The lobby of the Marriott looked like one of those postapocalyptic movies where hundreds of bewildered people gathered in a public place to take shelter. But instead of hiding from an asteroid or hordes of flesh-eating zombies, the crowds were exchanging hotel keys and handing out welcome packets. Everywhere I looked, kids were rolling suitcases or piling into elevators or splashing around near the fountain. While our parents gathered at the check-in desk, sorting out room assignments and meal vouchers, I stood alone, going over the latest texts on my phone for the sixth time.
LOU: WE’VE ARRIVED! WHEN CAN WE MEET UP?
KAYLEE: WE’RE ABOUT TO ROLL UP. DON’T MAKE ANY NEW BEST FRIENDS WITHOUT ME!
TEDDY: UNPACKING NOW. SEE YOU IN A FEW!
An entire 42nd Street–size ensemble of butterflies was performing a quick change in my stomach. It wouldn’t be long before I’d see Teddy. In a matter of minutes, I’d hear his voice again, and marvel at the way he overemphasized his t’s, and smell his shirt as he leaned in for a hug, smelling like clean laundry and library books. But these warm thoughts were snuffed out by that voice looming in my head.
But, Jack . . . what if he doesn’t feel the same way about you?
“We’re on the fourth floor,” my mom said, walking over to our group and handing out key cards to the chaperones. “Also, Jack, they said you need to check in at the ballroom to go over technical stuff with the stage manager.”
“Oh.” I slumped, my thoughts returning to the unsettling world of The Fantasticks.
“Would you like Belinda or me to come with you?” my mom asked.
I looked over to Lou. Normally, this would be just the type of errand she’d volunteer to accompany me on, but the cloudy look on her face told me that this time I was on my own.
“No, it’s fine,” I said, turning back to my mom and the rest of the cast. “You guys can start unpacking. It should only take a minute.”
I handed off my suitcase and slowly made my way to the enormous ballroom in the back of the hotel, dodging groups of MTNs shaking hands and pushing racks of costumes and singing three-part harmonies to “The Schulyer Sisters” from Hamilton. As I entered the room, I got the strange feeling that I’d been here before. The uniformed kids, the floral carpeting . . . it was just like my nightmare.
I stopped dead in my tracks. Through the sea of clipboards and lanyards, I saw them—students in identical maroon blazers, crisp khakis, and navy blue ties with canary-yellow stripes. Standing in a circle at the center of the ballroom, they were joking around with one another in a self-assured way that made it obvious they knew more than a few eyes were on them.
All at once, the laughter and roughhousing seemed to halt. At the center of the group, surrounded by kids who looked like they’d stepped out of a Brooks Brothers advertisement, I spotted him. His jacket was slung casually over his shoulder, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off his tanned arms. His eyes seemed brighter than I’d remembered, his hair shinier and his teeth whiter. As I scrambled to run my fingers through my hair and smooth out the wrinkles on my T-shirt, Teddy turned his head, scanning the room like he knew someone was watching.
I scrunched my eyes shut, bracing myself for the nightmare to begin taking shape, but when I opened them, there was no audience of taunting kids. Just one boy jogging toward me, smiling his crooked smile and reaching his arms wide, pulling me into a hug.
“Jack Attack!” Teddy shouted, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Before I got a chance to memorize the brush of his hair against my cheek, he’d already pulled away. “How amazing is this place?” he asked breathlessly, gesturing to the crowd of MTNs.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . ,” I muttered, wiping my palms on the front of my jeans. “It’s great.”
Teddy tilted his head. “You okay, buddy? You look a little green.”
“No,” I said, straightening the collar of my shirt self-consciously. “No, I’m fine. I’m just a little queasy from the bus ride.”
“Aw, feel better, gurgle-guts,” Teddy said, giving my sneaker a little kick with his loafers.
I tried my best to let out an agreeable laugh.
“Where’s Thing Two?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Who, Lou?” I asked. “Oh, she’s up in her room unpacking. But she’ll be so jealous I got to see you.” I smiled weakly.
“Yeah, Kaylee’s supposedly pretty close, too. I can’t believe we’re all here!”
“Teddy!” a cluster of voices called from the group of uniformed students. He looked to them and then back to me apologetically.
“Sorry,” he said, nodding toward the group. “I should probably get back. Cavendish always does this thing where we give each other Paper Plate Awards the night before the competition, but I was thinking we should all meet before the big concert tonight?”
“Yeah, that would be awesome,” I said, sounding not quite as excited as I should have.
“That way we can all sit together and catch up before the circus begins tomorrow.” He smiled. “How does that sound?”
“Great!” I responded with as much energy as I could muster.
“Perfect,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you guys outside of the event center!”
And just like that, he was gone, absorbed back into the group of uniformed kids, heading off to some distant corner of the hotel to congratulate one another on how great their show was.
“So I have the script you sent along with your application,” the woman holding a clipboard said from behind a folding table piled high with paperwork. She wore a headset, a walkie-talkie, and a name tag that read “TRISH: TECHNICAL DIRECTOR” in big capital letters.
“Is this still the version you’re going to use?” she asked, holding up a printed packet.
“Oh.” I fished around in my director’s folder for a copy of the new and . . . “improved” version of The Fantasticks. “No, this is actually the updated version,” I said, handing her a fresh copy.
“A boy. A girl. Two fathers. And a wall—a Facebook wall,” she read off the first page. “Heh, that’s funny,” she said, kind of half laughing. “Are you guys doing some modern take on a show, too?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Well, sort of. It kind of takes place in a reality show, but there’s also social media, too, and then at the end there’s, like, this big grand prize.”
As I spoke I realized just how weak and confusing my pitch sounded.
“Uh . . . huh,” Trish said. “Yeah, I just checked in Cavendish Prep, and they went super modern, too.” Her eyes lit up. “I couldn’t believe their tech requirements. Please tell me you didn’t also bring fifteen computer monitors, a projector, and a sixty-inch LED screen? Because we only have so many extension cords.”
“No,” I said hesitantly. “Well, we have some phones and a video camera, but they don’t need power sources or anything.”
“Phew!” Trish laughed, swiping her hand across her forehead. “Those Cavendish kids sure know how to make my life more complicated. But I gotta say, I’m excited to see what they do this year. How to Succeed seems like the perfect musical to set in present day.”
What followed was an awkward silence that could have filled the entire overture of Gypsy.
“Aaalso, The Fantasticks,” Trish said, looking down at our script. “Hmm.” She frowned. “Yeah, I’ll be interested to see how you guys pull this off.”
I walked back to my hotel room in a cloud of frustration. It felt like everywhere I looked, kids were having the time of their lives. The hallways were scattered with girls (and the occasional boy) doing the splits, stretching and gossiping with their teammates. Every time I passed a group of students, I caught fragments of conversation—“she’s a soprano,” “do you tumble?” “like an eighth-grade Kelli O’Hara.” Laughter filled every elevator and sing-alongs seemed to erupt from every open doo
rway. Every cheer of glee only seemed to highlight the fact that at the moment, I was feeling exactly the opposite. I’d chosen to do Ghostlight so I could hang out with my friends and create something fun, but all I seemed to be having was regrets about my show and a stupid crush on a boy I was too embarrassed to tell anyone about. The voice in my head began to mock me once again: You could’ve been doing The Sound of Music . . .
The welcome concert was set to take place in the big event center attached to the hotel. According to our welcome packet, it promised to feature “songs and medleys from Broadway performers” wedged between “instructions and announcements from the Ghostlight staff.” Our parents went in to save seats, forcing me and Lou to face each other for the first time, alone. Rather than engage in what promised to be as awkward an interaction as my plot-summary session with Trish, we both buried our noses in our phones, swiping away in silence as we waited for the rest of the Four Musketeers to join us.
Kaylee was the first to arrive after us, greeting Lou and me with a huge hug that made me feel momentarily better.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here!” she cheered. “Isn’t this place slammin’?”
“It’s incredible,” Lou said, putting on a big plastered smile. “I feel like I’m in Disney World, and not just because Sierra Boggess is about to sing for us.”
It took every ounce of my existence not to roll my eyes.
“How’s your competition piece shaping up?” Kaylee asked.
Lou’s face stiffened, so I jumped in. “It’s great. We did a modern take on The Fantasticks that makes a lot of commentary on the genre of reality TV.”
Much better, I thought. Since my earlier gaffe, I’d been practicing the pitch.
“Whoa.” She gulped. “You guys are so smart. We’re just doing Once on This Island with a few folding chairs and some pieces of cloth.”
Right at that moment, Teddy’s head popped up behind Lou and Kaylee, his arms slung across their shoulders.
“Hey, Musketeers!” he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Teddy!” both the girls squealed, hugging him around the waist.
“Long time no see,” he said, throwing a quick glance my way.
“Everybody hold right there,” Kaylee said, whipping out her phone. “There are, like, no good pictures of the four of us from CCU, and I want to remember this moment.”
She reached out her arm and snapped a picture of our squad. I wondered if the photo captured my forced smile, or the gap Lou made to keep herself from having to touch me.
“So, Teddy, how doth the Royal Cavendish Academy fare on this eve of competition?” she said, putting on an affected Shakespearean accent and a comical smirk.
“Oh, very well, m’lady,” Teddy said, rolling his eyes. “Excited for tomorrow. Did you guys look at the schedule? We’re all performing back-to-back.”
“I know,” Lou said. “I’m glad we’re first. I would be so nervous having to perform after watching you guys.”
“Are you joking?” Teddy rolled his eyes. “From everything Jack’s told me, it’s all of us that need to watch out for you.”
Lou caught my eye. It was just for a second before turning back to our friends—“Aw, come on, YOU’RE the amazing ones”—but in that moment I could see clearly the profound look of disappointment in her eyes. I felt rotten. These three people were the whole reason I’d fought to do Ghostlight in the first place. Yet here we were, unable to enjoy it for even a second.
“I just want to say,” I chimed in, trying to force out a congenial smile, “that no matter what happens tomorrow, I’m really—”
But I was cut off by a girl wedging her way into our circle.
“Oh, there you are, Teddy.”
The newly arrived stranger had long wavy blond hair and a dash of freckles across her nose. She wore an oversize, unbuttoned Cavendish Prep polo that practically fell off her bare shoulder. Around her neck was a long gold chain with an antique-looking owl pendant at the end.
“Are these your camp friends?” she asked, tucking her hand in the crook of Teddy’s elbow.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, placing an arm behind her back, sort of presenting her to our group. “This is Juniper. She’s playing Rosemary opposite me in How to Succeed.”
“Aw, nice to meet you,” Lou and Kaylee chimed, taking turns shaking her hand. I reached mine out to shake, but Juniper had already turned back to Teddy, fanning her hands frantically in front of her face. “Oh my gosh, Teddy!”
My hand-shaking arm left hanging, I tried to play it off like I had meant to inspect my cuticles instead. It was moderately convincing.
“You’ll never believe what Aspen just pointed out,” she squealed. “My name is literally Juniper and I’m playing someone named Rosemary!” She giggled. “Isn’t that bananas?”
“Oh,” Teddy replied. “Right, because they’re both—”
“—herbs,” Juniper cut in. “Yeah, I’m such a nerd for never noticing.”
I watched as Teddy’s hand traveled down to the small of her back.
“Juniper’s dad works with my mom,” he said to the three of us. “We’ve been in the same class since, like, kindergarten.”
“But,” said Juniper, lifting a finger and poking his cheek, “we’ve never gotten to play opposite each other in a show until this year. Isn’t that bananas?”
Kaylee and Lou exchanged a quick look.
“Totally bananas,” Kaylee replied.
“Well, it was so nice meeting you guys,” Juniper said, doing a kind of demi-plié. “Teddy, don’t take too long. I saved you a seat!”
All of our heads turned toward Teddy, who suddenly seemed incredibly interested in the pattern of the hotel carpet. Saved him a seat? Wasn’t Teddy sitting with us? Wasn’t that the whole point of meeting out here before? I could feel my face turning red-hot.
“Um.” Teddy gulped, raising his head toward her and sort of raising his eyebrows and shrugging. “I kinda told my camp friends I’d sit with them?” He made it sound like a question.
“Aww,” Juniper moaned, her mouth turning into an exaggerated pout. “Well, I guess that’s okay. But maybe at intermission you can come and sit with your actual cast.”
She twirled around and swanned away toward the concert hall before Teddy had a chance to reply, leaving a bouquet of lavender-scented shampoo in her wake.
“Ohhh maah Gaaa,” Kaylee howled once the four of us were alone again. “Teddy, that girl is the most!”
“Juniper?” Teddy asked, his face flushing. “Yeah, she’s, kind of . . . attached to me.”
“Honey, if she were any more attached to you, the two of you could star in a revival of Side Show.” Kaylee chuckled. “She’s, like, in love.”
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I winced.
“Oh, I dunno.” Teddy looked down at his feet. “She just gets . . . excited. She’s actually really sweet.”
Teddy looked extremely uncomfortable, and the group went silent. He dug his hands into the pockets of his khakis and pursed his lips. I recognized that look—the way your body seized up when someone talked about a person you liked. The way your words got tangled in your throat. I knew exactly what that felt like because I’d been feeling the same way since the end of camp.
“Wait, you guys have to kiss at the end of the show, right?” Kaylee gasped. “Oh, I bet Juniper hates that.”
“Oh, you know.” Teddy gave a nervous little laugh.
The room started spinning. I felt like I was in gym class that time that I got dared to press my forehead on the handle of a baseball bat and twirl around it in a merry-go-round of dizziness.
“She’s not . . .” Kaylee clasped her hands below her chin. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?”
Lou turned and locked eyes with me. She had an expression on her face that I couldn’t r
ead. Maybe it was because my vision had gone blurry. My stomach turned, sweat ran down the back of my neck. I’d never felt more stupid in my entire life.
“Jack, are you all right?” Teddy said, noticing that I looked like a cracked egg simmering in a hot pan. I flinched as he said my name. “You look a little . . .”
But I didn’t hear the end of what he said. All the anxiety of the day—the frosty bus ride with the cast, the skeptical stage manager, the silent treatment from my best friend, the girlfriend of the boy I liked—they all seemed to swirl together like toxic sludge in my stomach. All at once I felt it lurch through my body like a punch in the gut. I couldn’t stop it from coming. I reached my hands up and covered my mouth, turning and sprinting across the floral carpeting. I was about to . . . Oh no—
Louisa
THE THREE OF US STOOD slightly stunned, staring down the hallway in the direction Jack had gone running.
“What just happened?” Teddy finally asked, hesitantly. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Poor guy,” said Kaylee, shaking her head. “He looked like he was about to, you know, hurl . . .” She grimaced as she said the word.
“What should we do?” Teddy looked to me, visibly upset. “Should we go see if he’s okay?”
I’m sure he expected me to have an immediate solution, being Jack’s best friend. Of course neither he nor Kaylee realized that Jack and I weren’t really speaking to each other, and I didn’t want to make an already awkward moment even more awkward by telling them all about our fight the day before. And there was no way I was going to tell them what I strongly suspected: that Jack had gotten sick over the idea of Teddy having a girlfriend.
“Let’s give him a minute,” I suggested, figuring that such a plan would accomplish two things: give Jack some time to himself, which he probably needed, and give me some time to figure out how to proceed, since he and I were on such shaky ground. The truth was I did feel bad for Jack. Sure, we’d had a fight, but I was still sensitive to the fact that heartache had just been added to his list of problems. You know how it is with fights, though; they’re like wells—easy to fall into, and nearly impossible to climb out.
Act 3 Page 11
