He got it.
There were many things Davis wasn’t sure of. He wasn’t sure if he would be threatened with a knife when he walked into the dining hall. He wasn’t sure if he would pass Chemistry, and he definitely wasn’t sure he would get the part in the play.
He got it. He got it. He got it.
It felt like one of those moments when you had to keep repeating the fact over and over to convince yourself of its truth, and this time it really was true. He got the role. He would be a part of a production. He would be acting in front of hundreds of people. He had a chance to convince them he was more than they assumed. He was Davis Turner, possibly future famous actor—and famous for more than being possessed by a demon.
He would never admit to squealing when he reached his dorm room, no matter what Tommy said.
But as with every good thing that happened to him, there were waves of consequences. Two people dropped out of the production when they heard of his casting. Three others actually cared enough about the opportunity to stay, but their venom was clear. Davis resisted tiptoeing into the read-through. It took place in one of the dance-studios-turned-meeting-rooms. There, he stayed silent during the design presentations and was more than a little disappointed Samuel was not working on the show. At least with Samuel he knew he had an ally. Well, at least a good chance of an ally.
Yet there was Ashley, whose presence was equally quiet and loud with her bright blue hair, her clothes in shades of pastels, and her skin a smooth ivory. She was the costume designer and she was clearly not afraid. When it was time to present Davis’s character design, she turned to him directly.
“As you might agree, your character has a strong presence. You’re already tall, so we’re going to emphasize that even more with vertical lines…” Davis didn’t know a single thing about clothes, so he nodded in all the right places, trusting her, and taking notes on how she interpreted the character. Then, after a moment, she said, “Do you agree? Do you have any suggestions?”
There was a moment of silence where Davis realized he had been given permission to speak. He gaped like a fish before saying, “I think it’s perfect. I trust you with this completely.”
Ashley beamed at him. “Good. You should. I mostly know what I’m doing.”
Davis laughed and a few others joined in. Apart from the Glaring Triplets, as he deemed them, he was surrounded by people who wanted him there. His director, Eric Goodwin, had specifically chosen him and was aware of what could go wrong, and still, here he was. He had never felt so at peace.
There were some, those who opted out of the play, who still made Davis hunch his shoulders whenever he walked by. He wasn’t sure what they would do, if anything. He had more knives pulled on him than he wished to remember. Still, it seemed there was more avoidance than aggression. Tense shoulders relaxed, and soon, Davis only noticed the ones who paid him attention. He didn’t have to second guess if laughing was okay when someone ripped their costume. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder or think about how to carefully construct every sentence he said. He could breathe, and he hoped this would never end.