The Fall Musical

by Peter Lerangis

  Casey couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “He’s still alive, Kyle.”

  “He won’t be if he hears me.” Kyle leaned over the music, staring down the notes. “Come on. Let’s do it for Stephen. Time is running out. Fourth down. No punting.”

  He wasn’t joking. Kyle had a neurotic side? It didn’t seem possible. But singing brought out that kind of thing. Casey scoured the music, looking for something that would help him hear the tune.

  “Your first note?” she said. “It’s in the chord just before. You’ll hear this . . .” She carefully played the chord, then lifted all her fingers except one. “And you’ll sing this note. ‘O . . . ’ et cetera. Got it?”

  Kyle looked dubious. “Let’s try . . . ”

  She played—and he came in perfectly. “That’s it,” Casey said.

  “Whoa, that’s it?” She felt his arms around her, and she quickly turned—in time for him to sweep her up in a big bear hug. “I got it? I got it?”

  Casey felt her feet leave the ground. She held him tight as he swung her around the tiny space, and she buried her face in the folds of his shirt and took a deep breath. She realized it wasn’t soap. It was just him.

  He let her down at the piano bench, and she unwrapped her arms. Over his shoulder she could see a slight movement in the thick window of the practice room door. The window was small, just big enough for a face.

  Brianna’s.

  Casey leaped from the bench and opened the door. “Did you hear Kyle? He was—”

  “I don’t want to interrupt anything,” Brianna said.

  “You’re not!” Casey replied.

  Brianna smiled tightly. “No. Go ahead, Casey. You just pretend I’m not here.”

  “We’re just running a song,” Casey said.

  “Join the party!” Kyle added.

  “I’m not in a party mood. Really. Keep going.” Brianna backed away, pantomiming a phone. “I’ll call—”

  “But—” Before Casey could say another word, Brianna was gone.

  Casey felt her adrenaline flow out of her body and down through her toes into the carpet.

  Brianna was mad.

  But how could she be mad? Did she honestly think . . . Casey and Kyle? Okay, the hug must have looked a little cozy. But even if it were possible—about as likely as the sun and moon deciding to switch places—did she really think Casey would try to steal him away in a practice room?

  “That was weird,” Kyle said, reaching over to flip the song back to the beginning. “Oh, well, let’s do it again.”

  Casey forced herself to concentrate on the notes. It was ridiculous. She and Brianna were not in competition. The idea was absurd. She played through the song and then hit his chord. Kyle got his entrance perfectly and whooped with delight. But as she continued to the next page, he suddenly slapped his forehead. “Oh, damn.”

  Casey stopped. “What?”

  “I promised Brianna a ride home,” Kyle said. “That’s why she was acting so strange.”

  “Uh-oh.” Casey went out the room and ran out into the hallway. The practice rooms were in the music section, across the hall from the side door of the auditorium. She threw the door open and looked inside, but only Mr. Levin and Mr. Ippolito were there. Mr. Ippolito was grinning.

  Mr. Levin gave her a thumbs-up. “Guess what? Mr. Ippolito straightened things out. We’re getting a brand-new Cyclone fence, compliments of the PTA!”

  “Great!” Casey said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “Um, have you two seen Brianna?”

  “She left a few minutes ago,” Mr. Levin replied. “She was looking for Kyle.”

  “Thanks.”

  Casey shut the door and backed into the hallway, where Kyle was waiting. “I am a real ass,” he said.

  “Do you think Brianna’s mad at me?” Casey asked. “Maybe she thinks . . . you and me . . . ?”

  “Brianna is cooler than that,” Kyle said with a reassuring kind of chuckle, although the statement did not make Casey feel particularly tingly inside. “Don’t worry, Casey. It’s totally my fault. A broken promise to ride in a T-Bird? Yo, that’s tough to recover from. I’ll call her.”

  “You will?”

  “Yup.” Kyle looked at his watch. “Well, as long as the passenger seat’s empty . . . you want a ride?”

  It was getting dark out, and tonight her mom was working night shift at the hospital. Casey had her usual qualms about getting into a car. Then again, the temperature had dropped sharply today, and she hadn’t been looking forward to the lonely walk home.

  He held out his arm. With a smile, Casey took it.

  And as they walked toward the door, Kyle pressing her close to his side, she had the funniest feeling. It hit her hard, sort of like discovering, after all these years, that the world actually is banana-shaped.

  Was Brianna picking up something that Casey wasn’t? Was Kyle actually interested in . . .

  No. It wasn’t possible. Not Kyle. Not her.

  Don’t flatter yourself, Chang.

  As he opened the door, his eyes were wide and unflinching. “You will love this,” he said.

  She let in the thought—just for the briefest of moments, she entertained the idea that he might, just might be attracted to her.

  And then she let it go.

  Some things were just too wild to be true. The world was round. The sun and the moon were where they always were. That’s all there was to it.

  16

  From:

  To:

  Subject: i can’t sleep

  October 6, 3:07 A.M.

  rachel

  weeee yes it’s 3 a.m. and i am buzzing buzzing buzzing but thinking clearly and i made the BIG mistake of calling someone last night & waking them up & don’t want to do the same to you (someone i actually LOVE and RESPECT) so im sending this e-mail hope you don’t mind. you were right, rachel. about kt. i have turned into the kind of girl i hate and don’t say i told you so, i can’t take that. i shouldn’t care about this, ok he’s a good singer and oh is he HOTT but lets face it he’s flaky and his fingers are full of grease plus his best friends act like they just emerged from caves. so now he and casey are hooking up in the practice rooms and i want to scream. how do i know they were hooking up? because that’s what practice rooms are for, i know it from, um, personal experience and admit it, you do too as i recall from those steamy windows when you and bruce greenberg were “practicing.” ok, so kt likes cc. why shouldn’t he? what’s the big deal? she tries hard, she’s smart, and she can play piano for him. okay, i can play piano too but he didn’t ask me, besides i’m a lousy sight-reader, but hey, if she wants to show off, that’s her choice. what do i care? what bothers me isn’t so much THAT. it’s the shape-shifting. pretending to be your best friend and then stabbing you in the back. i never trusted her. she sings but doesn’t sing, she’s shy but bosses people around, she falls apart at a criticism but runs rehearsals. what bothers me is that just when you think you know her she slips through your hands like water. who is she? she is hiding something, i can feel it.

  ok, don’t yell at me but i searched google for “casey chang” westfield connecticut & came up with nothing. just plain “casey chang”? nada. blog search, myspace, facebook, xanga, waybackmachine, big fat zeroes. well, it’s not totally true. i did find a chang in a cast list for fiddler on the roof at westfield high, with a different first name, not casey. but chang is like smith, so that’s not too shocking. no one ever friended her? mentioned her? this is the girl kyle is hot for—a person with no identity?

  i should call alex duboff, that’s it. she knows him. he’d know. the only problem is, i’d have to talk to alex duboff.

  oh god, i can’t even read this. i feel like a stalker.

  burn this e-mail.

  B

  “Excellent!” Ms. Gunderson called out to Lori, who had not only made a full recovery from the flu but was sounding more and more magnificent. “T
ake a rest, sweetie. You deserve it.”

  As Lori left the stage, Casey unwrapped a big, cakey brownie and took a big bite. Thank God for the Bayview Avenue food truck, this week’s best discovery. It had taken until October 9, but better late than never. She glanced at her schedule sheet. A big purple-red blotch covered the second act, the remnant of a spilled Diet Coke. It obliterated a line or two, but she had memorized most of this by now. Swallowing carefully, she called out, “Um, places for ‘All Good Gifts’!”

  Kyle looked up from his stretching exercises on the stage. “Okay, chief!”

  Casey smiled at him and immediately turned away. Her first instinct was to check for Brianna. Brianna hadn’t said a word to her since last week. She hadn’t been at her locker lately, and during the rehearsals she was always either studying the script or looking in the other direction whenever Casey passed by.

  A hundred times Casey had meant to talk to her, but the day-to-day schedule was grueling for the stage manager. The few times she had started to approach Brianna, she’d gotten cold feet.

  Kyle didn’t seem to have a clue about the friction he was causing. Or maybe he did, but he just didn’t care. Either way, she envied him. Of course, envy was the least complicated of the feelings she had for Kyle. Surprisingly, the ride home had been fun, rolling down the roof and singing at the top of their lungs. It hadn’t gone any further than that, but she hadn’t expected it to, really.

  Surely she must have come to her senses by now. Just a moment’s thought about the absurdity of it all . . . Hmmm, let’s see: Kyle and the fat, dumpy, insecure girl . . . or Kyle and the talented, beautiful, brilliant one who discovered his talent and changed his life?

  Tough call.

  Casey took another bite.

  “A styrachosaurus,” Charles said, staring over her shoulder.

  “Nope, just a brownie,” Casey said.

  Charles gave her a look. “That shape on your cue sheet. It’s like a Rorschach test, right? Identify the blot? Well, I see a styrachosaurus. You know, the one with all those horns around its crown, the most colorful and stylish of reptiles? The Tommy Hilfiger of the Mesozoic age?”

  Casey laughed, pulling flecks of brownie up into her nasal passages. She began coughing violently.

  Charles patted her on the back. “Don’t do this to me, Casey, I’ve seen all those posters for the Heimlich maneuver, but I can’t remember how to do it!”

  “Don’t—” Cough, cough. “Make me—” Cough. “Laugh!”

  “QUIET BACKSTAGE!” Brianna’s voice shouted from the auditorium.

  “Shh, Miss Diva is in a bad mood,” Charles whispered, ushering Casey farther into the wings.

  Some of the Charlettes, seeing Casey’s condition, dragged a chair over so she could sit. Vijay brought her some bottled water. She sipped it carefully, clearing her throat as quietly as possible, and angling her chair so she could see the stage.

  Jamil was singing “All Good Gifts,” one of her favorites. He was a freshman, and his voice hadn’t changed yet. It had a pure, sweet quality. He was inexperienced and a little unsure at times, but he was getting stronger by the day.

  “Can we stop, please?” Brianna’s voice rang out from the house. “Okay, that wasn’t bad.”

  “Can she curb her enthusiasm?” Charles murmured.

  Casey stood up and walked to the edge of the stage, glancing at her schedule. “Let’s set up for scene—”

  “Excuse me.” Brianna was walking purposefully down the aisle. “Can we go back to the top of that last song?”

  Jamil cocked his head, baffled. “What’d I do?”

  “Your tone is good, Jamil. Really, really sweet. I’d just like to hear it one more time, for pitch.” Brianna pointed to her ear. “I think you’re singing a teeny bit flat.”

  Mr. Levin glanced at Ms. Gunderson, who replied with an unreadable look of her own.

  “I didn’t hear anything wrong,” Casey murmured to Charles.

  “I could try it again,” Jamil said gamely. “No problem.”

  “Brianna,” Mr. Levin said, climbing down from the stage apron, “do you have any dramatic notes? Because, in the interest of time, when it comes to musical matters, maybe Ms. Gunderson should make these kinds of calls—”

  “Well, it just seemed pretty obvious,” Brianna said, lowering her voice. “Besides, this is supposed to be a collaborative effort, right? We all help out. Sometimes we see things others don’t. Or hear things.”

  Ms. Gunderson smiled. “True. Good point. But we’re not after perfection, sweetie. The audience isn’t that picky about pitch.”

  “Fine,” Brianna said with a shrug. “If you feel you can be proud of that performance, fine.” Calmly she turned and walked up the aisle.

  “What has gotten into her?” Harrison muttered, jumping off the stage.

  Casey followed him. They chased after Brianna and cornered her behind the last row of seats.

  “Hello,” Brianna said, flashing them a fake smile. “I have to pee. Would you two like to join me?”

  “Brianna, what’s up?” Casey asked.

  “Nothing’s up,” Brianna said. “I just wasn’t aware we were relaxing our standards, okay?”

  “What are you talking about?” Harrison asked.

  “I guess since it’s a small musical, since the New York Times won’t be there on opening night, it’s fine to settle for mediocrity . . . ”

  “Look, Jamil is a freshman,” Harrison said. “He has a beautiful voice that needs a little coaching, and he’s very sensitive. He’s also getting more and more confident. We want to make him feel at home with us. What’s the point in humiliating him?”

  “I didn’t humiliate him,” Brianna said. “I was respectful and professional. Which is more than I can say for some of you. You want to make him comfortable? Then don’t lie to him! Don’t tell him he’s perfect when he’s singing flat! You did that to Kyle and now you’re doing it to Jamil. You want him to find out the truth from the audience? He has potential, and our job is to help him live up to it.”

  “Brianna, this isn’t such a big deal,” Harrison said. “Sometimes it’s best to give a performer some time. Let them find their way. It worked with Kyle—his singing improved, right?”

  “He didn’t find his way all by himself,” Brianna said, pointedly looking at Casey. “Now excuse me.”

  She wiggled between them, toward the door. Harrison began following her, then gave a disgusted wave and came back.

  Casey’s legs locked.

  Brianna was mad at her. Those comments had been meant for her. Brianna was pissed about the practice room.

  “Don’t worry,” Harrison said, placing his hand gently on Casey’s arm. “She gets like this sometimes. It’s usually in the middle of the rehearsal period, when she thinks the show is going to tank. Plus, she’s probably frustrated she can’t be onstage. She’ll be okay in a few minutes. She’ll apologize to you and Jamil.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Casey said softly.

  “I guarantee it,” Harrison said, heading back to the stage.

  Casey slipped out into the hallway and eyed the girls’ room. Brianna was still in there. The thought of confronting her made Casey’s stomach hurt. She needed something in it. She darted down the hallway and around the corner to the cafeteria snack machine.

  She found a single in her pocket, loaded it into the machine, selected a pack of Sun Chips, then headed back to the auditorium.

  As she eyed the girls’ room door, which was still shut, she ripped open the chips and popped a few into her mouth. From inside the auditorium, she could hear Mr. Levin’s voice booming: “Props? PRO-O-O-OPS!”

  That was her. Casey ran. “Sorry!” she called out as she pulled open the auditorium door and hurried toward the stage.

  “Casey, where are the canes?” Mr. Levin demanded. “We’re running the soft-shoe number, and we’re supposed to have canes today! Right? These guys have been using umbrellas.”

  Casey had t
o think. She had ordered four telescoping vaudeville canes, the kind that look like small wands until you tap them and they spring out to full size. “I’ll get them!”

  She ran backstage, where the Charlettes had formed a little sewing factory to make the “costume” for a huge beast made of garbage in one of the later scenes. “Guys, where are the canes we ordered?” she asked.

  “They sent them to 763 Bayview Avenue, not 163,” Vijay said. “So they got sent back.”

  “I have learned my lesson,” Charles said. “I will never allow Vijay of the Woeful Handwriting to fill out a requisition form again!”

  “I called them,” Vijay said. “They said three to five business days.”

  Casey stepped back onto the stage and relayed the news to Mr. Levin.

  “Three to five days is what they said the first time!” Mr. Levin slapped his hand on the piano, which made a muffled tonnnnng. With a disgusted sigh, he turned his back and said, “Let’s do it with umbrellas again.”

  Casey stepped back, nodding, retracing her path, until she bumped into Charles.

  “Ooh,” said Charles.

  “Sorry,” said Casey.

  “No, that felt good,” Charles replied. “Do it again.”

  “He hates me, too,” she said, her back still to him.

  “Mr. Levin?” Charles said. “He adores you. He’s just a little wigged out. You would be, too, if you had to deal with Miss Diva, fend off the comely Liesl Gunderson, and go home to grade thirty-one reports on Hamlet.”

  Casey turned. Charles was grinning impishly. No one did impish grins better than Charles. Which somehow made her even more depressed.

  “Uh-oh, I think we need a change of venue,” Charles said, taking her hands and leading her back to the costume/ prop room. He shooed away the couple of Charlettes who were inside, sat her down in a puffy leatherette lounger, and shut the door. “There,” he said, kneeling beside her. “Now forget the rest of them. Let it all out, babe.”

  He was reading her mind. He knew she was a mess and he was still totally on her side, and the combination undid her. She couldn’t hold it together any longer. Casey took a deep, shuddering breath and gave in.