“Are you done yet?” Bowie asks.
“Almost.”
We’re in the computer lab. Bowie’s finished fighting with their Excel spreadsheet, but I’m still working on a list of equipment we need for the Mario Kart tournament. I’m pretty sure we can borrow it from the Theatre Department, now that Dr. L and I are talking again.
“I need food before the show.”
“Okay, okay.” I save my work and pack up so we can make a DQ run. Bowie gets some chicken fingers while I get a little Oreo Blizzard; we’re still doing our usual post-show Perkins, even though I’m not in the show, so this is more a snack than anything else.
It’s the sort of spring day that feels like summer came early: sunny, in the seventies, though still cool in the shade. We drive with the windows down—and my hearing aids off—and the wind feels like freedom on my face. Like the sky is vast and boundless, and our futures even more so.
Bowie’s smirking as we hit a stoplight.
“What?”
“You’re smiling.”
“Am not.”
“It’s good to see.”
I roll my eyes. “I guess I’m doing a little better.”
“Good.”
It turns out, even if they’re a little on the weird side, the GSA crowd is pretty cool. Braden and I might actually become friends, despite his constant broing. And it turns out Nadine’s parents own the little Middle Eastern Market in Gladstone that Dad’s always getting Persian groceries from.
I still miss Liam. Maybe I always will. But I’m doing okay.
We eat in the parking lot, and I’m careful to keep the soft serve off my button-up. It feels weird to be wearing normal clothes instead of show blacks on opening night. Weirder still to have tickets to the show, even if Dr. L gave them to me for free.
Still, maybe dairy wasn’t the best choice for a snack, because my stomach starts doing little flips when a familiar black Honda pulls up next to Bowie’s car.
Cam emerges from the driver’s side; Philip gets out the other, clutching a brown paper bag with the Big Burger logo on it. Cam sidles around the car and wraps his arm around Philip’s waist, as they both head in.
Bowie’s nostrils flare. “Those two are toxic.”
I shrug and open the door. “Come on. We’d better go before the good seats are all taken.”
Good seats being ones where I can see Liam the clearest. I hand over our tickets, take a couple programs, pick spots at the northeast corner.
“That’s pretty cool.” Bowie points at the set. It was only half-finished when I got fired, but now it’s done, and it’s phenomenal: the skyline of Illyria, with windows made of frosted gels twinkling like candlelight, courtesy of the flickering LEDs behind them. All built out of recycled flats.
“Yeah. It is.” Denise has outdone herself. I wonder who else helped. Did Liam keep showing up to work days without me?
I thumb through the program; to my surprise, Dr. L didn’t take me off the stage manager spot, though she did add Laken underneath.
Laken’s a first-year girl who started showing up to our work days. She’s heavyset, with clear-framed glasses and the kind of face that’s super friendly when she’s smiling and super judgey if she raises an eyebrow. She said she wanted to learn about sound and lights, but it looks like she got a huge promotion. I scan the catwalk, but I can’t spot her; she’s even shorter than me, and no one can see me in the catwalk unless I stand at the rail and lean out.
The house slowly fills with students and teachers and parents. Braden snags a seat house left, but not before giving me and Bowie a big wave that nearly knocks over his neighbor.
I wave back, trying not to laugh.
“I’m gonna run to the water fountain,” I say with a little over five minutes to curtain. My DQ has left me all thirsty. “Be right back.”
I leave my jacket on my seat and weave through the incoming audience. There’s a small crowd still milling about, flipping through programs, chatting with each other or playing with their phones, even as the house crew tries to corral them inside.
I drink my fill, wipe off my mouth, turn—and am immediately knocked off my feet by someone slamming into my shoulder. Cam rushes past, without even pausing to apologize. His costume, a big plum-colored dress, is only half-done, and his wig is a mess.
He runs right into the bathroom while I pick myself up and readjust my hearing aids.
Philip’s not far behind. He’s in the hunter-green waistcoat and puffy shorts of Sir Toby; he’s got wrinkles drawn onto his forehead and a big bushy mustache spirit-gummed to his upper lip.
Philip looks like he wants to run into the bathroom after Cam, but before he can, Denise strides up in show blacks, a walkie talkie at her waist and a headset around her neck.
“What’s going on?” she asks, then notices me. “Oh. Hey, Jackson.”
“Hey.”
“What happened to Cameron?” She pulls Philip aside so he’s not blocking the bathroom. Some of the audience is staring at him; actors are supposed to stay backstage once they’re in costume, backstage being the hall outside Dr. L’s office, with black drapes to block it from view. Otherwise it breaks the illusion.
“Somethingsomething fine after dinner, then he got dressed and all of a sudden . . .”
“You had Big Burger,” I say. I hadn’t thought twice about it when I saw them, I was too distracted, but—
“Yeah, he’d never been.”
“Big Burger has onions in their patties.”
Philip’s eyes go so wide the white powder on his eyebrows starts flaking off.
“Cam’s allergic to onions,” I tell Denise.
“Do we need to call an ambulance?” she asks. “Maybe something-something EpiPen.”
“It doesn’t kill him,” I say.
“It makes him sick,” Philip adds.
I meet Denise’s eyes and mouth Code Brown.
Denise groans and grasps her forehead, massaging her temple with her thumb. “Great. Just great. Curtain’s in five. Will he be all right by then?”
Philip shakes his head, sending the ends of his mustache flopping. “It could be hours.”
“Poor guy.” Denise stares at the bathroom for a moment, then turns to me. “Well, better go take your seat, Jackson. Not sure what we’ll . . .”
She stops mid-sentence.
I know people talk about light bulbs going off, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, until now.
“Jackson.”
“Yeah?”
“You still remember all the blocking?”
“Yeah . . .”
“You have the show memorized?”
I nod. After all those hours helping Liam rehearse, how could I forget?
“Great. Come on.”
“Huh?”
“You’re going on.”
“I can’t!”
“Why not?” She takes my arm and starts leading me backstage, Philip trailing behind us.
“Dr. L kicked me off the show.” Just because she apologized to me, it doesn’t mean I’m allowed back in.
“This is an emergency.” She waves her hand. “I’ll deal with Tracy. You get into costume.”
“But Cam’s still in his.”
“We’ve got plenty of dresses. We’ll figure something out. Come on.”