9
YaLeBiRd: BRI, I GOT IT! I AM STAGE MGRING A PLAYYY!!!!!!
YaLeBiRd: called caucasian chalk circle
dramakween: woo-hoooo rachel kolodzny is hot. watch out yale!!! never hoid of ccc. is it like harold & the purple crayon?
dramakween: that would make a good play.
YaLeBiRd: maybe in 2 years, when ur here
dramakween: lol
dramakween: hey, guess what! we found a new sm!
YaLeBiRd: whaaaat??? you replaced me? impossible! ☺ rofl . . .
dramakween: well shes not as brainy and bootilicious as you.
dramakween: in fact, shes a little weird. i thought she was going to turn us down.
YaLeBiRd: is she crazy??? what did you do??????
dramakween: took her to taft field, bought her clothes, fed her a mochacino (sp?) and brownie and half of my carrot cake.
YaLeBiRd: then she said yes? because of carrot cake?
dramakween: nope. she kept saying no. i couldn’t believe it.
dramakween: i tried to act like siobhan the super-nanny. the way she deals with colter when he’s annoying. She just listens.
dramakween: so i listened. and listened and listened.
YaLeBiRd: mmmm
dramakween: she sez she has this fear of cars, & that explained her behavior, i guess. casey, not siobhan.
dramakween: big tearfest. she was all wound up about it.
dramakween: then she said yes. tada. instant sm!
YaLeBiRd: uh-huh. so ur happy?
dramakween: yes!!!! can u imagine no sm? charles was gonna have a heart attack.
YaLeBiRd: congratz. but
YaLeBiRd: FEAR OF CARS? where does she come from? jupiter?
dramakween: i know. my B.S. meter goes wild with this girl. i dont know why . . .
YaLeBiRd: b careful
dramakween: u know me. caution is my middle name.
dramakween: gotta go. lurve & kishkes . . .
“Crap!” said Corbin, throwing his script to the main stage floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
“Language, plee-ee-eease!” Ms. Gunderson sang out sweetly from her seat at the piano.
“I’m not feeling it,” Corbin fumed. “I’m supposed to be funny, but I’m not funny. Can I use an accent?”
Sitting in the fifth row next to Casey, Brianna massaged her forehead.
“Should you give him direction?” Casey asked.
“I will,” Brianna said. “After Mr. Levin gets through with him.”
She missed acting. When you were onstage, you could ignore other people’s neuroses. When you were a director, they were rubbed in your face.
From the row behind them, Dashiell leaned forward. He had been hanging around Brianna all day, promising to give her something but never doing it or even saying what it was. Then again, Dashiell was the last of the absentminded geniuses. “Interesting,” he remarked. “I guess you can’t always predict which of the cast members will emerge as the diva.”
“They usually emerge after the first rehearsal,” Brianna said, “not during.”
The other actors were gathered in a circle at center stage, standing around Reese, who was wearing a bright blue French-cut leotard and trying to demonstrate a dance move. She strutted across the stage, took Corbin by his shirt collar, and dragged him into the circle. “Corbin, we just had a read-through. We’re not running lines right now. We are dancing. Exploring our psychedelic inner seventies flower children! Now, loosen up. Hippify yourself!”
Brianna watched in disbelief as the actors began jumping around the stage with huge smiles, arms flailing, eyes wide.
“ ‘Hippify’?” Casey said.
“Reese’s concept for the show is ‘Hippie Potfest meets Medieval Morality Play,’ ” Brianna said. “She picked up that last phrase on Google. She’s trying to impress Harrison.”
“I see,” Casey said. “Well, they look . . . energetic.”
“They look like they just escaped from the loony bin,” Brianna added.
“Have you seen the movie? They looked the same way.” Dashiell shrugged. “It’s quite fun to watch. All the Afros flying around.”
“So maybe our cast, their hair looks . . . I don’t know . . . too twenty-first century?” Casey said. “Maybe we could work on that, I think.”
“What are you suggesting?” Brianna said. “Hair doesn’t grow that much in two months.”
“Right. You’re right,” Casey said. “But there are wigs? You know, seventies-style wigs? We had a theatrical-wig store where I used to live. I’m sure we could find one here . . . ”
Brianna laughed, picturing Harrison with an Afro. “Might work. I like it. And yeah, there is a shop in Ridgeport on Sunrise Highway. It’s called Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow. I don’t know the phone number.”
“Brianna, that’s an excellent idea!” Dashiell exclaimed. “You’re a certified genius.”
“It was Casey’s idea,” Brianna said.
“I’ll call.” Casey scribbled something on a sheet of paper. “Oh—Dashiell! The school has Wi-Fi, right? What if you rigged the new lighting computer to it? If I keep a laptop backstage, we could network them and both work the cues.”
Dashiell nodded. “Depends on the software. I’ll check.”
“Great.” Casey stood up, pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, and made her way across the seats toward the aisle. “Ridgeport, please. The number for Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow . . .”
“She is the bomb,” Dashiell said, but his approving grin quickly vanished. “I mean, after you. You have, um, the greater bombness.” He edged toward the aisle. “I’ll . . . go check the software now . . . ”
Brianna watched him go. Lately, Dashiell had been acting like this a lot. Maybe he was crushing on Casey. . . .
Casey was impressing everyone. She was sharp. She had spine behind that timid exterior. Mr. Levin was beaming. Charles was in raptures. She even forced Dashiell into grammar hell.
Could this possibly be the same person? Casey obviously had had some leadership experience somewhere. But Brianna didn’t ever remember her talking about it. Which was weird. Wouldn’t it be one of the first topics of conversation?
“Peace and love!” came Kyle’s voice from the stage. “Make love, not war!”
“Kyle, put me down!”
Brianna looked up. Kyle had lifted Lori high over his head and was trying to get her to sit on his shoulders. Brianna fought back the pit-of-the-stomach feeling that said, That could have been me.
Lori, however, looked scared.
“Cut!” Reese called out. “Stop!”
“Let her down, Kyle,” Mr. Levin called out, standing at the lip of the stage. “Look, guys, this play is not just goofy movement, dumb jokes, and nice songs. It’s not That ’70s Show. It means something.”
“Godspell means Gospel,” Lori volunteered. “Good news.”
“We’re supposed to be like a band of brothers and sisters,” Becky spoke up. “Sharing stuff.”
“Stuff?” Mr. Levin said. “What stuff?”
“Love . . . ” Jamil mumbled. “Faith?”
“Yes!” Mr. Levin replied, leaping onstage. “Also truth and fun and uncorrupted youth—all those things in the middle of a loveless world. The first part of the play is triumphant. Innocent. Trusting. Joyous.”
“Woo-hoooo!” Kyle shouted, kicking his good leg into the air. “Dudes. God save the people . . . et cetera!”
“As Jesus, you enter in the middle of the first number, Kyle,” Mr. Levin said. “And you enter as a child. A representation of purity and goodness. Until your baptism, you are shirtless and shoeless.”
“Shirtless?” Kyle said, dropping to the floor and doing push-ups. “Gotta work on my pecs. One . . . two . . . three . . . ”
Reese began fanning herself. “I think I’m going to have a stroke.”
“Kyle, please . . . ” Mr. Levin said. “Pay attention.”
Charles noticed he wasn’t sneezing anymore. That was a good sign. It meant the paint in the costume/prop room was finally dry. Not that you could even see the paint job. The shelves were crammed full, and the remaining wall space was covered by file cabinets, stacked boxes, and racks. Even the revered poster of the Ridgeport High production of Into the Woods autographed by Stephen Sondheim (comment: “One of the best productions I have seen. Period.”) was temporarily put into storage. It had all happened so fast—Mr. Ippolito had had the room replastered and painted over the weekend, and Casey and the Charlettes had stacked everything before homeroom and during lunch and study halls today, Monday.
Charles went back to his task, typing labels into the database on his laptop. Casey had bought adhesive labels, and as soon as he printed them out, every single item would be labeled, categorized, inventoried. Charles was sure that Ridgeport’s props had never come close to being this organized.
Casey was awesome, and he worshipped her.
Vijay stuck his head in from the hallway. “The goddess has arrived.”
As Casey walked in, Charles grabbed a rubber chicken from the shelf and fell to his knees. “O Savior of the Stage, we give this offering in gratitude and awe.”
“Stop,” Casey said, turning deep red. “Um, I just wanted to ask, can we make some extra space? We’re getting wigs. Like Victor Garber’s Afro in the movie? Very seventies. The wig shop is giving us two of them, three sets of pigtails, and a ponytail. They wanted to charge, but I offered them a full-page ad in the program instead. I hope that’s okay?”
“Casey, you are the boss—of course it’s okay! You go, girl!” Charles said. “How’s the rehearsal going?”
Casey sat. “Well, I don’t like to talk behind people’s backs . . . ”
“Darlin’, backstage is made for gossip,” Charles replied. “Either you start now or I will have to train you.”
“Okay. Um, well . . . ” Casey furrowed her brow thoughtfully, as if in the middle of an exam. “Kyle’s doing push-ups. Corbin seems troubled. Reese’s clothes are falling off. Ethan seems to be in slow motion. And Harrison’s on the verge of a heart attack.”
“Ha! You’re good at this!” Charles cried out, clapping his hands. “Okay, these are good signs. They mean the show will be fantastic. Bad rehearsal, great show—the old saying. But no matter what, remember, the Charlettes will make sure it all looks fabulous.”
Casey glanced at a sheet of paper on the table, where Charles had drawn a sketch of the Jesus character, dressed in a Superman T-shirt and bound by red ribbons to a chain-link fence. “What’s this?” Casey asked.
“The crucifixion scene,” Charles replied. “Jesus on the fence. I’m thinking lots of red, flowing ribbons, bright and symbolic without being gory . . . ”
“Do we have a fence?”
“The Charlettes will paint a backdrop.”
Casey thought a moment then smiled. “I have an idea. Can I show you?”
“I am your acolyte,” Charles said.
She stood and led Charles into the hallway. They hurried down a corridor to the school’s rear exit, which led outside to a dark, fenced-in area where the trash was stored in three large Dumpsters. Construction debris was piled against the wall, casting ominous shadows.
“If you want to make out with me, Casey,” Charles said, “I can think of a few sexier spots. Like behind the steam tables in the cafeteria.”
Casey blushed. Turning away from him, she leaned over a pile of bricks and rattled a chain-link fence. It was enormous, at least ten feet high. “I was thinking . . . maybe this is a dumb idea . . . do you think we can get this into the wings?”
Charles glanced from the fence to the small school entrance door. “Uh . . . no, it’s not a dumb idea. In fact, I thought of it myself. I even talked to Mr. Ippolito about it, but he didn’t like the idea. And I think he was right. I took a closer look and I was like, ‘Gah, what are you thinking?’ (A) It’s filthy and rusty, and (B) it would stain the costumes, and (C) I doubt the school has insurance against gangrene, and (D) it would never fit through the door, and (F) it weighs a ton.”
“You skipped E.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Look, we could clean off the rust,” Casey said. “There are products for that. And it would look perfect . . . . ”
“You want to try Mr. Ippolito again? Be my guest. But take some NoDoz before you go. Unless you’re dying to hear about his experience as the Tree in The Wizard of Oz in 1492. Look, doll, the Charlettes have great artistic abilities. At least I hope they do.”
“They do,” Casey agreed. “But the fence would be more realistic.”
“No offense—ha, that’s a pun—but don’t get grandiose. It can backfire on you. Personally, I like that in a girl. You remind me of me, which is one of the reasons I see Dr. Fink. He specializes in grandiose teenagers. Now I have to get back. You do what you need to do.”
“Okay,” Casey said, a little baffled. Sometimes she wasn’t sure what Charles was talking about. “See you in the auditorium.”
Mr. Ippolito, the janitor, leaned back, putting his feet on the cracked Formica desk. “Yeah, Chasey, you’re gonna love it here.”
“Casey,” Casey said gently.
“I used to be an actor in this high school, too, y’know. Yep.” He leaned forward meaningfully, as if to give his words proper weight. “I played the role of Cord Elam. In Oklahoma! I owned Cord Elam. You know the role?”
Casey nodded. She’d never heard of it. “That’s so great. So you really understand us. The custodian in my old school? He wouldn’t let us use a stepladder in Carousel—”
Mr. Ippolito sat bolt upright. “For the Starkeeper? You gotta have a ladder for that scene.”
“He banned plastic retractable knives for West Side Story.”
“Awww, no!” Mr. Ippolito groaned. “What’d he expect the actors to do, slap each other to death?”
“I’m glad we didn’t do Godspell there . . . ” Casey’s heart was fluttering so hard, she was sure he could tell. She wasn’t used to doing this kind of thing, but gentle prodding was not nearly as bad as lying, and she had been doing a lot of that lately. If she could get Mr. Ippolito invested in the idea of the best possible play . . . “He would never have let us build realistic scenes. Like in the crucifixion . . . ”
“That’s a great scene! The movie, with the cop cars in the background, Judas selling him out . . . ”
Casey swallowed hard. “I know Charles has already asked you about the fence outside?”
“In the back? Yeah, but he didn’t mention what it was for.”
“It’s an amazing scene . . . ”
“Very dramatic,” Mr. Ippolito said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “The climax, if you will.”
“I think if we fixed it up a bit, got rid of the rust . . . ”
Mr. Ippolito sat back, mulling it over. For a long time he didn’t say a word. “I wanted them to use a real surrey in Oklahoma!, and a real horse. I knew where to get them. A real show horse, one that wouldn’t mess up the stage or freak out. But they wouldn’t let me do it. They used that stupid cardboard . . . ”
His voice trailed off, and he suddenly sat forward. “You know something, Kathy? I’m going to go to bat for you on this one. Let me take a look at it and figure out the best strategy . . . ”
He leaped from his chair and opened the door for Casey.
As she walked out, she spotted Charles. He had been standing just outside the door, and he must have been listening in, because his face showed utter disbelief.