by Andy Mientus
“That’s all you packed?!” Niko said, looking at the lone suitcase Jory clutched nervously. “I’m impressed, Jory! Minimalism is so chic. You’ll have to teach me.”
He strode up to Jory and gave him a friendly hug. He even smelled rich. His accent was melodious to the point of being hypnotic. Jory was overwhelmed.
“Come on, let me take that,” Niko said, grabbing his bag. “You’ve had quite the journey! Was the flight okay?”
“Yeah,” Jory said, trying to affect a way of speaking that was even a fraction as coolly casual as Niko’s. “I had the chicken.”
Niko looked at Jory incredulously. “You ate the food? That’s adorable. You must have been starving! We’ll get you a proper lunch ASAP.”
Niko tossed Jory’s bag into the trunk of the vintage convertible and Jory, for the first time, noticed the girl in the driver’s seat. She was about their age with long raven-dark hair that blew in the spring breeze like the flag of a mysterious nation. Her attire was similarly shadowy, all black despite the heat, complete with large dark sunglasses that masked most of her face.
“Aleka, this is our guest, Jory,” Niko said as he helped Jory into the back seat of the car. “Jory, this is Aleka, my sister.” Aleka turned, lowered her sunglasses to reveal flashing green eyes, extended her hand to Jory, and turned her lips to a smile as enigmatic as Mona Lisa’s.
“Hello. Welcome,” she said, before retreating once again behind the dark shades.
“Her English,” Niko whispered to Jory. “She’s a bit self-conscious. She’ll warm up as she gets to know you.” Jory nodded. Niko plopped into the front passenger seat and buckled up. “So!” he hollered into the sun. “We have a couple of days until the summit begins, the weather is perfect, we have this gorgeous car, and no plans all day. I’m sure you’re jet-lagged, but if you are feeling up to it, I say we do and see and taste and explore absolutely EVERYTHING. What do you say, Jory?” He turned to the back seat and flashed Jory his gigawatt smile. Despite the long flight, Jory couldn’t help but feel a fresh burst of energy.
“Sounds good to me,” Jory said, letting his smile escape. Niko beamed affectionately.
“Oh, here! You’ll need these,” Niko said as he produced a pair of gold-wire-frame sunglasses from the glove box and handed them back to Jory.
“Oh wow, thanks, yeah, the sun is intense here! Thanks for letting me borrow them.”
“Jory, look at yourself, these glasses were made for you! My gift. Welcome!”
Jory leaned to see his reflection in the car’s side mirror. He couldn’t believe the cool guy looking back at him in the reflection was the same kid who’d boarded that plane hours ago. He was in Niko’s world now, and he absolutely loved the view.
“Let’s go!” Niko shouted, pounding excitedly on the side of the car like he was commanding a horse to gallop. Aleka turned the key in the ignition and they sped off.
The inconceivably ancient ruins of the Parthenon. The beautiful art and architecture of the Acropolis. Historic neighborhoods of winding stone streets that hid discreet restaurants serving unimaginably delicious things. Gorgeous views of pale white stone structures framed by lush greenery against the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean Sea.
As promised, Jory saw and tasted and explored the best that Athens had to offer in an unforgettable day. He also took enough photos to keep his Instasnap full of fresh content for weeks. Aleka took a perfectly framed photo of Jory and Niko posing like the towering statues that held up the roof of the Erechtheion, and when Niko posted it and tagged Jory, Jory’s follower count shot up exponentially. Then they saw a street performer imitating an ancient stone statue so precisely, it made even Aleka crack a smile. Jory was very, very happy.
The three of them settled into a lovely outdoor table with a perfect view of the city as it turned to gold in the setting sun. The server brought them a pitcher of iced tea that was so beautiful, Jory had to add it to his Instasnap story, and the three of them sipped in contented peace.
“I really can’t thank you guys enough,” Jory said. “The flight, the sightseeing, the meals, all of it is beyond anything someone like me normally gets to enjoy. It’s like a dream.”
“I appreciate your gratitude, Jory,” Niko said, “but you shouldn’t think like that. What do you mean ‘people like you’? You are extraordinary, and that’s why Thiasos selected you! A lot of people think that influencers are silly, that we don’t deserve to have this kind of lifestyle just because we take nice pictures or whatever, but I think that is a defeatist attitude. The truth is, all of life’s pleasures are everyone’s birthright, and if people like us get handed those pleasures because we know how to see and highlight the beauty in them, where is the harm in that? Look at my feed—sure, I have a few pictures of a fancy car or some designer clothes, but the majority? The sea. The sun. An iced coffee. Avocado toast. Things that aren’t luxurious at all, until you decide to see them that way. And that point of view is a service we provide to people. They shower us with gifts and attention and, yes, sometimes actual money, because we remind them of the luxury of simply being alive.”
Dinner arrived, colorful plates piled with even more colorful cuisine, and Jory felt his whole worldview changing with every bite.
At the end of a day that felt like a wonderful year, the convertible rolled to a stop in front of a white stucco villa nestled in a particularly green nook of the city.
“Home,” Aleka said.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that this place is beautiful,” Jory said.
“We’re very lucky,” Niko replied.
“Will I get to meet your parents?” Jory asked.
“Oh, we don’t live with our parents,” Niko said.
Jory was shocked. “But you’re just teenagers.”
“They travel so much for business anyway, we were basically taking care of ourselves. They live out in the countryside by the ocean. We wanted to go to school in the city and they had this villa, so it worked out perfectly.”
“Wow,” Jory said. “Must be nice, not having to put up with parents.” Aleka let out an odd little chuckle at this and Niko shot her an almost imperceptible glance.
“Come on in,” Niko said, grabbing Jory’s suitcase out of the trunk. “I’m sure you’re exhausted! We have you in the best bed in the house.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I’m good to crash anywhere,” Jory said. “I’m sure one of the other influencers will expect the star treatment.”
“None of the others are staying with us, so no worries,” Niko replied.
“You’re the guest of honor,” said Aleka.
The three of them stepped out of the night into the warm glow of the cozy villa. They shut the door behind them and the night was still and silent, save for the chirping of insects.
But then there was something else. Three shadows stepped out of the trees and stared at the villa through the dark eyes of their ancient stone masks. One nodded to the others. Their target was in sight.
CHAPTER 10
Back at Genesius, the day hadn’t been nearly as sunny. With Jory off the team, Timothy and Jamie away, and Beckett focused on his directorial duties, the Backstagers were seriously understaffed. It was now Thursday, and as the big Saturday load in, Monday’s final run-through, and Tuesday’s beginning of tech approached, all of the guys were getting quietly nervous about how they were going to get everything done in time.
Beckett called a ten-minute break from his rehearsal to take stock of the situation.
“Hey Reo, how are those costume designs coming?” he asked.
“Good, I think!” Reo said. “I haven’t had a ton of time to work on them with props to worry about, but I have some mockups ready for the Skee-Ball Sorceress number.”
“That’s amazing! When can I see them?”
“I was actually hoping to show you now. Hey guys, you all dressed?” Reo called into the wing. A line of cast members lumbered out from the wings looking morose due to both their humili
ated expressions and because they were all dressed in heavy robes of black velvet and lace.
“What do you think?!” Reo asked, beaming with pride.
“Huh . . . they look really, um . . . well-constructed. But why are they so . . . scary?”
“Well, you know, it’s a number about sorcery, and that can mean a lot of different things, but I was inspired by the medieval grimoire tradition and the drama of that particular—”
“Reo, it’s called ‘Skee-Ball Sorceress’ because they’re singing about how good she is at Skee-Ball. She’s not, like, literally a sorceress.”
“. . . Oh . . .” Reo looked at his lineup of macabre chorus boys and felt extremely stupid. “I may need another crack at it, then.”
“Carry on,” Beckett said, forcing a smile.
He headed down to the Club Room and found Aziz poring over a sea of blueprints. “How’s it going, Aziz?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh, it’s fine, except that these designs have to be completely rethought. Aside from us never getting it all built on Saturday, we actually don’t have enough guys to run the show if we keep all these moving parts. My first pass was a little ambitious.”
“It was also designed with one more Backstager in mind.”
“Yeah . . .” Aziz said. They were both thinking the same thing: how much Jory quitting had totally messed everything up. Not just the sets and costumes, but the morale of the group. This used to be fun, getting ready to load in a set and begin tech rehearsals. It was the Backstagers’ time to shine. This time, though, everyone was stressed and scared and most definitely not having fun.
“Anyway,” Aziz said, “I think I came up with a solution that will work for us.”
“Oh, really?!” Beckett said. “Automation? Some kind of computer program?”
“Scaffolding,” Aziz replied soberly. “With no moving parts. It’ll be a little . . . bare-bones. But maybe that could be cool.”
“Yeah,” Beckett said, trying to mask his disappointment. “It’s a . . . new direction for sure. Good work, bud.”
Suddenly Sasha came crashing into the room, his tiny legs nearly spinning in the air like a cartoon roadrunner, he was so excited.
“BECKEEEEEEEEETT,” he nearly sang. “I INVENTED something! Come SEEEEEEE!”
“I’d better go see,” Beckett said to Aziz with a wink before he left him to his blueprints.
Up in the light booth, Sasha had the look of a cat that just figured out how to break into its bag of kibble.
“SOOOOOO . . .” Sasha cooed with pride, “we’ve been trying to figure out how to get Adrienne her cue during ‘Look at Me, Listen to Me’ when Bailey has her costume change.”
“Right,” Beckett said. “There isn’t anyone available onstage to give her a physical cue.”
“RIGHT,” Sasha said, his eyes alight. “SO I INVENTED SOMETHING!” He threw a few switches on the light board and suddenly the stage below was flooded in colorful theatrical light.
Beckett was proud of Sasha’s problem-solving enthusiasm. After so many shows as the lighting designer, he’d considered himself irreplaceable and had misgivings about passing the baton to Sasha. Sasha could be, well, scattered sometimes, but this was already really good work and they weren’t even in tech yet.
“I added three additional LED instruments to the front rail,” Sasha continued. “They work independently from the rest of the system and can be synced to the track coming from the pit.”
“Okay?” Beckett was trying to follow.
“SO,” Sasha wound up for the big finish, “these lights can bump in time to the music to give Adrienne the tempo. They can fire in any color so she can know blue means this section, yellow means the next section, red means stop, whatever we want! It’s a—”
“A light-cuing system,” Beckett realized, profoundly impressed. “Sasha, that’s . . . that’s completely GENIUS! How did you come up with that?”
“When I’m off on my own, staring, people tend to think that I’m zoned out to space or something, but I’m actually usually just thinking really hard about something.”
“Totally.” For the first time, Beckett saw his old friend in a new way.
“So, when it’s time for her to sign, we just flip this switch and . . .” Sasha flipped the switch and sparks flew from the board as it crashed and plunged the auditorium into darkness. Beckett put his face in his hands, but luckily Sasha couldn’t see through the black. “I guess I need more power,” Sasha said bashfully.
“It seems that way,” Beckett said. “Well, keep at it, bud. If you can get that to work, it solves a major problem.”
Sasha brought the work lights back up in time to give Beckett a determined nod. Beckett couldn’t bring himself to say anything, but he managed to affectionately slap Sasha on the back before he descended the light booth stairs. Once he was at a safe distance from Sasha and knew that he was completely alone, he sat on the stairs in defeat.
Crap. Crap. Crap, Beckett thought to himself, over and over. They were never going to get this all done. Timothy and Jamie were going to come home to an absolute dumpster fire of a show and it would be all his fault. Why in the world did he think he could handle doing this?
“That’s ten! We’re back!” Hunter called from down on the stage.
Beckett jolted up and shook his head. Taking a deep breath, he donned a big enthusiastic smile like a mask from an ancient comedy.
“Okay, so where were we?” Beckett asked as the actors put down their water bottles and rejoined the circle.
“The reporter scene,” Hunter said, pointing to the moment in the script.
Beckett nodded, but he couldn’t help but notice how early they were in the script. Working with so much actor input had made a show unlike any Genesius had ever done before, but it had also taken a lot of time to stage and they had quite a bit more to get through before the final run-through next Monday—more than seemed possible.
“Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool,” Beckett said one too many times, definitely not keeping his cool. The sign language interpreter put her thumb to her chest and wiggled her fanned out fingers, trying to count just how many “cool”s that was.
“Okay, so in this scene,” Beckett continued, “Tammy has become world famous for her Skee-Ball skills and reporters hound her for an interview. She gets overwhelmed by the attention and lashes out at them, which leads us into the next song. So, Radley, Sam, Tristan, Owen, how about you all approach Tammy here, surround her, and ask her your questions?”
The four actors took their places around Adrienne and played out the scene, barking questions at her as she struggled to understand them.
“Great,” Beckett said. “That will work. Moving on—”
“I don’t know,” Kevin McQueen said, stepping into the action from the crowd of actors on the sidelines. “It’s fine, but I feel like maybe it could be a bit more interesting. Abstracted, you know?”
“Um, maybe,” Beckett said. “But it’s a pretty straightforward scene and we have to get on with the story here.”
“That’s no reason to throw it away, though,” Kevin said. “Like, what if we made them seem more imposing to Tammy somehow, more alien.”
“We could use projections,” Owen offered, his big brown eyes growing even wider.
“Oh, yeah!” Radley said, flipping his long red hair away from his face. “We could project the reporters towering above her!”
“Maybe use live CAMERA FEED!” Sam added, highly sugared.
“Well, if we add projections here, we’ll have to add them to earlier moments,” Tristan argued, always the voice of reason. “Have you ever heard of the concept of Chekov’s gun?”
“Okay, well, what about puppets?”
“Or, like, shadows? Somehow?”
“That’s scary, I don’t like that.”
“The point is that they be scary!”
“How will we even make shadows that big?”
“With fire, of course!”
“
FIRE! I’m in.”
“Me too, all good shows have fire.”
“This could go to Broadway, you guys.”
“What if we make the reporters fly?”
“GUYS!” Beckett roared. His voice pierced the air, and all of the excitement on each actor’s face turned immediately to alarm. “We can’t do live camera feed projections, or puppets, or fire, or FLYING, or any of that, we don’t have TIME. We don’t have time to design it, we don’t have time to rehearse it, we don’t have time to tech it, and we don’t have time to discuss it, because we are running out of time, PERIOD, so just do the scene the way I’ve directed it because I’m the DIRECTOR!”
All of the actors looked like the wind left their sails. Beckett had officially lost his cool. He watched the interpreter furiously translate his outburst, and seeing his anger mirrored back in sign language, he was immediately ashamed of himself. He spotted Bailey in the crowd of actors, her eyes wide with shock. She looked away when his gaze met hers. It was a terrible moment.
“Of course, sir,” Kevin said with all the shade of a redwood forest. “Just thought we were open to ideas around here. My mistake.”
“Anyway,” Hunter said, interrupting the moment, “we should move forward.”
After rehearsal, the tense and tired Backstagers gathered in the Club Room for a production meeting. Usually these meetings were a joyous purge of everything they had wanted to say about the ridiculous actors during rehearsal, but today the mood was one of quiet defeat.
“So, I’m wondering . . .” Beckett could hardly continue. He cleared his throat. “I wonder if we should call and try to get Timothy and Jamie back early.”
“DEFINITELY not,” Hunter said firmly. “They trusted us—me—to handle this. We can’t let them down. It’ll come together.”
“How, though?” Beckett asked. “We’re spread too thin. Aziz is building the whole set by himself, Sasha is trying to pioneer new lighting systems on a board he is still learning, I’m too busy trying to wrangle all of these actors to lend a hand anywhere else, you’re too busy trying to keep us all on schedule, poor Reo is handling props and costumes on his very first show!”
