CHAPTER 36

 

When you’re in a play, your cast becomes your new family.

And nobody wants to be in a family with someone who is downright mean and nasty to someone else in that family. When my friends and I talked about it later, we all agreed Travis was totally disrespectful to Meredith. You can’t do that and stay in the family (unless, of course, it’s your biological family—otherwise, Sophia would’ve kicked me out of the Hart family for messing up her under-the-boardwalk romance with Schuyler).

After Travis’s dramatic exit, we rehearse a few scenes with me as Puck. I amaze everybody (including myself) with how well I know the lines. See, mornings at the Balloon Race booth are kind of slow. I have plenty of time for memorization. I’ve been working the lines into my booth spiel to make sure they really stick in my brain cells.

And, ta-da! Since I actually know the lines, I don’t stutter. (Even though on the inside I’m shaking like the last leaf on a tree being attacked by a leaf blower.)

“We should celebrate!” says Bill when rehearsal’s over around eight o’clock. “Who wants to grab a slice?”

Everybody’s hands shoot up.

Except mine.

“If it’s okay with you guys, I just want to head home,” I say. “It’s been a long, strange day.”

“Sure,” says Bill. “I’ll walk you.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Okay,” says Bill, sounding disappointed.

“Don’t worry, Billy Boy,” says Meredith. “Jacky’s still crazy about you.…”

I give her a double eyebrow raise and a Whaaaat? look. Meredith ignores both.

“She just has a lot to think about,” she says.

“True,” says Dan.

“Like how is she going to get Riley to cover more of her babysitting slots now that she has such a major role?” adds Jeff.

He’s right. Plus, what am I going to tell Mom and Dad? I promised them my role as Mustardseed wouldn’t interfere with my chores at home or my job on the boardwalk. And they’re counting on me to pitch in with Emma.

So, I actually do have a lot to think about.

“Maybe next time?” I say to Bill.

He smiles. His hazel eyes twinkle. “Next time.”

It’s dusk. I decide to stroll down the beach to the band shell. To see the stage where I will be playing Puck, one of Shakespeare’s best parts, in front of thousands of p-p-people.

As I approach the band shell, I hear loud, angry voices shouting from the stage. They’re accompanied by even angrier electric guitars that seem to know only two chords.

“We’re Toxic Trash!

Come hear us thrash!

We’re better than the Clash!

We’ll give your ears a rash!”