23

“BRIANNA!” CASEY CALLED OUT, HER VOICE dying in the dry autumn night air. “Brianna, stop!”

She was out of breath when she caught up to her on Porterfield Avenue. “Are you okay?”

“Did you e-mail the parents?” Brianna snapped, not breaking stride.

“No,” Casey said as she tried to keep pace.

“Then it seems you have a job to do.”

“Come on, Brianna. Look, you were good. So good. I know you can do it. You’re a total pro.”

“A professional moron.”

“What is it? Are you comparing your voice to Lori’s? It’s different. Yours is just as fun to listen to. I thought the rehearsal was going well.”

“Well, I think I suck,” Brianna said. “This wasn’t my idea, it was yours, Casey. You got us into this mess, and if I were you, I would not want to be responsible for an audience full of parents showing up when there’s no show on account of religious reasons!”

“Brianna, I don’t think you can do a great job, I know it. Okay, so maybe you won’t be one hundred and two percent perfect, but who is? Kyle is still figuring out his right foot from his left. Do you think anyone cares? This is such an opportunity, Brianna. You thought you couldn’t act because you were student directing. And now? You can save the show. You can prevent everyone’s work from being wasted. Your picture will be on the Wall. No one will ever forget this, Brianna. Especially me.”

Brianna stopped and looked right into Casey’s eyes. “I live for this club. I have since long before you got here. When it looked like we had to fold, and you suggested I do the role, I agreed for the sake of the group. I tried to pull this show out of a hat. I put my ass on the line, and I have every right to take it back. I know when I can or can’t handle something, Casey. I know who I am. And if you know who you are, you’ll get out of my face and be a responsible stage manager.”

Casey wasn’t expecting that. She felt suddenly short of breath. “Well, I guess we’re very different people,” was all she could think to say.

“We are different, Casey.” Brianna’s face was fiery red. “I like things out in the open. I like it when my friends know everything about me. I don’t like it when they do things behind my back.”

“Behind your . . . ?” Casey had to reach deep inside for this one, to switch gears from the play. This was about Kyle. The play was on the line, and they were out here arguing about Kyle! “Um, Brianna, do you think I tried to steal Kyle from you? Do you think Kyle cares about you anyway? Or me? No offense, Brianna, but he doesn’t. Not either of us. Just Reese.”

“Duh. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though, was it?”

“Do you really want to know what happened between Kyle and me? Because I’ll tell you right now—”

“Spare me the details. This is more than just about Kyle, Casey. It’s about hiding things. And keeping secrets. About not letting in the people who care about you. It’s always been about that, Casey.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. You tell me, Casey. I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. What are you hiding?”

Casey took a deep breath. She looked up the long expanse of Porterfield Avenue toward the front of the school, an absurdly grand columned entrance to a boxy building that looked empty and desolate.

She looked at her watch. Six thirty-five. Her cell phone was vibrating. This was pushing it.

“Okay,” Casey said. “You’re right. I do have a few things to tell you.”

“Make it fast. It’s cold out here.”

“First of all, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Casey said. “Second of all, my name isn’t Casey . . .”

 

Harrison watched Kyle lope around the stage, making ape noises, then drop to the floor and do thirty push-ups at breakneck speed, then leap as high as his ankle allowed a few times. This was followed by a repeated nasal “Meow meow meow meow . . . ” starting in a falsetto and traveling down the scale into the lowest bass range of his voice. Harrison had taught him all these exercises during the rehearsal process, but he’d never once seen Kyle doing them.

The truth was, Kyle didn’t need the exercises. He was doing them because he was nervous. He didn’t need that either. His life was about to change, big-time, and he wouldn’t know what hit him.

Harrison brushed some lint off his costume and adjusted the suspenders. Everyone else was running around like crazy, crying and jabbering and shaking and whispering into one another’s ears. Reese had pulled her top down over her right shoulder so Charles could smear it with Tiger Balm, nearly exposing her breast and angling herself for the maximum attention to that detail. The ointment made the whole place smell like a locker room.

In a moment it all faded to nothing.

Mr. Levin was in front of the curtain. Harrison could hear him tapping the mike and saying, “Testing, testing.”

He felt a sharp pinch on his butt and didn’t have to turn around to know it was Reese. He slapped at her hand blindly, without looking, and made contact. Good reflexes.

“Ow,” Reese said.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Levin announced, “I want to thank you for coming out on this cold night. I have an announcement to make. I wish we could have told you earlier, but we found out only this evening. Unfortunately, Lori Terrell cannot be with us tonight.”

There must have been a lot of kids in the audience, because Kyle could hear them murmuring their disappointment.

“Instead,” Mr. Levin went on, “her role will be played by Brianna Glaser.”

A smattering of applause filtered in before Mr. Levin shouted, “So let’s give it up for Godspell!”

For a moment Harrison felt as if something were completely wrong. Like he couldn’t breathe and his arms were numb. Like if he moved, he would crumple to the floor as if he’d been sacked by the entire defensive line of the RHS football team. “Breathe,” he heard Brianna whisper behind him. She emerged from the darkness, smiling, and squeezed his hand. At the opposite side of the stage, he could see Charles shooting everyone a thumbs-up with one hand and wiping his eyes with the other.

They were feelings he had before every show. He smiled. It was right.

The music began, and Harrison felt a palm clasping the back of his neck. “I kick left first?” a familiar voice asked. “In ‘All for the Best’?”

“Right first,” Harrison whispered. “Right.”

“Right,” Kyle said. “I’ll never remember it.”

“Well, break a leg, brother,” Harrison said as he stepped forward onto the stage. He hit his mark, a blue masking-tape X on the floor, as the curtain opened and a spotlight set him ablaze.