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

by Andy Mientus

  Sasha dumped the rest of the bag onto the cave floor and the other tool mice stood on their hind legs, ready to pounce. He walked away from the pack with Friendo cuddled around his neck and as he blew two sharp whistles, the line of mice descended upon the pile of cheese puffs furiously and devoured them.

  Sasha sat on a nearby rock and gave Friendo some much-enjoyed belly scratching as he purred happily. Then, all at once, Friendo jolted upright in Sasha’s lap and darted away from him, back into the darkness of the cave. The whole pack of tool mice followed him into the darkness. Then Sasha heard a mysterious voice calling directly into his ear.

  “Sasha. Sasha.”

  It would have startled him if the voice weren’t so calm and melodious. Though it seemed to come from everywhere, he could feel the presence from which it emanated just behind him. He turned to see the very air of the cavern part and an absolutely stunning entity made of pure white light appear to him.

  “Sasha. Sasha.”

  The being extended their hand to him. They didn’t have many defining features to speak of, other than a general luminousness, though Sasha could make out the being’s face, which was one of youth and beauty, with a calm, open expression. Though they had only spoken Sasha’s name and extended a glowing hand, Sasha trusted them and felt the overwhelming urge to go wherever the being would like to lead him.

  But then Sasha thought again. He remembered how easily he’d been tricked by Polaroid and what trouble that had gotten them all into. He remembered how nice Chloe Murphy had seemed before she stole Aziz’s keys to the backstage and nearly unleashed an all-powerful, ancient ghost upon the world. The backstage was inherently dangerous, and nothing here was what it seemed.

  He spun around on his heels and sprinted away from the being, dashing out of the Tool Room, down the dark hall of the tunnels, and through the Unsafe door, slamming it shut behind him. Once he caught his breath, he darted up the stairs to the stage level, where Tammy rehearsal was letting out for the weekend.

  “Hunter! Hunter!” he shouted, upon discovering Hunter walking along the stage. “I have to tell you about something! I was visiting Friendo in the backstage and—”

  “Hey Sash, can it wait?” Hunter asked, looking tense. “It’s been . . . a very long day.”

  Hunter walked off. Sasha scanned the theater and saw Beckett and Aziz talking with Bailey and Adrienne down in the house as the actors exited through the auditorium doors behind them. He approached, but they were discussing something passionately in English and sign language seemingly at the same time and he didn’t want to interrupt.

  He headed into the wings and discovered Reo, first by smell, then by sight, as Reo was standing in front of the open prop closet, fumigating each prop with the smoke of a burning bundle of herbs he was waving around, leaving spirals of wispy, pungent smoke in its wake.

  “What are you doing?” Sasha asked.

  “Oh hey, man, I’m just cleansing the aura of each of the Tammy props. No offense, but when was the last time this prop closet was energetically cleansed? I’m sensing major stagnation in here . . .”

  “Huh. Cool. Hey, I saw something in the backstage. Something I can’t explain.”

  “Well, then, we’re in the same boat, my friend, because while everyone else around here seems content not knowing how it all works, from a metaphysical perspective, it’s blowing my mind.”

  Of course, Reo was the new kid and probably wouldn’t have much insight on the light being that Sasha had seen.

  “Do you know where Jory is?” Sasha asked.

  “Nah man, he’s been missing all day. I think something is, like, up.”

  “Okay well, good luck . . . cleansing.”

  As he walked away from Reo’s smoky lair, Sasha relaxed a bit. It’s true, there was a lot of unexplained stuff in the backstage, and while a lot of it was dangerous, a bunch of it, like Friendo, was just weird and actually not scary at all, once you understood it. He supposed the light being could wait until Tammy was up and running and everyone was back to normal. After all, it didn’t seem threatening to him, exactly, just unfamiliar.

  Still, he couldn’t help but hear that hypnotic voice calling, “Sasha . . . Sasha . . . Sasha . . .”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Jory . . . Jory . . . Jory . . .” The voice nagged at him incessantly as Jory wrestled with what to do about the summit.

  Niko wanted to bring him to Greece on Wednesday, ahead of the weekend summit beginning on Friday, and send him back the following Monday. That was just shy of a week away. He still barely had any sketches done and he was supposed to be lending a hand with the set building, which would commence next week, including a long-planned Saturday load-in session that he would miss if he went to Greece. He knew he would be letting the Backstagers down, but every time he felt bad about it, he then thought about his own dreams and wondered when it was best to look out for others and when it was best to look out for himself. It was his own voice, not the nagging dark voice, asking this question, and it haunted him all weekend.

  He decided he would deal with the Backstagers at rehearsal on Monday, but for now, his biggest obstacle was sitting in her easy chair in the living room. Jory had already emailed his teachers about this unique “study abroad” opportunity and they’d said he could work remotely, if, of course, he had written permission.

  “Mom?” Jory asked, tiptoeing into the living room, already braced for what might be a very bumpy conversation. “Can I talk to you about something?”

  Jory’s mom was still in her work clothes and looked as if she was about to fuse into her easy chair, but the tone of Jory’s voice concerned her enough to break away from the chair’s embrace.

  “What is it, honey? Is everything okay?”

  Jory suddenly felt hot emotion rise in his throat. He’d rehearsed this conversation in his bedroom all evening, but something about a mom asking if you are okay when you have been far from okay for weeks is enough to throw anyone off their game. He swallowed hard.

  “Yeah, fine, everything’s fine. Great, actually. I got invited to—selected for—this youth summit?”

  “Wow, baby, that’s incredible! Congratulations! What’s it for?”

  “Thanks, yeah! It’s this summit of young influencers?”

  “Influenza?”

  “Influencers, Mom, people with a lot of followers on Instasnap.”

  “You know, your aunt got me on that thing and I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing. I like giving myself animal ears, though.”

  “. . . Totally. So anyway, this company saw my profile and saw my sketches and invited me to this summit in Athens.”

  “Athens? Athens, Greece? To do what, exactly?”

  “To . . . influence. I’m not totally sure, Mom, but they invited me because they like my sketches, you understand? They called me an ‘up-and-coming fashion designer.’”

  “And when is this? In the summer?”

  “. . . It’s next week. I’d leave Wednesday.”

  “Jor—”

  “And I’d be back by Monday night and I already spoke to my teachers about it and they said I can do extra homework. I won’t be missing any tests or anything. I just need you to sign this letter I typed up giving me permission.”

  Jory’s shaking hand presented the typed letter of permission, complete except for his mother’s signature. He extended a pen anxiously. His mom looked at him, concerned.

  “Well honey, that’s very conscientious of you, and I can see you’re excited about this, but . . . you know we can’t afford to send you to Greece, Jory.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, it’s all expenses paid!”

  “It’s what? Honey, don’t you think it sounds a little strange that out of the blue, someone wants to fly you across the world at just a few days’ notice on their dime to . . . take Instasnap pictures?”

  “It’s a SUMMIT, Mom, it’s talented young people sharing ideas and it’s not a stranger’s dime, there’s this company, Thiasos, puttin
g it together.”

  “I just worry that it’s some kind of scam, honey.”

  “Oh, so you don’t think that I could actually be selected for a real summit?”

  “That’s not what I said, Jory.”

  “The flight is paid for, the room is paid for, my meals are paid for, I already got the okay from school, there is literally no reason for you to be weird about this. I know you don’t get it, but this is how people make something of themselves now—you can actually get famous. It can be a real job. And I wish you could just be happy for me. I thought you wanted me to go to a school like Genesius so I could make something of myself, but I’m starting to think you just want me to work a crappy job forever like you!”

  He knew he had gone too far, but once he’d started, there was no stopping it. He would never forget the look in his mom’s eyes when his last words had shot at her like arrows. He’d known exactly where to aim and had hit his target with precision.

  “Do what you want, Jory,” she said, grabbing the pen and quickly scribbling her signature on the letter before sinking back into the easy chair. Jory blinked. He had expected more of a fight. “Just be careful.”

  As he headed back up the stairs to his bedroom, Jory felt an uncomfortable mix of relief, regret, and rebellion. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said those things to his mom, but they were things he’d meant, so was it really wrong to have said them? He was looking after his own needs for a change, and if that led to some people getting their feelings hurt sometimes, he didn’t think that going after what he wanted made him a bad person.

  “GOOD, JORY. GOOD WORK,” the voice whispered. Jory smiled. He was feeling better already. That optimism washed away entirely, though, when he saw an incoming call on his cell.

  “Hey . . . hey, Hunter.”

  “Hey Jory.”

  There was a terrible silence. They hadn’t spoken since their fight in the Club Room.

  “Listen, Hunter, I—”

  “I’m really sorry, Jory. About earlier. I didn’t mean to be shady when I said that thing about your phone. I’ve just been so stressed about keeping the ship on course with Timothy and Jamie away that when I saw you off schedule, I freaked out.”

  “Oh . . . thanks. I’m sorry, too. I guess I was embarrassed about not being ready.”

  “But yeah . . . while we’re on the subject . . . it isn’t like you to not be ready. A lot of stuff you’ve been doing lately isn’t like you. You’ve been keeping to yourself, sleeping a lot, not getting your work done, not smiling or laughing like we’re all used to. I’m not the only one who has seen it. We’re all worried about you. Are you sure there isn’t something going on?”

  Jory put his hand over the phone so that Hunter wouldn’t hear his breath quicken. He gathered himself.

  “I’m not quite sure how to say this, Hunter . . . but—”

  “DON’T LET HIM TALK YOU OUT OF GOING, JORY! YOU KNOW HE WILL! THIS IS WHAT HE DOES. HE JUST WANTS TO USE YOU FOR YOUR WORK. HE DOESN’T ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT YOUR OPPORTUNITIES!”

  Jory knew the voice was right.

  “Actually,” Jory said, “I’ll talk to you on Monday about it. I need to talk to everyone.”

  “Oh,” Hunter said, his tone turning grim. “Well, all right. I guess . . . I’ll see you Monday.”

  “Yeah. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Hunter.”

  “You too, Jory.”

  “Excuse me, WHAT?” Beckett had barely cracked his first Diet Coke of the evening rehearsal session, but he was already over the edge. He, along with the rest of the Backstagers, were circled up in the Club Room in the minutes before rehearsal was to start. Jory had just broken his news, and as expected, the other Backstagers weren’t reacting well.

  “You are supposed to be helping me build the sets this week, Jor,” Aziz said, confused. “And Saturday is our big load-in day. We’re already two guys down with Timothy and Jamie away.”

  “It’s bad timing, I know,” Jory said, looking at the floor. “But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “You made a commitment,” Beckett said. “We’re all counting on you, Jory.”

  The voice rose hot inside his mind. “DIDN’T BECKETT MAKE A COMMITMENT TO BEING THE ASSISTANT STAGE MANAGER? NOW HE’S THE DIRECTOR.”

  “Well, you made a commitment to being the ASM but now you’re the director, and everyone is cool with that.”

  “Because I had no choice! Blake quit, remember?”

  “OH, BULL. HE LOVES BEING IN CHARGE. EVERYONE CAN SEE IT.”

  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t love it,” Jory said. “You’re in charge and everyone thinks you are a genius. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not about that, Jory.”

  “But it is. You get to rise up and succeed, and that’s all I’m trying to do by going to the summit.”

  “I don’t get it, you are rising and succeeding here,” Hunter said. “You’re the head of wardrobe, the costume designer. It’s a huge step toward being a professional Backstager.”

  “But maybe . . . I don’t wanna be a Backstager forever.”

  Jory’s words hung in the air like bad news from a doctor.

  “I’ve just been thinking lately,” Jory continued, unable to look any of them in the eye, “that this whole Backstager thing has been amazing, but it’s kind of taking over my life. What if there is more out there? I mean, it’s fun and all, but at the end of the day, they’re just shows.”

  “Okay,” Beckett said, standing. “Go if you’re going. Obviously this isn’t that important to you, but there’s no need for you to tell us why it isn’t important.”

  “Beck . . .” Hunter tried to calm his friend.

  “No, we don’t need that energy here. Everyone else believes in what we’re doing and is working really hard to make the show happen. We get enough of this dismissal from the rest of the school—heck, the rest of the world. We don’t need it coming from within our ranks.”

  There was an awful pause. Jory looked around the circle and could see from the stoic expressions of his friends that they all agreed.

  “I . . . I don’t leave until Wednesday,” Jory said. “I can get some sketches done before then.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Beckett said coldly. “Wouldn’t wanna inconvenience you. I’m sure you have packing and stuff to do.”

  “Well . . . I’ll bring the notebook with me,” Jory said. “Just in case you change your mind.”

  He stood and left his friends behind. He felt incredibly sad as he ascended the stairs to the auditorium and headed for the exit, but he was distracted by the voice repeating, “YES, YOU’LL BRING THE NOTEBOOK. BRING THE NOTEBOOK. THE NOTEBOOK. THE NOTEBOOK.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Things had been quiet for Jory in the days leading up to his departure. On the one hand, this was a blessing. After his fallout with the Backstagers, Jory’s inner voice had ceased its nagging completely. Now his head was clearing and he was finally able to get some good rest. On the other hand, his mom and his friends had been deadly quiet toward him. Since their fight, Jory’s mom seemed to avoid him unless it was absolutely necessary to engage, and even then, it was the most basic inquiries about his day at school or what he’d like for dinner. Without her usual warm greetings and corny anecdotes, the quips and jabs of the Backstagers at after-school rehearsals, or the nagging voice, Jory’s world had changed from cacophony to near silence in just a couple of days.

  As their car sped down the highway toward the airport, Jory’s mom finally broke that silence.

  “I looked up that Thiasos organization that’s running your summit,” she said. “It looks like a really prestigious company.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course I did. I wasn’t about to send you halfway across the world without knowing everything I can about who I’m sending you to.” She paused for moment before continuing. “This may come as a shock to you, but when I don’t give you everything you want without question, I’m just t
rying my best to be a good mom.”

  “No, I know—”

  “Because when you’re a parent, you’ll understand that parents are just people, too, just like you. They’re trying their best.”

  As Jory boarded the plane, he was a jumble of contradicting emotions, careening from deep regret about the way he’d left things with his mom and the guys to elation that he’d made it so far from home solely by virtue of his artistic talent and social media savvy. He tried to sketch a bit on the napkin that came with his ginger ale, but his hands were shaking too badly to get good lines. Was it the mild turbulence of the plane or his anxiety about what he’d gotten himself into? He tried to watch a movie on the little media console on the back of the seat in front of him, but his mind wandered and he couldn’t follow the plot. He caught himself focusing more on the movie playing on his neighbor’s TV, muted and indecipherable. Finally, he tried to sleep, as sleep had been his refuge for the last few weeks. As he shut his eyes, he listened to the gentle hum of the plane’s engine and the din of the few hundred passengers nibbling at their little play-set meal trays. He took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

  A rumble jolted him awake and, looking out the window of the plane, he realized they had touched down. He was in Greece. Greece! He’d never even been out of his state before. In his time as a Backstager, he’d seen indescribable wonders, but the thrill of being away from home on a new adventure was maybe the most wonderful yet.

  After a deeply unpleasant slog through baggage claim and customs, Jory finally stepped through the doors of the airport into the warm Mediterranean sunshine. He squinted through its harsh rays, searching the parking lot, until he spotted a tall, tanned boy with impossibly perfect hair leaning casually against the most gorgeous yellow convertible he’d ever seen.