by Allen Zadoff
“It’s amazing what a little inspiration can do,” he says.
“Are you still going to quit?” I say.
“I thought a lot about it,” Mr. Apple says. “You know what I realized?”
Puck walks to the front of the stage.
The entire theater is dark now, the audience silent.
There’s a single actor. A single candle.
“I’m a theater person,” Mr. Apple says. “This is my home.”
Puck holds out her candle, scanning the faces of the audience.
HUBBARD
So, good night unto you all …
Then something unexpected happens. Candle wax drips on Hubbard’s hand, and she shakes it in pain.
Her flame goes out, and the room is cast in total darkness.
I hold my breath.
I wait for the fear to come, but it doesn’t.
I look for my father in the dark, but he’s not there.
It’s just me and Mr. Apple offstage right, standing together.
A cheer rises from the audience. People are applauding wildly, shouting at the stage in excitement.
The rear doors of the theater open, and light floods in from emergency lights the fire department has set up in the hall.
Ignacio motions for the crew to follow him onstage, each one with a flashlight.
I don’t join them. I stay backstage and watch.
The audience continues to applaud. First the actors bow, then the techies, then everyone together.
Some of the techies call my name, just a few at first, then all of them. Soon the actors join in.
“Ad-am!” they shout over and over. And a few call out, “Z!”
I listen to the applause, people shouting my name. I look to see if Summer is shouting for me. She’s not.
“Are you going out?” Mr. Apple says.
I look over my shoulder. Derek is standing in shadow behind me. I can’t see his face, but I can sense him watching me.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Enjoy your moment in the spotlight,” Mr. Apple says. “You earned it.”
He nudges me onto the stage. The techies and actors turn their flashlights on me.
The audience cheers.
I hold my hand up over my face, trying to hide my zits. Then I take it down.
I stand and let everyone see me.
I even take a little bow, and the crowd goes wild.
I think of what Mr. Apple said about the first time he was onstage. I can sort of see why he liked it.
The audience continues to applaud. I take another little bow, and before the applause ends, I walk offstage.
I walk right past the actors and techies, past Derek and Mr. Apple—straight out the back of the theater. I walk down the hall of the theater department where I first saw Summer. I go out the back door of the school.
The lights of the fire trucks revolve slowly, bouncing red-yellow light across the asphalt.
I walk through the parking lot, and I don’t stop until I find Mom’s Volvo.
I send her a text, telling her I’m waiting for her at the car.
It’s not that I don’t like applause. It’s kind of nice.
But all those people looking at me—
There’s only so much a techie can take.
THEY WILLFULLY THEMSELVES EXILE FROM LIGHT.
“That was amazing,” Mom says. “You were amazing.”
Mom is so excited, she’s driving almost thirty miles per hour instead of her usual twenty. We pass Enzo’s then turn the corner towards home.
“I didn’t do that much. I was backstage most of the time,” I say.
“The lights,” Mom says. “All those beautiful ideas. You were everywhere up there.”
“They were Mr. Apple’s ideas, too. We were working together.”
“That’s the best way. A collaboration.”
I look at the headlights on the pavement, the way they reflect off a bank of trees, then disappear into the dark again.
“Do you think about Dad?” I say.
Mom’s eyes flit towards me then back to the road.
“What kind of question is that?” she says.
“We never talk about it,” I say. “We almost talk about it, but we never do.”
Mom stares at the road. I’m waiting for her to ignore my question or change the subject. That’s how we usually do it.
“I think of him every day,” she says.
“Me, too.”
“I know you do.”
“I’ve been afraid to tell you,” I say.
“Why afraid?”
“I don’t want to make you sad.”
“I’m already sad, Adam. We both are. It’s a sad thing that happened.”
I remember waking up one particular morning after it happened. Not the morning when the police were at the house. And not the morning of the funeral.
Those mornings were terrible, but they were easy in comparison.
This morning was three weeks later.
I slept all night with a flashlight in the crook of my arm. That started right after Dad died, bringing the flashlight to bed with me. I’d been having nightmares for weeks, but this night was different. When I woke up, I felt peaceful for the first time in weeks.
Then I opened my eyes.
It was Monday. The first day of high school. Time for meto start again.
A new school.
A new life.
I opened the blinds in my bedroom, and the morning light burned my eyes.
The universe seemed cruel to me then, the way it can turn out the lights and turn them on again with the flip of a switch. It can turn off the sun. Or a person. Whatever it chooses to do. And you’re just supposed to go on as if nothing happened.
I hated everyone that day. Dad for dying. Me for living.
And Josh.
“I’m so angry at Josh,” I say out loud.
“Why, honey?”
“Dad died and he took off. Now he’s having a great life at Cornell.”
Mom thinks about that for a second.
“Everyone deals with things in their own way,” she says.
“He wasn’t even sad. He had a new girlfriend like a week later.”
First I lost Dad. Then I lost Josh. That’s what it felt like.
Mom bites at her thumbnail.
“I made a lot of mistakes, too,” she says.
“No, you didn’t.”
I think about Mom after it happened. Sleeping until noon, then disappearing into the bathroom for half the day.
“I couldn’t handle it,” Mom says. “I tried to be there for you, but I drifted into my own world.”
“I went backstage,” I say.
I started tech in the fall right after Dad died. It seemed like a great thing at the time. New friends, new interests. That’s what everyone said I needed to do. That’s what Reach said, too, and I didn’t disagree.
The theater became my whole life. And then it kind of replaced my life.
Who was I before that?
I try to think back to that time, back when I was thirteen.
What did I like? Who did I want to be?
It seems like it was so long ago.
Then I remember—the cardboard box on the top shelf of my closet. It’s been up there for two years, untouched. Forgotten about.
Not completely forgotten.
It’s Dad’s box, filled with tubes of acrylic paint, palette knives, brushes—
“I wanted to be a painter,” I say to Mom.
“That was a long time ago,” she says.
“I wanted to be a painter like Dad. After he died, I couldn’t deal with it. I gave up. I got into tech so I wouldn’t have to think about it.”
“But, honey—you are a painter.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Tonight on that stage. You made a painting with light.”
I think about the images from tonight’s production. Flashlight beams crisscrossing the woods. Fairies
speckled and glowing in the dark. A slow procession of candles.
Mom’s right.
My phone vibrates. Right away I think of Josh. What if it’s him calling? That would be the perfect ending. He calls to say he’s coming home. Tomorrow we’ll sit down and talk things out. It’s like the scene in the musical where the family hugs at the end, reunited and singing in perfect harmony.
The phone is still vibrating.
I look at the screen.
It’s Reach.
I consider not answering, but then I change my mind.
“Are you coming to the cast party?” he says when I answer.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say.
“Well, plan.”
I don’t say anything.
“Let me rephrase that,” Reach says. “It would be cool if you came.”
“Why?” I say.
“Giving you the silent treatment sucks,” he says.
I hear singing in the background, a cast party in full swing.
“To tell you the truth, I’m kind of lonely without you,” Reach says.
That’s a good reason. But I don’t tell him that.
“Where is it?” I say.
“Derek’s House. Upper Mountain Ave.”
“Ugh,” I say.
I think of Derek holding court in his dad’s gigantic house.
“Is he gunning for me?” I say.
“I think he’s gunning for other things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Summer,” Reach says.
“Okay,” I say, and I hang up.
“What was that about?” Mom says.
I look at the road. We’re almost home. It would be so easy to let Mom drive me home, go up to my room, lie in bed, and think about the show. I could hear the applause again in my head. I could hug my pillow and dream of lighting Summer.
“Stop,” I say to Mom.
“Stop what?”
“Stop the car!”
Mom hits the brake a little too hard. “
“I’m not going up to my room,” I say.
“I didn’t tell you to go to your room.”
“I know, I know,” I say.
Mom looks confused.
“Can you take me to the cast party?” I say.
IT IS NOT NIGHT WHEN I DO SEE YOUR FACE.
Upper Montclair is a series of expensive homes and more expensive mansions. Mom pulls up in front of one of the mansions. It’s not like a castle or anything, but it’s huge and every light is on.
“This is a nice place,” Mom says.
“Derek’s dad is Thomas Dunkirk.”
“The architect?”
“That’s the one.”
The windows are open, and I can hear Peter singing the title song from Rent at the top of his lungs. All those TV shows about singers and theater people have raised expectations super high in our theater department. People think they have to be singing and dancing in perfect synchronization all the time without rehearsal. But real life isn’t synchronized like that. It’s a mess. Like our theater department.
I open the car door, but I don’t get out yet. I turn back to Mom. “You know how I keep telling you that Josh and I are talking? It’s a lie,” I say.
“Why would you lie about that?”
“I call him, but he never calls me back.”
“Never?”
“Like once every six months.”
“That makes me angry,” Mom says. “I’m going to talk with him.”
“Don’t,” I say. “Let me do it, Mom. I need to have a serious talk with him. I’ve been avoiding it for too long.”
Mom nods. “Good for you,” she says.
I get out of the car.
“I’ll get a ride home with someone. It might be late.”
“How late?”
“Mom, it’s a cast party.”
“I worry. I can’t help it.”
“I’ll text you before midnight.”
“Okay,” Mom says, relieved. “Enjoy yourself.”
She puts on her signal and pulls out slowly, even though the road is deserted. I open Derek’s giant front door and walk into the middle of a wild celebration.
“Welcome to Fame Lite,” Grace says when she sees me.
“People are excited about the show,” I say.
“That’s an understatement,” Grace says. “You’re kind of a hero tonight.”
I shrug.
“I’m not trying to get in your pants,” Grace says. “Take the compliment.”
“Taken,” I say.
“Speaking of pants, did you notice I’m out of uniform tonight?” Grace says.
She spins, a cute yellow skirt swirling around her legs. I notice she has a big scab on her knee.
“I’ve never seen you in a skirt,” I say.
“I figured I’d act like a chick for one night. A techie chick.”
“Very nice.”
“Does it make you want me?” Grace says. She wiggles her eyebrows and I laugh.
“I want you as a friend,” I say.
“Do you mean real friends, or the thing where I’m the creepy girl and you’re the guy who pretends to like me but you’re just putting up with me?”
“Real friends,” I say.
Her face lights up.
I catch sight of Reach across the room. He waves.
“What do you think of Reach?” I say.
“He’s a jerk.”
Across the room, Reach does a robot dance over to an ice bucket filled with soda.
“A strangely compelling jerk,” Grace says.
“He’s single, you know.”
“By the look of things, he’s going to stay that way.”
“He’s a good guy. I mean, once you get past the exterior trappings. Like his personality.”
Grace laughs. “Are you trying to pawn me off on your friend?”
“You two might make a good match.”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
Reach comes over and hands me a soda from his robot claw. “You made it,” he says to me. “And Grace …”
He looks down.
“… in a skirt. Interesting.”
“Did you know I have legs?” she says.
“I’ve seen you walking, so I assumed they were under there somewhere,” Reach says.
He glances at her chest.
“I need a soda,” Grace says. “I’ll let you two have some male-bonding time.” She walks into the crowd.
“When did she grow boobs?” Reach says.
“I’m pretty sure she’s had them all along.”
“Boobs. Legs. I need to take my radar into the shop,” Reach says.
“Onto more serious matters,” I say.
“Exactly,” Reach says. “We need to talk.”
We wind our way through the crowd, several techies shouting when they see me and clapping me on the back. Reach and I find a private corner.
“I had a conversation with Johanna,” I say.
“That can be an unpleasant experience,” Reach says.
“So it’s true.”
Reach exhales, his long arms slumping by his sides.
“I had a crush on her,” he says.
“Had?”
“It’s over now. Mostly over. Now I just wince and feel like shit every time I see her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say.
“I was embarrassed. I don’t even know how it happened. It came out of nowhere. Like Ebola. Horny ebola.”
“We had a pact. No secrets.”
“How could I tell you?” Reach says. “She was an actor. I was breaking the techie code.”
“In a soft and furry way.”
Reach moans and covers his eyes.
“She told you about the teddy bear?” he says.
“At least you didn’t do the Altoids tin.”
“Half Crack told me I should do the hair-in-the-tin thing, but I never take advice from that guy.” He shakes his head like he’s t
rying to get rid of the memory.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Summer?” he says.
“Same reason as you.”
“We let girls get between us,” Reach says.
“Love turns you into a maniac,” I say. “There’s no other explanation.”
“We need a new pact,” Reach says. “Friendship first, girlfriends second. A close second. But definitely second.”
I raise my soda.
“Here’s to getting girlfriends,” I say, “so we can put them second.”
We tap sodas and drink.
“You really made a tiny Macy’s bag?” I say.
“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not for at least six months.”
I hear girls laughing down the hall. I scan the room, trying to locate Summer.
“What are you going to do about your own actor problem?” Reach says.
“What do you think?”
“Are you asking for my advice?”
“I guess I am. Imagine that.”
“I think you should grow a pair,” Reach says. “Actually, I saw you out on that stage tonight. You already have a pair. A big pair. You just need to swing them a little bit.”
“It could get embarrassing,” I say.
“We’re techies. Embarrassment is like mother’s milk to us.”
“In that case, I’m going to take a walk,” I say.
“Try the living room,” Reach says. “And hey—I’ve got your back.”
“I’m glad,” I say.
I throw him a salute and step into the crowd.
As I walk through the house, I’m surprised to find things divided just like they always were. There are actor rooms and a techie rooms, actor conversations and techie conversations. Part of me thought that tonight’s show would bring everyone together in a new way. But it feels like people left the show and went right back to business as usual.
I find Summer in the living room like Reach predicted. The whole theater department is in here, divided like Germany after World War II, techies on one side and actors on the other.
I walk through the techies. They seem excited to see me, maybe a little surprised, too. I’m not exactly known for my social “A” game. I shake hands as I go and I’m friendly to everyone, but I don’t stop walking.
I pause when I get to the dividing line between techies and actors.
That’s when I see Derek.
He’s deep in actor territory, talking to a large group and gesticulating. I can imagine what he’s been saying about me.
