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

by Andy Mientus

  “Three of the seven,” Reo said in wonder.

  “We’ve got to hide them somewhere safe,” Beckett said. “They’ll come looking.”

  “But where?” Hunter asked.

  “I think I know,” Jory replied as he gazed across the field at the very last door in a row of labeled doors. The sign above it read VERY UNSAFE.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jory, Hunter, Beckett, Adrienne, Aziz, Reo, and Sasha stepped through the Very Unsafe door into a space that once would have inspired terror in each of them, but now was the very safest place they could think of.

  “Oh my gosh, Jory,” Hunter said, looking around the empty theater, “you’re a genius.”

  They were in the Arch Theater, the core of the backstage and seemingly the source of its magic. It was called the Arch Theater because it was the archetypal theater; when you think about the very concept of a stage, a curtain, an auditorium, the concept of theater itself, you are thinking about the Arch Theater.

  It was once a terrifying place to find yourself, because time and space could become abstract in the Arch Theater. You might spend five minutes there and return to find that you’ve been missing for months. If you return at all. That all changed during Genesius’s production of Phantasm, when the Arch Theater became haunted by the friendly ghost Phoebe, protector of the Ghost Light, another of the legendary artifacts of the backstage.

  The Backstagers walked toward the lip of the stage where Phoebe hovered in peaceful sleep or deep meditation. She was only nine years old, tragically young to be a ghost, though since taking on the role as protector of the Ghost Light, she had a poise and power far beyond her years. She glowed with a golden incandescence that formed a halo around her signature pom-pom hairstyle. She held the legendary Ghost Light—a simple rod of metal with a caged lightbulb at its end—like the scepter of a great sorceress. She opened her eyes as they approached and smiled warmly.

  “Backstagers of Genesius! Welcome back.”

  “How are you, Phoebe?” Jory asked.

  “I’m just fine, thank you. Warding off evil spirits, illuminating all the ghost lights in all the theaters of the world, sending blessings to my sister as she returns to Penitent Angels this semester. You know, keeping busy.”

  “That’s amazing. Well, if you aren’t too busy, we have one more request for you.”

  “Of course, Jory, what is it?”

  Jory told her about the other three legendary artifacts and how they needed to keep them safe at all costs. Phoebe happily agreed to guard them with the protective power of the Ghost Light, and once the items had been relinquished to her care, the Backstagers finally emerged from their perilous journey back to their beautifully ordinary Club Room.

  “What time is it? What day is it?” Reo asked groggily.

  “Saturday, five a.m.,” Hunter replied. “Load in starts in four hours . . .”

  “I’d better catch a nap, then,” Jory said. “Because we have a show to do and I owe it to all of you to help make it the best yet.”

  “Maybe check in with your mom first,” Hunter suggested. “You can tell her you came back early to help with the load in and that I picked you up. Let her know you’re safe and back home where you belong.”

  After a quick rest and enough coffee to power another rocket to Athens, the Backstagers sprang into action, constructing Aziz’s set, hanging lights, hooking up speakers, organizing props, and pulling costumes for Tammy. It was brutally hard work, but it was also joyous. As satisfying as it was to save the world and protect the very building blocks of the theater, Backstagers were meant to make real shows in the real world. They were exhausted, but they were also inspired, and so they got through the Herculean task of building the show in just one day the way they had slayed Hydras and Cerberuses—as a team.

  By nightfall, they were absolutely delirious, but they had done it. It was all a bit ragtag and improvised, but Tammy had a set, lights, props, and costumes. The show would go on.

  Jory walked Hunter to his car in the student lot. The night was humid and humming with the song of crickets heralding the coming summer. They reached the car and without warning, Jory threw his arms around Hunter and hugged as tightly as he could.

  “I don’t know how to say what I want to say,” Jory began. “The things I said to you, the way I deserted everyone . . . and then what you said in your email anyway. I don’t know how to say thank you in a way that actually expresses how thankful I am.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Hunter said. “But I think you know what you need to do.”

  “Oh, definitely,” Jory said. “I was already planning on it.”

  “Do you need me to do it with you?”

  “Nah, I got this. Thanks.”

  “Of course. I like you a lot, Jory.”

  “I like you a lot, Hunter. A whole, whole lot.”

  “Like, you’re one of my very favorite humans.”

  “That’s super mutual.”

  “And I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

  “Ditto, kiddo.”

  “All right, I’ll leave you to it, then. Get some rest, Jor.”

  Hunter gave Jory one last bear hug and then got into his car and drove off. Jory texted his mom that it was time to come pick him up, then opened Instasnap. He hadn’t been in the app since Athens, and he was immediately embarrassed by the photos in his grid. Was he really this person a few days ago, making pouty poses with Niko, captioning the shameless selfies with inspirational quotes, as if that made them somehow meaningful?

  He went to the settings tab and searched for the option to delete the account, but he grew suddenly anxious when he noticed that he had an unread direct message. Was it Niko or someone else from Thiasos, vowing revenge? He took a deep breath and clicked the messages tab. There was one new message from a boy named Troy. He looked remarkably like Jory did just a couple of years ago.

  Dear Jory,

  You probably get a ton of messages like this, so I hope I’m not bothering you, but I just had to reach out to say thanks. I don’t really fit in at my school. No one else looks like me or sounds like me when they talk or likes the things I like. But seeing you so happy being who you are and succeeding has really given me hope. I’ve come to really look up to you and I think when I get to high school next year, I’m gonna join the Backstagers here. It seems like you’ve found a crew who like you for you and support you no matter what. I hope I find them, too.

  Sincerely,

  Troy

  Jory tapped REPLY.

  Dear Troy,

  I actually don’t get a ton of messages like this, so yours really means a lot to me. It’s funny, because you think I look so happy in my pics on here, when in reality, these last few days I’ve actually been really sad and stressed. I think apps like this let us put on a kind of mask, tricking the world and even ourselves into thinking that life is actually as glamorous and carefree as we make it appear. But I’m starting to think that if we don’t let anyone know how we really live, they’ll never know who we really are. For that reason, I’m actually leaving Instasnap today. But yours is the last message I’m seeing before I do, and I have to say, it kind of makes this all feel worth it. I hope you do join the Backstagers—it was the best decision I ever made. And I hope I see you around a theater someday. Hang in there, Troy. Your crew is out there.

  Best,

  Jory

  He clicked back to the settings tab, tapped delete account, answered yes when asked if he was sure and again when asked if he was really sure, and then put his phone away. He took a deep breath of fresh spring air. He looked up to the stars. He listened to the breeze in the trees and the buzz of the crickets.

  Soon a car pulled up to the lot and parked. Jory’s mom stepped out of the driver’s seat and looked to her son, relieved to see him safe.

  “Hi Jory, how was your tri—”

  Jory threw his arms around her and hugged tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “And I am
so, so glad to be home.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “I wanna start by saying I’m sorry.”

  Beckett stood before a circle of very defensive-looking actors. He knew that if they were ever going to get through today, they needed to change course quickly.

  “This directing thing is obviously new to me, and I didn’t anticipate how stressful it would be to manage all of the technical elements and stage the show AND not be a jerk to everyone. I failed at that last part. I was like a super-colossal mega-jerk. With backup jerk reserves.”

  The actors chuckled. The mood started to ease.

  “We started this thing as a company, to do something St. Genesius has never done before, and if we are going to succeed in that, we have to finish it as a company. So after today’s run-through and all throughout tech, if any idea comes to your mind, lay it on me. Just, you know, remember that our Backstagers are working as hard as they can to make this version happen, so as much as I’d love to populate the stage with horses juggling flaming buzz saws, we probably don’t have time for that. For this show. I’ll write it down for next time.”

  Now they were laughing. Beckett felt the weight of a thousand cases of Diet Coke lift from his shoulders. Bailey stepped away from the pack.

  “Thanks, Beckett. We know this has been really hard for everyone. We all have our bad days. This show wouldn’t be what it is without you.”

  She smiled her Bailey Brentwood smile and all was right in Beckett’s world.

  “All right, Genesius Drama, are we ready to do this!?” Bailey hollered. She was answered with an affirmative whoop from the company.

  “Then this is your half-hour call to places,” Hunter said.

  “Rock it out, Team Tammy! You’ve got this!” Beckett cheered.

  The actors stretched, drilled lines, and made bizarre noises at varying pitches that are apparently good for singing but sound like the ravings of lunatics, and then suddenly, Hunter called over the sound system that it was five minutes to places.

  Bailey walked to her starting position offstage right and found Adrienne there, sitting on a rehearsal block alone. She was crying.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, running to the aid of her friend.

  “Oh, hey Bailey, nothing, I’m fine,” Adrienne said, wiping her tears away. “Just, you know, emotional. I never thought I’d get this chance and I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted it. I just assumed it was impossible. But here I am, playing the lead role in a musical. I really can’t thank you enough.”

  That didn’t sit right with Bailey. She took a moment, then started signing, as best she could.

  “Girl, please don’t thank me. This show is special because of you. You have unbelievable . . .”

  She didn’t know the right sign. She began to spell with her fingers C-O-U-R-A-

  Adrienne smiled and put her hands on her shoulders, pulling them forward into powerful fists.

  “Courage,” she signed.

  “Courage,” Bailey signed back. They sat there for a moment, fists up like warriors, and laughed. Bailey continued.

  “You have unbelievable courage, trying something new like this, sharing your experience, teaching us all a new language. This is the best show I’ve ever done. Thank YOU!”

  Adrienne threw her arms around Bailey and they embraced tightly.

  “I have a gift for you,” Adrienne said. “Your name sign. It has to be given to you by a Deaf person. I’ve been thinking about yours for weeks.”

  She made a B shape, B for Bailey, palm up, under her mouth, brought it forward as if it were music coming from her lips, then turned it to a Y shape with her palm forward, which meant “eternity.”

  “Because I hope you’ll never stop singing and I hope you’ll be my singing voice forever,” she said.

  Now Bailey was crying. She repeated the sign.

  “I love it so much,” she said. Then she signed, “Forever. I promise.”

  “They’re here, they’re HEEEEEERE!”

  Sasha came barreling down the aisle of the auditorium toward where the Backstagers were holding a production meeting, heralding the arrival of Timothy and Jamie. They swooped in like mother birds returning to their nest, both wearing T-shirts from their first-choice school, Wolverine University.

  “Heya boys!” Jamie bellowed jovially, dishing out hugs. “Thanks for looking after the place!”

  “We can’t WAIT to see what you’ve been up to!” Timothy said. “Smooth sailing, I hope?”

  Silence from the full crew of Backstagers. Timothy’s face became serious.

  “Understood,” he said. “How bad, on a scale of tool mouse to world-ending-ghost-king?”

  “It’s handled,” Hunter said quickly. “We’ll catch you up on the backstage later, but for now, just enjoy the run-through.”

  “Copy,” Jamie said. “And how have the McQueens been? Reliably high maintenance?”

  “We really do have a LOT to catch you up on,” Beckett said, slurping down his seventh Diet Coke of the day, hoping its sweet, sweet chemical goodness would abate his anxiety soon.

  “It’s time to start,” Hunter said, checking his watch. “Here goes . . . everything!”

  A few minutes later, the Backstagers had taken their places for the run-through—Reo, Jory, and Aziz in the wings, Hunter at the calling desk, Sasha up in the booth, and Beckett in the back row of the auditorium, feeling like he was waiting to be called into the principal’s office.

  The rehearsal pianist began the score, Adrienne stepped onstage and became the young Tammy, and then they were off and running.

  It was, by and large, a mess. Jory had only managed to pull some simple street clothes from storage but had decided on a unified color scheme of black and yellow, so the clothes at least looked cohesive. Aziz’s set had no moving parts and was clearly intended for construction sites, not grand stages, but it didn’t fall apart when the actors started dancing on it, so he couldn’t complain. Sasha had hoped to have a few simple light cues ready for this run to give some atmosphere but still couldn’t sort out how to power Adrienne’s cue lights and the rest of the board at once. The cue lights were the obvious priority, so he decided he’d figure it out in tech and just leave the plain work lights for today. Reo didn’t manage to complete the Skee-Ball machines in time for the big planned Skee-Ball Sorcerer dance, but he did bring in some of his own personal crystal balls, which the cast passed through Hula-Hoops as if the entire stage were one big Skee-Ball machine. It wasn’t what he’d planned, but someone once told him that the secret to life was the graceful execution of Plan B, and he thought he’d executed that particular scene pretty well, all things considered.

  All of the technical pieces were merely meant to service the staging, though, and with staging as bold, surprising, and beautiful as Beckett’s, they could have done the show in the parking lot and it would have still been moving and thrilling. Each and every moment of the show had been reimagined to highlight the overall message of the piece: how growing up feeling unseen and unheard can negatively impact a person for their entire life, but the thing that makes them feel alien in the world can also be the very thing that ends up making them a star. Beckett made sure that his direction aimed to tell that story as clearly as possible. The staging was a knockout, but no directorial choice he’d made was as effective as his first: casting Adrienne in the title role.

  She was breathtaking. Everyone had been impressed all through rehearsal by her honesty and emotional availability, but seeing her perform the full arc of the role in context was almost too moving to endure. No one who witnessed that performance would ever be able to see the role of Tammy performed any other way again, because Adrienne brought an authenticity to the role that no one had understood it required. It was her own story playing out onstage, and she was electric.

  At the end of the finale, the actors stood in their places and Beckett nervously rushed up onto the stage.

  “Great! Great work, everyone,” he said and signed at onc
e. “Take ten and then we’ll gather for notes in the house.”

  “That’s ten, everyone!” Hunter shouted.

  “Thank you, ten,” the actors called back.

  When the stage was clear, Beckett braced himself for Timothy’s and Jamie’s disappointment. Under his leadership, the show was barely finished and completely bizarre compared to all the other shows Genesius had done. Timothy and Jamie hadn’t even clapped at the end. He felt them approach and he took a deep breath, ready to accept his fate. He turned to find Timothy and Jamie with tears rolling down their cheeks, jaws still hanging agape, completely blown away by what they had just seen.

  “Beckett, that was . . .” Jamie began, but he was overcome with emotion and just had to scoop Beckett up in a hug.

  “It was everything I love about what we do,” Timothy said. “It was innovative, surprising, upsetting, joyous, inclusive, imaginative . . .” Now he was crying again.

  Jory, Hunter, Sasha, Aziz, Reo, and Adrienne watched from the wings with pride. Getting to this moment had been nearly impossible, but together, they’d made it possible.

  “That was . . .” Jamie said, gathering himself. “That was pure theater.”

  EPILOGUE

  “So, just to be clear, you failed to obtain the designer’s notebook?” The woman’s voice was cold and stern but calm, at least.

  “Yes,” Aleka replied, her head hung in shame.

  “And in the process, you lost our God Mic, a priceless artifact you had no permission to use in the first place?”

  “But we also located the Master Switch!” Niko cried defensively. “So now we know where three of—”

  “Shh,” Aleka scolded, silencing her brother. “Yes, that’s correct. The God Mic is lost.”

  “I see,” the woman said.

  She rapped her fingers on the dark wooden desk for a few awful moments as Aleka and Niko, seated before her in straight-back chairs, awaited certain doom. The office was beautifully appointed with ancient tomes and curios, but ever since they were kids, despite its beauty, this room solely meant terror for the siblings, because they were only called to sit before this desk when they were in serious, serious trouble.