“Finley,” Olive croaked, and Juliana nodded. “What else do you see besides rotten food?”
Frowning, Juliana picked at a chip in the tiled floor. “Just, like…dirt. Grungy stuff, like the place hasn’t been cleaned in a long time. Bugs sometimes. And…” She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know. That’s it, I guess.”
So Olive told her what she’d seen last night—the way the whole outside of the theater had looked condemned. Juliana squeezed her eyes closed as if she was trying not to cry.
“That’s how Felix always said it looked too,” she whispered. “Why? Why does it look like that to him but so beautiful to the rest of us? What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with me?”
Olive knew the answer. But she didn’t want to say it. “Juliana,” she said hesitantly. “That night you were with Finley’s ghost on the stage, and you talked to Maude after I left…what did she tell you?”
Juliana’s expression closed. “Why?”
“Because…” Olive couldn’t find the words. “Felix can’t come inside, and…”
“He won’t come inside, you mean!” Juliana’s face was red now, her eyes brimming over. “Because he feels too guilty about—” She stopped, clapping her hand over her mouth.
But Olive understood. “He caused the accident,” she said.
Juliana nodded slowly. “How did you know?”
“Maude told me last night.”
“She told me too, that night on the stage.”
Olive frowned. “You didn’t see it happen?”
“No.” Juliana rubbed her face. She suddenly sounded exhausted. “I was in Val’s vanishing cabinet. All I know was by the time they finally let me out, the cocoon had already…” Her voice broke. “No one even wants to talk about Finley anymore, like he never existed.”
“They just don’t want to upset you,” Olive pointed out.
Juliana rolled her eyes. “Like not talking about something means it never happened,” she muttered. “I want to talk about Finley. I miss him so much.”
Olive said nothing. For Felix, grief was best kept behind a closed door. But Juliana needed the door open. Olive wanted to explain this, but in a way that wouldn’t make Juliana even more upset. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Olive sipped at her water. It burned going down her raw throat.
“Felix says he can’t get into the theater,” she told Juliana at last. “I think it’s for the same reason he sees it as being ugly.” She thought of Maude’s words. “He can’t face the reality of it. Of Finley’s death.”
Juliana’s lips trembled. “Maybe that’s why I see it as ugly too sometimes.”
“Maybe,” Olive agreed.
“But wait.” Juliana frowned. “Felix always saw it as ugly, even the very first time Finley brought us here. That doesn’t make sense.”
“You and Finley never thought it was ugly?”
“Oh no,” Juliana said emphatically. “It looked old, but in a beautiful way, you know?”
Olive did know. It was exactly how she’d seen it the first time too. And every other time, save for last night, and the night she’d run away. Felix was the only one who always saw the theater the wrong way.
The girls jumped when the door swung open. Tanisha peeked inside, her eyes widening when she saw them on the floor.
“Everything okay?” she asked. “You’ve been gone awhile.”
“Fine,” Olive said quickly, pulling her knees in to hide the juice stains she hadn’t bothered rinsing out of her robe. “What are those?” She pointed to the stack of papers in Tanisha’s hand.
“Programs for tomorrow night!” Tanisha held one up. “Pretty exciting, right?” Olive’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the cover.
“Wow,” she said, her voice higher than usual. Tanisha beamed.
“Better change out of that robe before dress rehearsal.”
Nodding, Olive got shakily to her feet. Dress rehearsal. Opening night. Eidola, starring Olive Preiss.
“Do you have anyone coming tomorrow night?” Tanisha asked. “Any family?”
“No,” Olive replied distantly. “No, I don’t have anyone.”
She allowed Tanisha and Juliana to lead her to the dressing room, where the seamstresses were waiting. Two, shaking with either nerves or excitement, floated over to Olive with her costume: a long, flowing nightgown with ribbons and a high waist. They fluttered around her, hemming and making adjustments, and Olive gazed at herself in the gilded mirror as they worked. She felt better than she had in days, though her stomach still roiled unpleasantly. The Morellas needed help, and Olive had an idea. She would make Felix understand that he couldn’t blame himself for his brother’s death. She would make him see that Maudeville was the most beautiful place in the city, and reunite him with his brother and sister.
The seamstresses fussed over her as she plotted and schemed, clenching her hands into fists to hide the blue-green smudges still on her fingers.
Dress rehearsal proved to be the perfect escape from all of the day’s earlier unpleasantness. From the moment the spotlight beamed down on her, Olive was transported. It was as if the seats had vanished and the walls and ceiling retracted and she was alone, truly alone, until Astaire rescued her and brought her to a land filled with flying glass globes and sparkling snowflakes, soaring angels and devilish fire-eaters. Boys swapped souls with puppets, and girls could be sawed right down the center, then come back together with a laugh and a bow. Magic was real.
Olive sang with her head tilted up to the heavens. Out of the darkness, the shimmering white cocoon descended lower and lower. It glowed faintly, and Olive felt a light pulsing behind her eyes in response. There was something beautiful in there, a glorious butterfly with wildly colorful wings that could take her anywhere, anywhere at all. Olive was ready. She would go wherever the butterfly took her.
And then, quite suddenly, she was no longer in Eidola. Just a theater.
Blinking, Olive looked around as the house lights came on. The other cast members seemed dazed, too, though most were smiling. Aidan rubbed his eyes, then gently lifted Nadia, who’d toppled over at his side. “Aw,” he said. “Still no butterfly?”
“Saving it for tomorrow night,” Mickey replied. “That’s only for the live performance.”
Maude ascended the stairs, her smile wider than ever. “Exactly right. That was magnificent, everyone. Just beautiful.” Her glittering eyes were fixed on Olive, who shivered with pleasure at the praise.
But for the first time, a small part of her was disappointed. Escaping to a fantasy world onstage wasn’t quite enough anymore. She gazed at the glowing cocoon, part of her still willing whatever was inside to emerge and take her away.
“Tomorrow night.” Maude’s whisper tickled Olive’s ear, causing her to jump. “It will be worth the wait, I promise.”
“I know,” Olive said. Her wide, wide smile mirrored Maude’s.
Before dinner, Olive slipped out of the theater and peered down the alley. She looked everywhere, even in the dumpster, but Felix was nowhere to be found.
Olive had been expecting that, and so she’d written a note in one of the Eidola programs. She hemmed and hawed for several minutes over where to leave it: sticking out from under the dumpster, tucked under the lid, lying on top of the least filthy trash bag inside. At last, she placed it on top of a slightly smashed pink bakery box, using an apple core as a makeshift paperweight. It would have to do.
She closed the lid and headed back into Maudeville, humming under her breath.
Sleep did not come until very late that night. The cast, still buzzing with adrenaline after rehearsal, filled the dorm with chatter and laughter into the small hours. Someone had unearthed a record player, and the scratchy vinyl sound of tinny brass harmonies and rapid drum rhythms provided a soundtrack to the impromptu festivities. The music reminded Olive of better times, when her still-happy father would come home from work, throw down his briefcase, put on a jazz record, and dance clumsily around the
living room with Olive standing on his feet. The memory fit the music—mostly joyful, but with the mild ache of longing.
Olive and Juliana sat cross-legged on Olive’s bed with Finley floating overhead, trading jokes with Aidan and cheering when Mickey led Nadia around in a waltz. Tanisha helped Val do their hair into an elaborate braided coil, and Astaire played a silent yet violently energetic game of poker with Knuckles’s hands. Eli sat on the floor, knees tucked up to his chin, watching the others with a wistful sort of smile.
“This is my favorite part,” he told Olive when he caught her staring. “The night before opening night.”
Olive smiled and shook her head. Nothing could be better than opening night, putting on an amazing show for a rapt audience, bringing Eidola to life.
But looking around the dormitory at her new family all laughing and celebrating, she thought maybe she understood what Eli meant. This was life, no magic or acting or pretending required. This was real.
The thought comforted her and made her sad at the same time.
Finley had more or less mastered staying visible, and the others had welcomed him back as if he’d returned from a trip to the beach rather than the dead. And though Juliana was clearly happy to have her brother by her side, Olive could tell she was still frustrated by the way everyone was behaving. The rest of the cast was acting as though nothing horrible had ever happened, as if there was no reason to grieve now. They did not discuss Finley’s onstage death even once, and Finley was too polite to bring it up.
Several times, Olive almost told Juliana and Finley about the note she’d left for Felix. But then Astaire would duck and cover as Knuckles’s hands flung their chips at him, or Tanisha would try to teach Aidan to juggle shoes, or Mickey would sweep Val into a rather wild tango, and there would be more laughter, and Olive would momentarily forget. At last, she decided it would be best not to tell Juliana or Finley. That way, they wouldn’t be disappointed if Olive’s plan didn’t work out.
And if it did, opening night would be a family reunion too.
Despite the late night, Olive woke early the next morning. She groped around her satchel for a fresh pair of socks but instead pulled out a book. The Cabinetmaker’s Apprentice.
The scar in her chest throbbed again, more intensely than ever. Olive had barely thought of her mother in days. It hadn’t even been intentional. Her mother’s sharp gaze and harsh words had simply ceased to exist in Olive’s mind. This frightened her, both because she didn’t want to remember and because she didn’t understand why she had forgotten so easily and so quickly.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the book, eager to stuff it back into her satchel and out of sight. Something slipped out from between the pages: a rectangular slip of paper with the words Laurel Preiss written in careful, bold print in the center. It was not her mother’s handwriting. Beneath that, the same hand had noted a sum of money: Fifty-two dollars and 40/100 cents. A signature Olive couldn’t decipher was scrawled in the bottom right corner. On the top left, a typed address: Kay’s Laundry and Tailor Service.
Olive’s mother used to write a check made out to Kay’s once a month before she’d been forced to give up such luxuries. But this check wasn’t from Mrs. Preiss. It was to her. Memories flooded Olive’s mind: long days alone in the penthouse; raw pink calluses on her mother’s fingers.
Mrs. Preiss was cleaning other people’s clothes, mending their shirts, getting stains out of their linens. She had gotten a job, a job that didn’t involve singing. And now she was talking to reporters, putting up flyers, offering rewards for her daughter’s safe return. She seems frantic, Felix had said. She loves you.
Emotions Olive did not want to feel welled up inside her anyway, her old life suddenly pushing at the dam she’d unknowingly built, threatening to overflow. She crammed the check back in the book, shoved the book into the bag, and threw the bag onto the floor. Across the room, Tanisha cried out in alarm. Mickey’s snores ended abruptly, and Nadia fell off her bed in a clatter.
“Sorry!” Olive squeaked, her heart pounding painfully. “I…dropped something.”
Juliana’s upside-down head appeared in front of her, long ponytail dangling as she hung over her bunk. “You okay?”
“Yup!” Olive couldn’t get her voice back to normal. “Just excited about tonight, I guess.”
Juliana grinned. Her smile was upside down too.
“Same here.”
Breakfast was a rowdy affair. Lack of sleep had done nothing to subdue the cast members’ moods. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and Olive tried to put the check firmly out of her mind as she ate a few bites of a slightly stale bagel.
The day stretched on too long and too warm. Olive was desperate for a distraction. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother scrubbing stains out of strangers’ clothes, and guilt jabbed at her insides. She played cards with Aidan and wandered around the lobby with Juliana. She skipped lunch and pretended to take a nap instead. She wasn’t hungry.
She wasn’t tired either.
At last it was time to get ready. Olive stood perfectly still as the seamstresses fussed over her once more, thread flying as they hemmed and stitched. She smiled at Two and received a kind, if anxious, smile in return. When the seamstresses finished, Olive thanked them and left the dressing room. The rest of the cast was backstage, but she did not join them—not yet. Instead, she hurried down the stairs and through the hall. After a furtive glance around to make sure she was alone, Olive quietly pushed the side entrance open and stepped out into the alley.
No Felix.
Deflated, Olive leaned against the door. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her note. Or maybe he had, and he’d chosen not to come. Maybe, Olive thought forcefully, Juliana was right. Maybe Felix simply wasn’t a very good brother.
She turned to head back inside and spotted a rusted barrel next to the dumpster. Then, without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she dragged it over to the side entrance. Stepping inside, Olive allowed the door to close. It rested on the can, leaving an opening wide enough for anyone to notice.
She headed down the hall, satisfied. Felix could still come to the show if he changed his mind. He could see his sister and brother again. It was his choice.
Olive was greeted backstage with a rush of good lucks and kisses on the cheek and pats on the back from her fellow cast members. Their excitement was like an electric current, a charge that crackled and sparked and made Olive’s skin tingle and her heart beat faster. Opening night had its own kind of magic. Olive wondered briefly if this was how her mother had felt before her big performances. Then she shook that thought off.
She took her spot in the pit, listening to the crowd on the other side of the closed curtains. It wasn’t the obnoxious chatter punctuated with coughs and high, false laughter Olive typically heard when she attended a show. This was a gentle flutter of almost reverent-sounding whispers…and occasionally, what sounded like a muffled sob or soft moan of fear.
The hair rose on the back of Olive’s neck, and she leaned forward. But then the whispers fell silent, the house lights dimmed, and the curtain rose. Olive squinted out at the hall as the first piano chords sounded. It wasn’t until the spotlight hit that she forgot about the audience completely.
Eidola had begun.
Olive gave herself over to the show. She sang her sad, sweet song in the pit, her voice breaking with emotion as she thought of how long she had been abandoned, alone. Astaire had made her laugh for the first time in what felt like years. But now his flailing dancing and whimsical gestures reminded her of old films on lazy Sunday afternoons, and the scar in her chest was getting too painful to ignore.
They emerged from the pit, and Eidola took Olive’s breath away, just as it had the first time. Each act was spectacular, every performance flawless. It really was, as Maude had promised, the most incredible show in the city.
But it was still just a show. And that wasn’t enough anymore.
The more Olive sang, t
he more she never wanted to leave Eidola. She desperately wanted everything else—the stage, the seats, the still-aching scar in her chest—to disappear. And then this dreamland, this magical place, would be her new reality. Her lungs ached as she poured that hope into the finale, her first finale, surrounded by streaks of fire and flurries of snow. Mickey’s torches were a fiery blur, battling with Tanisha’s flashing silver rings. Val invited Juliana into the vanishing cabinet while Nadia cheered and Aidan watched with a wooden smile. And Eli twisted and flipped so impossibly high in the air. It was all beautiful. It was perfect.
Until an intruder arrived.
He slipped into their fantasy world like a shadow, one that Olive pretended not to see at first. She stood on the edge of a great cliff, surveying her new home, surrounded by her new family, singing beneath the blindingly bright sun. The shadow crept through the golden forest and crossed the frozen lake. He stood at the bottom of the cliff and gazed up at Olive, and he was no longer a shadow but a boy. A boy who did not belong in her Eidola.
“Look,” yelled Felix, and he held up a piece of paper.
Olive’s voice faltered. She took a step back from the edge of the stage—no, it was a cliff—and squeezed her eyes closed.
“Go away,” she hissed. A moment later, a hand seized her wrist and pulled her down.
“I called,” Felix said. “I told them where you are.” He held out the paper again, and Olive’s mind went blank.
Her own black-and-white face dominated the page, beneath the header MISSING. Olive recognized the picture as her school photo from last year. Below were her name, her age, and a number to call with any information on her whereabouts.
“You what?” It came out as a whimper, inaudible over the orchestra. Neon spots danced in her eyes as the spotlight burned brighter than ever. The spotlight, not the sun.
She heard the crowd’s cheers now as they rose to a roar, drowning out the music. And then, just as quickly, faded to nothing.
Olive and the Backstage Ghost Page 12
