“Do I look okay?” I shrieked. “Ever since the stupid auditions, this show has been nothing but torture.”
Lou looked completely surprised.
“It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s never good enough,” I said, crossing my arms tight. “And not only that, but Belinda seems to feel the need to let everyone in our cast know about it.”
Lou crossed her arms defensively. She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“I hope you realize this is all your fault.”
-LOUISA-
“All my fault?”
I stared at Jack in disbelief. I was so mad. Was he serious? “What do you mean, all my fault?!”
Jack took a step toward me, angrily spitting out his words.
“That first day we met Belinda, you had to be all ‘Jack was in this Broadway show, and that Broadway show . . . Jack’s so amazing, Jack, Jack Jack . . .’ You made me her target. And all she’s cared about ever since is putting me in my place.”
Jack was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Even more startling was that he was directing that anger at me.
“I wasn’t trying to make you her ‘target,’” I sputtered. “I just wanted her to know that you’d been on Broadway, too!”
“Well, thanks a lot. She’s done everything she can to use that against me.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how differently she acts toward me than she does toward everyone else,” Jack said, his face reddening. “I know you have.”
The way he glared at me made me feel sick to my stomach. I did not want to be fighting with my friend, certainly not in the middle of rehearsing a show where we were playing opposite each other.
“Well, sure, I’ve noticed, sort of,” I conceded, “but every time I’ve asked you if you’re okay, you’ve said yes—”
“And every time I’ve said yes, you’ve looked relieved, so you can go back to being Belinda’s ‘perfect Adelaide’ while I can go back to being her punching bag.”
“You are not her punching bag!” I protested, though I suspected that nothing I said at this point was going to help.
“You’re right, I’m her ‘star quarterback.’” Jack rolled his eyes in disgust.
“What?”
The sick feeling in my stomach was suddenly replaced by a tightening in my chest.
“Nothing—it’s not even true,” Jack said. I could tell he was holding something back.
“No,” I pressed him, “what are you talking about?”
He wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t believe her, but she told me she was going to hold me to a higher standard,” he muttered. “She says that’s why she’s being so hard on me.”
Now I started to feel angry.
“Because you’re so much better than the rest of us?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!”
“So then why is she treating you differently?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask her to—you did!”
Through clenched teeth I fought back, “Some of us might love it if Belinda held us to a ‘higher standard.’”
“Oh gimme a break!” Jack said, his frustration mounting. “Belinda is obsessed with everything you do! Trust me, you don’t want her ‘special’ treatment. All I feel is like the harder I work, the meaner she gets. So I’m working really hard for nothing. It’s just . . . not worth it anymore.”
His words hung in the air while I registered what he’d just said.
“Are you going to quit?” I asked, dreading his answer.
“Maybe.”
Without thinking, I shot back, “You like to threaten that a lot, don’t you?”
As soon as I said it I knew I’d gone too far. I might as well have slapped him in the face.
“Break’s over! We’re back!” Belinda called from the audience.
Jack looked past me toward the stage, his eyes filling.
“This is completely different from Into the Woods, and you know it,” he said quietly, then marched past me, leaving me alone in the wings.
Thankfully, Belinda wanted to move on to the first Sky/Sarah scene after the break, so she dismissed the rest of the cast for the day. As Sebastian and Bridget shyly took their places onstage to rehearse their love duet, “I’ll Know,” Jack bolted out of the auditorium as fast as he could. Clearly he wanted to avoid any more contact with me—or with anyone, for that matter. To be honest, I wasn’t ready to have any more contact with him—I felt so ashamed of what I’d said.
Even though it was cold out, the air was dry and crisp and I decided to walk home. I needed some time alone to think.
Had Belinda really been that awful to Jack? I asked myself as I marched through the cold, the tips of my fingers growing numb under my backpack straps. I felt ashamed all over again as I revisited every compliment, every cheer of encouragement that Belinda had given me over the past few weeks, and realized that I had not once heard her extend the same praise to Jack. I had obviously been too busy enjoying her attention and trying to be the perfect Adelaide to notice that the only feedback Jack received from Belinda was critical. Even though I was initially stung by the idea of Belinda holding Jack to a higher standard than me, I started to wonder whether Jack was right when he said that he didn’t believe her. But if she was lying, then what was the real reason behind her behavior?
Aside from his professional background, I couldn’t think of one thing that would have compelled Belinda to be so tough on him. Jack had worked really hard on his material; he was always prepared and ready to work. Everyone in the cast liked him; he’d been so helpful to them, particularly during the dance call . . .
The dance call.
With Jack’s words ringing in my ears, I now suddenly remembered it in a different way. Belinda’s face. The smile that looked so fake. The way she clapped harder than anyone else when the soccer boys were able to do the combination after Jack had broken down the moves for them. Like she was covering for something. And then there was our secret conversation by the piano, when Belinda told me she wanted me to audition with the other boys. If she had, in fact, been trying to put Jack in his place, then making him watch his best friend audition with his competition would have definitely sent a strong message. The more I thought about it, the more things came into focus. Suddenly a new picture of Belinda began to form in my head. A former theater star of Shaker Heights, a woman used to being seen as special for her talent and her Broadway resume, was suddenly forced to share the spotlight. And her sassy comments about Jack’s experiences on Broadway, the way she’d singled him out, the way she’d embarrassed him in front of the cast . . . everything started to make a lot more sense. As I turned onto my street, I walked briskly past my house toward a more important destination.
“Belinda’s jealous of you.”
I stood on Jack’s front porch, shivering like crazy but determined to fix things between us.
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
Jack motioned for me to come inside, then crossed his arms, waiting for me to say more.
“I walked all the way here from school, and I thought about what you said, and you’re right—Belinda’s been totally unfair. But it’s because she’s jealous of you.”
It all seemed so obvious now, and so ugly. I’d just been too busy vying for Belinda’s approval to notice. I’d really wanted her to like me, because I’d really liked her.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t finished.
“And I’m sorry that I was the one who started it all. I’m also really sorry for the other stuff I said. I didn’t mean it.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Jack said, uncrossing his arms, “for blaming you. You said it yourself—Belinda would have found out that I’ve been on Broadway eventually.” He paused. “And it’s not your fault that sh
e’s been nice to you. I mean, she should be nice to you.”
“Yeah, well, she should be nice to you, too,” I said.
“You really think she’s jealous of me?”
“I do.”
“That’s so weird.”
“I know.”
“Huh.” Jack scratched the back of his neck.
“What?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to talk about it, but . . .”
Jack proceeded to tell me about his private talk with Belinda, in which she’d basically told him to keep his mouth shut and let her be in charge. His story made me furious.
“You should have told me,” I said once he was finished. “She was obviously trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked,” Jack admitted. “She made me feel like I’d done something wrong, and I was too embarrassed to talk about it. I thought if I could just get the part of Nathan and work really hard, she’d leave me alone.”
“But she didn’t,” I said, wanting desperately to give Jack a much-needed hug.
“Yeah, whatever,” he said, then looked at me in earnest.
“I don’t want to ruin the show for you, Lou.”
“You won’t,” I said adamantly, “but you might if you quit the show . . .”
Jack sighed.
“I’ll give it some more time. Now that I know I can talk to you about it . . . I dunno, maybe it’ll be easier to deal with her.”
“You can talk to me whenever you want,” I said, finally going in for the hug. We squeezed each other hard, then broke apart as Jack looked toward the kitchen. Whatever Mrs. Goodrich was making smelled delicious. “Hey—do you want to stay for dinner?” he asked. “Mom’s making mulligatawny stew—it’s really good. There’s a lot of curry in it.”
“Yeah, let me call my parents,” I said, hugely relieved that we weren’t fighting anymore. “I’d love to stay.”
I spent the next day at school feeling nervous. Now that I had figured out the reason behind the Belinda/Jack conflict, would I be able to focus in rehearsal? Was there anything I could do to protect him? Maybe make some mistakes myself so she’d come after me instead of him? I just didn’t know how I was going to react if and when Belinda decided to attack.
At three o’clock, as Jack and I approached the doors to the auditorium, I was feeling super tense. Jack must have sensed it, because he turned to me and said, “Relax, Lou. Belinda’s not going to hack me to pieces with an ax or anything. She’s just going to make me feel like an idiot.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said, nodding aggressively. Jack eyed me warily.
“Honestly, Lou, chill out,” he said, opening the door for me. “This is my problem, not yours. Just ignore her if she comes after me. Promise?”
I kept nodding and forced myself to take a deep breath as I entered the auditorium.
“It’s 3:01, people!” shouted Belinda, pacing back and forth across the stage like a bedazzled panther. She wore black jeggings and a baggy black sweatshirt with a sequined top hat and cane embroidered on the front.
“We’ve been rehearsing for a month, and we still haven’t run all of Act One, so let’s get a move on! Everyone who’s in Act One, Scene Six—get up here now to review!”
I took a swig from my water bottle and hurried toward the stage, going over my lines in my head.
I thought Scene 6 was pretty funny—it’s when Nathan Detroit has rounded up all of the gangsters for his crap game but has to explain to a snooping Detective Brannigan what they’re all doing together, and why they’re all wearing carnations. One of the gangsters spies Adelaide approaching and comes up with a quick lie: They’re there to throw Nathan a bachelor party. When she hears this, Adelaide squeals with delight. She thinks Nathan has decided to surprise her with a wedding. Waiting for the bus that morning, Jack and I had worked out a new bit that cracked us up. There’s a line where Adelaide almost gives the gangsters away, saying to Nathan, “But when I saw you standing here with all these fine gentlemen, I never dreamed it was a bachelor dinner. I thought it was a—” and Nathan cuts her off by saying, “Oh, it’s a bachelor dinner. Yes, sir! A bachelor dinner.” Jack suggested that he cut off my line by picking me up and squeezing me really tight so that I couldn’t get the rest of my sentence out, which inspired me to make a sound like a mouse getting stepped on.
Once everyone was onstage, Belinda hopped down into the audience and sat in the front row, grabbing her clipboard off the floor.
“Let’s take it from the top!” she shouted.
The boys spread themselves out across the stage as Grady Ayers, playing Benny Southstreet, began the scene: “You all got your carnations?”
I stood in the wings, waiting not only for my cue but for Belinda to say something snarky to Jack. Jenny and the rest of the Hot Box Girls were backstage, too, having designated stage right as their card-playing spot. As the scene went on, it seemed like Belinda was leaving Jack alone. She even snickered a couple times. By the time I heard my cue line, I was feeling more relaxed and cautiously optimistic that Jack would get through an entire scene without a Belinda intervention.
“Good-bye, girls, see you tomorrow,” I said as nasally as possible, entering backward and waving at the Hot Box Girls. (Jenny looked up from her card game to stick her tongue out at me.) The moment for the new bit arrived just a few lines later, and Jack’s timing could not have been more perfect. My mouse squeak pierced the air, making all of the other boys crack up. Even Tanner guffawed. But the moment was short-lived.
“QUIET.”
Belinda’s voice, stern and steely, put an abrupt end to the laughter. Jack set me down, and we both turned to look at her. Please, I thought, whatever it is you’re about to say—say it to me, too.
“Jack—is that what I directed you to do?”
Maybe because he and I had talked, or maybe because he was just exhausted, Jack didn’t look at the floor. He didn’t bite the inside of his lip or do any of the things he normally did when he was uncomfortable or embarrassed. He just looked straight at Belinda, waiting for the critique.
“No,” he said simply.
“Then . . . why did you do it?” she asked, trying to stare him down.
I blurted out, “Belinda, we both—”
“Lou, am I speaking to you?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing, then. Please stay out of this.”
I looked at Jack, helpless, but he just kept looking at Belinda.
“Jack,” Belinda continued, “I thought I made it clear that I was the director of this show, not you. Yet somehow you feel that rules don’t apply to you.”
My hands and feet started to tingle; everything was going numb and my ears started to hum. The other boys were shifting their feet from side to side as the air in the room grew thicker and hotter with awkwardness. I wondered if any of them knew that what was happening was wrong, or worse, if they thought it was amusing. I caught Jenny standing in the wings with the other Hot Box Girls, their card game abandoned as they watched Jack and Belinda with apprehension. But Jack didn’t say a word, and Belinda seemed to become even more fueled by his silence.
“It’s interesting,” she went on, “I mean, if you’re supposedly—what did Lou call you? Oh, right—‘the Best of Broadway,’ I can’t even begin to imagine what the worst might be.”
That was it. I felt something pop in my brain, like a firecracker. Even though Jack had assured me that Belinda was his problem, not mine, even though I had promised him that I’d ignore her, I couldn’t keep the scream from exploding out of me: “STOP IT!”
-JACK-
Lou’s voice blared through the auditorium like a tornado siren. Every muscle in my body seized up as a silence swept the room. My eyes darted to Belinda, then to Lou, then back to Belinda, who stood in the front row, speechless, her spider lashes blinking madly.
“Ex-cuse me?” she growled.
Lou’s face looked as red as ketchup. Her hands began trembling at her sides.
“What did you just say?!” Belinda’s voice grew louder.
I looked over at Lou, shaking my head with pleading eyes. This was never going to end well. Even though Lou was one of the bravest people I knew (she’d once brought Tanner to his knees for making fun of me), this was different. Belinda was a grown-up. Even more than that, she was a teacher, and when you were a kid, talking back to a teacher just wasn’t something you did.
Lou swallowed hard and looked Belinda straight in the eye.
“I said stop it,” Lou replied quietly. “Stop yelling at Jack like that.”
Belinda’s body recoiled in shock, like she’d been slapped in the face.
Lou’s breathing quickened as she took a step downstage. “He’s been working his butt off, and all you do is pick on him,” she said, confidence growing. “Since the first day of auditions all he’s done is try to be helpful and make this show better. You’re supposed to be our leader,” Lou shouted, her voice straining. “But you’re just being a bully!”
That was it. It was all over now. What was Lou thinking? No excuses or apologies could get us out of this one. Even though I willed myself to look at Belinda, I couldn’t do it. A wave of nausea rushed to my stomach as I shifted my gaze to the wood grain beneath my feet.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Belinda’s voice called. Her voice sounded scratchy, like someone waking up after a long night of sleep.
“I’m so sorry that I was trying to do my job.” She punctuated her words dramatically. “See, Louisa, honey, I was under the impression that it was my job to make sure everyone said the right lines and did the right blocking.” A strand of red hair had fallen from her bun, plunging down the center of her face like an angry scar. “So if you don’t like the way I’m running this room”—she raised her voice—“I suggest you either shut your mouth or get out!”
Act 2 Page 11
