Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, Kyoshi,” Yun said, stretching out languidly on Kyoshi’s shaggy green rug. He tossed a handful of gummy worms in his mouth and chewed obnoxiously. “You have to audition this time. This is your year!”

Kyoshi sighed heavily. Rangi knew that she was subjected to this particular spiel of Yun’s like clockwork every year, and was probably getting tired of it at this point. In fact, his speech was so reliable that Rangi was sure scientists could base the changing seasons around it. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you hadn’t been saying that every year since sixth grade.”

“Because every year it’s true! You just need to trust in my expert advice,” Yun pouted. “I really mean it this time. You should give it a go!”

Kyoshi groaned. “How many times do I have to say no before you finally give it a rest?”

“He might have a point this time, actually,” Rangi chimed in, ignoring the defeated glare that Kyoshi threw at her from her spot on their shared beanbag. She’d forgive her for siding with Yun eventually. Rangi ticked off her points on her fingers. “The class is a lot smaller this year, so you’ll have a better chance automatically; you’ve been involved in theatre for all of middle and high school, so you have a lot of experience; even the teachers have been saying you should do it.”

“That’s true,” Kyoshi admitted grudgingly, “but in that case, why don’t you try out? The same points apply to you.”

“Absolutely not,” Rangi replied, wrinkling her nose. “I’m practically required to be backstage. Can you imagine what would happen if I wasn’t the stage manager? Have you forgotten that I had to single-handedly save Love Amongst the Dragons freshman year?”

“No, I’ve never heard this story before! Please, tell me more!” Yun gasped sarcastically, and then ducked with a yelp when Rangi pelted a Skittle at his head. “Okay, okay! You’re right, we’d be lost without you.”

“That’s correct,” Rangi said smugly. It was an unspoken fact that Rangi was the only one who possessed the ability required to be an effective stage manager for Yokoya High School’s student theatre productions. After the infamous incident in their freshman year when the former stage manager of Love Amongst the Dragons had somehow managed to organize completely conflicting rehearsal schedules, got every cue signal wrong during dress rehearsal, and then had a nervous breakdown the day of opening night and quit, fifteen-year-old assistant stage manager Rangi had bravely volunteered to take over the spot. And while Yokoya High’s highly anticipated production of Love Amongst the Dragons definitely hadn’t been perfect, it had gone pretty much smoothly. 

She’d been assigned the position of stage manager without question as a sophomore, and everyone said that the play that year was the best one they’d seen in at least a decade. Talk about an ego boost.

“I’m serious, Kyoshi,” Rangi continued. “You’re amazing backstage, but to be honest, stagehand is something that a lot of people could do. You belong in the spotlight.”

“Really. Me.” Kyoshi said, an unimpressed look on her face. “You know I’m terrible with people. And terrible at talking in front of crowds. There’s a reason I didn’t run for student council with you two.”

“It’s different from making a speech, though,” Yun pointed out. He snorted, no doubt thinking about all of the speeches he had been forced to make throughout his life. “Trust me, I would know. It’s way easier to play a character, and it’s more fun.”

“Not to mention you wouldn’t even have to try out for a lead role,” Rangi added. “The Flying Opera Company is the perfect play to start out with, now that I think about it. There’s a lot of small and non-speaking ensemble parts. And you would be able to help out backstage. That way we could all still hang out together.”

Kyoshi sighed and pushed herself to her feet, taking it upon herself to pick up all the popcorn and candy that had made it onto her floor during the group’s after-school hangout. Not that a bit of trash affected her room very much; Kyoshi’s room had always been the neatest and most organized out of the three of theirs, showcasing her tendency to be an extreme neat freak. Even the decorations on the walls were lined up in orderly fashion. 

Rangi had loved Kyoshi’s room from the second that she’d stepped into it, back in sixth grade when they first met. The dark green walls gave it a rich feel, and there was a gorgeous bay window along one wall, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights. The two of them had sat there for hours in the past, and Rangi had always been enamored with the magical feel that it added to their conversations. Nothing in Kyoshi’s bedroom was placed without a purpose, whether it be the countless posters of musicals and plays on the walls (“Some I’ve seen, and some I want to see someday,” Kyoshi had told her once), the little clay turtle that Rangi knew her adopted father Kelsang had given to her, the bulletin board filed with a neatly arranged pin collection, or the stacks and stacks of books of all kinds stowed on the corners of her furniture. Rangi could tell that Kyoshi had put a lot of herself into the room, and she had always wondered if it was for the same reason that Rangi had done with her own room; trying to provide a familiar place after a move to an unfamiliar town.

It had been this room where Rangi and Kyoshi had first bonded over their shared love for theatre and the production involved. They’d talked for hours in middle school about everything they wanted to do and see.

Speaking of which.

“Please audition, Kyoshi!” Yun begged, making his famous (and extremely stupid-looking, in Rangi’s opinion) puppy-dog eyes. “It would be so much fun. Listen to Rangi! You know you want to!”

“I don’t know…” Kyoshi hedged, hovering in the middle of the room and glancing uncertainly between the two of them.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Rangi said, looking up at her best friend earnestly. Honestly, it was probably well-past time that Kyoshi did something outside of her comfort zone.

Kyoshi sighed again, even louder, and sat back down on her beanbag chair next to Rangi, crossing her legs. “I guess…I’ll think about it.”

Yun let out a cheer, leaping over to smush Kyoshi into a hug, and Rangi tried valiantly to ignore the sudden red flush on the girl’s face. Jealousy flared to life inside her.

Her hopeless crush on Kyoshi had been going on for nearly three and a half years now, and it was the one distraction that Rangi just couldn’t shake. After months of pining and letting her schoolwork fall by the wayside in eighth grade, she had accepted over the summer that nothing was ever going to happen between the two of them. Freshman year she had firmly pushed down her feelings as much as she could and thrown herself into her studies. And she was glad that she had, because around that time Kyoshi had started sneaking looks at Yun and smiling softly when she texted him, and had Rangi felt herself burn alive with envy every time it happened. It would have been a lot worse if she had still held on hope that Kyoshi could ever like her back.

It didn’t make it any easier, though. For now, she pretended to be studying her nail polish (black, almost every fingernail chipped) and said, “Tryouts are this Saturday, so there’s still time to memorize something. We can help you look.”

Yun finally let go of Kyoshi, flopping down next to his mountain of snacks as she responded. “That would be great, thanks. I have work almost every day, though. Are you two free Wednesday?”

Yun groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No, I’ve got youth group.”

“Shit. Right,” Rangi swore. “I still can’t believe Jianzhu forces you to do all that stuff.”

“He says it’s for ‘fostering connections with my peers and forming lasting alliances’,” Yun made air quotes with his fingers. “Whatever that means. Sometimes I really do think he’s crazy.”

Jianzhu—Yun’s adopted father—had very high expectations for his son. Rangi was never exactly clear on what it was Jianzhu wanted him to do, but she was pretty sure it had to do with public service. Or maybe politics.

Either way, it meant that Yun was a part of basically every student organization or youth leadership group that Jianzhu could find in their small Southern city, apparently ‘in preparation for his future roles’. Which cut significant time out of Yun’s schedule for hanging out with them.

“Looks like it’ll just be us, then,” Kyoshi said, nudging Rangi’s shoulder and smiling at her. God. She’s so pretty.

Rangi realized suddenly that she was grinning at Kyoshi in a stupidly sappy way, and promptly ordered herself to snap out of it. “Alright then. My house or Auntie Mui’s Cafe?”

Kyoshi grimaced. “Your house, please. I spend enough time at Auntie Mui’s already.” Kyoshi had claimed the job of barista at the little shop ever since she was old enough to be legally allowed to. Auntie Mui was an old friend of her father Kelsang’s.

Yun tutted loudly. “I can’t believe that I’ve been trying to convince you to start acting for six years now and Rangi managed to do it in five minutes. I see who the favorite is.”

“There’s no favorites! I love you both equally!” Kyoshi protested. Rangi sent Yun the nastiest glare she could muster. While they never discussed it, she was sure they both had a mutual understanding about the other’s feelings for Kyoshi, and moments like this proved it. She did not need Yun opening his big mouth just a little too far.

She reflexively checked the time on her phone and cursed. “I have to go, guys. My mom wants me back for dinner.”

“Aw. We’re still carpooling tomorrow, right?” Kyoshi asked, for once the one looking up at the other as Rangi got to her feet and grabbed her backpack. “Of course. 7:30 sharp.”

“See you then.” Kyoshi offered her another butterfly-inducing grin, and Rangi internally cursed her unfortunate feelings. It was really starting to become an issue.

“I’ll take you home as well, Yun,” Rangi told him, her tone offering no argument. Yun groaned and dragged himself along the ground, pretending to cry into his hands. “You’re so dramatic. Stop.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten lead roles for three—soon to be four—years in a row without a little bit of drama, now would I?” Yun bragged, jumping up and striking a pose.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rangi said, rolling her eyes and yanking him by the collar towards the door, Kyoshi giggling as he shrieked and stumbled. “Bye!”

Once they were situated in Rangi’s car, Yun asked, “Do you think she’ll actually go through with it? I mean, no offense to Kyoshi or anything, but we both know she tends to freak out about stuff like this. Plus, she’s never acted before. Who knows if she’ll even have a chance?”

Rangi liked Yun—he was one of her best friends—but she definitely disliked his habit of talking about others in that slightly condescending way when they weren’t around. It made her wonder if he talked about her like that, too.

“I do think she will. And she does have a chance,” she told him firmly. “You didn’t seem to have this many doubts when you were begging her to try out.”

“I’m just…bringing up realistic concerns,” Yun muttered, but they both stayed quiet until Yun was dropped off at his house.

When she got home, the kitchen and dining room were awash with noise. “Hey, Mom,” she called distractedly, unlacing her combat boots by the front door. Wong always made jokes about her tendency to pair sweaters, collared button-ups, and neat pants with Doc Martens, eyeliner, and copious amounts of rings, but Rangi didn’t care. So what if she liked to have a little personal flair while still looking like a respectable and put-together student?

Kirima called it ‘private school uniform: rebellious teen edition’, which was slightly irritating (just like every other thing that Kirima did), but it always got Kyoshi to laugh, so it was worth it.

“Welcome home. How was your test today?” Hei-Ran asked, emerging out of the kitchen while wiping her hands on a dish towel. Even with her slowly graying hair falling out of her bun after cooking, Rangi’s mother was still able to look stately and imposing. 

“It went well,” Rangi replied, shrugging. While it was true that she’d done well on her Ap Physics test that day, it had also fried her brain to the point of exhaustion. She’d begged her friends for a hangout after school, needing to give her brain a brief break before she had to get started on her work for other classes. Junior year was hell.

“Good. I’m glad you’re keeping up,” Hei-Ran nodded. “Anything else noteworthy happen?”

“Actually, yes. Kyoshi’s thinking about auditioning for the fall play.”

“Oh?” Hei-Ran said, raising an eyebrow. “Good for her, I’ve been telling her for years that she belongs on stage.” Hei-Ran was the head of the theatre department, the teacher for all the theatre classes, and the director for all of Yokoya High’s plays. Luckily no one could accuse her of favoring her own daughter, since Rangi stayed strictly on the tech side of theatre. “Did Yun finally convince her?”

“No, it was…me, actually,” Rangi said, feigning nonchalance. Her mother was far too observant for Rangi’s good.

“Ah. I see,” Hei-Ran responded archly. As Rangi started making her way to her room, her mother called after her, “Just so you’re aware, I will not be giving Kyoshi any special treatment in auditions just because my daughter has a crush on her!”

“Mom! That’s not–” Rangi whirled around, feeling her face heat up. “Stop it!”

Her mother chuckled as Rangi stomped the rest of the way to her room, fuming. Hei-Ran had been teasing her for years about her apparently all-to-obvious attraction to her best friend, which was honestly just humiliating. Her own mother betraying her was a step too far.

Shutting the door behind her, Rangi slumped against it, letting out a sigh of relief. She immediately felt calmer, the quiet soothing her mind. Her room was one of her favorite places, and one of the only ones where she felt truly comfortable in this uncomfortable Southern city. It felt like her in a way that a lot of things hadn’t after the move to Yokoya the summer before sixth grade. The cozy red walls that her and her mother had painted together, laughing as they got the color all over their clothes; the vibrant string lights that reminded her of the ones she’d had back in the house in Caldera City; the photos of every stage crew she had been a part of lined up on the walls, framed and signed; the dark bookshelf filled with both personal and school books, and the matching desk where letters from universities were stacked in a neat pile; the lesbian flag hanging above her bed that her mother had surprised her with after Rangi had broke down in tears one night in seventh grade, admitting between sniffles that the girls in her grade were making fun of her for her orientation (her mother had had a very serious talk with the administration, and after that the bullying had eased down considerably. That whole incident was one of the rare times that Rangi and her mother had a true heart-to-heart).

After taking her hairpin out and shaking down her usual half-up, half-down hairstyle, Rangi collapsed on her bed and opened her computer, tongue habitually between her teeth as she began searching up audition monologues. It never hurt to be prepared.

Wednesday couldn’t come fast enough.

******

“You’re trying out?” Lek said excitedly the next day in class, jumping up and down. When Kyoshi nodded in affirmation, he cheered and pumped his fist. “Finally!”

Rangi snorted. “You’ve been in this class for less than two months,” she reminded the hyper freshman. “The rest of them have been trying to convince her for years.”

“No one’s ever had much luck, though,” Jinpa said with a smile. “I honestly never expected it to happen.”

“Yeah, simmer down, Topknot!” Kirima crowed, striding over to throw an arm around Kyoshi’s shoulders. “Let the kid celebrate. This is a momentous occasion, after all!”

“We’ve finally worn her down!” Wong chimed in happily. He clapped Kyoshi firmly on the shoulder, and even though she was the same height as him, she nearly buckled under the heavy pressure.

“It was Rangi who convinced her, actually,” Yun piped up, a shit-eating grin on his face, nonchalantly leaning back in his seat so that his chair balanced on two legs. He let it fall to the floor again with a slam.

Right on cue, the whole class turned to stare at Rangi, and despite her best efforts at remaining cool and collected she could feel herself getting flustered. Throughout the long years that their group had been friends, she was the only one who’d never tried to wheedle Kyoshi into acting instead of stage crew. It was definitely an unusual situation for the group. And ‘unusual situation’ was generally a phrase used in place of less flattering ones such as ‘ooh, fresh gossip’ and ‘let’s all tease Rangi for something. Again’.

“Really,” Jinpa drawled, raising his eyebrow smugly. Rangi was going to kill him.

“I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while,” Kyoshi admitted. “You guys all seemed to be having so much fun up onstage. I kind of felt like I was missing out on something really cool. But it’s not like I’m going for the main role or anything! I’m obviously just going to be in the ensemble.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Kyoshi,” Hei-Ran said from her desk. “Who knows what will happen at auditions?”

Kyoshi was starting to look overwhelmed by everyone crowding and asking questions, so Rangi quickly jumped into the conversation to save her. “Speaking of which, have any more people signed up?”

“We’ve got a fair few lined up for auditions. More than I expected, to be honest,” Hei-Ran informed the assembled class. “Not as many for stage crew.”

“Can I see?” Rangi asked, making her way over to her mother’s desk. She took one look at the sign-up sheet in Hei-Ran’s hand and scoffed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? What is it?” Wong questioned.

Rangi crossed her arms, addressing her mother. “Aoma has signed up for lights? Are we seriously going to let her anywhere near us?”

There was a collective groan around the classroom. Aoma was an infamous figure, universally hated by the theatre group for her horrible treatment of Kyoshi after she had come out as bi sophomore year. The awful girl hadn’t stopped there, either; she’d also mocked Kyoshi for being an orphan, and made fun of the scars on her hands, which Rangi had despised with all of her being. Rangi had once gotten a week of detention for screaming at Aoma in the hallway after she heard a slur muttered her and Kyoshi’s way. The look on Aoma’s face during the confrontation had definitely been worth it, though.

Hei-Ran sighed and dragged a hand down her face. “Well, we can’t exactly refuse to let her join.”

“We should. She’s terrible and pathetic.” Rangi gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. She couldn’t believe that she was going to have to deal with Aoma and her stupid gang interfering with her meticulously organized stage management. And them being near Kyoshi, too? It was enough to make fire burn through her veins.

“All the more reason to stay far away from stage crew this year,” Lek told Kyoshi darkly, and she sighed and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sure it won’t be a problem, though. I’ll make sure to stay out of their way.”

“You shouldn’t have to. That’s the point,” Rangi snapped at her. She didn’t get mad at Kyoshi very often, but it boiled her blood when Kyoshi refused to stand up for herself. She didn’t deserve to be treated like garbage. “It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll deal with Aoma and her crew,” Rangi assured her. “They won’t be bothering anyone this year.”

“No fights, please, Rangi,” Hei-Ran said tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “We both have reputations to uphold.”

“Who said I was going to fight?” Rangi replied grumpily. Her mother wasn’t exactly wrong to suspect, however; Rangi had been a bit…uncontrollable and angry as a kid, and ended up in the elementary school principal's office with bruises and crying classmates more often than could be explained away as a one time thing. 

Rangi pushed the thoughts away. Being reminded of her childhood made her stomach hurt, regrets pouring into her every time it happened. It served no purpose other than making her upset, and like all things in that vein, she compressed it into a tiny ball until it was no longer at the forefront of her mind. Maybe avoidance wasn’t exactly the  healthiest coping mechanism, but it had gotten Rangi to where she was today, so she didn’t see any reason to stop.

“I don’t know, maybe your permanent record?” Kirima joked in response to Rangi’s comment about fighting. Wong and Lek burst out laughing.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hei-Ran said, sensing the smoke that was about to start figuratively pouring out of Rangi’s ears. “We have things to do today, in case you’ve all forgotten.”

They all hurriedly found their seats, knowing that Hei-Ran meant business when she talked like that. Their teacher paced into the space in front of them, making sure all eyes were on her. 

“We’re currently about a week from tryouts, so if you haven’t started working on your audition monologues, you need to begin immediately. Remember that along with a memorized piece, there will also be a cold read between you and another person. Tech crew, I would like to start seeing ideas and designs for sets and props by the end of the week. Let’s get to work.”

The class obediently split off, pulling out computers and papers to begin working and rehearsing. The annual fall play was something that the Yokoya High theatre class took very seriously, due to the fact that it was the largest performance of the year (unfortunately for Wong and Kirima, who both had lofty dreams of Broadway, Yokoya High didn’t have the budget for a musical, something that the two bemoaned at every opportunity). Jinpa had pulled out his famous notebook, where he kept track of both ideas for sets and props and the overall budget, Lek yammering away in his ear—something about real metal swords for the fight scenes. Wong and Kirima were hovered over a chromebook, no doubt frantically trying to find audition pieces. Yun muttered to himself in a corner, the paper with his typed-out monologue on it thin with use. 

Kyoshi dragged a chair over to where Rangi was sitting with her own notebook, both of them wincing at the unholy screech it caused. “Sorry,” Kyoshi laughed. “Do you think you could help me with my audition stuff? If you’re busy with stage crew things, that’s fine, I know we were planning on doing most of this tomorrow—”

“Kyoshi,” Rangi said soothingly, laying a hand on her knee to stop the bouncing. “Of course I’ll help. I think Jinpa’s got the tech stuff handled for now anyway.”

Kyoshi glanced over at where Jinpa was scribbling in his book, brows furrowed, and she grinned crookedly. “He’ll make a great assistant stage manager.”

“He’d better,” Rangi muttered grimly. “Corralling all these borderline insane actors is hard enough when you have competent help, but without…?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I know it’s been less than a day, but have you looked at any monologues yet?”

“I actually tried all afternoon when you and Yun left, but nothing felt right,” Kyoshi admitted glumly. “A lot of them were too long or too short, and didn’t have a lot of…emotional depth? Which is what I’m assuming we’re going for here.” She fiddled with her green sweater sleeves uncertainly.

“You’re exactly right,” Rangi told her, nodding in approval. “I browsed on some sites that afternoon as well, and I found some that I think will be simple enough for a new actor while still conveying the skill I know you have. I drafted up emails of them, if you want me to send them to—”

She stopped suddenly. Kyoshi had laid a scarred, graceful hand on her arm and was staring at her with sparkling eyes. “You did that for me?” she asked, hushed and breathy.

Rangi nearly choked. “Um,” she tried, her brain refusing to function under the stress of her gorgeous best friend staring directly into her eyes. Had Kyoshi always had this many freckles? “Yes?”

“You’re so sweet,” Kyoshi said warmly, giving Rangi arm a squeeze. This had to be classified as a Level 10 health hazard, because Rangi’s heart was about to literally explode into a billion little pieces. “Thank you for helping me.”

Rangi cleared her throat, avoiding her friend’s too-sincere gaze. “It’s not that big a deal. I just did what anyone else would do.”

“Maybe,” Kyoshi shrugged. “But you were the only one who did it.”

“Yeah, I, um–” Rangi stumbled over her words, her brain screaming ABORT MISSION! with lots of flashing red lights and wailing alarms. She tucked her feet under her chair and took a deep, steadying breath. She had a job to do, and while it may not have looked very important to have a flawless high school play from the outside, it was something that mattered very much to Rangi. She couldn’t afford mistakes or slip-ups. She had to be the best she could be.

She forced herself to focus. “Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

Chapter Text

If anyone asked Rangi if she had put more thought into her outfit choices that Wednesday, she would have denied it. Vehemently. But if she maybe spent an extra ten minutes making sure that the wings of her dark eyeliner were perfectly sharp and symmetrical, then that was nobody’s business but her own.

The house that Kyoshi lived in with her adoptive father, Kelsang, was small but cozy. As Rangi parked her car on the street in front of the house, she could see Kelsang bustling around the brightly painted kitchen through the large window out front.

She knocked neatly on the door three times, because it was important for her to be polite, unlike certain people she could mention (Yun), whose preferred method of heralding his arrival was sending them increasingly ridiculous Snaps. Kelsang answered the door with a kind smile already on his bearded face. 

“Hello, Kelsang,” she greeted him with a respectful nod.

“Rangi!” he said. “It’s good to see you again. Come in, come in.” As he gestured for her to follow him and Rangi stepped over the threshold, Kelsang sent her a playful wink. “Kyoshi’s in her room. If you ask me, she’s been looking forward to this all day.”

Rangi tried very, very hard not to blush, or to read into those words too hard, but she knew that she was failing on both accounts.

“I really can’t believe that you finally managed to convince her to audition,” Kelsang shook his head in mingled disbelief and amusement. “I’ve heard all about Yun’s apparent years-long harassment.” He smiled widely at Rangi. “I think this will do her good, though. I’m glad to see that you finally won her over.”

Rangi wished that people would stop bringing that up. It really wasn’t helping with the whole “not reading into things” plan, which was definitely not going to help with spending several hours of uninterrupted solo time with the unknowing object of her affections.

How do I even get myself into these situations? 

Whatever. She was helping out a friend, and that was it. That was what she should be focusing on.

The friend herself appeared down the stairs at that exact moment, greeting her with a wave. 

“Hey,” Rangi said, crossing her arms. “Are you ready to get started?”

“Yeah!” Kyoshi responded, all smiles. “Come on up.”

Rangi followed her back up the staircase and into her room. It was insanely neat, like always, except for the pile of papers sprawled across the desk.

Kyoshi swept them up into her arms with a slightly flustered look. “Sorry about the mess,” she said, and Rangi bit back a grin at the statement. “I was trying to decide which of the monologues I picked would be best for an audition.”

“Here, let me have a look,” Rangi said, gesturing to the stack, and Kyoshi dutifully handed it over.

She wasn’t surprised that Kyoshi didn’t know where to begin with auditioning, Rangi reflected as she thumbed through the papers. For all the years that Kyoshi and Rangi had been involved in the workings of the stage, Kyoshi had always been more involved in the set-building and props than with the actual actors…while Rangi, as the stage director, sometimes had a bit more interaction with some of them than she would have liked.

“These are all good options,” Rangi said with approval. “Depending on which character you’re auditioning for, different monologues can highlight different strengths, if you do it right. Is there a specific role you’re aiming for?”

Kyoshi grimaces. “...Ensemble?”

Rangi raises her eyebrow, unimpressed. “You can do better than that.”

Kyoshi sends her an incredulous look. “I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’ve never done this before, remember?”

“Have confidence in yourself,” Rangi admonishes. “You know, that’s half the battle to nailing an audition.”

Kyoshi sighs. “And what’s the other half?”

Rangi grins and holds out her final pick to the other girl. “Practice. Lots of it.”

******

“Hang on,” Rangi called, montioning to Kyoshi while keeping her eyes glued to the script. “Try that part again, with more emphasis on the first part.” Kyoshi made a grumpy little noise, and Rangi finally glanced up from the paper.

Rangi could tell that Kyoshi was getting frustrated. She was flushing increasingly red under her freckles, and she kept letting out sighs that told Rangi that she was about five seconds away from tearing at her hair.

Rangi winced. They had been going at it for a long time, and while Kyoshi was doing surprisingly well for a complete beginner, she was still new to this part of the theatre experience, after all.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, clapping her hands together sharply and making Kyoshi jump. “Let’s take a break.”

“What? No, I’m fine!” Kyoshi protested. “Let’s keep going! I can get it right this time, I promise!”

“It’s obvious you can’t focus right now,” Rangi shot back, frowning. “And it’s no use practicing if you aren’t fully concentrating.”

“Sorry,” Kyoshi said sheepishly, tucking her hair behind her ear. God, she was so cute. However, not the time.

“It’s fine,” Rangi said, trying to seem like a strict but effective teacher and not a teenager lovesick over her best friend. “It’s a lot of work, and you’re making progress.”

Kyoshi flopped down onto the ground with a gusty sigh. “I hope so,” she grumbled, rubbing at her forehead. “I feel like we’ve been at this for hours.”

Rangi sank down as well, leaning her back against the bed. She checked her phone, and then showed Kyoshi; they had been at it for nearly two hours.

“Okay, it pains me to say this, but…do you want to cut it off here for tonight?” Rangi asked, taking pity on Kyoshi.

Kyoshi sat up and stared at her. “Really? You’re suggesting we stop practising? Are you feeling okay?” She reached up with a grin and pretended to try to feel Rangi’s forehead.

“Alright, alright,” Rangi said, letting out a small laugh as she pushed Kyoshi’s hand away. “I know it’s unusual for me, but sometimes the best course of action is to stop while you’re ahead. Frustration doesn’t exactly contribute to a clear head.”

“Very wise, Sifu,” Kyoshi nodded, her voice mockingly solemn. Rangi glared at her.

“Don’t think you’re done practising this,” she threatened. “I won’t have any student of mine slacking off.”

******

“One thing we have to clear up,” Rangi started without fanfare the next day, sitting down across from Kyoshi. It was lunchtime, and somehow the whole group had managed to fit itself on a singular picnic table. Rangi was pretty sure Lek was sitting half on Wong’s lap. “Will you have enough time to devote to the play? Obviously schoolwork can get in the way a lot.”

Kyoshi made a face. Rangi knew that she had spent years watching Yun run around like a chicken with its head cut off during the busier weeks closer to the performance. “I’ll be fine,” she reassured Rangi with a smile. “It’s not like I have as much going on as Yun always does, right?” She nudged the boy with her elbow, and he snorted and poked her back. Kyoshi laughed and continued. “Of course, I do have a project due the day of auditions…”

“Oh god,” Lek said with feeling. “I completely forgot about that.”

“How could you forget?” Kirima asked, aghast. “You’re my partner!” Lek winced and gave her a shrug that simply said, “Oops!”

“Hey,” Rangi said, pointing a finger at Kyoshi from across the table. “Don’t think being busy will get you out of practicing. We still need to perfect your audition monologue.”

Kyoshi groaned dramatically, slumping over and crossing her arms over her head. “But we practiced for hours on Wednesday,” she complained, her voice muffled.

“Hmm,” Rangi said, considering. “Are you completely memorized?”

Kyoshi perked up and smiled blindingly. “Yes! I finished Wednesday night.”

“Good,” Rangi told her. “We’re practicing more tonight. My place or yours?”

“Ugh!” Kyoshi put her head back in her hands.

Wong laughed. “Welcome to the life of an actor, little sister. I can give you some pointers if you’d like.” Kyoshi let out another dramatic groan.

Rangi snorted, leaning toward her. “And we’ll go over it even longer today if you keep this up. Come on, where’s your determination?”

Kyoshi mumbled something moody that made the whole table laugh, but Rangi elected to ignore the comment. “Look,” she said, a bit more gently, but still forcefully, “we still have a couple days left until auditions. You need to be as prepared as possible if you have a chance against a lot of these other kids trying out. Some of them have been doing this for years and years.”

“Like me!” Yun interjected cheerfully, munching noisily on a sandwich. Rangi shot him a look before she sighed. “Yes, like Yun.”

Kyoshi lifted her head again, and wow the way that her long, brown hair slid over her shoulders should be illegal. In Rangi’s completely unbiased opinion, which was not affected by any outside factors, by the way. “Do you think I even have a shot?” Kyoshi asked, her pretty mouth stretched into a frown.

“Of course,” Rangi said briskly. “As long as you work for it.”

“All right then,” Kyoshi sighed heavily, accepting her fate. “I trust you with this.”

Rangi kept her face impassive and gave her a quick nod, hopefully hiding the fact that she was going to be riding the high of that statement for weeks. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if it got her through the entire spring play season.

“Good. Then my place or yours?”