Will Grayson, Will Grayson(35)
Author: John Green

“I vote for her,” Jane says as soon as the girl gets to the second Mary.

The last auditionee is a diminutive, large-eyed creature named Hazel who sings a song from Rent. After she’s finished, Tiny runs up onto the stage to thank everyone, and to say how brilliant they all were, and how impossibly hard this will be, and how callbacks will be posted the day after tomorrow. Everyone files out past us, and then finally Tiny slouches up the aisle.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I tell him.

He makes a dramatic gesture of futility. “We did not see a lot of future Broadway stars,” he acknowledges.

Gary comes up and says, “I liked numbers six, nineteen, thirty-one, and forty-two. The others, well,” and then Gary puts his hand to his chest and begins to sing, “Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high / The sound of singing Wildkits, makes me want to die.”

“Jesus,” I say. “You’re like a real singer. You sound like Pavarotti.”

“Well, except he’s a baritone,” Jane says, her music pretension apparently extending even to the world of opera.

Tiny snaps the fingers of one hand excitedly while pointing at Gary. “You! You! You! For the part of Kaleb. Congratulations.”

“You want me to play a fictionalized version of my own ex-boyfriend?” Gary asks. “I think not.”

“Then Phil Wrayson! I don’t care. Pick your part. My God, you sing better than all of them.”

“Yes!” I say. “I cast you.”

“But I’d have to kiss a girl,” he says. “Ew.” I don’t remember my character kissing any girls, and I start to ask Tiny about it, but he cuts me off, saying, “I’ve been in rewrites.” Tiny flatters Gary some more and then he agrees to play the part of me, and honestly, I’ll take it. As we walk up the aisle on the way out of the cafeteria, Gary turns to me, cocking his head and squinting. “What’s it like to be Will Grayson? I need to know what it’s like from the inside.” He’s laughing, but then he also seems to be waiting for an answer. I always thought that being Will Grayson meant being me, but apparently not. The other Will Grayson is also Will Grayson, and now Gary will be, too.

“I just try to shut up and not care,” I say.

“Such stirring words.” Gary smiles. “I will base your character upon the attributes of the boulders on the lake-shore: silent, apathetic, and—considering how little they exercise—surprisingly chiseled.” Everybody laughs, except Tiny, who’s texting. As we exit the hallway, I see Ethan standing against the Wildkit trophy stand, his backpack on. I walk up to him and say, “Not bad today,” and he smiles and says, “I just hope I’m not too hot to play you.” He smiles. I smile back, even though he seems a little serious. “See you on Friday at Clint’s?” he asks.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say. He adjusts the backpack over one shoulder and takes off with a nod. Behind me, I hear Tiny dramatically plead, “Someone tell me it will be okay!”

“It’ll be okay,” Jane says. “Mediocre actors rise to great material.”

Tiny takes a deep breath, shakes some thought out of his mind, and says, “You’re right. Together they will be greater than the sum of their parts. Fifty-five people tried out for my play! My hair looks amazing today! I got a B on an English paper!” His phone chirps. “And I just got a text from my new favorite Will Grayson. You’re totally right, Jane: everything’s coming up Tiny.”

Chapter twelve

It starts when i get home from chicago. i already have twenty-seven texts from tiny on my phone. and he has twenty-seven texts from me. that took up most of the train ride. the rest of the time, i figured out what i needed to do the moment i walked through the door. because if isaac’s nonexistence is going to weigh me down, i have to let go of some other things in order not to crash right into the ground. i no longer give a f**k. i mean, i didn’t think i gave a f**k before. but that was amateur not-giving-a-fuck. this is stop-at-nothing, don’t-give-a-fuck freedom.

mom’s waiting for me in the kitchen, sipping some tea, flipping through one of those stupid rich-celebrities-show-off-their-houses magazines. she looks up when i come in.

mom: how was chicago?

me: look, mom, i’m totally g*y, and i’d appreciate it if you could get the whole freakout over with now, because, yeah, we have the rest of our lives to deal with it, but the sooner we get through the agony part, the better.

mom: the agony part?

me: you know, you praying for my soul and cursing me for not giving you grandbabies with a wifey and saying how incredibly disappointed you are.

mom: you really think i’d do that?

me: it’s your right, i guess. but if you want to skip that step, it’s fine with me.

mom: i think i want to skip that step.

me: really?

mom: really.

me: wow. i mean, that’s cool.

mom: can i at least have a moment or two for surprise?

me: sure. i mean, it can’t be the answer you were expecting when you asked me how chicago was.

mom: i think it’s safe to say that wasn’t the answer i was expecting.

I’m looking at her face to see if she’s holding things back, but it seems like it is what it is. which is pretty spectacular, all things considered.

me: are you going to tell me you knew all along?

mom: no. but i was wondering who isaac was.

oh, shit.

me: isaac? were you spying on me, too?

mom: no. it’s just—

me: what?

mom: you would say his name in your sleep. i wasn’t spying. but i could hear it.

me: wow.

mom: don’t be mad.

me: how could i be mad?

I know that’s a silly question. i’ve proven that i can be mad about pretty much anything. there was this one time i woke up in the middle of the night and swore that my mother had installed a smoke alarm on the ceiling while i was asleep. so i burst into her room and started yelling about how could she just go and put something in my room without telling me, and she woke up and calmly told me the smoke alarm was in the hallway, and i actually dragged her out of bed to show her, and of course there wasn’t anything on the ceiling – i’d just dreamed it. and she didn’t yell at me or anything like that. she just told me to go back to sleep. and the next day was total crap for her, but not once did she say it was tied to me waking her up in the middle of the night.

mom: did you see isaac when you were in chicago?