by Disney Books
Copyright © 2020 Disney Enterprises, Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.
ISBN 978-1-368-06485-9
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 01: Ashlyn’s Thanksgiving Party
Chapter 02: The Start of Something New: Nini 2.0
Chapter 03: How Did I Get Here?
Chapter 04: A Happy Drama Camper
Chapter 05: While Nini’s Away…
Chapter 06: A Thanksgiving with Ex-Boyfriends
Chapter 07: From Skater Boy to Theater Kid
Chapter 08: Let the Show-Mance Begin!
Chapter 09: Ricky Finally Gets It!
Chapter 10: Nini Takes the Lead
Preview of The Wonderstudies: Gina and E.J.’s Stories
Chapter 01: Plotting at Homecoming
The last time I had thrown a party that big, half the guests were stuffed animals, which was how my favorite bunny, Fluffy, ended up with a red punch stain on her right ear. So I had been a little nervous about being able to pull it off. It wasn’t exactly a rager, but, you know, I’d call Thanksgiving: the After-Party a success. It seemed like everyone had fun.
The idea for the party just kind of happened after rehearsal on Friday. I told Carlos and Big Red that E.J.’s folks were treating my folks to some high-end spa thingy in Park City.
“Wait, do you guys want to come over after dinner tomorrow, Iike a late-night party?” I asked.
“I never don’t want that,” Carlos said.
“Should we keep it to a small group?” Big Red wondered.
“Party at Ashlyn’s after dinner tomorrow,” Carlos blurted out to the whole rehearsal room. “Everyone’s invited!”
So, like, the whole cast and crew were suddenly coming to my house. Not that I minded. I liked the idea of hosting a big party. Isn’t that a basic teenage rite of passage or something? Plus, I’d already baked a bunch of pies for baking club, so I had something to serve. I mean, I didn’t just serve pie. I got veggies and chips and tons of sodas and stuff. Everybody brought something, too, which was cool of them. Nini made cookies. E.J. brought lobster dip and some forty-year-old balsamic. Gina brought gluten-free cupcakes with little turkeys on them. And Seb brought fresh milk, which I guess is a thing when you live on a farm.
I also got some Thanksgiving decorations and streamers at the party store. I figured, why not lean into the whole Turkey Day theme? Hopefully everyone took the decorations in more of an ironic way, which is what I intended.
Big Red came over early to help me set everything up. He said his folks started napping before the Macy’s parade ended, so he was free. I guess because he’s on crew, I figured he’d be good at carrying stuff. Also, there’s something sweet and thoughtful about him, like that compliment he gave me about throwing a brighter spotlight on me because he likes the way I sing. How is that not adorkable?
“The party may begin,” Carlos said as he walked into the house, carrying this crazy giant game board. “This is something I’ve been waiting many long years to share with the world. You guys, this is High School Musical: The Choosical. When I was a child, I wanted to go into the movie but the movie was on a screen, so I decided to create the next best thing: an interactive, hyperactive HSM experience that can be played by children and adults everywhere in the world, as long as they lived in my bedroom.”
“So you’ve had this thing in your room for ten years?” Big Red asked.
“Yes, but I’ve never actually played it,” Carlos said.
“We’ll totally play it,” I told him.
Carlos had created all these fun categories to pick from: Get’cha Head in the Frame trivia challenge, Bop to the Top dance challenge, Synch to the Status Quo lip-synching challenge, and Looking for Glee singing challenge. To move spaces, you actually had to sing and dance and stuff. Only Carlos would go to that kind of detail. It was super impressive. I joined the same team as Big Red: the South Side—I mean the West High Knights. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
Usually people spend Thanksgiving saying what they’re grateful for, not what they’re sorry for, but somehow E.J. chose Thanksgiving to go on some kind of weird making-amends campaign. He was admitting all this messed-up stuff he had done. I guess I’m impressed with the change. My cousin is not the type to try to make things right, so this is a whole new thing. I’m not exactly sure if the world is ready for the new E.J., though.
He called Emily Pratt from theater camp and confessed that he had given her a spoiled deviled egg on opening night so that Nini could go on in her place. Then he passed his phone to Nini, which completely threw her. She was clearly not expecting to talk to the girl she had stolen the spotlight from—even if she hadn’t known on opening night what was going down.
Ricky and Gina came together. He walked in wearing a hat Gina had knit for him, and the whole Ricky-and-Gina-arriving-together situation threw Nini even more. I guess it has to be kind of weird to see your first love with someone new. But hey, we’re drama kids. So there’s gonna be a lot of drama. I’m just glad it didn’t ruin my party, because I’d call this shindig a total success.
Whoa. Emily Pratt…definitely didn’t expect to talk to her tonight. That was weird. But nice. I mean, I didn’t know if she’d ever talk to me again once E.J. told her the real story about how she got “sick” and I went on for her as Marian the librarian in the summer camp production of The Music Man. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say to her.
But it turned out E.J. had done the heavy honesty lifting. By the time he passed me the phone, he’d already confessed everything to Emily. Surprisingly, she was pretty cool about it. She seemed too focused on her new drama school to be upset about something from last summer, which was a huge relief. Theater camp was the best experience, like, ever, and I learned so much from Emily.
I’ve always loved singing. And acting. And show tunes. Ever since my moms took me to see a touring production of Annie at the Eccles Theater when I was eight, I’ve basically been obsessed. I pretty much know every lyric to every Broadway musical ever. Seriously, ask me to sing any show tune and I can belt it out, no problem. Hello, Dolly!; Hamilton; Oklahoma!; Wicked; The Lion King; Brigadoon. Love them all. And have you heard the Rent soundtrack? Amazing. I know every note.
But at East High, I hadn’t been cast in anything but the chorus. True, East High has a ton of super-talented students, so the leads don’t usually go to freshmen and sophomores. But still, a lot of underclassmen get cast in supporting and featured roles. Or, um, you know, they at least get to say one line. I literally never got past the chorus.
My moms heard about this theater camp and showed me the website, and it looked pretty cool. And when I told Kourtney I was thinking about going, she started jumping up and down and doing that thing with her voice she does when she means business.
“You have to go, Nini,” she said. “You deserve to be there with all the other talented kids.”
And something inside me agreed. Four straight weeks of musical theater, doing something I love 24/7? Sign me up. Sure, of course I was hoping to land a speaking part. But I figured even if I didn’t, the worst thing that could happen was I would have an epic time with new friends and end up playing the back end of a cow. Again.
Then, before I left for camp, the whole
Ricky debacle went down. Writing Ricky a song to celebrate our anniversary was honestly the first idea I had for a gift for him, and it just felt right. I spent weeks composing the melody and writing, then rewriting the lyrics, getting them perfect. I knew what I wanted to say, but the tough part was figuring out how to say it. But that’s part of the songwriting process, right? I eventually got it down.
Once everything clicked, I recorded it on my phone. I know, I could have sung it to him in person when we were hanging out one night, but that didn’t seem special enough. I wanted it to be a big gesture for a big moment. A video seemed like the way to go. Also, I still get really nervous performing live in front of other people. So yeah, I posted it to Instagram. That’s how I told him, “Ricky, I don’t not love you.”
I’m not exactly sure what I expected Ricky’s reaction to be. Probably like something I’ve seen in one of those nineties rom-coms my moms make me watch when it’s their turn to pick on movie night. You know, like Ricky would sweep me up in his arms and tell me I was a crazy-talented songwriter and he didn’t not love me back. But instead, he sat there and said nothing. Well, not nothing—worse than nothing.
“Oh,” Ricky mumbled.
“Oh?” I managed to muster.
“It’s just that’s a really big thing to post online,” Ricky said. “Look, I’ve been thinking. You’re just going to be out of town for like a month, right? And you’re probably going to have, like, no reception in the woods. Maybe we just chill for a minute. Like take a temporary pause.”
“A pause,” I said. My stomach dropped. For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. But then I looked up and saw his face and knew he’d meant it.
“Yeah, I totally get that,” I said, trying to not let on how upset I was.
“I’ll text you,” he said. Then he hightailed it out of my room.
So, yup, I got dumped or paused or put on a break or whatever you want to call it. And instead of spending my last two days before camp chilling with my boyfriend, who didn’t love me, I basically locked myself in my room and cried. I told my moms I was in there packing, but I’m pretty sure they knew the truth. Kourtney said she could hear me crying from the driveway. I was kind of devastated and suddenly really, really grateful that I was leaving town for four weeks.
Kourtney was really sweet and gave me a camp survival kit she put together herself as a going-away gift. It included a couple of peel-off face masks, because she said I had to look radiant onstage; a blue headband to keep my hair out of my face at rehearsals; neon bandages in case I got blisters from all the dance practices; and a frame with a picture of us at Spring Carnival to remind me I wasn’t alone.
Kourt was going to spend the rest of her summer focusing on intersectional feminism and dismantling the patriarchy. She said I should take a cue from her and that I was better off going to camp as a single lady, not weighed down by a dude waiting for me at home, even if that dude was Ricky. I saw what she was saying, but I would have preferred it if Ricky had just said, “I love you,” back. But he hadn’t.
Camp sent out a whole long packing list to everyone. Jazz shoes, tap shoes, character shoes, leotards, tights, a notebook for rehearsal notes, swimsuits, flip-flops, towels, bug spray, a shower caddy, et cetera. I filled one of those giant army surplus duffel bags plus my backpack. And I brought my keyboard and my ukulele. And then my grandma gave me a totally cute monogrammed rehearsal tote filled with snacks. I tried to explain that people online said the mess hall food was pretty good, but she was having some kind of grandma moment and felt the need to send me off with rations. And it’s not like I was gonna say no to red licorice, right? My moms and I, plus all the bags, crammed into the car, and we were off.
Here’s the thing: I thought it was going to be hard to say goodbye to my family, but the second I set foot on camp grounds, this glittery excitement surged through me. There were people under a tree singing a Dear Evan Hansen medley. There were two girls debating Sondheim versus Andrew Lloyd Webber. It. Was. Ridiculous. I felt right at home.
The cabins at camp were all named after different shows. I was assigned to the Camelot cabin with three other girls. Pilar and I were enrolled in the performance track, Jade was focused on choreography, and Kelsey was into set design. She showed us some of the sets she built for her school’s performance of Guys and Dolls. She has an incredible eye. The whole cabin started talking as we unpacked. It weirdly felt like we all became instantly close, maybe because we had a shorthand. Theater people just get each other, you know?
Pilar called dibs on a lower bunk near the window, claiming something about sunlight and vitamin D, and asked if I wanted the top bunk above her. Jade and Kelsey split the other bunk. The cabins were a little rustic. There was no air-conditioning, only fans, basically zero closet space, and one bathroom for all of us to share. But it was cool and kind of drove home the whole feeling of being away at camp. Our cabin counselor, Aisha, was majoring in theater at Northwestern, which was, like, way inspiring. It got me thinking that maybe I could study theater at college, too.
Kourt was totally right—as always. That girl definitely knows me. There was no way I was going to waste this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity wallowing in self-pity because of Ricky. This was my time to chase my dreams, to be fully present and to just work on my craft. Theater camp was the start of something new.
If you’d asked me a couple of months ago, I never would have guessed I’d be spending Thanksgiving night at a party with a bunch of drama kids. Not that I didn’t have fun. The theater kids are cool. I just mean a lot has changed since the summer. I didn’t even know who Ashlyn was a few months ago, so I wouldn’t have expected to be at her house. And Gina hadn’t moved to town yet, so I definitely wouldn’t be wearing a hat she knit me. By the way, how cool is it that she knows how to knit and can make a hat? Maybe I’m just getting to know her, but it sort of seems like something has shifted in Gina. Like she’s softer somehow. I don’t know, kinder. And she’s making a big effort to be friends with me.
I assumed my mom would come back from Chicago for Thanksgiving, lugging a giant tin of popcorn she picked up for me from that store by her office. And then she, my dad, and I would cook a huge Thanksgiving dinner together, eat way too much, and then roll to my aunt Judy’s place to eat endless amounts of dessert. I mean, sure, my folks probably would have spent most of the day arguing about how much stuffing to make and how early to start cooking the turkey, but that’s normal, right? Most families get stressed out and argue on holidays. And whatever, maybe my folks got stressed out and argued on most non-holidays, too. But legally separating? It’s a lot.
Corn bread is my mom’s Thanksgiving specialty. When I was a little kid, we used to bake it together. She even got us matching aprons and taught me her family secret about how to make it moist. She swore me to secrecy, but I don’t think it’s a big deal if I tell you a little bit about why it always turns out so delicious. It’s because she uses the highest-quality white cornmeal, full-fat buttermilk, and a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet. Then she serves it straight from the oven with homemade honey butter. Not to brag or anything, but it’s amazing. I’m talking five-star-restaurant good.
My dad and I skipped corn bread this Thanksgiving. We ate hot wings and instant mashed potatoes. Yeah, I know, pretty lame. But I don’t blame Dad; he’s trying. He’s just a really bad cook. And he’s been on this hot wings kick since my mom left.
I called my mom earlier tonight to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. It took me most of the day to work up the courage to reach out to her. I was seriously considering sending a text, but then it felt weird, not hearing her voice on Thanksgiving for, like, the first time ever. So I called her and some dude answered the phone. He said his name was Todd and that he’d heard so much about me. Who’s Todd? And when did this Todd guy hear so much about me? How long has Mom been hanging out with him? I just want things to go back to the way they were, okay? Even if my folks were constantly fighting. It was better.
Like over the summer, a few weeks before Nini left for theater camp, my parents took us both out to Big Red’s parents’ pizza restaurant, Slices, to celebrate the end of the school year. It was kind of like a double-date thing. Yeah, I know, double-dating with your parents is about one of the lamest things you could do. But I didn’t care. It made me happy, all of us being together. My mom and dad sat next to each other in the red booth; Nini sat next to me, holding my hand under the table. We were all laughing as Nini demonstrated how she slurps all the foam off her root beer in one big gulp. She’s been drinking it like that since we were kids. I remember she did it at my birthday party when I turned eight, and then she walked around with a root beer mustache for like fifteen minutes. It made the whole class crack up.
Anyway, Slices was going pretty well until the waiter mentioned the daily special. We were all set on ordering a large thin crust with mushrooms, tomatoes, and extra cheese, so the dude didn’t even have to bring up the special. But he did: it was deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. Next thing you know, my mom’s telling us all about the most amazing pizza she had at this little place while she was in Chicago on her business trip. And Dad got upset and said we were going with the thin crust, like we always did. And then Mom shot him a look, and I don’t think the two of them said another word the rest of the evening. It was mega awkward. But even then, even though the double date was a total disaster, at least we were all together. Isn’t it better for a family to be together, even if they don’t get along, than to be spread out all over the place, each doing their own thing? Me, Mom, Dad, Nini—all four of us, we’re each doing our own thing now. And it sucks. I don’t get it; why do things have to change?
I know I was pretty upset when I left for drama camp, but once I got there, camp was everything. It was like something I’d always dreamed about—but better. Every morning we had these rotating classes: scene study, vocal technique, a couple of different styles of dance, and improv. It was all really serious training that could help elevate our performances. Then, in the afternoon, we alternated between show rehearsals and typical camp stuff, like hiking, swimming, and volleyball, which, by the way, I am terrible at. Although, randomly, I’m really good at archery. Not sure why.
