"
Finally, we all sang together again:
WHO WILL BUY?
I saw the last line and knew I'd have to sing it acappella.
There'll never be a day so sunny
It could not happen twice
Where is the man with all the money?
It's cheap at half the price!
Who will buy this wonderful feeling?
I'm so high I swear I could fly
Me, oh my! I don't want to lose it
"Good job, Wilf. Good job, everyone. Let's give ourselves a round of applause!" Mrs Moss said standing up, sporting the widest smile known to mankind.
Our games continued. "Director Says" turned out to be far more fun than it had any right to be — mostly because Mrs Moss ran it like a mastermind. Somehow she had every scene memorised inside that enormous head of hers. Don't tell her I said that, she had a perfectly normal sized head. Mrs Moss always handed the right script to the right person without glancing once at her pile to check. The pages never got mixed up even though the musical jumped from place to place constantly and kids messed up random orders.
Then it hit me.
She'd engineered the entire game from the beginning. Every "mistake" was planned. Every prompt was designed to trip the right person at the right time. She even threw in impossible Director Says commands just so we'd all fail together which prompted a chaotic group reenactment. When our energy dipped, she made us laugh with fun prompts. When we were less motivated, she made it silly to keep us engaged.
A chill ran down my spine as I shuddered.
Women are scary! I concluded.
And Mrs Moss — among the so-called fairer sex — was the scariest of all.
I thought back to my audition for Oliver! Had I ever truly had a choice? Maybe at the very start… but everything shifted the moment she auditioned Henry.
Seeing him now, I understood why.
Henry Harrison, eleven years old, dirty-blonde hair, glacier-blue eyes — and a smirk that seemed permanently carved onto his face. Smug yet charming on his face. Worse, he was an exceptional actor. He could read a scene instantly and understand exactly what emotion his character should feel. Then he performed it perfectly. He never needed direction from Mrs Moss, he did it all by instinct. And that charm of his… it made Dodger's character likeable instead of insufferable.
Dodger needed someone clever, quick-witted, sharp.
I was some of those things but I was more reserved, more slower because I was afraid to slip up. So, I wasn't any of those things — not naturally, not in the way that Henry was.
Revelations had made me arrogant. They'd shown me knowledge of the future and shortcuts to skill. It had made me think that no kid my age could compete with me. And then Henry appeared — a boy a couple years older and significantly better than me at most things. Someone I could learn from. Someone who genuinely challenged me.
My newly budding ego rebelled at the idea. It refused to accept that.
So I made myself a silent promise.
I would surpass Henry Harrison.
I swore it on my pride.