Dream Chaser

by Angie Stanton

  “I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the aud.”

  He nodded.

  In the bathroom, I turned on hot water and ran my hands under it until the temperature reached scalding.

  When I entered the auditorium, I heard Tyson talking to the cast who sat in a half circle on the stage floor all looking downcast.

  “This is NOT a high school show,” Tyson lectured in a tone I’d never heard from him. “This is a professional production of a Broadway-caliber show. Each one of you was selected because of your exceptional talent, which is extraordinary for your age, and I expect you to act with maturity and professionalism.”

  He ranted and paced in front of them, so I stayed at the back of the house.

  “I see what’s happening here and I don’t like it. We don’t have time for hissy fits and juvenile jealousy. You should all know by now that everyone in this show is replaceable. Don’t push me; you won’t like the result.”

  The man was pissed. I couldn’t see even a glimmer of his normal easy-going personality.

  “Willow is the female lead of this show. You need to accept that fact or find the door. Jealousy is ugly, and I won’t let it infect this show. You should be helping her, not standing in her way. If she fails, you fail. I expect cooperation and teamwork from each and every one of you.”

  His hands on his hips, he stared them down. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” they muttered.

  “I understand your childish desire to initiate the new kid, but the hazing is done. Over. I don’t want to see or hear one more thing unless it’s positive. But let me tell you. Your hell week has just begun.”

  Without turning around, he asked, “Willow are you ready to get back to work?”

  “Yes, sir.” I answered from the back, feeling more isolated than ever. They’d really hate me after getting their asses chewed.

  “Then let’s go.” He left the stage. As I passed him, his face was serious and stressed, but he smiled quick and whispered, “Hang in there kid.” So I guess we were okay.

  The rest of rehearsal developed into the most quiet and intense I’d ever experienced. At least I didn’t have to suffer anymore muttering or snide comments.

  After practice, I swore I’d never let them catch me unprepared again. After walking home and eating dinner, I drove to Miss Ginny’s and practiced alone for three hours.

  Damn them all.

  Chapter 18

  The next day I wanted to thank Tyson for sticking up for me, so I brought in a pan of my Dad’s special brownies. Not that kind of “special,” but the kind he was allowed to send to school without getting arrested.

  I plopped them on the table next to Tyson. He’d been going over notes in his binder. He looked at the brownies for a couple seconds and then at me and again back to the brownies. He considered the contents.

  “Are these what I think they are?” He made this big production of crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Depends. What do you think they are?” I cocked my head.

  He looked closely at the brownies and back at me. “Are you trying to get kicked out too?” He arched a brow and tried to stare me down, but I wouldn’t look away. I’d played this game too many times with my Dad. And won.

  Eli walked up. “Are those your dad’s special brownies?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “Oh, then they’re fine.” Tyson relaxed and reached for one.

  “Have you met her dad?” Eli said.

  “No, why?”

  “He’s an artist, wears a pony tail and grows his own herbs,” Eli said.

  I folded my arms across my chest and raised an eyebrow at Tyson.

  “Oh.” He pulled his hand away and eyed me again.

  Eli grabbed two and took a bite. “They’re awesome, try one.”

  Tyson looked at me again. “Nice try.”

  “Looks like someone has trust issues; you should work on that.” I smirked.

  “Hey, you had that look again. I knew to be leery,” Tyson said.

  “What look? I don’t have a look.”

  “You know, that look in your eye that practically screams that you’re up to something, or know something no one else does.”

  “I don’t look like that.”

  “Sure you do.” Tyson said. “Doesn’t she?” he said to Eli.

  “All the time.”

  I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about. My mind is like a huge vacuum of random thoughts. Mostly about how to survive the stuff thrown at me every day. And I never know something no one else does.

  Tyson helped himself to a brownie and took a huge bite. Eli glanced at me and hid his smile. Tyson chewed for a few seconds then looked at me, his eyes wide.

  “What’s in these?”

  “Cayenne pepper.” I grinned. “It’s supposed to heighten the senses, or so I’m told.”

  He grabbed his water bottle and took a huge drink. “Not bad actually. I’d like to meet your dad.”

  We had a much better rehearsal. I enjoyed today because I got to work with Jason, the guy who plays my ex-boyfriend in the show Victor, aka the stalker. This was my first principal rehearsal with anyone other than Eli, so I hoped it meant no practicing the kiss.

  Jason had brown hair cut really short and a wide mouth that’s always smiling. He’s kind of tall, but a really good dancer. He goes to Memorial High School on the other side of town and studies dance at the Diamond Dance Institute. He’s very sweet, and nothing like his creepy character.

  The show is a series of dreams by this guy Zach. His dreams start turning to reality, starting with his dream of meeting Lauren. At the beginning of the show Jason’s character, Victor, is normal, but as the show progresses Lauren and Zach fall in love. Then Victor turns jealous and keeps bothering Lauren. He shows up in some of Zach’s dreams and then appears in the last one and tries to kill Lauren, which is what cues Zach that she’s about to die.

  So Jason and I learned this cool chase scene. Then Eli and Jason had a fight scene; it’s aggressive and violent with lots of kicks and punches. I especially enjoyed when Jason missed and hit Eli square in the jaw. Sorry, but it was nice to see Eli get clocked.

  We blocked out all the scenes with Jason, which was great because I felt the scenes of the show fitting into place.

  During a break, we sat at the front of the stage drinking water and eating more brownies.

  “So how come you haven’t given us the actual death scene yet?” Eli asked, his hair all ruffled up. I wanted to reach over and smooth it down, but he’d probably chew my arm off.

  Tyson finished his brownie. “I’m still working out the details.”

  “Don’t you need that figured out by now?” I asked. “I mean the show is less than three weeks away.” I said.

  “Don’t remind me.” He said. “I’ve got it figured out, but I’m still working through logistics with the Production Designer and union workers. I can tell you it will involve special effects.”

  Jason, Eli, and I shared a look of excitement.

  “Do I get to shoot them?” Jason asked.

  “Or how about a stabbing? Then I can die long and slow.” I could picture myself taking the stab and crumpling to the floor.

  “Or a hanging,” Eli said with a little too much enthusiasm

  I bet he’d love to see me dangling from a noose. Tyson seemed to be enjoying our guesses.

  “I know, how about a poisoning? Tyson, another brownie?” I pushed the pan his direction.

  “You guys aren’t even close, I can tell you this much. You fall to your death from a bridge.”

  My breath caught, and I froze. “Really?”

  “How’s that work? Is there a mat on the floor?” Eli asked.

  “No, that’s old school. It’ll all be done with lighting effects. Wait till you see it. It will be spectacular.”

  “Thank God! For a minute I thought I might hyperventilate,” I said as my heart rate slowed.

  “
I want to fall too,” Jason said.

  “Sorry, but you do get to push her off.”

  “What?” My head snapped around. “But you said it’s an illusion. There’s no actual fall.”

  “That’s right. Just a fall from standing to the floor. No worries.” He smiled.

  “I can handle that,” I said.

  “Can I push her?” Eli asked.

  I threw a chunk of brownie at him. He caught it in his mouth.

  After I got home that night, I called Jilly again, making sure it was when I knew she could answer, but, of course, she didn’t.

  “Hey Jilly, how’s it going? I really miss you and I hope you’ll stop being mad pretty soon cuz life sucks when I can’t talk to you. I did this funny thing to the director with brownies that I wanted to tell you about, so call me…please.

  Chapter 19

  My days were jam-packed with dancing, memorizing lines and voice lessons. They flew by. Now Gloria made me sing to a volume monitor, to help me learn how much power I needed to belt out my songs. First, she turned on music to a normal volume, and we checked the monitor. Then I sang, and we compared the difference. As usual, it sucked in the volume department. She said I have plenty of stamina and breath control from dance. Now I just need to learn to redirect it.

  Gloria brought her daughter in with all her stuffed animals and made me sing to them like they were the audience. I felt like a fool, but at least they couldn’t judge me. I actually felt better about the singing after that.

  Any time I found an extra hour, I worked at Miss Ginny’s. At home, my History book stared at me, so I threw a pillow on it. Writing a five-page paper about the political unrest during Vietnam ranked low on my to-do list; right behind making up two missed cooking days in Foods. I hate cooking. Foods class was another bad decision.

  After Tyson’s big blow up, the cast became uncomfortably helpful. It’s like in grade school when you have a fight with someone on the playground, and the teacher makes you work together so you learn to get along. Not fun, but marginally better than before. Chloe kept her distance and her mouth shut, which made my life so much better. Eli lightened up too. Sophie and Jason were the only two I trusted to be nice all the time.

  The show delivered a beating to my body. Between learning lifts, practicing the fight scenes and tripping over Eli too many times to count, my body became battered like a bruised pear.

  “Let’s see it again from the top,” Tyson called from the front of the stage. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

  As a unit, we ran the combination again. Step, kick, three and four, turn, turn, leap.

  Tyson pushed us through the arduous steps again and again until he liked what he saw. He snapped his long fingers, creating a strong sharp beat.

  “Mike, arms lower, chin up.” Tyson called as his eagle eyes caught every detail.

  Snap, snap, snap, snap. His fingers kept a staccato rhythm.

  “Brenna, this is not Zumba; a little less bounce please.”

  “Willow, shoulders down. Thank you.” Tyson continued to monitor us like a drill sergeant in basic training searching for a flaw.

  “Maria, focus. You keep missing the down beat.”

  Maria glanced up and stumbled the next step.

  “And six. And seven,” Tyson barked. “Step, lunge, and hit and hit.”

  The number ended and, out of breath, we waited for Tyson’s next command.

  “Liz, you’re off again. Find the count.”

  On stage right, a couple of kids were screwing around.

  “Do I hear giggles?” Tyson asked, unable to see where it was coming from. “Jason, did you just grab McKenna’s ass?”

  A peal of laughter erupted. Chloe, Sophie and Troy tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably

  “This number is like a big warm cup of vomit! Focus people, we have a lot of work today! Again! Five, six, seven, eight.”

  We ran it again, but Tyson became more frustrated than before.

  “People!” he exclaimed. “Is anyone listening to the count?”

  Someone in the back farted. Probably Jason since he had a huge grin and McKenna stepped away from him.

  “Alright kids. Take five.” Tyson left the stage dejected.

  I wanted to feel bad for him, but instead was relieved for the break. Some went for a water break, while I lay on the stage staring up at the curtain pulleys and catwalks high above. When Tyson gave us five minutes, I always took full advantage of it to relax. Most of the others gathered in their tight little cliques. By laying down at the back of the stage, it put me in my own zone and I didn’t have to feel ignored by the others.

  “I’m telling you, he’s gay,” said McKenna from her cluster of friends sitting center stage.

  She and Chloe were back to the debate of Tyson’s sexual status. I angled my head to eavesdrop.

  “No way,” said Chloe. He’s too damn hot to be gay,” she said in a low throaty voice.

  “That doesn’t mean squat. He could be a total player and still bat for the other team,” McKenna said.

  “Most creative guys are gay,” added Jason.

  These guys haven’t met my dad. He’s the most talented and creative person I’ve ever known.

  “I’m telling you, the guy is not gay!” said Troy, a great dancer who always wore tight tank shirts.

  “Who’s not gay?” Tyson’s voice sounded close. I fought back a laugh from my supine position.

  “Oh, ah, hi Tyson,” McKenna stuttered.

  I craned my neck to watch them squirm.

  “No one!” said Sophie with panicked eyes, afraid Tyson would find out she was debating his sexual preference.

  “We’re debating if you’re gay or not,” Troy blurted out. The others gasped.

  Tyson’s eyes lit with surprise, but then his expression changed to a smirk, and he laughed. “So what’s the consensus?” He didn’t appear bothered.

  “It’s split pretty even,” Chloe said, which I thought was ballsy to say to his face.

  Tyson nodded. His eyes swept over the group as the rest of the cast gathered around to listen.

  “I keep telling them you’re straight, but they won’t listen,” Troy said.

  “I am? And how do you know that?” Tyson challenged with a look of innocence.

  Every eye on stage bounced from Tyson to Troy to see the outcome of the debate. Eli watched with open amusement.

  “Because I’m gay. And I can spot gay a mile away!” Troy said with cocky pride.

  “I didn’t know you’re gay,” Sophie interrupted.

  “How could you not know?” Jason said to Sophie as if she just walked off the short bus. She shrugged, still digesting this new information.

  “So, Tyson, are you straight or gay?” Chloe demanded, as if she were in charge and she deserved an answer regardless of his feelings.

  “And why is this so important?” He smiled, relaxed and unruffled despite their grilling. He actually seemed to enjoy the conversation.

  “It’s not. We were just curious,” McKenna said to soften Chloe’s rudeness.

  “Good, because I’d hate to know my sexual preference could change our working relationship.” He pinned McKenna and her posse with a friendly stare.

  “Oh no, it never would!” she said, and the others bobbled agreement.

  “Good to know.” He turned to go.

  “But you didn’t tell us which way you swing!” Jason said.

  “No, I didn’t.” Tyson grinned.

  “Come on, man, you gotta tell us,” Jason begged clearly bummed he hadn’t gotten the goods.

  “Alright, I’ll tell you this much.”

  Everyone literally leaned in. They pretended they didn’t care, but they were all dying to know!

  “I’m in a committed loving relationship.”

  “See, I told you he’s gay! He said committed relationship. That’s a gay term!” McKenna said as if she won a bet.

  “That doesn’t mean anything. It just means he’s with
someone.” Chloe shot her down.

  Tyson watched with a goofy smirk. “Break’s over! Back to work!”

  A collective groan sounded out of disappointment at not getting the dirt and knowing we had a long rehearsal ahead.

  Later, after my body felt beaten to a pulp, I dragged myself out of the auditorium to the bright Ex hall when I spotted Rick.

  “Rick, wait up!” I called. He didn’t appear too happy to see me. Everyone on the squad had been avoiding me like the plague.

  I hiked the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and rushed over in case he tried to elude me. I could never seem to corner him or anyone else on cheer.

  “We need to talk,” I huffed when I caught up with him.

  “Hey, Willow.” His eyes wandered anywhere but at me.

  “How’s it going? What have you been up to?” He looked like he’d bolt like a deer in hunting season.

  “Not much. I’ve been pretty busy.” His grey eyes examined the trophy case across the hall.

  “I know everyone’s avoiding me because I quit cheer, and I’m sorry about that. But I could use some help with Jilly.” I moved and blocked his view. More kids left the auditorium from rehearsal.

  Rick turned and leaned his hand against the wall and stared at the high ceiling as if checking for water spots. “You can do whatever you want with your life.” He adjusted his arrogant chin.

  “Don’t be this way. Can’t we talk?”

  “We are talking.” He shrugged.

  Normally, I would refuse to push so hard, but my whole life felt off balance. I needed something concrete. I needed my friends back. The show kids wouldn’t accept me. My grades were in the toilet, and something was seriously wrong with my dog. Oh yeah, the whole Eli situation still sucks.

  I moved into the space between him and the wall where his hand rested. “Won’t you please look at me?” I let him hear the pleading part of my voice. “Don’t I at least deserve that?”

  He glanced at me, so much in his eyes he wouldn’t reveal. Was it guilt?

  “Rick, it’s not your fault I fell and it’s not your fault I quit cheer?” I tried to read his thoughts.