The Backstagers and the Theater of the Ancients (Backstagers #2)

by Andy Mientus

  They dashed up the stairs and through the stage door to find Bailey Brentwood in a heated argument with Genesius’s resident star actors (and directors, producers, and choreographers), the identical twins Blake and Kevin McQueen. Hunter and Beckett stood nearby, clipboards in hand, ready to start rehearsal but unsure of how to handle this face-off.

  “Ms. Brentwood, if you weren’t prepared to accept the role, then why did you waste our time auditioning?” Blake asked, his eyebrows so high, they were nearly touching the stage lights hanging overhead.

  “I told you, I didn’t understand that it wasn’t right. But now I know that I shouldn’t be playing this part,” Bailey replied.

  “I think you are being awfully dramatic,” Kevin said. “And normally I love that, but we have a show to do and you are our leading lady!”

  “I’m sorry,” Bailey said. “But I can’t play this role in good conscience. Either we choose another show, or I have to quit.”

  The identical McQueens let out identical shrieks.

  “We can’t just choose another show for you, Bailey,” Blake shouted. “The rights have already been purchased! Posters printed, T-shirts ordered—it is too late!”

  “Then I’m sorry,” Bailey said, calmly but with determination. “You’ll have to find a different actress. And the right one this time.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Kevin moaned. Bailey looked away, sorry that she had to make things complicated, but sure that she was doing the right thing. That’s when she spotted Adrienne and Aziz looking on.

  “Oh my gosh, this is perfect.” She took Adrienne by the hand and led her reluctantly into the fray. “Now, Adrienne, be honest, didn’t you say that it bothered you, seeing hearing actors play Deaf roles in plays and TV and stuff?”

  “I don’t want to get in the middle of something,” Adrienne said.

  “You’re not, I’m just asking for your opinion,” Bailey assured her. “Isn’t it offensive to you and your community?”

  “Well . . . the signing is never any good, and obviously hearing people can’t really understand what our experience is like, so the acting suffers, too. If I’m honest, yeah, it is kind of offensive.”

  “And didn’t you also say that you always wanted to be onstage but didn’t think there were any roles for you?”

  “. . . well, yeah.”

  “Then there you go!” Bailey was sure she had cracked the case. She turned to the flabbergasted McQueens. “Here is your Tammy!”

  Adrienne looked at Bailey with a mixture of shock and admiration, because it was never an idea that had seemed possible.

  Blake took the kinds of deep breaths he had heard about on his mother’s Stress Management for Managers tapes and tried to remain calm. “Tammy has been played by a long line of rock singers, because she has to sing her internal monologue in rock-and-roll songs. It’s tradition. Sacrificing the integrity of the music for a new . . . concept would be blasphemy.”

  “I don’t know,” Kevin said, his face crumpled in thought. “Aren’t we always aiming to break new ground in the theater? Wouldn’t it be amazing to try something that’s never been done before?” His brother looked at him as if they were playing the betrayal scene in a classical play.

  “Blake’s right,” Adrienne said. “I don’t think I’d sound so great trying to sing this score. I’m not much for music, as you can imagine.” She smiled warmly, hoping to break the tension a bit.

  “Well, I just know that I can’t play this role. So I don’t know how to move forward,” Bailey said.

  Hunter and Beckett were frozen on the edge of the quarrel, just as unsure of how to solve this. Hunter thought of what Timothy and Jamie would say when they returned from their college tour to find that there would be no St. Genesius show this spring.

  Beckett was proud of Bailey for taking a stand, and he couldn’t leave her out to dry on her own, taking blame for canceling the show when she was only trying to do the right thing. So Beckett, who normally avoided confrontation at all costs, spoke up.

  “What if they share the role?”

  Blake, Kevin, Hunter, Bailey, and Adrienne all looked at him as if he had just spoken in an alien language.

  “What . . . on earth . . . do you mean?” Blake sighed, hanging on by a thread.

  “Well . . .” Beckett realized he had blurted the suggestion out before he had fully thought it through, but he couldn’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. “What if Adrienne plays the part, and Bailey provides the voice? Like from the wings or something? Like a voice-over?”

  Bailey always looked at Beckett in a special kind of way, but in this moment, her eyes widened with an affection for Beckett that surprised even her.

  “Yes!” she cried, elated. “That way, neither the sign language nor the singing would have to suffer. I’m in if you are, Adrienne.”

  Adrienne considered it for the briefest moment, before she couldn’t contain her smile anymore and said, “I’m in.”

  “Great thinking, Beckett!” Kevin cheered. “That’s absolutely genius! Now can we just put this behind us and get started already?” He turned hopefully to Blake, but Blake failed to match his brother’s enthusiasm. In fact, he looked furious.

  “Maybe if Beckett is so genius, he should direct the show himself!” Blake spat, a little too loudly. Now the rest of the actors began to notice the fight playing out onstage. Blake felt each pair of eyes on him and it made him all the more angry. He tossed his Tammy script to the ground with great ceremony and stormed off the stage, down into the audience, toward the back of the theater.

  “Blake, come on, you’re being difficult,” Kevin called after him. Blake stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Difficult?! When we are changing the entire concept of a musical that has been cast a certain way for decades without controversy, who is being difficult? But it doesn’t matter, I see now that despite my years of grueling work, making the St. Genesius Drama Club the beacon of artistic excellence it is, my directorial vision is second to that of some . . . some . . . BACKSTAGER!” He started toward the exit once again. When he reached the door, he turned one last time, narrowed his eyes, and shouted, “Good LUCK!”

  The room of actors gasped. It was well known that to utter the words “Good luck” instead the customary “Break a leg” inside a theater was a curse of untold dark power. Blake spun on his heels with a flourish and slammed the auditorium door shut behind him. There was silence. Beckett turned to the Kevin, flushed with guilt.

  “Kevin, I’m . . . really sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Kevin replied, still shaken from the first disagreement he had ever had with his twin. “If he can’t move forward with the theater . . . the theater will move forward without him. And he was right about one thing—you should be directing Tammy.” Beckett staggered back a few steps.

  “No way, I don’t know the first thing about directing.”

  “Your idea about them sharing the role is the best directorial idea I’ve heard in years,” Kevin said. Bailey stepped forward.

  “You’ve been around theaters your entire life, Beck,” she said. “You know this. You’ve got this.”

  Beckett was terrified, but knowing Bailey believed in him lit a fire inside him that could power a million light boards.

  “You wouldn’t mind, Kevin?” Beckett asked.

  The McQueens had been selecting, casting, producing, starring in, and directing the Genesius musicals since before Beckett had become a student there. It was unimaginable that anyone else should take the helm, but Kevin told him, “I actually never loved the directing bit. I always would rather have focused on the craft of my acting. But Blake, as you can see, can be a bit . . . passionate about the overall vision. If you’ll allow me to stay on in my role as Tammy’s father, the lieutenant, I shall pass over my director’s script to you.”

  He extended the script to Beckett. Bailey, Adrienne, Hunter, Aziz, and a roomful of actors leaned in eagerly. Beckett winced at the unusual attention he was r
eceiving.

  “So?” Kevin asked. “What do you say?”

  CHAPTER 4

  One thousand. One with three zeros after. Jory was huddled in a corner of the wings by the prop closet, poring over the number below the Instasnap photo of him and his friends on the coaster. No part of him believed it was possible, and yet there the number was, signifying that ONE THOUSAND individuals had found his photo and liked it enough to double-tap it. He had no idea how this was happening or why, but it filled him with the kind of satisfaction he only got from making Hunter laugh or saving the world. That satisfaction turned to sickly dread, however, when that dark little voice began its whispers again.

  “BET YOU FEEL PROUD OF YOURSELF, DON’T YOU, JORY? WELL, THAT’S A FOOLISH THING TO DO. LIKE REO SAID, YOU PROBABLY GOT REPOSTED BY SOME BLOG OR SOMETHING—A FLUKE. AND EVEN THEN, THE FOLLOWERS ARE PROBABLY LIKING THE PHOTO BECAUSE OF YOUR FRIENDS. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU WOULD GET THAT KIND OF RESPONSE IF YOU POSTED A PICTURE OF JUST YOU? ONE WAY TO FIND OUT . . .”

  Jory began to spiral into self-doubt because he knew the voice was right. He immediately felt embarrassed for letting the photo excite him. After all, he was the most average kid in the world and a Backstager at that. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could be onstage in front of a few hundred people. Why did he think he could be on the world stage in front of thousands like some of those Instasnap stars?

  He put his phone in his pocket. Tammy rehearsal was about to start and he needed to get to work on his costume sketches. He heard a vague commotion from onstage—maybe they had started already. Still, the thought wouldn’t leave his mind. There was only one way to know if his newfound online celebrity had been a fluke. He’d made it about forty-five seconds without his phone when he took it back out, found a nice pool of work light, and opened his phone’s front-facing camera.

  It was nothing short of a horror show. Usually, Jory didn’t think too much about how he looked. He knew that all of his features added up to something that made Hunter notice him and that was enough. Looking into the camera lens and seeing himself reflected back in the screen, however, Jory noticed a million little flaws that he had never seen before. His skin looked oily and he had a fresh pimple brewing on his forehead. He had skipped the barber the last couple of weeks to work on his backstage mapping and so his hair was looking fluffy and uncool. He didn’t grow much facial hair, since he was just a sophomore, but the few little hairs sprouting on his chin absolutely revolted him. He closed out the camera in a deep panic. He’d never felt more ugly in his life.

  “WELL, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” The dark little voice had returned for more. “TOO CHICKEN TO POST SOMETHING ELSE BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW STUPID YOU’LL LOOK, RIGHT? SEE, YOU AREN’T SPECIAL AFTER ALL. DEFINITELY NOT SPECIAL ENOUGH TO OWN THAT NOTEBOOK.”

  Jory clasped his hands over his ears, but it wouldn’t stop the voice. He knew that only one thing could. He reopened his phone’s camera.

  It took him some thirty-five tries, but eventually, Jory managed to tilt his face in such a way that the light from above obscured the pimples and stubble. He scanned through a few of Instasnap’s built-in filters and selected one that added enough fade and contrast to make him look . . . somewhat handsome? It didn’t look like a picture of Jory, per se, but it looked like a picture of someone who wouldn’t make people scream and run in panic, so he thought, It’s now or never. He uploaded the selfie, added some inane caption about it being the “first day of school” for Tammy, hit post, and felt a wave of anxiety wash over him.

  He stared at the screen for many breathless moments, second-guessing his aesthetic appeal all the while, but then something amazing happened. Likes came ticking in. Five. Thirty. One hundred twelve. Two hundred fifty. His eyes widened. He began to smile. Comments started to pop in below the photo, things like “QT” and “Can I borrow your face?” and strings of heart-eyes emojis. That’s when his voice returned, but this time, it actually had something kind to say.

  “WOW, LOOK AT THAT, IT WASN’T A FLUKE. THEY ACTUALLY LIKE YOU, JORY. WITH NUMBERS LIKE THIS, WHO KNOWS, YOU COULD BE FAMOUS. CONGRATULATIONS, JORY. GOOD WORK, JORY. JORY. JORY.”

  “Jory!” Another voice broke the spell that had fallen over him. He looked up from his phone to see Hunter standing in the wing. “You in there?” Hunter chuckled.

  “Oh yeah, sorry, just . . . yeah.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Um . . . sorry. Give it to me one more time?”

  “Beckett is going to be directing Tammy! And Adrienne and Bailey are sharing the role! And Blake McQueen just QUIT, but Kevin is staying on! It was all kinds of shady for a minute but then Beck swept in and was like, ‘I have a plan,’ and Kevin was all like, ‘That’s genius,’ and then Blake was like, ‘Well, if it’s so GENIUS . . .’ Jory? You don’t seem psyched.”

  Jory noticed in that moment that he had glazed over, even as Hunter told his story, wondering what was going on with his Instasnap. It was like his phone was screaming from his pocket, drowning out everything else, including his own boyfriend.

  “No, I am! That’s . . . that’s amazing! Beckett? What?!”

  “Yeah, it was pretty crazy. Wish you’d seen Blake storm off. What are you doing back here?”

  “Oh, I was about to get started on my sketches but then I was messing around on my phone. Check this out.” Jory took out his phone and opened Instasnap. “Out of nowhere, I suddenly have, like, almost a thousand followers and all these likes. I thought it was just a fluke with the roller coaster picture, but then I tried again—”

  “Whoa!” Hunter said, his eyes widening at Jory’s selfie. “Look at this guy! Fashion!”

  Jory was immediately humiliated. “Oh, I was just being stupid. I wanted to check if it was just the one picture that was getting likes. I didn’t know what else to post.”

  “It’s cute! Just don’t forget about old me when all your fans are telling you how adorable you are!” Hunter said, and Jory let out a chuckle. Maybe this was all really stupid. “Anyway,” Hunter continued, “we’re taking five to let the Blake thing blow over, but then we’re getting started. Lemme know how those sketches are coming!”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Hunter strode off toward the stage. Jory enjoyed a moment of quiet before the voice interrupted it, louder than ever.

  “HE DOESN’T GET IT! HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT A BIG DEAL IT IS, TO GAIN A FOLLOWING SO QUICKLY. HE CALLED IT ‘CUTE.’ HE MUST BE SO TOTALLY OUT OF TOUCH. DOESN’T HE EVER THINK ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN BACKSTAGER STUFF? DOESN’T HE KNOW THERE IS A WHOLE WORLD OUT THERE THAT DOESN’T CARE ABOUT MUSICALS?”

  Jory tried to shake the voice off, but the damage had been done. It made Jory wonder for real: Was there a world outside of the backstage that he was missing out on?

  CHAPTER 5

  Hunter called the group back from their five-minute break and the actors stood in a circle around Beckett expectantly. It wasn’t until that moment that Beckett fully realized what he’d gotten himself into. He would be steering this ship forward into waters that no one had ever sailed before. Even a seasoned director would have trouble incorporating sign language into a show, but a novice? With no preparation ahead of time?

  “Uh . . . hi everyone,” Beckett croaked sheepishly. “So . . . I guess we should get started. We should start with . . .” He scanned the circle and saw the eyes of each actor grow a bit dimmer. They could sense his fear and inexperience. A company of actors needs a leader, and Beckett had always been more comfortable as a cog in the wheel. “Well . . .where should we start?”

  Kevin McQueen stepped forward. “Let’s start at the very beginning,” he suggested.

  “A very good place to start,” Beckett agreed. He opened his director’s script and was dismayed to see that the page marked prologue was blank, save for a few bits of stage direction. “Why are there no lines?” Beckett asked.

  “Tammy is a rock opera,” Kevin explained, as patiently as he could. “A lot of th
e story is told just through music. If you read the stage directions, you’ll see that the prologue tells the story of how Tammy grows up unseen and unheard, longing to connect with the larger world around her but unable to speak their language.”

  “Right, okay,” Beckett said, his mind working as hard as it could. He looked to Adrienne, who nodded encouragingly as she adjusted her hearing aids, ready to get to work. Beckett took a deep breath. “So Adrienne, it begins with Tammy’s earliest memories of trying to connect with her father, the lieutenant. You sit on the ground and pretend to be an infant, and try to get the attention of your father. Kevin, you stand here with your back to baby Tammy. Let’s hear the beginning of the music.”

  He nodded to the student accompanist at the nearby piano, who dove into the music for the prologue passionately. Later, when the orchestra was added in tech, it would be a symphony of wailing guitars, throbbing bass, and pounding drums, but even stripped down to a rehearsal piano, it sounded so fresh, so unlike a traditional musical. Beckett thought to himself, I would actually listen to this!

  Kevin assumed his role as the cold, militant father, standing straight as a board, jutting his jaw forward, and puffing out his chest. He went about the tasks outlined in the stage directions—everyday things like getting ready for work, reading the news, and cooking breakfast, all the while ignoring Tammy, who groped for him like a lonely child. It was heartbreaking and, combined with the music, thrilling.

  There was a particularly grand swell in the music, and Beckett saw in his script that the next stage direction called for Tammy to grow up into her young adult self.

  “Hold! Great!” Beckett said, bringing the music and stage action to a halt. He joined Adrienne on the floor to talk through the next beat of the prologue. “So on that change in the music just there, that’s when you’ll grow up into the teenage Tammy.” Adrienne looked at Beckett quizzically.

  “Um, I would love to,” she said, “but you know, a musical cue isn’t going to work so well this time around.” She smiled, but Beckett was instantly mortified. He’d just asked a Deaf actress to take her cue off of a specific sound—not exactly the most sensitive move.