The show will go on. The opening night curtain will rise, as planned, tonight at eight o’clock. We are called, as planned, for seven. We the triumphant Invert Society meet up beforehand, as planned, in Union Square.
But Union Square is packed with protesters. The protesters huddle under umbrellas in hard icy rain that makes rivulets of ink run down the soggy cardboard of the wet signs being waved: STOP THE WAR ON IRAQ. NOT IN OUR NAME. NEW YORKERS SAY NO TO WAR. The ground is black and glossy with rain, the crowd so dense and umbrella-obscured that we the Invert Society struggle to find each other in it. When we do find each other, we can’t hear each other over the roaring and screaming and bucket-drum-thumping and so many different chants at once that you can’t make out any of the words. Someone squats on the ground drawing with colored chalk on the hexagonal asphalt paving blocks—a crime-scene corpse outline in purple, a peace sign in pink—but the rain washes it away before he can finish. We try to step over it but we miss and our shoes smear wet pink chalk across wet black asphalt and the guy yells at us.
N, checking her digital watch: “Holy shit, it’s 6:55.”
Christopher: “We have to run.”
F: “It’s too crowded to run.”
Theo: “It’s too crowded to move.”
On the eastern edge of the square, where we need to cross the street, there’s a metal police barrier flanked by cops in long blue-black raincoats that they wear open so we can see the black holstered guns on their hips. They glower at the crowd from under the rain-beaded plastic visors of their blue-black caps.
A hoarse voice says, “You can’t go that way.”
We don’t recognize the voice. But when we turn around, it’s Juniper Green, brandishing a NO BLOOD FOR OIL sign. To her left is Daylily Jones, holding a PEACE ON EARTH sign. To her right is Bottom, carrying no sign but only a black umbrella, which he holds over the heads of Daylily and Juniper, allowing himself to get rained on.
Juniper rasps, “They’ve blocked off this whole side of Union Square. You can’t cross.”
F: “But we have to cross.”
N: “How are we supposed to get to school?”
Daylily points with her PEACE ON EARTH sign. “You have to go all the way around. To the north end.” She’s even hoarser than Juniper. “If you want to wait, like, twenty minutes, we can all go together.”
F: “But we have to go now.”
N: “Call time is in three minutes.”
At last Bottom speaks—or tries to speak. His voice is wrecked, a rough husk of itself. We can’t even hear what he says.
N: [horrified] “Oh, shit.”
F: “Bottom, what have you done?”
Juniper says angrily, “His name is Peter.” She tosses her head, splattering us with her wet ponytail. “And he’s been leading the chants all day.”
Theo: “Nice going, Enjolras.”
Christopher, heartbreakingly naïve: “Can you still sing?”
N: “Why didn’t you save your voice?”
F: “Don’t you care about the show?”
Bottom croaks, “Some things are more important than the show.”
F: [shouting] “NOTHING is more important than the show!”
“It’s okay,” Daylily says brightly, or as brightly as she can with her ragged voice. “No one ever comes on Thursday night.”
“Also, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” says Juniper, “but we just went to war and people are protesting in the fucking streets.”
We the Invert Society give her the finger and shove our way back into the crowd.
We’re going to put on the best show Idlewild has ever seen.