by Robin Talley
“I’m not sure what you do care about anymore.”
It feels like she slapped me. Before I can come up with a response, she keeps going.
“Did you mean it when you first agreed? During strike?” She turns around and looks straight into my eyes. That makes this worse, somehow. “When you told us you wouldn’t go out with anyone, were you being serious? Or did you figure you could do whatever you wanted as long as you kept it a secret?”
“I never thought that. I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t mean it.”
“But clearly, you didn’t mean it. It’s not like someone made you go out with her.”
“Gabby . . .” I hate everything about this conversation. But most of all, I hate the way she’s looking at me, with her head tilted down and her lips half-parted. Disappointment and disbelief and disgust all rolled into one. “The curse, the superstitions—we don’t have proof any of it’s real. Accidents happen in theater all the time.”
“But accidents happen in our theater way more often than other theaters, don’t they? Because of that fire a hundred years ago, and everything?”
“That’s only a theory. And the idea that it has anything to do with my love life is just—”
“But your love life did screw things up on the last show. I was there.”
I nod, remembering with perfect clarity how Gabby saved me that night. She was the one who brought me back from the brink.
“That was a coincidence,” I say, but my voice sounds hollow.
“Okay, but you and Odile . . . it’s obvious you’re serious. I could tell when she brought in that star drop. You looked like you wanted to marry her then and there.”
I can’t argue with her. “But that doesn’t mean—”
“I had a feeling this was happening. Weeks ago. I saw the way you kept looking at each other in rehearsals, but I didn’t say anything. Maybe if I had, the fire wouldn’t have happened.” She wipes a tear off her cheek. “But I didn’t, because I trusted you.”
For the second time today, my heart stops.
I thought the fire was the worst thing that could happen. I was wrong.
“Look.” I keep my voice measured and professional. It’s all I have right now. “You didn’t break any rules, and neither did I—not real ones. The superstitions aren’t what matters. Our real job is putting on the best show we can and keeping everyone safe.”
“And thanks to the fire, we’re not doing either of those right now.” She’s speaking calmly and quietly, too. It only makes what she’s saying that much worse.
That’s when a sound behind her makes us both turn. A voice on the basement stairs.
“Who else wants chips?” David calls. Several voices answer, and he laughs. “Okay, be right back.”
“Please, Gabby.” We only have a few seconds before he gets up here. I have to fix this, now. “You can’t tell anyone. If this crew stops trusting each other, the whole show will fall apart.”
“It’s already falling apart. You’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”
I fight the urge to cry again. “Please.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure Dom’s known longer than I have, though, and I’m not sure who else suspects. I overheard a few of the actors talking yesterday, and—”
A shout from the basement stairs cuts her off. Then a scream.
We both bolt forward at once as feet pound on the floor above us. Pops shouts something, but I can’t make it out over the din from the basement. Dozens of voices coming all at once, a mix of hushed tones and shrieks.
I yank open the door to the stairs. There’s a knot of people clustered around the bottom.
“Who’s hurt?” I try to run down the steps, but I only make it halfway before I hit a wall of people. “What happened?”
“What’s the address here?” Odile’s voice rises up above the others, but I can’t see her. Dom tells her our address, and she repeats it shakily. I’ve never heard her sound so afraid. “An ambulance, please. He’s—there’s a lot of blood, and I heard—there was a snapping sound . . .”
“Everyone move, quickly.” Pops pushes past me down the stairs and plunges into the group of people. “Ohhh. Hey, it’s all right, you’re gonna be all right, try to stay calm . . .”
I follow him, my heart pounding fiercely. That’s when I see David crumpled on the floor. He must’ve fallen through the gap between the stairs and the banister somehow. His leg is bent at a sickening angle.
“Should we make a tourniquet?” someone asks, and I have no idea if we should or not, but I run back upstairs to look for a scarf. Standing still is impossible right now anyway.
I brush past Gabby, but I don’t look at her. I don’t need to. I already know how she’s reacting to this, because I’m reacting exactly the same way.
She’s right. I did exactly what I swore I wouldn’t do. I fell in love, and now everything’s falling apart.
From: Melody McIntyre
To: All cast and crew
Date: Thursday, 4/23, 7:56 a.m.
Subject: Update
Good morning everyone,
The teachers asked me to send out a quick update.
For those of you who haven’t heard, David broke his leg last night. He’s still in the hospital, but he’s being discharged today. The doctors don’t think he’ll need surgery (yay!).
He hopes to be back at school tomorrow, at least for the afternoon pep rally. He’ll either be on crutches or in a wheelchair, so we’ll adjust the choreography accordingly. We’ll wait to reblock his scenes in the show itself until we’re allowed into the auditorium again.
The good news is, the black box has been declared safe and the teachers said we can rehearse there this afternoon, with a tentative goal of sticking to the original schedule for tech, dress rehearsals, and performances. Ms. Marcus and Mr. Green will be busy working in the auditorium with the cleaning crews, so Ms. Qiao will direct the rehearsal. All cast members, please report to the black box no later than 3:00 p.m. Be prepared to stay late.
Crew members, as you know, we still can’t get to the sets or props, but in the meantime we have a ton of costume work to do. So all crew, please report to the black box at 3:00 p.m. as well. We’re hauling in all the supplies and materials we gathered yesterday, and we’ll move out some of the seats so the crew can sew on the far side of the black box while the cast rehearses in the middle. It’ll be close quarters, but we’ll make it work.
Thank you, everyone! —Mel
—Also stored on BHS performing arts department shared drive.
Created by: Melody McIntyre, stage manager, class of 2021
Viewable to: All cast, crew, and directors
Editable by: Current SM ONLY
Scene 4—Black Box Theater, Beaconville High School Performing Arts Wing
DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 8
“But what was David even doing at your house?” Christina taps her jaw testily, leaning back into the circle of actors around her. “Malik said a bunch of people from the show were there last night, but I didn’t hear about it.”
“It was a last-minute thing.” I hunch my shoulders and grab my elbows. “They came to help make costumes.”
“Isn’t there a whole costume department for that?”
I sigh.
We’re an hour and a half into rehearsal. Ms. Qiao just called for a break, but she’s the only one who actually left, so the rest of us are still crammed into the black box. Normally this is my favorite place in the whole school, after the tech booth—it’s down the hall from the auditorium, and it’s a wide-open room that can be configured in a dozen different ways for shows and rehearsals and classes. It’s also a great spot to chill with theater friends when it isn’t being used for official purposes. Right now, though, it’s way too full of people and anxiety for any of us to relax.
The entire crew, except for Estaban, Jacob, and me, is jammed into a narrow space on the far side of the room, sewing frantically. Will just gave
me a status report on the major set pieces, and I emailed it out right before rehearsal started—basically, some are salvageable and some aren’t—and told us we were allowed in the subbasement again, so Jacob and Estaban are down in the storage room checking the props. We’re hoping to get the all clear for the scene shop soon too, but for now I’m trying to use the break time to calm the cast down. It isn’t working.
“What’s the deal with the costumes, anyway?” Leah leans forward. “I heard they were all destroyed.”
“Not completely,” I tell her. The other sixty actors hang on our every word. “Mr. Green said we can still use some of the pieces. Maybe ten percent.”
“So which of us have to wear crappy thrift-store costumes now that the good ones are toast?” Nick asks.
Something clatters sharply on the far side of the room. The crew’s eavesdropping on us.
“The good ones were made out of thrift-store materials too.” I roll my eyes at Nick. “The entire tech crew is working day and night to make new costumes for all of you, so I recommend you give them a break.”
Nick rolls his eyes right back. “And I recommend you give us a break. If you haven’t noticed, everyone’s stressed out about the whole theater-burning-down thing. Not to mention our costar nearly dying at your house.”
“Hey . . .” Odile’s voice is soft and soothing. She’s been sitting off to one side behind me, but now she leans into the middle of the group. “Everyone’s stressed, the cast and the crew. We all ought to cut each other some slack.”
Nick and Christina and some of the others give her a mild side eye.
“Tell us the truth, Mel.” Beth leans in now, looking more serious than I’ve ever seen her. “Are they going to cancel the show?”
I shake my head. “That isn’t going to—”
“Hey, no, no, you have to do it,” a raised voice calls from the other side of the room. We all look up to see Gabby pointing at Tyler.
“Come on, I didn’t say it to one of them.” He turns to us, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Mel, back me up. Isn’t it okay to say—the G-L words, as long as I don’t say them to an actor right before a show? I was only telling Devin I hoped he could get the sewing machine to work. Besides, it’s not like I’d tell someone to ‘break a leg’ after what happened.”
“You still have to do the countercurse.” The needle in Gabby’s hand never stops moving, but she gives Tyler, and then me, a dark look. “We can’t afford to take chances.”
Any other day, I would’ve agreed with Tyler’s interpretation of the rules. Besides, the last thing I want to do is draw more attention to all our superstitions. But I can’t argue with Gabby after last night.
I nod. “Go ahead. Countercurse.”
Tyler sighs and climbs to his feet. “This is ridiculous, but . . .”
He steps carefully over the huddle of crew members and walks out the main door of the black box, then knocks on the frame. “May I please be invited back in?”
Gabby’s still glaring at me. Clearly, I don’t have a choice but to enforce every rule. “Close the door first,” I call.
Tyler sighs again, but he shuts the door and knocks again. “Hello? It’s Tyler? Your publicity crew head? May I please be invited back inside so I can help sew fifty million costumes for a show that supposedly starts next week?”
Gabby stands up, climbs over the others, and opens the door. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” Tyler huffs to his seat. I turn back to the actors, who haven’t said a word the whole time.
“Anyway.” I try to smile, as though all this is amusing instead of absurdly tense. “Try to relax, everyone. This theater’s made it through bigger problems than this.”
“But we still have so much work to do, and now we can’t even rehearse on our own stage.” Andrew’s voice carries sharply through the room. The crew’s silent, but I know they heard him. That’s what we get for having perfect acoustics. “And scary shit keeps happening. Leah got poison ivy in the middle of winter. And remember when Julio got hurt?”
“Uh-huh.” Peyton nods. “I thought all this curse stuff was bullshit, but this is getting bad. Fires are not a good sign.”
“Look, all these things are problems, but they’re coincidences, not a curse.” I shake my head, forcing my voice to stay steady. Stage Manager Calm. “There are problems on every show. When we did Midsummer we didn’t have the new hazer yet so we had to keep dry ice backstage, and it bubbled so loud in the dress rehearsals the fairies had to yell their lines, but it worked out fine. The audience thought it was a spooky sound effect.”
“I remember that.” Peyton frowns. “I was hoarse for the whole run.”
“Right, well, sorry about that, but I’m just saying.” I’m about to roll my eyes again when I remember that I broke up with Isabelle hours after the Midsummer invited dress rehearsal. The dry ice stopped giving us trouble after that.
“Anyway, aside from the fire, these aren’t catastrophes.” I concentrate on using my most diplomatic voice to cover up the fact that I’m currently trying to calculate exactly how many crises I could’ve been responsible for over the past three years. “Leah, your rash is getting better, right?”
She scratches her arm. “A little.”
“I might be coming down with it too, actually.” Peyton scratches her knee. “I was itching the other day.”
“Maybe you got it when you had to help paint the sets,” Kyle says. “A lot of those chemicals aren’t safe to breathe in.”
“You can’t get a rash from painting sets.” Dom, who’s been quiet through this entire conversation, finally lets out an exasperated sigh and climbs to his feet. “The crew paints sets every single day. You all need to stop being such assholes. Mel, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back before break ends.”
As much as I appreciate Dom’s support, I wish he’d use more diplomatic language. Nick and Christina are both shifting in their seats, shooting daggers from their eyes at Dom’s back as he turns away.
“Anyway, I promise we’ll get through this,” I tell the others as calmly as I possibly can. “We’re going to have an awesome show. All you need to worry about right now is working hard in rehearsals.”
“Mel’s right.” Odile nods. At least I can count on her not to curse everyone out. “Our show’s in good hands. The crew and the teachers know what they’re doing.”
Then, as she leans back into her seat, she lays a soft hand on my arm.
I stare down at her French-manicured fingers resting on my sweatshirt sleeve. I’m not the only one.
Leah and Christina both draw in quick breaths. Andrew and Beth glance at each other. Peyton scratches her elbow and raises her eyebrows sky-high.
I don’t dare look at the crew side of the room to see if anyone’s watching, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll hear about it soon enough.
Oh, God. This is my own fault. I never told Odile the truth, and now it’s too late.
“Careful!” someone shouts from the door behind us. I turn just in time to hear a loud thump followed by the sounds of breaking glass and a phone ringing.
Estaban charges around the corner, his eyes wild.
“What was that?” I jump up.
As I’m running toward him, Odile ducks past me with an apologetic wave, holding her phone to her ear. That’s when I spot the pile of shattered, spray-paint-covered glass by the door.
“The bishop’s candlesticks.” Jacob looks like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “We brought them up from storage to check them and I swear—they were just sitting here. I don’t know how they could’ve fallen.”
Estaban looks like he might hyperventilate, too.
Okay. So. Stage Manager Calm.
Those candlesticks are the most important prop in the show. Estaban and his team spent weeks getting them exactly right. They’ve kept them carefully wrapped in tissue paper every time they had to be moved. They couldn’t have randomly capsized.
Still, I can’t let anyone get the i
dea that there’s some grand cosmological significance in this. Props break. It’s the first rule of theater.
This is a fixable problem. Stage Manager Calm.
“We have backup candlesticks, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, but they’re crap.” Estaban rubs his forehead. “They’re the gold ones we tested with the foil wrapping. The silver spray paint on the glass looked a thousand times better under the lamps. We’ll have to go back to IKEA to make a new set, and there’s no time with tech this weekend.”
“It’ll be okay.” I check my timer. Break’s almost over. “Jacob, could you please go get the backup set for now, and grab the dustpan while you’re at it? Estaban, I’ll talk to Ms. Marcus about the budget, but I think we can order a new set of glass candles with rapid shipping and switch them out when they get here. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“Could you please stop pretending everything’s going to be fine? Because you know it isn’t. None of this would be happening at all if it wasn’t for you.”
A hush falls over the black box. When I turn around, Nick, of all people, is standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on me.
The hell?
He’s got to be talking about the curse. But since when does Nick the Dick even know about the curse, much less care?
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I force a laugh. The crew has frozen, their needles still in their hands. They’re all watching Nick.
Except for Rachel. Her steely gaze is leveled straight at me.
“Mel wasn’t anywhere near the candlesticks.” Estaban sounds confused. And maybe a little suspicious.
There’s got to be a way to fix this. But before I can think of it, Nick the Dick opens his mouth again, and starts whistling.
The asshole is staring right at me, whistling “One Day More.”
“Stop and do the countercurse.” I put my hands on my hips. “Now.”
He keeps whistling.
“Stop it.” I turn, trying to catch the others’ eyes for backup, but the rest of the actors are glancing back and forth between Nick and me uncertainly. Even the crew is quiet.
