Later, I come out of the bathroom to what looks like an abandoned rehearsal hall. The tall windows show the late-afternoon darkness outside. My tactic of stalling until everyone else leaves seems to have worked. But then I spot Drew and Neeta standing by the main door with Marissa. They don’t notice me.
“We’ll tell the rest of the cast on Tuesday.” Drew’s voice carries in the empty room. “Renée says it’ll be great publicity. And being on a breakfast TV show will be fun for you.”
So there it is. Marissa’s going to do the appearance on Dad’s show. I’m not surprised, after how I performed—or didn’t—today. I’m not even that disappointed. I just want to go home. But I have to get past them. I don’t want to face Marissa after being busted for upstaging her.
I duck my head and dig for my phone in my backpack as I speed toward the door.
“Hey, Ellie,” Marissa calls. “Thanks for agreeing to do the tech rehearsal for me.”
She has that sheen of happiness people get when they’re holding back exciting news.
“No worries. Good luck with your test.”
“Rest up. Hydrate. Tech and dress rehearsals are intense.” Neeta wags a warning finger at me.
“It’s always great to get into the theater.” At least Drew sounds a positive note. “You’ll see, it makes a huge difference.”
Meaning maybe I’ll up my game there. “I can’t wait,” I say and hustle out of the building so they can get on with planning Marissa’s breakfast TV debut without me.
Out in the cold, I turn my phone back on. Instantly, a text pops up from Cassidy. You haven’t liked my post yet. All the cast party photos!!!
I haven’t liked it because I haven’t looked at it. I’m afraid that I’ll miss everyone in the shots too much. Or maybe that I won’t. Rossmere seems so long ago.
I keep walking and text, Have tech & dress, then opening Thurs. So busy. So behind on homework. :( Will check out post soon.
I’ve barely hit Send when my phone rings.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer, ducking into a coffee shop to get out of the cold.
“Hey, El. Good rehearsal?” He sounds rushed.
“Yeah, fine.” I’m not about to cough up all the grim details. “I’m nearly at the subway, so I’ll be home in fifteen.”
“I won’t be. That’s why I’m calling. Work thing.”
“It’s Sunday night.”
“I know. Sorry. There’s leftover butter chicken in the fridge.”
I get in line behind the other customers. I’d rather grab some “artisanal” sandwich and sit with a bunch of strangers than go eat leftovers in an empty condo. “Great.”
“Also, I talked to my producer about someone from Schooled coming on to the show.” He clears his throat. “The good news is Bev says we’ve got space on Wednesday morning…so…”
So that leaves the bad news. He knows. Renée probably called him right after she left the rehearsal hall. I have zero desire for sympathetic parent blabber. “I know, Dad. The bad news is it’s going to be Marissa, not me. It’s fine. Renée made her choice.”
The woman ahead of me orders three of the most convoluted drinks possible.
Dad goes on: “The thing is, El, I was the one who told Renée she should pick a song you’re not in.”
The woman says, “And make sure the grande is skinny.”
“What?” I leave the lineup and go stand by the window. “But last night you said she didn’t even know I was your daughter.”
“That was before I talked to Bev this morning. She gave the spot a green light, as long as we avoid anything that looks like conflict of interest. It’s station policy. Renée needed to know that before she picked someone.”
“Wait—before? When did you tell Renée?” A guy opens the door, letting in a gust of cold air.
“After I talked to Bev.” There’s a pause. “This morning. Before your rehearsal.”
“I thought you went for a run,” I say. Stupidly. Like it matters.
“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. It’s still great publicity for the play. You’ll get bigger audiences. Renée is very excited.”
“I bet.” It suddenly seems weird for Dad to be so comfortable talking about Renée. “Um, I’m heading into the subway now, so I’m going to lose the phone signal. Have a good work thing.”
I get back in line, order my sandwich and hot chocolate, and take them to the high counter against the window. I watch people and traffic go past as I eat. And think.
Renée knew coming into today’s run-through that I couldn’t do the TCTM spot. So her picking Marissa had nothing to do with Drew changing who played Piper today. It also had nothing to do with my upstaging Marissa. Renée probably didn’t even spot that—she wouldn’t know Camilla’s choreography.
It’s a small comfort. I still messed up. And Marissa’s still going to get all the attention.
My phone buzzes with another text from Cassidy. Send photos of your big-city theater for me! I’m suffering show withdrawal :(
It’s as if she’s finally remembered I’m doing a show too. I text that I will, then go to my phone’s photos. There’s the shot I took of the rehearsal hall on the day of the first read-through. I stare at it and try to put myself back into the music, the sunlight, the anticipation of that day. But it’s as if everything that’s happened since then has upstaged all that excitement.
I finish my food and join the stream of people hurrying through the chilly November night.