The Fourth Child by Jessica Winter (best classic novels TXT) 📕

“That’s a heavy one!” Mom said. “It’s got suicide—no, two suicides—World War II, negligent homicide. Smothering mothering. Usually when high schools do Arthur Miller, it’s The Crucible.”

“Is Chester the Molester still running the drama club?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know who you mean,” said Lauren, although she did.

“Patron saint of handsy drama teachers,” Mom said.

“Mom knew Treadwell very well,” Dad said.

“I did one play,” Mom said, “and he’s harmless, anyway. Big hugger. But that’s all.”

“It’s a new guy,” Lauren said.

Lauren tagged along to the All My Sons tryouts with Paula to “keep her company,” by which she meant that her audition would give her a legitimate excuse for beinglate to swim practice. Lauren had been swimming competitively for so long that when she imagined quitting it was like imaginingdropping out of school or eloping with Evan Lewis. She got her best times in relays, where three other swimmers were dependingon her and judging her performance, but she honestly didn’t care where she placed when she swam on her own.

“You were so smart about your audition,” Paula said afterward. “Play it big and silly.”

Lauren couldn’t remember the audition very well. It was a blur of loud talking and arm-flapping and trying not to laugh orlook down at her script.

“Like they say about kittens and puppies at the ASPCA—the ones that go crazy and throw themselves against the cages are theones who get homes,” Paula said.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Lauren said.

“How you kept moving around, pacing around the stage even when it wasn’t your line—like Look at me, look at me,” Paula said.

“Well, I mean—wasn’t that the point?” Lauren asked, raising her chin with the effort of keeping her voice buoyant, unserious. “The whole point of the audition? To say, Look at me?”

Paula didn’t answer. She wore a smile like she had won the game, upper lip pulled down, nostrils flaring. Her satisfied-piggysmile. She did that a lot. The smile was like Paula wanted you to know she had a secret that she’d never whisper in your ear.

The cast list for All My Sons was posted outside the band practice room first thing Monday morning. There was an exit door just down the hall, so Laurencould just happen past on her way out and take a peep at the list, out of idle curiosity. Abby and Claire were peering atthe paper tacked to the wall as she approached. Claire smiled at Lauren. “So you’re the designated freshman,” she said, battingher eyelashes like Lauren had done something deliciously naughty.

“Who, me?” Lauren asked.

“There’s one in every play—it’s a tradition,” Claire replied.

“It’s a good thing,” Abby said. “Mr. Treadwell always reserved one big role for a freshman, and Mr. Smith seems to be doingit, too. Take a look. And congratulations.”

Lauren looked at the list. Claire was Ann, obviously, and Abby was the director, obviously, and Lauren was Kate, the matriarch.

“There must be some mistake,” Lauren said.

“The designated freshman always thinks that,” Abby and Claire said in unison.

After English class was over, Lauren hugged her books to her chest and stared at the corner of the desk Mr. Smith sat behind.

“I don’t want to play this part,” Lauren told him. “I’m grateful and everything. But I think another person would do a betterjob.”

“You don’t want to play the mother?” Mr. Smith asked. He was talking like Claire had told him the deliciously naughty thing that Lauren did. He leaned back in his chair. “That surprises me. Kate is arguably the most complex and fascinating character in All My Sons.”

“Mm.” Lauren nodded. Mr. Smith talked so fast that it was like she had to start responding before she figured out what hesaid.

“So you agree?” Mr. Smith asked. A friendly challenge.

“Um.” Lauren offered a pained smile that showed all her bottom teeth, like Mr. Smith was in a pickle and she was so terriblysorry that she couldn’t help him get out of it.

“What are your objections?” Mr. Smith asked. “About Kate. Be specific.”

“She’s just—she’s deluded,” Lauren said. She was mumbling. “She’s dumb. And old, although that’s not her fault.”

“Okay. What’s so dumb and deluded about her?” Mr. Smith asked, straightening up and adjusting his glasses.

Lauren frowned. “She just lies to herself and her family about everything. She pretends her child isn’t dead, and she pretendsher husband is a good person. She’s in total denial. She thinks she’s protecting her family, but she’s wrecking it.”

“That’s perceptive—I can see why you’d say all that,” Mr. Smith said, “but I’m not hearing you say why you don’t want to playher.”

“Well, I also have swim team after school every day,” Lauren said. “I can’t go to swim practice and rehearse the play at thesame time.”

“Swim team will wrap up in, what, two or three weeks?” Mr. Smith asked. “We can nail down other parts of the play in the meantimeand concentrate on your scenes later. Also, you were aware of that conflict with swim team when you auditioned. It didn’tbother you then, did it?” Mr. Smith’s grin was like he had caught Lauren in a fib but he wouldn’t tell on her.

“I just . . .” Lauren shrugged, first one shoulder and then the other, her body corkscrewing on itself. She wanted to takeup less space in the room. “I don’t feel comfortable with this. I just don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry—this is great!” Mr. Smith said, leaning forward and clapping his hands together in glee. “Feeling comfortable is the last thing an actress should want. This should push you out of your comfort zone. You know you’re doing something right,” he said, tapping one finger in the air, “whenit hurts. When you think, Wait—should I even be doing this?”

“Yeah,” Lauren said. Dad would say that Mr. Smith was as oblivious as a bulldozer.

She stared over his shoulder at a collage of old political cartoons. Woodrow Wilson blowing a soap bubble out of a pipe inscribedleague of nations. She pushed her books into her chest. Her breasts had come later than the other girls’, and sometimes she was still takenaback to