by Jen Klein
“What, did you get the bartender to sneak some alcohol in there?” Ella must be drunk, because there is nothing about this summer that could be considered a blessing.
“No, but they say it’s better to get to know someone as a friend first.”
“You know who says that?” I’m not in the mood to be cheered up, especially by Ella. “Sad people. Lonely people. Delusional people who can’t see what’s right in front of their eyes.”
And what’s right in front of my eyes is Tuck getting some congratulatory tongue from Gretchen after sinking a corner shot.
“Whatever happens is what’s meant to happen,” Ella informs me.
“Thanks, Socrates.” I’m still mad, but I do recognize that, in her own way, Ella is trying to help. After all, it’s been several years since we’ve talked about anything important. In fact, maybe we never did. I skim through my childhood memories of Ella—sleepovers, stealing Annette’s clothes, water-balloon fights—and can’t dredge up anything that seems like Deep Conversation. I guess we were too young, because it seems like I didn’t start talking about real things until Marin and Sarah and I were all hanging out.
“You’re welcome, Eeyore.” Ella grins at me, and I manage a weak smile in return. “You need to say hello to him.”
“I know.”
“And then you need to flirt with another boy.”
“What?”
“Oldest trick in the book.” Ella makes what must be her version of a wise face. “Boys like a chase.”
“Yeah, except I’m the one doing the chasing.”
“That’s my point. Don’t be that girl.” Ella hops down off her stool, taking her glass with her. “Come on. I’ll distract Gretchen.”
“Wait, how?”
“Observe.” Ella winks at me. “Learn.” I don’t want to do either, but it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, so I follow her over to the pool table, where she steps directly between Tuck and Gretchen. “Hi, guys.”
“Hey!” Tuck slings an arm over her shoulders and squeezes her in a sideways hug. “Dobbs represent!”
Gretchen nods at her—“Ella, right? Good to see you”—before her eyes slide over to me. She assesses, confirms we don’t know each other, sticks out a hand. “I’m Gretchen.”
Because it’s what one does, I shake her hand and manage to get my name out between tight lips. “Rainie Langdon.”
Which is when Tuck realizes it’s me standing there with them. His eyes widen, and he steps forward to engulf me in a hug. “Dude, what are you doing here? You come up to visit Ella?” I don’t answer, because I’m too aware that I’m encircled by Tuck’s magical, muscled arms right in front of his girlfriend. I squeeze back just long enough to make it weird, and then I pull away. Tuck turns to Gretchen. “Rainie goes to my school.”
I open my mouth to babble some sort of explanation that doesn’t make me sound like a deranged stalker, but Ella beats me to the punch. “Rainie’s a company member. I convinced her to come up for the summer, see what it’s all about.” Before anyone can comment, she turns to Gretchen. “I desperately need your help. I heard you’re the expert on a certain life skill.”
“What?” Gretchen looks flattered. She allows Ella to pull her away toward the bar, leaving me alone with Tuck. His bright blue eyes are lit up and happy as he looks down at me, which makes me think that maybe I don’t need to murder Ella in her sleep after all.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I didn’t decide until last week.” At least that’s the truth.
“Cool.” Tuck reaches out and slides a finger along my bare arm. “You’re gonna love it.” He’s smiling into my eyes like I’m the only girl in the room—no, on the planet—and I suddenly have a hard time believing we’d be having this interaction if Gretchen were still here.
“I hope so,” I tell him.
Tuck’s smile deepens. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s a good surprise.”
The moment is real enough and complete enough that it’s totally, 100 percent okay when Milo arrives, carrying a basket of fries. “Hey, you came.” He holds the fries toward me.
“So did you.” I take one and watch as he and Tuck do their fist-bump thing.
“By yourself?”
“Ella’s over there.” Tuck answers for me, gesturing toward the bar. “Learning an important life skill from my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend, ugh.
Both Milo and I turn to look at Ella and Gretchen, who—by all appearances—are in the middle of a silent standoff at the bar. They’re perfectly still, staring at each other. Their mouths move like they’re chewing. Or, more accurately, like they’re cows chewing their cuds.
“I don’t get it,” Milo says.
“Look closer,” Tuck says.
I zero in on Gretchen’s glass, filled with red liquid….
No, not liquid. Cherries. Gretchen’s glass is full of cherries. Which means—
“Oh.” Milo nods. “Her stem thing.”
Yup. Tuck’s Helen-of-Troy girlfriend is teaching my roommate how to tie cherry stems in knots with her tongue. Fantastic.
“Impressive, right?” says Tuck.
“It’s something,” says Milo. “You guys wanna play darts?”
“Nah,” says Tuck. “I’m kinda into the cherry lesson.”
Even though I’d like to continue letting Tuck smile at me and touch my arms, I’d rather perish in a fiery explosion than watch him watch his girlfriend demonstrate her fruit-based oral-sex technique. “I’ll play,” I tell Milo, snagging another fry from his basket.
Milo and I find an empty board in the corner, near a conveniently located wooden shelf, where we stash his fries and my drink. “Are you any good?” he asks.
“Not at all. You?”
“Nope.” Milo plucks darts from where they’re jabbed along the perimeter of the board and waves the handful in my direction. “You can go first.”
I throw three darts, two of which hit the board but miss the circle, and then Milo does the same. As he collects the darts, I search for a conversation starter that doesn’t have anything to do with Tuck, and land on the one thing we have in common: Zeus! “So what’s the deal with Achilles?”
Milo gives me a wry smile. “Did Ella tell you I don’t deserve the part?”
“No.” I make a mental note to ask Ella what actually happened between the two of them. “I just don’t know anything about the character.”
“You haven’t read the script?”
“We just got it this morning, and it’s not like I have to talk.” It sounds defensive even in my own ears.
“I hate to break this to you.” Milo hands me the darts. “But you’ll have a line.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.” No way am I making a speech in that giant amphitheater.
Milo looks amused at my visible horror. “It’s just a line. All the actor-techs get one.”
“Did Ella have to do it last year?” I can’t explain my rising panic, the fact that I already don’t know what I’m doing here, that I can’t speak the language, that I don’t belong. Not to mention the fact that Ella didn’t mention this little detail.
What else hasn’t she told me?
“Yeah. So did I.” Milo shrugs again. “It’ll be in a crowd scene, probably only a few words.” I stare at him, not sure how to handle the information, and he points to the darts clenched in my hand. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I don’t. Instead, I turn back to the target, letting the darts fly fast, one after another. Two land outside the circle. The third misses the board completely, striking the wall and clattering harmlessly to the floor. I start to step back so Milo can take my place, but he’s standing behind me and I bump right into him. “Sorry.”
I move to the side, but he doesn’t come forward. Instead, he stays right where he is, looking down at me. “You’re actually freaked out, aren’t you?”
“I mean…I didn’t think I’d have to talk. I thought I�
�d blend in.” Milo cocks his head, assessing me. The moment lasts longer than feels comfortable. “What?” It comes out a little rudely.
“Nothing. You just don’t seem like the blending-in type, that’s all.” He turns to the board, and this time all three of his arrows zing-zing-zing right into the target circle. He looks back to me, his dark brown eyes scanning my face. “Would you feel better if I told you my line from last year?”
“Probably not.”
“Suit yourself.” He lopes forward to get the darts, and I change my mind as he’s pulling them out (and collecting my stray from the floor).
“Okay, go ahead.”
“Are you sure?” Milo spins around. “Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s really impressive. You’ll probably get all intimidated by my acting ability.”
“I’ll try to keep it together.” I fold my arms in front of my body, realizing that, oddly, I’m looking forward to it.
“Hold on.” Milo sets the darts on the shelf and then shakes out his hands. He runs his fingers through the choppy strands of his crow-black hair. He rolls his shoulders. He tilts his head one way, then the other, like he’s cracking his neck.
“What are you doing?”
“Warming up. You’ll learn about it.” He stretches one arm over his head, then the other. He starts what I assume are vocal exercises. “Puh-buh, puh-buh, puh-buh.”
“Oh good God.” I try to make an impatient face, but a smile creeps into it despite myself. “Just tell me the line.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Milo strikes a pose like the statue of a famous general, or perhaps an underwear model. He takes a breath, and then, in a deep, loud voice, he intones, “The yolk’s on you, Pollux!”
I wait, eyebrows raised, as Milo stays frozen with one hand held high. A full ten seconds later he still hasn’t moved, and I realize that was the entire line. I hasten to applaud.
“Thank you, thank you,” he says, bowing.
Through my laughter, I find words. “What does that even mean?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” He swipes the darts off the shelf and trots back. “It’s a pivotal moment in the stellar melodrama that is Zeus!”
“I can hardly wait.” We smile at each other and—just as I realize that, for a few minutes at least, I forgot about Tuck—I hear Ella’s voice behind me.
“I’m ready to go.”
I turn to find her standing with her hands on her hips, a reminder of the less-than-stellar melodrama that I’m currently starring in. I shake away my sudden flash of guilt. Blackmail is a crime. Talking to a boy is not.
I mean, talking to a person.
Even if he’s not Tuck.
Even if he’s Ella’s ex.
“Sure.” I hand the darts back to Milo. “Thanks for the game.”
“My pleasure.” He nods at my roommate. “Hi, Ella.”
“Hey.” She doesn’t make eye contact with him, only turns and heads for the exit.
I glance at Milo and edge my shoulders up in the tiniest shrug before following Ella between the tables and stools and people to the door. But then—for no discernable reason—I pause and look back. Milo is standing right where I left him, by the dartboard. Watching me.
He raises a hand in farewell and I respond the same way.
Then I flee.
I stick close to Ella as we begin the morning backstage tour of Olympus. Even though at least half of the company members have worked here before, Nikki insists that the entire cast and crew—all eighty-eight people—take the tour so everyone can be reminded of the rules along the way.
Nikki is very big on rules.
Ella and I lag toward the rear of the group as we all trek down from our seats. Then, to what I know must be Ella’s great chagrin, Milo falls into step with us. “Hi, guys.”
His arrival secretly fills me with delight: partially because it annoys Ella and partially because…
Actually, I’m not sure why.
“Morning,” I tell him.
Ella only nods.
As we congregate at the center of the stage, Nikki informs us that it was built forty years ago and is a half acre in size. Gretchen pipes up from somewhere in the middle of the crowd: “It’s not the size of the stage, y’all. It’s what you do with it.”
A guy in a Florida Gators cap lets out a bark of laughter. “Not exactly a compliment for Paris.”
“Shut up, Logan,” Gretchen says, and now I can see her standing with Tuck by her side.
As giggles ripple across the crowd, Tuck gives a good-natured shrug. “I know what to do with it.”
He pulls Gretchen into a kiss, and I make a small retching noise before I think to stop myself. Ella elbows me in the ribs at the same time that Milo says, “Tell me about it.”
Oh yeah. Milo’s here too. Whoops.
“Okay, enough.” Nikki glares everyone into submission. “Get it out of your system and let’s be professional. Even the newest of you should know that backstage is this way.”
She strikes out toward the edge of the stage, where there’s an opening between two groupings of boulders. They look like actual rocks to me, but maybe they’re fake. After all, my greatest summer takeaway so far is that I have no sense of when things are real and when they are not.
Milo nudges me. “Stage left. House right.”
“Huh?”
“This way is left if you’re onstage.” Ella elaborates, throwing a dirty look at Milo. “It’s right if you’re in the house, where the audience sits.”
Even the directions here don’t make sense.
We all follow Nikki around the side to a long, low, roofed wooden deck that runs along the back of the stage. There are “dressing rooms” at each end of it—with quotation marks because the dressing rooms are more like grubby middle-school locker rooms. With all the other females, I traipse into the women’s, where we see a center island of lockers surrounded by yellow benches. I find my name on a locker two down from Ella’s.
Off to the side is what looks like a communal shower: one small room with drains on the floor and several spigots coming out of the walls. I don’t know why anyone would choose to shower right out in the open instead of just waiting until they get home, but, as we all know, theater people are weird.
We leave our dressing room and follow Nikki down the wooden deck. One side is open to the outdoors, with only a low railing separating us from a tangle of trees and vines. The other—the back side of the stage—is a wall hung with framed Zeus! programs from summers gone by. There are also two corkboards. One is empty, but the other is covered in information: a rehearsal schedule on yellow paper, a weekly menu on blue paper, a sign-in sheet on white paper. Nikki points to the last one, explaining that we need to sign in every time we come to the theater. There’s a pause while everyone is silent, and then Nikki gives us a collective look. “That means now.”
There’s a rush for the sheet.
“When you’re done, report to the stage-left wings if you did not submit a cast photo online,” Nikki calls out. “And, no, I don’t care that you haven’t primped.”
I’m waiting to sign my name when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and come face to face with the brilliant master thespian Mr. Hugh Hadley…otherwise known as Zeus. He nods at me, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Got your script?”
“Pardon me?” The man’s been acting in the play for thirty-eight years. Surely he knows his lines by now.
“So I can sign it for you.” He smiles, and the eye wrinkles intensify. “I figure you’re new—you should get an autograph.”
“Uh, sure.” I open my backpack and fumble for my script. Hugh Hadley pulls a pen from somewhere within his khaki bomber jacket and scribbles what I assume is his signature across the front page of my script.
“Wait till I’m dead before you sell that.” He pokes me in the arm. “It’ll be worth more.”
“Thank you?” I don’t mean it to come out as a question, but it does.
Because
of my encounter with the brilliant master thespian, I’m one of the last people to sign in, which means that when I round the corner to the left side of the stage, Milo is putting his camera away. “Oops, sorry,” he says when he sees me. “Thought Paul was the last one.” He points to a spot between two fake (real?) boulders. “Right there.”
I go as directed and wait while he fiddles with his camera. “What do I do?” I ask him.
“Look at me and smile.” The smile Milo flashes at me is so genuine and warm that it’s impossible not to return. “Exactly.” He raises his camera and I freeze, my arms dangling awkwardly at my sides. Milo lowers the camera. “You don’t have to pose. Just be normal.”
Not exactly my strong suit. Besides, I wasn’t posing. I was paralyzed…but I guess he wouldn’t know that.
Milo prepares to take the picture, and I cross my arms, but again he pauses. “Do the first smile again.”
I try, but even I can tell it’s coming out weird. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m not good at this.”
“It’s okay.” Milo raises the camera. “Stinky diaper.”
“What?” I hear the series of clicks and know he just got my startled expression. “Please don’t use those.”
“My mom teaches second-grade Sunday school,” Milo says from behind the lens. “I help take pictures of the kids when they’re doing crafts or they have a performance. Saying something gross always makes them smile. I like to mix it up. Sometimes I go with ‘smelly socks.’ ”
I laugh and Milo gets the shot. He pulls the camera away from his face and looks at the screen. “Perfect,” he says with great satisfaction.
I suddenly realize I’m still smiling.
Milo and I catch up to the rest of the backstage tour in time to see the counter where we can buy discount meals on show nights, the pyrotechnics staging area (off-limits to everyone but the pyro crew), and the path that leads up to the parking lot so we don’t have to walk through the theater.
Finally we’re back onstage, theoretically doing the thing that we were all hired to do: make a play. It starts with Nikki calling out the names of the actor-technicians, one by one. The first one called (not me, thank the heavens) is Paul Longman, an African American dude with a shaved head and a nice smile. Paul steps to the front of our crowd so that Del Shelby can stare at him. After a moment, Del whispers to Nikki, and she scribbles something in her binder before waving Paul back to the crowd. As she calls the next name, Ella whispers in my ear. “He’s picking lines for people to say.”
