Sierra had never fully grasped the meaning of the word pandemonium until now. She and Ethan had been in the wings, providing a full view of the audience, the stage and even backstage. When Charlie had crashed to the ground like a fallen angel, they had traded looks as though unsure they had seen the same thing. Then all hell had broken loose: that trapdoor swallowed her castmates with a thud, closing behind them, and Jasmine’s madness seemed to transfer to the theater, permeating everyone’s being. The audience, furious and in utter disbelief over the cancellation, streamed out of the auditorium in a roar. The rest of the cast on stage, recovered from the falling curtain, finally snapped to, erupting into chaotic chatter and speculation as they flowed backstage:
“Who knew Jasmine Beijao was crazy?”
“Maybe that wolf movie fucked her up, like De Niro in Taxi Driver?”
“She sure hates Charlie Savoy.”
“She kind of has a point.”
“She’s just bitter because she knows she doesn’t have the chops Charlie does.”
“It’s the love triangle, it’s always about a love triangle.”
And on and on.
Now Sierra and the group—Ethan, Alex, Harlow, Tripp, freshly changed—emerged from the greenroom.
“I actually don’t mind ending early tonight,” Alex said, stretching his arms as though just waking up.
“I’m basically sleepwalking,” Ethan said.
Sierra was about to agree when Nicholas stormed straight down the middle of the hall, parting their group. A directing fellow, a stage manager and Matteo Denali all trailed him. He ignored the questions, looked at Matteo. “You okay?”
“I’ll live,” Matteo said, holding a fistful of paper towels to his bloodied nose. Then Nicholas raised his hand, barking at the hallway, “Everyone, go home. We’re done here tonight.” He whipped around the corner, no one daring to follow.
“You heard the man,” Alex said, waving their group out.
“At least no one’s talking about us anymore,” Ethan said, holding the door for Sierra. “And by us, I mean all of us. Who went to New York. And maybe partied too hard.”
She was glad he was still thinking about it too. But something else nagged at her. For instance, as a friend, she would normally tell him that tonight was the time to say something to Charlie. Charlie would never be a better audience for his confession about that letter than now, after being made a verbal punching bag by a gorgeous, heartless superstar. Sierra felt for Charlie and what she had endured coming back here, that was not an easy thing to do. But the other part of Sierra cared only about finding a way to repeat last night with Ethan and mean it.
She hadn’t realized that this intense internal debate had slowed her pace, the rest of the group now several yards ahead, cutting across the dark and leafy Quad to the dorm. Ethan looked around as though he’d lost something.
“Hey, you really are sleepwalking,” he called out, jogging back to her. “What’s with you?” He grabbed her bag, slinging it over his shoulder with his. “Don’t say ‘nothing.’”
She stopped walking, looked in his heavy, questioning eyes. “I think you should tell Charlie,” she said, though it pained her.
“The letter? Now?” he asked, stunned. “I was just gonna forget that whole thing, like Miles said?”
“I know but if it was me, then I would want to hear from someone like you, on a night like tonight. Like, immediately.”
He exhaled, but she just nodded, pulled their bags from his shoulder.
“Good luck,” she said, kissing him on the cheek and walking alone to their dorm. When she looked back, he still stood there for a moment, then, finally, set off into town.