“Right!” Corey bleated. “Totally!”
Jack started to shift his feet, making me think he was about to get us out of this awkward situation, when Carol suddenly inhaled sharply.
“Wait a second!” She held up her hands dramatically, like she was putting on the brakes to an exciting conversation that no one was actually having.
“We have two tickets to tomorrow’s matinee that we were going to give to Corey’s cousins, but they both came down with strep two days ago and are highly contagious.”
“Yeah, so gross!” Corey yipped in confirmation.
“Would you and Louisa like to use the tickets instead?”
I knew I was in no position to answer that question, so I looked over at Jack, who pursed his lips and opened his eyes wide. After a short pause, he spoke.
“That . . . would be amazing,” he replied so convincingly that I started to think I’d misread his body language up to that point. He looked over at me expectantly.
“Whaddya say, Lou? You wanna go?”
I looked back at Carol and Corey, who wore the expressions of game-show contestants waiting to find out if they’ve given the correct answer.
“I . . . would love to!” I said enthusiastically. “Thanks so much!”
Carol and Corey demonstrated their excitement with simultaneous bouncing.
“How wonderful!” Carol gushed.
“Yeah,” said Jack, “thanks, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Call me Carol, please!”
“Thanks . . . Carol.”
Corey suddenly stretched out his arms and moved toward Jack. The next thing I knew he was hugging him tightly.
“I’m so glad you’re coming!”
Carol placed a hand on her chest, clearly moved by her perfect son’s gesture of affection.
“You have no idea, Jack,” Carol said, beaming, “how much Corey looks up to you. You’re pretty much the reason we got into this business in the first place.”
I looked at Corey, who, though still smiling, now looked a little embarrassed. Jack gave a nervous laugh.
“Wow,” was all he could muster.
“Yep,” Carol continued, “it was seeing you in Mary Poppins that did it for him. ’Member, Cor?” She lifted up her son’s chin to face her.
“You turned to me at intermission and said, ‘Mom, I want to be like that boy up there.’”
“Yeah, I did,” Corey said, softly. His voice had dipped below screech level for the first time in the conversation. It was actually kind of sweet. He and his mom had come on so strong at first, but now I realized it was because they were genuinely excited to see Jack and wanted to impress him. They were suddenly less annoying.
“You know,” Carol said, looking at me, “everyone was so disappointed when Jack couldn’t come out a couple months ago to be the vacation swing. Especially since he’d helped create the show from the beginning—”
“Yeah, that was too bad,” Jack interrupted, a sudden urgency in his voice, “but at least now I’ll finally get to see the show!”
“That’s right!” Carol said, grabbing Corey’s hand and flashing us one last smile.
“All right, well—see you tomorrow! Happy New Year, almost!”
Jack and I grinned and waved good-bye as the two of them disappeared into the throng of pedestrians maneuvering up and down Eighth Avenue.
Once they were out of sight, I turned to Jack, desperate to get his take on the last two minutes.
“That was kind of crazy, huh?” I asked, nudging his shoulder. “I mean, I wasn’t sure if you were going to say yes to those tickets. But you clearly made their day when you did.” Jack gave a halfhearted laugh.
“Yeah, I guess,” Jack said, crouching down to retie his bootlaces.
“You know, even though they’re a little intense, Carol and Corey obviously think you’re, like, the best thing ever. It’s kinda cute how much of a star you are to them.”
“It’s adorable,” Jack replied sarcastically as he stood back up. “Let’s get going; it’s cold.” He leaned into the wind and marched quickly toward the corner.
“Whoa, slow down!” I called out, skip-walking to keep up with him as he dodged pedestrians like a character in a video game.
“Sorry,” he called back over his shoulder as he crossed 44th Street, “it’s just we should probably hurry if we want to eat dinner before we see Megaphone.”
Didn’t we just have lunch? I thought, searching my pockets for my MetroCard as Jack disappeared down the stairs leading to the subway. It seemed like catching the train was suddenly the most important thing he’d ever done. It also seemed like he was trying to get away from me—which was weird, since we were basically stuck with each other.
“Hey—are you okay?” I asked, catching up with him at the bottom of the stairs.
“Totally,” said Jack, now rushing toward the turnstiles.
We swiped our MetroCards and raced toward the signs for the uptown C train.
“Are you sure?” I gasped, out of breath from practically chasing my friend down to the subway platform. “You don’t seem okay—”
Jack turned abruptly to face me, wearing an expression I couldn’t quite read. He was smiling, sort of, but his eyes were not.
“Hey, can we not talk for a while?”
Jack had never asked me to stop talking, and I was instantly embarrassed.
“Oh. Sure.”
I must have looked a little stung, because Jack’s face softened.
“Sorry, it’s just . . . I’m really tired. I kinda want to be quiet for a bit, if that’s all right.”
“Yeah. Totally.”
We waited for the train for five minutes, then rode all the way to 81st Street in complete silence, tense and uneasy. I figured I’d done something wrong. But what?
“Hey there!” Mrs. Goodrich greeted us as we arrived back at the apartment. “Your father is getting stuff for dinner at Fairway,” she said, helping us hang up our bags, hats, and scarves. “I had a craving for their pumpkin ravioli. It cooks up really fast, so we’ll be able to eat and get to Megaphone in plenty of time.”
I looked to Jack, hoping this culinary news would brighten his mood, but he was concentrating intensely on untying his boots. Mrs. Goodrich didn’t notice that her son was out of sorts as she continued, “So . . . I hear you two are seeing The Big Apple tomorrow?”
Not surprisingly, an already tense Jack grew tenser.
News travels fast in this city, I thought.
“How did you hear—” he began, kicking off a remaining boot.
“I just got a call from Carol Taylor,” Mrs. Goodrich explained. “She said she ran into you guys and offered you tickets to tomorrow’s matinee, but that she forgot to tell you they’ll be held at the box office under Corey’s name. Boy, do they love you! She said you were Corey’s idol.”
She was regarding Jack with a mix of curiosity and surprise. Attending a matinee performance of The Big Apple was certainly not an event she’d been expecting in our itinerary, either. Jack started to bite the inside of his lip again.
“Jack,” I began carefully, “are you . . . are you sure you’re okay about seeing the show tomorrow?”
He looked at me, took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve decided I’m not going to see the show tomorrow.”
I blinked rapidly. Mrs. Goodrich looked uneasy.
“You’re not?” she asked tentatively.
“No.”
“But . . . you told them you’d take the tickets.”
“You and Lou can go together,” Jack suggested, his tone measured and deliberate. “I don’t need to see The Big Apple. I mean, if I were a vacation swing, that would be different, but I don’t want to just sit there as an audience member and have that be the only reason I’m there.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but if
you accepted Mrs. Taylor’s offer, you have to—”
“I’m not going,” Jack repeated forcefully.
Mrs. Goodrich kept her gaze fixed on Jack, and the air in the room changed in the way air changes when a fight is about to start. I knew it was time for me to disappear.
“I’m going to go call my parents,” I announced. “I haven’t talked to them since we got here.”
“Alright, Lou,” Mrs. Goodrich said quietly. “Why don’t you use the guest bedroom? You can watch the TV in there, too, if you want.”
I grabbed my backpack from one of the hooks by the door and glanced furtively at Jack, who was now staring angrily at his hands.
“Okay,” I said, and hurried down the hallway. There were too many thoughts in my head, and I didn’t trust any of them. On the one hand, Mrs. Goodrich was right—it didn’t seem polite to accept an offer from the Taylors and then not follow through, no matter how overbearing they were. But on the other hand, I had never been in Jack’s position before; I’d never had something so important—possibly life-changing—taken away from me, so how could I know what that felt like? Even though he’d assured Connor and Imani that he was “totally over the whole thing,” it was now very clear that he was not, and it seemed unfair of me to judge his decision not to see the show. Especially since sometimes, being mad or jealous about something just felt right. And felt deserved. But here was the most confusing part: As bad as I felt for Jack at this moment, the truth was that if he hadn’t been fired from The Big Apple in the first place, he never would have moved to Shaker Heights. And I never would have met him. The thing that caused him all that pain basically delivered him to my doorstep. How could I make sense of that?
As Jack’s and Mrs. Goodrich’s voices began to rise in their heated exchange down the hall, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Our afternoon had taken its toll. I reached into my backpack for my cell phone and dialed “Home,” anticipating the relief I’d feel once I’d shared all the events of my trip. After three rings, my mom answered.
“Oh my goodness, we’re just about to play Taboo with Uncle Dan and Tina, but tell me quick—are you having a great time?” she asked, and the pure excitement in her voice, plus the sound of someone in the background testing out the Taboo buzzer, made me rethink what I’d planned to say. There would be time enough to tell her everything.
“Yes,” I replied, turning on the television and lying down on the guest bed, “it’s been quite an adventure.”
-JACK-
“Then why did you tell them you wanted to go?” my mom said, crossing her arms. “You could have easily told them you already had plans.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My own mother was actually encouraging me to lie!
“They trapped me!” I shouted. “I wanted to get out of there, and I didn’t know what else to say.”
“They weren’t trying to trap you,” my mom said with a frown. “They were trying to include you. Carol was just saying how much Corey looks up to you. He’s seen your shows and was probably excited to get to perform for you.”
“That’s even worse!” I clenched my jaw, digging my heels angrily into the carpet. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“He just wants you to like him the way he likes you.”
“Why do I have to like him?!” I blurted out. “If there’s one person in this entire world that I’m allowed to dislike, no questions asked, I think it should be him!”
“Jack! That’s an unkind thing to say!” she said. “Maybe seeing the show will be good for you. Maybe you’ll get some closure and find a lesson in all of this.”
“What lesson?!” I screamed, making her eyebrows rise. “That life sucks, and some younger, cuter, bratty kid is probably going to take your job?”
“Jack!” She hushed me fiercely, gesturing toward the room where Lou was sitting nervously, no doubt.
“I just . . .” I felt my throat tighten. All the thoughts and anger and worries of the day seemed to be piling up like Jenga pieces. I knew all it would take was a nudge in the wrong direction, and I’d be done. “I just don’t want to pretend to be happy in front of all those people.”
As the words left my mouth I knew I’d lost my grip. I turned away from her and dove onto the couch, smushing my face into the armrest. My mom let out a sigh. I listened as her socks slowly brushed across the carpet. I felt the sinking of the couch cushion as she nestled up next to me.
“Ah, Jack.” She exhaled, beginning to scratch my back. “I don’t know what to tell you. Part of me thinks you should honor your commitment, but I also don’t want you to torture yourself.”
We sat in silence for a while, the seconds counted by soft scratches of fingernails against my cotton T-shirt. I pressed my forehead into the brown upholstery, replaying the meeting with Corey and his mom. If only we’d talked to Connor and Imani longer, I kept thinking. If only we’d taken a different subway line home.
“I worry sometimes, Jack. I worry that your dad and I might have made a mistake, letting you work in this adult world while you were still a kid,” my mom said softly. “It’s one of the reasons we moved to Shaker Heights. Losing a job and the feelings that come with that—that’s a lot for a twelve-year-old to deal with.”
Listening to her somehow made me even sadder. Of course I hated getting fired, but what would my life have been like if I hadn’t had the chance to work on Broadway?
“If you don’t want to see The Big Apple, I’ll support you, of course,” my mom said finally. “But I can’t help thinking it might be good for you to see it. To be reminded that it’s just a show and not this big scary thing that’s always following you.”
She smoothed my hair and stood up from the couch.
“Either way, we should let them know before we leave tonight.”
“You do know I would have supported you no matter what,” Lou declared the next day, practically doing bell kicks as we crossed Times Square. “But now that we’re here, I’m really glad you decided to see the show.”
The Palace Theatre was located in the heart of the theater district. Over the years its tenants ranged from Oklahoma! to Beauty and the Beast to Legally Blonde, making it one of the most iconic Broadway houses, always depicted in postcard photos and snow globes.
“We’ll see.” I shrugged, stepping up onto the curb. “If nothing else, I do want to see how they do the subway effect at the end of Act One.”
“You gonna be okay, Jack Sprat?” my dad asked, handing us our tickets.
I looked up at the giant signs framing the entrance, quotes from the theater critics proclaiming “Heart-Racing!” “Eye-Popping!” and “Delicious!” The walls were plastered with production photos, shots of Corey crouched on a curb, Corey under the Brooklyn Bridge with the actress who played his mom, Corey jumping over a subway turnstile. His eyes seemed to be staring directly at me, teasing, as if to say, “Pretty cool, right? Remember when this was almost you?”
“I think I’ll be okay,” I said in a shaky voice.
“I told him if it gets too intense, we can totally leave at intermission,” Lou assured my dad. “I’m more than happy to hear the second act when the cast recording comes out next month.”
We’d come this far; I knew I might as well face the music. And no matter what she claimed, Lou would be disappointed if I dragged her out halfway through.
“Well, enjoy the show,” my mom said, kissing the top of my head. “Text us when you get out.”
As we entered the theater we were greeted by friendly ushers gently herding us past merchandise stands hawking Big Apple T-shirts, mugs, and sippy cups. We made our way down the red-and-gold carpet to a pair of seats in row G. On our previous two trips to Broadway shows, Lou and I had made a game of going through the Playbill and pointing out every cast member that I knew. It was an activity that always ended in laughter because, more often than not, I d
idn’t really know them.
Well, I once stood behind her at Schnippers, I’d say, or I saw him totally bite it on the stairs at the 42nd Street subway station.
“Wanna tell me about who came late to rehearsal or had bad breath?” Lou asked encouragingly, clutching her Playbill like a golden ticket.
“Is it okay if I pass?” I said, forcing a smile.
“Of course,” Lou replied. “I’ll just assume that because they’re on Broadway, everyone has a good work ethic and perfect dental hygiene.”
The Big Apple didn’t begin with an overture like most musicals typically do, rather the single voice of a child.
“One song, one song worth singing . . .”
I shivered in my seat. A pin spot beamed down on Corey dressed as the character of Hudson, looking even tinier and more adorable than he did in person. As he sang, the lighting began to shift. Projections of a passing subway whooshed past him. Suddenly the orchestra kicked in, and we were transported from the graffiti-scrawled subway tunnels to a bustling Times Square complete with actors riding Citi Bikes, dancers dressed as furry mascots, and even a life-size “Big Apple” double-decker bus.
Although the production looked just as epic as the critics had described, the only thing I could concentrate on was Corey. I watched as he maneuvered his way through staging I remembered learning in those early rehearsals. It all came rushing back to me—dashing stage right to fake-collide with a woman carrying shopping bags, hopping stage left over an imaginary puddle, stealing a hot dog off a street cart upstage. I wondered if Lou was paying as much attention to Corey and his blocking as I was. I’m sure everyone in the audience was only thinking what a great job he was doing.
As the first act whizzed by, I kept forcing myself to concentrate and enjoy the show, but it got harder and harder to do. I hadn’t realized how many lines I’d memorized until a new one would spring up and startle me. Finally, when a giant set piece that was supposed to be the inside of a subway car tracked onstage, I knew we were close to intermission. The final scene involved Hudson being chased through a train by a pair of police officers. A strip of stage became a treadmill with Corey and the officers running one way while passengers and metal train car doors zipped by in the other direction. As the intermission house lights sprung to life, the audience roared with applause. It pained me to admit, it was one of the best-choreographed sequences I’d ever seen on a Broadway stage.
Act 2 Page 3
