Zac Efron and the Eighth Grade Musical
I will become the most famous actor in America. I will. I will. I’ll have so many friends and a smoking hot girlfriend. I’ll meet Obama and he’ll give me a medal. Millions and millions and millions of people will love me, just like they love Zac Efron.
To be a famous actor like Zac you need three things. Be hot, be cool, and be talented. I’m part-way there.
I shot up to five-foot-nine this summer, now I’m the tallest man in my family. I did one hundred situps and fifteen pushups every single day to get muscles and a six pack. I brought my mom’s hairdresser a picture of Zac to style my hair after. I shopped at Hollister and American Eagle. I plucked my eyebrows, trimmed my nails, and shaved my chin every single day. I tanned.
So believe me, I’m hot– finally.
When I made my debut at my sort-of-cousin Jennifer Cohen’s end of summer pool party I wore a blue and white plaid button down (unbuttoned) exposing my new six pack. A shell necklace I got on our family Disney cruise in July. Back to school cut. Aviator sunglasses – the same one’s Zac has. Cologne that smelled like the sunset.
Sarah Hudson gravitated right to me. “Josh Lynch? Is that you? Do you have… abs?”
Holy shit, her tits are huge in a bikini. Biggest boobs in the grade – by a long shot. Jesus.
“I don’t know. Do I?” and I slyly opened my shirt further. She gasped. Quickly, her hands were all over my body. A fever came over me and I forgot to breathe. I wanted to smile and laugh giddily, but I kept my cool. Cool, hot, and talented. Cool, hot, and talented.
While everybody was in the pool playing Categories like fucking sixth graders, Sarah and I were up in the nest of the Cohen’s swing set. She kissed me. Multiple times. Tongue.
I laid awake in bed all night replaying it over and over and over again.
I won’t go into more detail.
. . .
Labor Day weekend passed and for once, I was excited for school to start. In sixth and seventh grade, I didn’t have abs. My clothes were ugly and I was awkward. Stupid fucking Brendan Callaghan called me “gay” every day for two years and got everybody else to say it too. Well, now he’s gone. His parents lost their house and they had to move to Florida. Good.
Eighth grade would be different. Everybody would think I was hot and cool because Sarah Hudson was my girlfriend. I could sit at her table for lunch instead of sitting with all the other retarded misfits. No longer would I have to listen to Kyle Brohan discuss whatever hentai he watched last night. I would have far more interesting conversations like gossip.
Life was going to be good.
. . .
One morning the announcements crackled on at the end of Spanish, “On Tuesday there will be a meeting in the A/V room for the Bay Street Middle School musical immediately after ninth period. Those interested should attend.” That was my cue, the final piece necessary to start my journey to stardom – Show everybody I had talent.
I met Sarah at her locker between periods. She still couldn’t remember her combo. “Fuck!”
“Do you want to go to that meeting about the musical?” Sarah was in the select Vocal Ensemble for her college applications, I thought maybe she would do it with me. Maybe we’d have a kissing scene or something. But if she wasn’t going to do it… Maybe I’d have to kiss somebody else. Then what would I have to do?
“No way. Volleyball conflicts.” She always had something going on. Then, she punched her locker and screeched. I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored it.
“I was thinking about auditioning.”
She glanced up at me, surprised, “Really? I didn’t know you sing.”
“Sometimes.”
“Really?” She was curious. Her locker had finally opened. “Are you a good singer?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally,” she grabbed her ginormous Earth Science textbook and kicked her locker shut.
“I bet,” then she ran off to class. I watched her go. Butt not as great as boobs.
Truthfully, I’ve never sang before. Not even in the car. I’ve seen too much American Idol. I know what happens when you suck at singing.
Embarrassment. Ridicule. You don’t come back from a bad performance. Now, I didn’t know what kind of voice I had – if I even had one. But, hey, Zac didn’t even sing in the first High School Musical. They just let him do it because he was hot. So I figure they’re not really going to be listening to what’s coming out of my mouth. They’re going to be looking at my abs.
. . .
On Tuesday I filed into the A/V room with the rest of the hopefuls, mostly girls. A handful of sixth and seventh grade boys. The only other eighth grade boy I could spot was Austin Patricola. He looked like a little boy, not a hair on his legs, and monkey ears that stuck straight out. Divorced parents made him sensitive and everybody seemed to like him. I don’t think he deserved the attention he received. It was out of pity, not earned.
I sat alone near the back of the room, which was set up like a mini-auditorium with about ten rows of ten theater seats facing a tiny stage where a desk and piano were. The walls were blue and lined with posters from all of the school musicals in the past. I was sitting near one for The Wiz that was done a few years ago.
Then, Mr. Edelmann waddled in from the door behind me. “Hello, hello everybody,” he said with his nasally, raspy voice. Applause broke out from the music kids. He was probably half a foot shorter than me and weighed three times as much. A Kohl's sweater tucked into flowing black slacks. Perfectly round. It was hard to tell exactly how old he was because he was so fat. And that voice.
I sat forward in my seat as Edelmann hoisted himself up on the little stage holding a stack of paper fresh from the school printer. “You’re probably all wondering what the musical is going to be this year.” Some of the girls and Austin smirked at one another, they probably knew already. Not fair. “We’re going to do something a bit different this year. We’re doing…” Edelmann paused with theatrical suspense,
“A variety show!” People went nuts. What the hell was he even talking about? A variety show?
He went on to explain that the musical would just be a series of scenes from other musicals. Jukebox style, he said. Tons of opportunities to have a solo. We were supposed to audition tomorrow with a song we would want to sing for the show.
Obviously I would sing one of Zac’s songs from High School Musical. I looked just like Troy so it was going to be an easy sell to Edelmann. Ticket sales would be through the roof.
. . .
After my family went to bed, I pulled up “Bet On It” from the sequel on YouTube and played it on repeat, trying to memorize the words and figure out what the notes were. I didn’t want to wake up my family so I just quietly mumbled along, which wasn’t really singing.
But as I watched Zac move and sing across that golf course, I thought about my own hair that was now down to my eyes after my back-to-school haircut. My hair had a cowlick right up front and made my bangs fall awkwardly, nothing like Zac’s.
I snuck off into the bathroom and locked the door. Why was my hair like this? Why couldn’t it just be normal. I had some spray my mother bought me to try and keep my awkward part under control. I desperately needed to go back to the salon and cut it. There was a perfect length where the cowlick wasn’t as visible and I’ve grown past it. But, my bangs were now covering a series of increasingly red and bumpy pimples that refused to burst. I would squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and nothing would ever come out. They just got bigger! I attempted another pop. No luck. FUCK – It hurt. I knew there was something under there. I can feel it! Why can’t it just come out!
Zac doesn’t have these problems. His hair is great. His skin is flawless. Even his eyebrows. I have to pluck mine. Winter was coming. Chilly. The sun was out less. I was getting pale again and my hands were drying out and cracking no matter how much lotion I used. I was becoming hideous once again and Sarah would leave me and I wouldn’t get a part in the musical and I’d never get to become an actor and Brendan Callaghan wouldn’t get to kill himself because of how awesome I was.
. . .
The bell rang at the end of ninth period and my stomach started to cramp. Sarah met me at my locker to talk about something that happened in Math. My insides gurgled and a huge moan bellowed out from my lower abdomen. It wasn’t a fart. I swear.
“What’s the matter?” She asked, annoyed I wasn’t responding to her. I was busy trying not to shit my god damn pants.
“Nothing. Just focusing before my audition.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll do amazing,” and she kissed me right on the lips and held it for a moment. I forgot where I was or what I was even worried about. She never kissed me in school before. This was a turning point. I had become the guy who kisses girls in the hallway after school. Like Troy.
We parted ways to our activities and I beelined right for the bathroom. I had no choice. I was turning inside out. Thankfully, nobody else came in to hear or smell what was going on. What if Edelmann had come in? How would he be able to take me seriously as a performer? Was I even a performer? Why was I even doing this? It took forever to wipe.
I studied myself in the broken graffitied mirror and tried to see Zac in my reflection, but I only saw Josh Lynch. Certainly didn’t feel like Zac right now. The emptiness inside of me left only my organs to slide against each other. How could Zac get up there and just do it so effortlessly?
Maybe it was effortless. Maybe Zac wasn’t trying at all and it was just natural. Obviously I had some of what makes Zac so awesome in me – that’s why Sarah kissed me in front of the whole school. If it’s natural it will just come out in the audition. That must be it. I started to calm down.
I lifted my shirt to peek at my six pack one last time. I was ready.
I walked into the A/V room as a total wild card. All those kids were in the chorus program and knew each other. You know? They had a sense of where the solos were going to go. Who sucked. Who was great. Well, I was going to shake up the entire power dynamic and take it right from Austin Patricola – who was just fine by the way. He sang something from Les Mis. I don’t know, it was depressing and this show needed a hot guy.
Edelmann finally called up my name, “Josh Lynch?” Everybody turned to me in the back of the A/V room. I lifted my Aviators and brushed the hair out of my eyes.
“Here,” I said with a little grin. I felt the whispers begin. Who is that? Can he sing? I want to make out with him so bad. Yeah, they’ll all have their chance. One of these girls would be my Vanessa Hudgens. She isn’t in the song but maybe it should still end in a kiss.
Edelmann smiled as I got on the stage and I handed him the CD I burned with the karaoke version of the song I ripped from YouTube. “What’ll you be singing, Josh?”
“‘Bet On It’ from High School Musical 2.” I turned to smile at the crowd and –
Jesus Christ. That’s a lot of people.
Why were they all just staring at me? Not even a smile!
“Josh? Josh?” Edelmann was trying to get my attention.
“Yeah?”
“Ready?” I nodded. My throat was drying up. I heard the click of the CD player and the drums started. Only a few seconds before I had to start.
Again, I’ve never sang. So my body just had to guess what I was supposed to do. It was my cue. My chest quivered. My throat dried. The sounds I was making clashed in such an unpleasant way.
My voice CRACKED on the final lyric. Nightmare situation.
The second verse was coming next, but Edelmann abruptly stopped the track, said, “Thank you,” and cued for applause. Oh my god, I suck. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. I suck. I suck. I suck.
Thinking fast, I put my arm under my shirt to scratch my chest and show my stomach to the whole room. I had to do SOMETHING! Nobody gasped, swooned, or even reacted.
I slumped into the back row again and spiraled. If this didn’t work out, I don’t – It should have worked. I’m hot and cool. Maybe it did. I’m overthinking it. Do I suck at singing? Am I not Zac Efron but actually William-fucking-Hung? I’m going to kill myself.
. . .
Sarah texted me to ask how it went. I had locked myself away in my bedroom debating the best, most painless, way to die before the cast list was posted in the morning. I had nothing! My parents are so boring, no pills, no guns, they don’t even drink so I couldn’t even try that. Sure, I could try strangling myself with my bedsheet, but I didn’t want to suffer! I was already suffering!
It went great!!!! XDDD
Amazingggggg!!!
How was practice??? ;)
Good!
She was not a great texter. Which I did not like. I sent a wink. What did she think I meant? Did she think I really cared about practice? Okay, okay. That’s harsh. She doesn’t know what I’m going through. She doesn’t know I need cheering up. But a wink is a wink! Vanessa could send those pictures to Zac but I couldn’t even get more than a one word response! What did he have that I didn’t!?
. . .
I lived through the night to face the cast list in the morning. If I got cut I’d have to spin some sort of lie. Pretend I never actually auditioned.
I pushed my way through the crowd of theater dorks. Sam Sheldon, the gargantuan seventh grader, whose sister was a Rockette, was sobbing uncontrollable. She got cut. It was a bloodbath for the girls. Two of them had to hold up this chubby little sixth grader like she was being pulled from the rubble of the World Trade Center. The cast list had been torn from the wall and was crowd surfing around. It finally got around to me and I snatched it from the air.
Soloist.
Thank god.
. . .
The first meeting for the musical was right after school and for soloists only. Austin Patricola invited me to sit next to him in the front row of the A/V room.
“We’re the only eighth grade boys.”
“I know.” Austin Patricola was the last person I wanted to be associating myself with. I needed to find a Chad Danforth, not a Ryan Evans. It was slim pickings for the guys. There was Finn Harris, an Irish sasquatch. Kyle Richards, seventh grader with a septum piercing. His ass crack was always out. Nathan Fiorini, smelled like his clothes sat in the washing machine too long and had badly inflamed gums. Had any of them ever been inside of an American Eagle? God.
Every boy that auditioned got a solo.
Edelmann emerged from the back, “Hello, hello!” Everybody cheered and applauded him. I did too. He was carrying a giant binder with “MUSICAL 2010” written on the spine. “Congratulations to my soloists.” He threw up his arms and his joules shook. “We’re going to start with announcing what songs you will be singing. First, Tiffany will be performing ‘Good Morning Baltimore’ from Hairspray!” She openly wept with joy, that was the song she had auditioned with.
“Austin, ‘Do You Hear The People Sing?’” He fist pumped. Edelmann continued doling out the solos and everybody was getting what they auditioned with.
Finally, he got around to me. “Josh Lynch, ‘Bet On it’ from High School Musical 2.”
I levitated in my seat, beyond happy. Complete euphoria.
When my mother picked me up from the meeting I made her immediately take me for a haircut.
. . .
I stayed up late to make sure I got my old sit ups and pushups regiment going again. In a few short weeks I would be up on stage, in the spotlight, presented as Troy Bolton – and I needed to look the part. I doubled the amount of sit ups. Two hundred. I needed to be beautiful. I was beautiful enough to get the part I wanted, but to do it well would require another revolution in my own beauty. If a Hollywood agent happened to be in the audience, I had to be movie-ready.
Huffing and puffing on my bedroom floor I stared up at the ceilings as my arms swelled up so much I couldn’t even get up. I was dedicated and that would make me succeed.
Sarah didn’t seem to appreciate what was happening for me. I texted her that I got the song I wanted and when she asked what the song was, I told her.
from HSM????
yes! im gunna be so awesome!!!! :)
oh kewl!!! :)
do you like high school musical???
i haven’t seen it since like 5th gradeeee idkkkk
do u think zac efron is cute?
haha :)
I decided not to initiate a text conversation with her for a few days.
At lunch, Sarah asked if I was ignoring her. I said I was busy with the musical. She gave me a print out of her volleyball schedule. She wanted me to go to one of her games. I’d think about it.
. . .
I walked home from school one day to stop at the drugstore. I snagged some cash from my mother’s purse before going to the bus stop. My hair color was just too light to convincingly be Troy Bolton’s. I bought hair dye to correct that… And a few other things.
The directions on the box didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Plus, it was hard to apply it all myself. I had a lot of hair! Was it supposed to burn a little bit?
I lathered that shit all over my head and my eyebrows – Zac has very dark, thick eyebrows. Mine were light and thin.
While that sat I fiddled with the color changing contacts. Needed to turn my disgusting brown eyes into piercing blue. I pulled my eyelid down and poked around. God it stung! I cried and cried, but I would not take them out no matter what.
Last but not least, I had to apply the self tanner to my entire body.
. . .
In the morning, my mother cried when she saw me. She wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain it to her. She wanted to take me to a doctor. I said, “Take me to school.”
I had this blue and turquoise striped polo from American Eagle that I got because it looked like the one Zac wore in the opening of High School Musical 2. Tight fighting to make sure my swollen upper body was being shown off. And a great pair of dark wash jeans from Hollister that I wore every day. Why? Because it’s difficult to find a pair of jeans I like! I have to feel the inside of the pant leg with my hand to make sure the seam won’t irritate me, which most jeans do! So I only have one pair of jeans to wear everyday. They’re basic so nobody realizes they’re the same pair.
After my shower I brushed my teeth, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash. Shaved just to double check that I was super smooth, and plucked any hanging eyebrow hair from my now gloriously thick and dark eyebrows. My eyes were pink underneath the blue contacts so I drowned them out with some eye drops I had for my seasonal allergies. I put deodorant on and rubbed some on my chest and lower back. Spritzed the Hollister cologne all over and trimmed my nails. Lotion up. Chapstick.
As usual, I felt everybody watch me as I walked through the hall – standard operating procedure since I got hot. Sarah was down at her locker fiddling with that damn lock again.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” she said and glanced over her shoulder. “AHHH!”
“What?”
“What? What did you do to your hair? Your skin!?”
“Thought about dying it.” Sarah scanned me. Horrified, she reached out and touched it. CRUNCH! I snatched her hand away. “You don’t like it?”
“You look like… Like one of the Beatles with that Michael Jackson disease.” Sure, the self tanner came out fairly dark and blotchy and even turned one of my arms green, but it was fine! Just a dramatic change all at once can take some time to process.
“No, no. It’s Zac Efron. Troy Bolton. For the musical.”
“Edelmann told you to do this?” Her concerned tone was alarming. But I did my best to stay cool and not overreact.
“Nope,” I said, “I kind of like it.”
“Okay… I – I –” the bell rang and Sarah ran off to class.
After school I saw Edelmann for rehearsal. “Oh my god, I love what you’ve done!”
. . .
At last it was show day. It was a Thursday night. Old snow was on the ground. I had continued my strict physical regiment and was swelling up – bigger than Zac. I went a shade darker on my spray tan for the show, which looked a bit silly in the flesh but on stage – perfect. Sarah was waiting for me at my locker.
“I can’t come to the musical tonight.”
“WHAT!? Why?” She can’t be serious.
“Because I think I would prefer it if we were just friends.”
“Excuse me?”
“You didn’t go to any of my volleyball games. Yesterday was the last one. Twelve chances and you missed them all.”
“I had rehearsals. You know that. You know this is important to me.”
“I just think – Look, I thought you were a really cool and cute guy when we met over the summer. But now, you’ve been – I just think it would be better if we went back to being friends. Being boyfriend and girlfriend isn’t working out.”
Oh my god, this is exactly what happened to Troy in High School Musical 2 right before he sings “Bet On It.” It’s perfect! My performance will have so much extra authenticity layered in!
“You’re really not going to come tonight?”
Sarah’s eye twitched and then broke into tears. What a gift she’s given me.
. . .
Call time was five for a seven o’clock show. The boys were held in a classroom near the stage entrance while the girls stayed in the A/V room. My number opened the second act, so I just had to wait in my costume and makeup, which was not great. My muscles had continued to grow and now grabbed onto my shirt too tight. Suffocating, really. The makeup was a necessary evil. Dark eyeliner made my cerulean eyes pop. I had gotten the redness under control but something about the makeup was making my eyes irritated and watery again. Probably allergic to one of the make up components.
The rest of the boys weren’t really worth my time so I spent most of the show pacing around the empty school halls listening to my solo on my iPod. I had to stay in the zone. This moment was critical. Hot, cool, and talented. Hot, cool, and talented. It all came together at this moment. I didn’t need Sarah anymore. She didn’t help me get here at all. It was all my hard work and dedication. If she couldn’t see that, then – then – fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck Brendan Callaghan. And fuck all of those people who don’t understand me. They never even gave me a chance. Well, they’ll all come around to Josh Lynch and when I’m famous they’ll tell people they “know me” and I’ll let them live in that fantasy because I’ll pitty them.
I mean, maybe Sarah will sneak into the back of the auditorium and see me and ask me to take her back because she’ll get it and maybe I’ll let her. Probably.
“Josh! Wait up!” I turned to see Austin awkwardly jogging towards me in his Les Mis outfit. “Intermission just started.” That meant I was going on soon.
“Great, thanks.” Austin caught his breath. I tried to resume listening to my song.
“I’m really glad we get to do this together.” Can’t get rid of this guy.
“Yeah,” I replied, resuming my music once more.
“I’m so jealous of your number. I just wanted to let you know. I wish I had thought of doing High School Musical. I love those movies.”
I paused my music to hear him out, “You do?”
“Yeah, I started doing chorus because I saw Zac Efron do it.” I pulled both earbuds out. Austin was so pathetic, smiling as big as he was covered in fake dirt. “You’ve really nailed his look.”
Wow. “Thank you.” That was the nicest thing somebody has ever said to me since Sarah said I had a six pack. My heart flopped around.
“Makes sense. Zac Efron is honestly kind of… cute.” Austin sunk into his shoulders.
“Uh, he’s not cute. He’s fucking hot. Everybody loves him.” He sighed as if he had forgotten to breathe. Most likely anxious to perform after me.
His ears didn’t look too big with his current haircut.
“Well, I’m happy I wasn’t the only eighth grade boy in the musical. Are you going to come to Friendly’s after with everybody?”
“Probably not,” wouldn’t be caught dead with most of these losers.
“No! You gotta!” Austin continued to plead with me to go, but he was annoying me. I needed to stay in the zone.
“Thank you, but I have to get back to preparing for my solo.” He understood, but pulled me into a hug before leaving.
“You’re going to be awesome. Break a leg.” He hurried off. Austin understood me better than my own mother. He appreciated the transformation I had gone through.
. . .
Intermission ended and I took my place backstage. The stagehands grabbed all over my body to hook up my microphone. I prayed my stomach would stay quiet. The moment had finally arrived and I felt surprisingly great. The beginning of the rest of my life was upon me.
I took my spot center stage with a large blue sky backdrop. Simple staging. My mic was hot so I had to stay silent as I listened to the last intermission stragglers find their seats. The stage manager started whispering from the wings, “Three, two, one…”
The curtain rose and the music began. About seven seconds of drums before I had to start singing.
The spotlight hit me, the blue overhead lights turned up and I flexed my muscles. Sporadic GASPS rippled across the three-hundred person packed house as I peeked over my bicep for the first time. I saw jaws on the floor. People fidgeting in their seats, covering their mouths. Eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets. Complete astonishment at my beautiful body.
Oh, yeah. I had this.
Everybody's always talkin' at me
Everybody's tryin' to get in my head
I wanna listen to my own heart talkin'
I need to count on myself instead
I strutted across the stage fist pumping, leaping, and spinning. I was sweating and my self tanner started to run a bit. I didn’t care. I was working hard. Edelmann’s training and his faith in me had worked. He was right there in the pit at his piano watching me, encouraging me, cheering me.
I was giving it my all. I was hot. I was cool. I was talented. The stage was mine.
I'm not gonna stop, that's who I am
I'll give it all I got, that is my plan
When I find what I lost
You know you can
Bet on it, bet on it
Bet on it, bet on it
I crouched down and lept up and my shirt tore itself in half right across my rippling back. Fuck it, I tore it right off to reveal my hulking mass. The audience continued their astonished gasps like I was a one man Cirque du Soleil show.
My thick hair gel dissolved from the sweat and my hair flapped around vigorously. The dripping tanner further irritated my eyes and I accidentally rubbed them, smearing my eyeliner.
My vision blurred but I stuck to my choreography as I moved and sang through a tornado of lights and sounds. I nearly got dizzy.
BAM!
Before I knew it, the song was over and I hit my final pose totally out of breath. Soaking and half naked.
And then, the applause came and the curtain fell far too soon for it to grow into a substantial standing ovation. So be it.
God. What a release. I felt my airways open and my stomach settle. My brain membrane dissolved into a tingling sensation. I was high on life.
I shuffled off the stage, made my way back to the boys holding pen and collapsed onto the floor. The cool tile felt nice and I looked up at the ceiling for the entirety of the second act. I couldn’t slow my breathing. Needed food. Had been fasting to make sure I looked as fit and slim as possible up there. Maybe I should go to Friendly’s.
Austin came back from his number similarly excited and decided to lay on the floor as well. We didn’t say much. Lost in the total bliss of the moment.
. . .
The show ended and we all filed out into the lobby to meet our friends and loved ones. The girls all got flowers. The guys got nothing. Sarah was nowhere to be found. Maybe she left already.
My mother and father were near the exit and they both hugged me. My mother was almost certainly crying earlier.
“Good job,” they said. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on. Hold on.” I couldn’t leave. I had to see how much praise I would receive and if Zac Efron’s agent was here. You never know! But all I saw were more of those astonished looks from the audience now in the fluorescent light of the auditorium lobby.
Nobody came up to me. No business cards. Not even a passing congratulations.
My folks and I stood in silence.
I decided not to go to Friendly’s. Too tired. I went right to bed.
Nothing was ever said about my performance in the eighth grade musical ever again.