21

On Sunday, the morning of our final performance, I wake to the sound of three text messages arriving on my phone at once.

I lean forward to grab my cup of water from my nightstand and swirl some in my mouth. I forgot to close my blinds all the way last night, so I can see the breeze rattling the remaining leaves on the tree in the yard. I give a big yawn before falling back on my pillow to read my texts.

“(1/3) URGENT: All cast and crew of OUAM. We will be having an emergency full company meeting at 11:00 AM in the auditorium. This meeting is mandatory, and you must al-

(2/3)-l be in attendance. There has been a situation, and we need to be in the same room to discuss how we want to proceed. The decision to carry on tonight’s perform-

(3/3) -ance or to cancel it needs to be discussed. Please respond to this text, indicating that I can expect you at 11, or I will be calling you 1 by 1. -Gild”

Whoa.

As I’m typing my reply, my phone rings in my hand. Grant.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice sounds deep and fragile, like he just woke up.

I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and try not to think about how poufy and messy and perfect his hair probably looks. “What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Gild hasn’t told me anything else, so I’m in the dark, too.”

“Well, let me finish texting her, and then I’ll call you back, okay?”

I hear him yawn on the other end, which makes me yawn, too.

“Don’t bother, I’ve got to get ready. Pick me up at 10:40?” he asks.

“Sure, see you then.”

After disconnecting, I reply to Mrs. Gild’s text.

“I’ll be there. Hope everything’s okay, Mrs. G.”

At 10:58, after endless speculation in the car, Grant and I are no closer to guessing what could possibly be wrong, and we enter the auditorium without a clue.

The house lights are up and the stage lights are off, so the castle stands high above us looking mostly sad and fragile. Almost all of the cast and crew are already assembled, so I make my way down the aisle, finding a spot on the same row as Brice and Jonathan.

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Brice.

Jonathan leans forward, speaking over Brice’s lap. “She hasn’t said a word yet.”

We shrug at each other as Grant files in after me, and I silently take a headcount. Actors are notoriously late; teenage actors are even worse. The fact that we’re all here on time is an ominous sign. Well, almost all of us are here. There’s one person missing. I begin to look around for who it might be.

“Good morning.” In the most amazing, dramatic fashion, Mrs. Gild emerges from the stage left wing. She’s wearing loose grey pants and a long shirt with grey, purple, and blue flowers all over. Her glasses are down on her nose, and she looks tired. “Thank you for coming so early and on such short notice. I’m afraid we have some unfortunate news, and we have very little time to decide what to do about it.”

Mrs. Gild’s stark white hair, which is usually soft with curls, either around her face or piled on top of her head, is pulled back, tight and smooth into a tidy bun. She does not look pleased. “Last night, one of our own made some unfortunate choices, and we, as a company, must decide how, or if at all, to pick up the pieces.” She clears her throat and looks down to the stage floor. When she looks up, I wonder if she’s going to change her mind about telling us at all. “Our Winnifred, Miss Wells, attended a party last night where alcohol was consumed by minors.”

Her words are carefully curated, and she rarely misspeaks. I’m listening to every syllable, desperate to discover what disaster is about to befall our little show. I scan the room quickly and see that Charity is definitely not in the house.

“Unfortunately for her, and for all of us, she was drinking, and at around two-thirty this morning, she and four other Crestwood students were arrested for public intoxication and public indec—” She pauses to clear her throat again. “Also, possession of alcohol by a minor. I don’t tell you this as fodder for gossip, but to impress upon you the seriousness of her offense.”

Holy balls. Public indecency. What was she doing, walking—

“Was she walking down the street naked?” Grant leans over to whisper in my ear, completing the thought that was already racing through my head.

“Excuse me. Mr. Thornton, Miss Keegan, I could really use your attention right now.” Mrs. Gild is glaring at the two of us. She’s already so mad this morning she doesn’t even have the playful glint in her eye she usually can’t hide when she’s scolding one of her theatre babies. Obviously our whispers weren’t quite as quiet as we’d intended.

“We’re sorry. Uh, sorry.” Grant mutters our apology, while I drop my eyes.

“So we are in quite a predicament. As you all know, the show is already sold out. Which means that we’ve already collected payment for all 988 tickets, which, of course, is a great amount of money for our program. Canceling the show is, frankly, a costly embarrassment. Conversely, as you know, Miss Wells did not have an understudy, which puts us in a very stressful position.” She raises an eyebrow before letting a layer of cattiness drip into her tone. “Usually, getting through a mere three performances without our leading lady being arrested isn’t quite so difficult.” Her lips are pursing in frustration. She’s obviously and rightfully pissed.

“We must decide—right now—what our options are and what we plan to do.”

One of the girls in the ensemble chimes in, “What do you mean ‘what we plan to do’? There’s nothing to do. Charity got herself arrested, and now we have to cancel the show.”

“So, is she, like, in jail? Or is there a chance she’ll be released this afternoon, and can still make it by curtain so the rest of us don’t have to pay for her mistake?” Brice asks with a perfectly timed swivel of his neck.

Mrs. Gild holds up her hands and nods as she takes in the frustration of her kids. She bends down and sits on the edge of the stage, pulling up her knees to sit cross-legged in front of us.

“Unfortunately, even if Miss Wells were available to be here this evening—and she is not—she would not be allowed on school property or be allowed to participate in this school function. I don’t think it would be out of line to presume that all of the students in question will be facing a disciplinary hearing when the administrators get into the office tomorrow morning.”

“Well, if she can’t do it and no one else can do it, then what is there to discuss? We have to cancel,” remarks one of our spotlight guys.

To the surprise of everyone on our row, Jonathan pipes up. “Unless maybe we can brush up one of the other actresses. Maybe someone can fill in? I mean, do any of you have her parts memorized?” He shakes his head to shift his sandy hair out of his eyes and looks toward the faces of the girls scattered around the auditorium.

One of them shrugs and says, “No. I mean, we know some of the music from hearing it all the time, of course, but her lines? No way. No one has her lines memorized.” The other girls nearby nod in agreement.

Even though it’s only one performance, I feel my stomach sink. I really wanted to do the show one more time. This sucks.

“Well,” Mrs. Gild sighs, “I suppose I knew that would be the case, but I thought it was important to meet with you and discuss it first so that we’d all be in agreement. I’m more than a little angry that one member of our team will have caused all of the rest of you to miss out on your final performance. I’m truly sorry.”

Grant nudges me in the side. Hard.

“Ow! What?” I whisper-shout.

He looks at me, with his eyes as wide as jawbreakers, and he nods his head up toward the stage.

“Why are you looking at me like that? What?” I am trying to keep my voice down after being scolded once already by Mrs. Gild.

He leans in close, his breath hot in my ear, and says, “Gen, you totally know the whole script. Every line. Every cue. Not to mention the fact that you’ve had the whole score memorized since you were a kid. And, on top of that, you can sing.”

Now my eyes are the ones resembling dinner plates.

“You must be out of your freaking mind, Thornton.” I hit him playfully on the leg, but I’m not really playing. “And you better keep your trap shut.” I cross my arms before adding, “And you have no idea if I sing, you’ve never heard me. I don’t sing.”

“Oh, please. Nobody is saying you’re headed for a Tony, okay? But you sing. When you’re studying and you don’t even know you’re humming along and you think nobody is listening. But I’m listening.” His face flushes with color, and I look down at my hands as my face starts to warm, too.

He listens.

“Mr. Thornton and Miss Keegan, I sincerely hope that you two are deliberating about some brilliant scheme that will pardon our department from the disgrace of returning all of that ticket money.”

Despite my certainty that Grant would never, ever betray me in such a way, I see him slowly coming to his feet. I grab his jeans pocket and almost rip it completely off trying to tug him back down. He responds by pulling my clawed fingers off of his pants and holding my hand tightly in his. When Grant starts talking, everybody turns to listen.

“Guys, I have an idea. Maybe. Well, I don’t know about you, but I really think that we should do the show tonight if we can, and I think I know a way that could work. It might be our only shot.”

Oh my God, Grant. Please don’t make me kill you. I don’t want to spend the afternoon with naked Charity behind bars. My fingers are turning purple in his grip.

The murmurs of curiosity are rushing across the surface of the room. My insides are trying to claw their way out of my skin. I’ll murder him. I swear I’m going to actually murder him.

“There is someone who, from being in the sound booth and being a musical junkie, knows the show, inside and out, who knows all of Charity’s lines, all of her songs, and who’d make a great Winnifred.”

I finally rip my fingertips away from him and rub them until the tingling starts to subside.

The cast and crew sits waiting, their collective mouths dangling open in anticipation.

“Antonique, do you really know it all?” Andrew, the Prince, has turned around in his seat and lifted himself up on his knee. The entire company turns from Grant and stares at Antonique with expectant eyes, and she looks like she’s just been shot.

Jealousy blossoms within me, and I feel my throat get tight as, once again, I’m overlooked for a title I didn’t even want.

Antonique stammers and looks over her shoulder for me as conversations break out all over the auditorium.

“Oh, she’d be such a good Winnifred!”

“She’ll look really cute in Charity’s dress.”

“What do you say, Antonique, wanna be my stand-in princess?” Andrew smiles crookedly at her, making his most princely face, and I feel my jaw clench together.

She’s trying to object, but no one is listening.

Why wouldn’t they hope that the cute, fit, angel-faced freshman would have the chops to know the show inside and out? Why would they ever want it to be me?

I look down at my hands as Grant tries to calm all of the chatter. “He meant me,” I say too quietly for anyone to hear.

Grant looks down at my soft words and gives me a small smile. He holds out his hand, and I take it and stand.

“He meant me.” This time, they all hear.

The room goes quiet. I feel like I’ve just ripped off a blanket of invisibility and they’re all seeing me for the first time.

“Oh, thank God,” Antonique says. “I was trying to say that I don’t know the show like Imogen does. I certainly don’t know the songs. Grant wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about Imogen. And I think Grant is absolutely right. You can do this.” Antonique looks at me with her soft, dark eyes, and the whole room is waiting for me to make my case.

“Look, I don’t want to do this. Don’t be confused. I’d much rather be sitting in my little black box in the back, pressing buttons and pretending I’m on the bridge of the Enterprise. But I don’t know. It might work.”

I look at Grant, who nods at me, and I take a second to study his face. His shoulders are back, and his chest is puffed out with pride. I look down and see that our fingers are still woven together between us.

“I’m not, like, a great singer or anything. I don’t really know when the last time was that I sang, out loud, for people. It’s been since I was a kid, but I can carry a tune and…” My eyes start to dart back and forth from face to face. Without meaning to, I start counting them and then I remember how many seats Gild said we have to fill and my palms are slick and my heartbeat is cranking out a rhythm that would put the drumline to shame. I feel my throat close and I just want to swallow, and without finishing my sentence, I sit down.

No one moves. They all just sit there and look at me with wide eyes and downturned brows. They nibble at their lips and fingertips, and a few freshmen chorus girls actually have their hands folded together in a shape like praying.

I lift my chin and look at Grant. “What was I thinking?” I whisper. “I can’t do this. I have to run sound, and I can’t seriously do this.”

“Gen, you can.” He sits down beside me and continues to talk as if we’re the only people in the room. As if there aren’t about a billion eyeballs watching us like some primetime reality show. “Seriously, think about it. Antonique can run sound. You’ve said yourself that she’s brilliant at it.” Two rows in front of us, I see Antonique’s head bow with humble pride. “And like it or not, you know the part. It’s you or nothing. Please, Gen. Just sing through a song once with the accompaniment, and if you can’t do it, you can’t do it. Please?”

My heart is bruising my ribs from the inside, but it keeps beating, which is more than I expected.

I laugh, hoping to diffuse the tension, and bring the blood rushing back to my head and limbs.

I turn to face the rest of my row, mostly Brice, even though I know everyone else is still listening.

“Guys, I-I don’t even know. I mean, the costumes. The costumes would never ever…I—”

Brice chimes in beside me and states without flourish, “Gen, I can make those costumes work. A few seam rippers, and I can take ’em right out. I’d never let you hit the stage looking a mess. You know that I can do it. And so can you.”

Antonique turns in her seat, looks me straight in the eye, and says, “You can do it, Imogen, and you’ve taught me so much. I can run all the sound cues. I really can.”

I want to run. I want to melt into this auditorium chair and disappear into the fabric.

I’m not scared of the music or the lines.

I’m scared of the embarrassment.

I’m going to totally embarrass myself.

Grant stands again and says to the group, “Look, it’s a decision for all of us to make if Gen’s willing. Those who’d rather have Imogen play Winnifred than cancel the show, raise your hand.”

First Grant’s, then Antonique’s, followed by Brice’s, and soon, the rest of the auditorium.

Mrs. Gild hops down off the stage and walks up the aisle toward me. As she approaches, her voice gets softer and she addresses only me. “Well, Miss Keegan. I suppose it’s all up to you. I would, of course, like to hear you at the piano, but assuming you’ll agree, I guess I’m asking—we’re all asking—if you’ll do this for us so that we can have our closing night. If you’ll at least try. It’s only one show.”

The softness of her voice and her gentle hands on my arms almost make me want to cry, but the eyeballs boring holes through me stops the urge. I speak.

“Okay.”

I’m hit with an instantaneous need for a Prozac and about five million candy bars.

Mrs. Gild offers me her arm. She gives a nod to the accompanist sitting on the front row, and he goes to sit at the piano. “Everyone, there’s lots to do, so…”

She tries to usher everyone off, but she loses steam. She knows there isn’t a single chance in all of the universe that the kids aren’t going to watch this unfold.

I feel like I’m in a funeral march down the aisle. I’m either about to be the nail in the coffin of this dying show or be its final breath of life.

We get to the piano, and Gild whispers, “Can you do this, honey? You don’t have to if you can’t.”

Strangely, I think maybe I can.

I take a deep breath and look at everyone washed in bright white light. Their faces are painted with excitement and nervousness and hope, and I feel myself ache with doubt.

Suddenly, the house lights switch off.

After a second of confusion, we all look back and see that Grant has gone to the controls and lowered the auditorium lights. When I look back to the rest of the cast in the seats, I see them, but only vaguely. Their shapes are cast in blue shadow, and I can’t make out their expressions.

I feel my heart slow behind my ribs.

I clear my throat and turn to the pianist and give the slightest nod. He sets off on Princess Winnifred’s first number, and miraculously, surprisingly, and adequately, I sing.

I’m no superstar. But I’m better than nothing.

The kids in the audience jump up in squeals of applause as I finish the first verse. There’s no time to hear me sing anything else.

I turn to Mrs. Gild, and her face spreads into a smile. She looks happy and relieved. She looks proud. She reaches out and grabs me, pulling me into a giant hug.

I breathe in her scent—like perfume and powder.

Half-a-second later, she pulls away and snaps back into work mode.

She begins barking orders with a broad smile on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen! We have a lot of work to do! Brice, take whomever you need to help you prepare costumes. Actors, be ready to run lines with Imogen as soon as we finish at the piano. Grant, check with Antonique to make sure she has everything she needs. Cast, we’ll all be doing a cue-to-cue with Imogen as soon as she can, and let’s try and do a run through at about one. Curtain is only seven hours away, people! Let’s all work together and go out with a bang.”

Mrs. Gild is delegating and sending her cast and crew off in a hundred different directions faster than I can breathe. She turns back to me. “Thank you, Miss Keegan. I’m sure this is going to be a night we’ll not soon forget.” She gives me a little wink and says, “Let’s get you ready to be royalty. We have an opening for a princess.”