“How ya doin’, friend?” Lou asked as an elderly couple squeezed past us.
“I’m fine,” I said, ducking my head to avoid being swatted by their rolled-up programs. “It’s cool, right?”
“Definitely,” Lou confided. “Although Connor did say the second act kind of drags, so we’ll just have to see.”
Connor was wrong; the second act was even better than the first. I caught Lou stifling laughter, still trying to play the role of the biased, supportive friend. In the final scene where Hudson’s mother runs onstage and hugs him, a tiny whimper escaped from her lips. She covered it immediately by pretending to clear her throat. The curtain fell, and the audience leaped to its feet, an immediate standing ovation. Lou hesitated, but followed my lead as I stood and cheered for the ensemble, strutting from the wings to take their bows.
“That was really good,” I mumbled as we made our way up the aisle, crammed with school groups and patrons clutching soggy Kleenexes.
“It was,” Lou agreed. “Thanks for taking me.”
“Of course,” I said, so many thoughts racing through my head.
We hung a right at the corner, nearing the stage door. A cluster of people had already formed a line against the steel barricades, clutching their glossy Playbills and cell phones. Some were even armed with Sharpies, already uncapped and waiting for the cast to emerge. Lou stopped suddenly, grabbing my hand.
“Jack,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to just go home? We can say we had to meet your parents for a dinner reservation or something.”
“No,” I said, speaking over the blaring of car horns and audience chatter. “We should at least say thanks to Corey for getting us the tickets.”
Lou looked at me intently, searching for a signal or something to let her know that I was going to be okay.
“Thanks for being sensitive, though.” I half laughed. “But I’m good now. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Anytime.”
We gave our name to the security guard and were ushered down a narrow staircase, my heart beating faster with every step.
“Well, look who it is!” a voice called from behind us. We turned to find Kip, the Big Apple stage manager whose mouth hung open in disbelief. “You’ve gotten so big! You’re like a little man now!”
“Haha, it’s true!” I said, hugging him, deciding not to mention that compared to the rest of the kids in my class, I was still pretty short.
A parade of hellos and congratulations soon followed. Everyone who rounded the corner said essentially the same thing: “Look at how grown-up you are!” or “In a couple years you should come back and play the Taxi Driver!”
“I’m so proud of you guys,” I kept repeating. “You were incredible!”
The more hands I shook and the more waists I hugged, the more I began to notice what was going on. Panic seemed to flash across my old castmates’ faces as they saw me standing in the greenroom—oh jeez, I hope this kid is all right. I tried my best to make the situation less awkward, tried to make everyone more comfortable by bombarding them with compliments, asking them about their spouses, their kids, their pets. I knew it would make everyone feel better if I seemed okay.
But all this well-wishing was just a dress rehearsal. I knew the big show would be when Corey skipped around the corner and I’d have to congratulate him. I’d practiced with Lou exactly what I was going to say. “Congrats, buddy. You were so great!” I repeated it like lines for an audition. “Congrats, buddy. You were SO great.”
I was snapping a picture of Lou and Ryan Turner, a dancer from the show who was Lou’s favorite, when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my neck. I turned to see that I was being hugged by Corey.
“Hey there, buddy, you were . . . you were . . .” I stammered, taken off guard. You were so great, a tiny voice rang in my head. You were so great. You were so great. But the words felt lodged in my throat like a popcorn kernel.
“You were so great!” Lou chimed in, saving the day.
“Thanks!” Corey cooed, his red-cheeked face beaming up at us. “Didja like it?” he squawked.
“Y-yup.” I gulped. “I did.”
“Cool!” he cheered, his smile spreading wider and wider. “I just got an Xbox in my dressing room,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “Have you played Plants vs. Zombies?”
“Um, I . . . haven’t,” I croaked.
“It’s so cool!”
I felt Lou’s boot pressing up against mine.
“You remember my friend Lou, right?” I asked.
“Yeah!” He grinned.
“Good to see you again,” Lou said eloquently. “I was so impressed with your performance. You are quite the little singer.”
Lou had apparently been practicing, too. She looked over at me, raising her eyebrows slightly as if to cue me in on a dropped line.
“Sh-sh-yeah,” I said, completely tongue-tied.
“Thanks!” he chirped.
We pushed our way out of the stage door and right into the crowds who had started gathering for the big New Year’s Eve ball drop in Times Square. Police officers were setting up metal barricades, and tourists were huddled together, pointing at billboards and laughing, ready to brave the cold for the next seven hours. Men wearing wacky glittered hats pushed shopping carts stuffed with merchandise: neon glasses, plastic horns, and other souvenirs that would be worthless the next morning. We passed the big stage on 43rd, where crew guys were setting up speakers and lights, prepping for the evening’s performances. Lou’s face lit up, but catching my glance, she quickly snapped back to her serious New Yorker face.
“I know, I know,” she grumbled. “Avoiding Times Square on New Year’s is probably lesson number one, right?”
I was so proud.
That night we were joined by a few of my parents’ friends, toasting the New Year from the quiet of the Upper West Side. My mom had spent the evening preparing and photographing vegan appetizers for her food blog. We stuffed our faces with eggplant-lentil fritters and cashew-cauliflower crostini as the New Year’s broadcast blared in the background. We played board games and chugged sparkling apple cider, making bets about who could stay up the latest.
“I’ll make it till the ball drops.”
“That’s nothing. I bet I can stay up until two in the morning.”
“Until we have to go to the airport!”
Truthfully, neither of us lasted very long, not even close to midnight. I don’t think we realized how exhausting this vacation had been until the next day at the airport when my dad suggested we scroll through the camera roll on my mom’s phone. Sure enough, there it was, a series of photos, the two of us slumped on the couch, Lou’s sleeping head resting on my shoulder, our noisemakers and blow horns scattered by our sides.
“I couldn’t resist!” my mom confessed.
Lou and I shared a row for the flight back to Cleveland, our elbows fighting for armrest real estate.
“For the first time I think I understand the expression ‘I need a vacation from my vacation,’” I said in a sleepy voice.
“I get what you mean,” Lou replied. “I can’t believe how much we crammed into just a few days.”
“What was your favorite thing we did?” I asked.
“Oh, definitely getting to go backstage at Let’s Make a Toast!” Lou said quickly. “Or maybe getting to meet your friends,” she wavered. “Orrrr . . .”
“The Schmackary’s cookies,” we said in unison.
For a while we sat in silence, the engine humming as we sliced through the clouds.
“Thanks for being my wingman at The Big Apple yesterday,” I said finally.
“Of course. I’m glad you brought me.” She smiled. “So was your mom right? Do you feel any better after seeing it? Did you get some closure?”
H
onestly, I thought, I’m not sure. It was hard to watch, and what made it worse was realizing how perfectly it chugged along without me.
“Sure.” I shrugged. “I feel like Corey was really different from me, a lot younger, and that was good to be reminded of,” I said, echoing something I’d heard her say earlier.
“Totally.” She nodded. “Although I do have to admit, it made me really wish I could have seen you in it.”
I smiled, looking down at my tray table.
“Like, Corey was adorable and everything, but I would have liked to see you bring some of that token Jack Goodrich snark to the role,” she said, elbowing me. “I bet you were amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And for what it’s worth,” she continued, “I think facing all those people and saying all those nice things kind of gave you your power back.”
I looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I just mean, you acted like a grown-up. Like you weren’t afraid to face what happened to you.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “Well, not to Corey. I didn’t even say congratulations. He must think I’m such a jerk.”
“He’s a kid,” Lou said. “I’m sure he didn’t even notice. I’m sure you’ll find a way to tell him eventually.”
“Yeah.” I squinted, looking away from her. I thought about Corey and my friends back in New York, about theaters and sidewalks dusted with confetti. Suddenly a thought emerged in my head. I wasn’t sure if it counted as a lesson, but it certainly felt important. If I hadn’t been fired from The Big Apple, I wouldn’t have had Lou to see it with. I turned back but found her preoccupied, her face pressed against the window, bidding a final farewell to the parks and buildings that she dreamed of knowing. One day, we’ll be back, I thought. But for now it was time to begin a new year in Shaker Heights.
-LOUISA-
The buzzer on my alarm clock felt like a cruel joke. Even though Jack and I had returned from our trip two days ago, I was still exhausted. The thought of getting up and going back to school was, well . . . awful. What could possibly happen today that would remotely compare to the adventures we’d had in New York? Unless Idina Menzel was planning on surprising us in our homeroom with a private concert of songs from Frozen, there was literally nothing to look forward to until bedtime, and I was pretty sure Idina was too busy being a star to make any detours to Shaker Heights Middle School. I heard my mom making my lunch downstairs, and I thought about the pork soup dumplings I’d had just days earlier at Shanghai Café Deluxe, the Goodriches’ favorite restaurant in Chinatown. Compared to those salty, soupy bites of pure magic, my usual turkey and lettuce on whole wheat was going to taste pretty boring today.
“Don’t look so excited,” my mom said sarcastically as I shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the bright lights. She had the news going on the radio and was pouring what I guessed was probably her second cup of coffee. Mom considered herself a morning person, which I considered an alien species all its own.
“I don’t want to go back to school,” I said huskily. My body was awake, but my voice was not.
“Just think how much fun it will be to tell all your friends about your trip!” she said cheerfully, pouring me a glass of orange juice.
“They won’t care about the things I care about,” I said. “They’ll just want to know if I went to a Yankees game. Or if I got mugged.”
“The Yankees aren’t playing this time of year.”
Dad brushed past me on his way to the coffeepot, saying, “But you might get asked if you saw the Giants play. And thanks for reminding me: Did you get mugged?”
Mom laughed. I rolled my eyes.
At 7:15 a.m. I arrived at the bus stop to find Jack already there, shivering in the morning darkness.
“Was New York a dream?” I joked through chattering teeth. “Did our trip even happen?”
“Oh, it happened,” said Jack, burying his face in his scarf. “Corey Taylor keeps sending me texts about what Xbox games I should buy.”
“Aww,” I teased, “he wants to be your friend.”
“Lucky me.”
The bus pulled up to the curb, and Jack and I exchanged mournful looks.
“Let’s do this.” I sighed.
As we boarded, a familiar voice called to us from the back, “Lou! Jack! Come here!”
Jenny Westcott, outfitted in a new coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, looked like she’d stepped out of a department store window. Her holiday wish list had been made up entirely of clothing and accessories, and it looked like this Christmas had been particularly good to her. She got up from her seat and gave us each a hug. The day suddenly got a little brighter as I realized I did have something (or rather, someone) to look forward to: Jenny.
“So listen, Jack,” she said, making room for me next to her on the seat, “Lou told me all about your big city trip on the phone last night, but what I’m most interested in is the present you guys apparently got me?” Jenny flashed her signature playful grin, making Jack laugh.
“Of course, how could I forget?” Jack replied, sitting across the aisle and digging in his bag.
“I hope you like it,” I said, grabbing Jenny’s hand excitedly as Jack produced a plastic shopping bag bearing the “I Love NY” logo. He handed it to Jenny, who squeezed it, trying to guess its contents.
“Well, I can tell it’s clothing,” she said, “so I already like it.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out a folded pink V-neck T-shirt with a logo that made her shriek.
“The American Ballet Theatre! You guys!”
American Ballet Theatre (or ABT) was to Jenny what Broadway was to us—it was the dance company that represented everything she trained for, dreamed about, aspired to achieve. Jack and I didn’t go to the ballet when we were in New York, but we still took a special trip to Lincoln Center so that we could get her the T-shirt from the gift shop.
“I’ll wear it tomorrow,” she said, blowing air-kisses at us and sliding the T-shirt back into the “I Love NY” bag. “I’d wear it today, but it will go better with different pants.”
As I had predicted, Jack and I were greeted by our homeroom classmates with questions about our trip that really had nothing to do with our trip.
“Did you go to the top of the Empire State Building?”
“Did you meet Donald Trump?”
“Did you eat a lot of pizza?”
“Bagels?”
“Soft pretzels?”
“Did you get mugged?”
Leave it to Tanner Falzone to ask us about getting mugged. He looked a little disappointed when we said no.
I’ll admit it did feel nice to receive that kind of attention from our classmates (minus Tanner’s ridiculous question), even if they didn’t know to ask me whether I’d sat in a Broadway star’s dressing room and learned the secrets of her quick costume changes.
The Jack and Louisa Q&A came to an abrupt end, however, when Hilary Heaslip burst into the room, her eyes wide.
“You guys,” she said urgently, making all of us turn our heads in her direction, “did you hear about Mrs. Wagner?”
I looked around at the faces of my classmates. Judging by their blank expressions, they had not.
“She had, like, a major skiing accident in Colorado,” Hilary announced, making us all gasp.
“She’s okay,” she rushed to clarify. “I mean, I heard Mr. Gordon and Mrs. Silver talking in the hall, and they said she’s gonna be okay eventually. But she broke, like, everything.”
More gasps. Hilary fluttered her hands and shook her head.
“Okay, maybe not everything, but, like, a lot of bones. They say she’s gonna be out for the rest of the year.”
The classroom sprang to life with conversation as everyone began to speculate what was going to happen to Mrs
. Wagner and what that meant for music class. Hilary seemed to be enjoying her role as messenger. It was like she was holding a press conference, with everyone directing their questions and comments at her.
“So who’s going to teach music now?”
“Maybe we won’t have to take it—maybe we’ll get a free period?”
“My dad broke his leg skiing. Compound fracture.”
“What’s that?”
“When the bone sticks through the skin.”
“Gross!”
“That’s probably what happened to Mrs. Wagner.”
“I like skiing in Vermont better.”
Jenny turned around in her seat in front of me, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Ouch,” she said, biting her bottom lip.
I looked across the room at Jack, who sat at his desk, grimacing. He caught me looking at him and mouthed the words Oh no.
I just shook my head in response.
He must have felt as guilty as I did, since it was only last week that we’d been complaining to Jack’s New York friends about how we thought Mrs. Wagner was “lame.” I felt even more guilty as I wondered, with real concern, what her accident meant for our production of Guys and Dolls.
As Hilary continued holding court, our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Lamon, strode through the door, looking tired.
“I can see you’ve already heard about Mrs. Wagner,” she said, setting down her bag and coffee mug. “Hilary, please take your seat, the school day has begun.”
Hilary took her seat. Her time in the spotlight had ended.
“Here’s what I can tell you: Mrs. Wagner suffered serious injuries while attempting to ski for the first time in Vail, Colorado,” Mrs. Lamon explained. Then she sighed as she looked down at her desk. “I told her to stay on the bunny hill . . .” She snapped her head back up and continued: “But she is expected to make a full recovery, which is very good news. Even so, she will not be back for the rest of the year due to the extensive nature of her rehabilitation. So. I think it would be nice if we put together a get-well card from our class. Hilary, since you seem to have a vested interest in Mrs. Wagner’s situation, will you please be in charge of putting that together?”
Act 2 Page 4
