D Is for Drama

by Jo Whittemore

  “Remember that little baseball musical the high school did last spring?” I asked. “If you pay them enough, they’ll come back and perform a song from it.”

  Chase gaped at me. “Sunny, you did not pay for this.”

  “Not a lot,” I said. “Just . . . consider it repayment for all those Chocolate Monkey muffins.”

  He shook his head. “That’s still not enough.”

  “Of course it is,” I said. “You’re my best friend and the greatest guy I know. If I could afford it, I would have had the original cast out there.” I pointed to the field. “It would have been incredibly moving.”

  Chase smiled. “I think most of the original cast is dead.”

  “Then it would have been incredibly creepy,” I said.

  He laughed and squeezed my hand. “Well, let me at least try to repay you,” he said.

  “How?” I asked.

  Without another word, Chase leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and kissed him back. After a few seconds, he pulled away, grinning sheepishly.

  “So?” he asked.

  I tilted my hand from side to side. “That was maybe a nickel’s worth of payment.”

  Chase’s jaw dropped. “That was totally a quarter! And you kissed me back.”

  “I was being polite,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll need a lot more of those to make us even.”

  Chase grinned. “Then I’ve got a million for you.”

  NINETEEN

  ON THE MORNING OF THE big showcase, everyone in the Melodramatics was incredibly tense. In any part of the school where one of us was present, the conversation had a common theme—stage diva.

  In the cafeteria: “I asked for tea with lemon, not lime! How is a taste of the tropics going to help my singing voice?”

  In the bathroom: “Use that hairspray somewhere else. It could crystallize in my throat!”

  In the hallway: “Don’t step on my toes! Do you want me to fall over when I dance?”

  And that was just me.

  By the time I gathered the others for a lunchtime pump-up, everyone looked ready to claw the nearest throat. At one point Derek bent down to tie his shoe and accidentally bumped into Suresh.

  “Watch it, dude!” Suresh snapped.

  “Give me room!” Derek snapped back.

  “I’ll give you my foot up—”

  “Guys!” I said, walking around the group. “Let’s all take a minute to relax and breathe.”

  I closed my eyes and led by example, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Around me, I could hear several people doing the same.

  I could also hear, “Don’t breathe so close to me. I don’t want your germs.”

  “You’ve been fine with Janice spitting on you all this time!”

  “Hey, I have my braces off now!”

  I opened my eyes. “Okay, there’s pre-show nerves and then there’s this.” I looked from person to person. “What is going on?”

  Nobody answered, and several people suddenly found the carpet very fascinating.

  “I know what’ll make you feel better,” I said. “I was going to save this until later, but . . . we’ve sold a hundred and fifty seats! Yaaay!” I clapped, but nobody joined in. Not even Holly.

  Finally, Cole stepped forward. “I-I’m worried about tonight,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I-I’m stuttering a-again,” he said. “Nnnow that I knnnow all the lines, i-it’s back.”

  “Have you tried focusing on what you want to say first?” suggested Wendy.

  Cole shook his head. “That . . . that’s not the problem. I-I knnnow what I . . . what I . . . want to say.”

  I chewed my lip. “It’s just stuck,” I said.

  Cole nodded.

  Bree nudged me. “Can’t we fix this like we did Suresh’s singing? Just record someone reading Cole’s lines?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t have time for him to practice lip-synching.”

  “It’s not just Cole,” Holly spoke up.

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “I’m worried too,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve never been onstage for so long. And with a hundred fifty people staring at me?” She shuddered. “What if I make a mistake?”

  “The Mary Pops In cast is, like, perfect,” agreed Anne Marie. “And we’re . . . not.”

  “We’re doomed,” said Tim.

  Several people voiced their agreement until I quieted them with a shout.

  “You know what?” I said, climbing onto the stage. “It doesn’t matter if we’re not perfect. In real life, nobody is.” I pointed at Cole. “You have a stutter. Real people have stutters. You’re going onstage and that’s final.”

  “But—”

  I silenced him with a hand. “Don’t you guys remember why we’re doing this? To prove that there’s nothing wrong with us the way we are!”

  Suresh cleared his throat. “Does that mean I can sing my own songs?”

  I looked at him. “No.”

  “But a bad singer is who I are!” he said.

  Everyone laughed.

  “I’m not talking about talent, guys,” I said, grinning. “I’m talking about the little differences that get us branded as rejects or weirdos. Whether it’s being overweight or having a stutter or even being from a different culture.”

  Several people nodded.

  I tapped the side of my head. “We’re smarter than the Mary Pops In cast. People may think they’re perfect . . . I once thought they were perfect . . . but that means their show has to be perfect too.”

  “Which no show ever is,” added Bree.

  “Exactly!” I said. “We’re not the perfect cast trying to put on the perfect show. People know little hiccups are going to happen.”

  I sat on the edge of the stage and grabbed Holly’s arm. “You can make mistakes, and people are still going to love you because you have that energy,” I said. “And the longer you’re up there, the more in love they’ll be.”

  Holly’s face broke into a cautious grin. “Really?”

  “Really,” I said with a smile.

  Bree glanced around at the other Melodramatics. “Guys, we go onstage in six hours!” she said. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “Yeah,” a couple people said, while the others nodded.

  I cupped a hand around my ear. “What?”

  “Yeah!” This time everyone responded. Holly even gave a little bounce.

  I jumped down from the stage.

  “What?!” I hollered.

  “Yeah!!” everyone shouted.

  I held my hand out, palm down, and smiled at Cole. He smiled back and put his hand on top of mine. Bree added hers, then Suresh, and soon there was a giggling and slapping of hands as everyone joined the center.

  “‘Wicked kids rule’ on three!” shouted Max. “One, two, three!”

  The cheer of the Melodramatics practically shook the walls of the theater.

  “WICKED KIDS RULE!”

  AS THE HOURS ticked by before the performance, I rushed from place to place, making sure everything was ready for a seven o’clock curtain call.

  “Are costumes ready behind the stage exits for quick changes?” I asked Cole, who I’d put in charge of wardrobe. “I need to get from my Glinda gown into my Shiz school outfit in seconds.”

  He nodded. “W-wear the Shiz o-outfit under your gown,” he said.

  I snapped my fingers. “Good idea!” I turned to Max, who I’d put in charge of curtains. “Did you make sure the ropes work in case the electric panel shorts out?”

  He nodded. “I even brought gloves so I can pull the ropes fast.”

  “Clever!” I said. I turned to Kyle, who was busy making last-minute adjustments to my bubble. “Do you have the monkeys and the green light lens and the fishing line and—”

  Kyle turned to scowl at me.

  “Good job,” I said, patting his shoulder.

  “Hey, Sunny?” Bree beckoned me bac
kstage, a huge smile on her face.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She pointed to the loading dock door, which someone had opened for a trio of vans. Standing beside the vans was a crowd of men and women in suits and skirts. Some were carrying musical instruments, and all were gazing at a man who was giving instructions.

  “Dad?!” I cried.

  He stopped midsentence and gestured at me.

  “Everyone, this is my daughter, Sunny, the show’s director and star. Sunny, this is your orchestra.”

  The men and women clapped politely. I just gawked at them until Bree nudged me, and I finally smiled and waved.

  “Oh . . . my . . . God,” I whispered to Bree.

  “I know!” she whispered back.

  “So, as I was saying,” Dad said, returning his attention to the orchestra, “this is an abbreviated version of the full show. Don’t be surprised when you skip multiple songs.” He rubbed his hands together. “That’s it, and thank you again for coming.”

  Another man, I guessed the conductor by his fancy clothes, motioned the members into the theater, smiling to me as he passed. A xylophone and a harp rolled by, followed by two trumpeters. I stared at them and then at Dad.

  “So?” he asked, holding his arms open. “What do you think?”

  “Dad!” I ran into his arms and squeezed him tight. “How did you do this?”

  “I worked on a sound track for a friend of mine last year,” he said, “and he owed me a favor.” Dad bent down and whispered, “You’re also good practice for the conductor. He’s from the Wicked roadshow coming to town.”

  I gasped and clutched at Dad’s arm. “Are you serious? That’s perfect!”

  Dad grinned. “That’s why I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I hugged him again, then turned and hugged Bree. “Isn’t this awesome?” I asked.

  “Yes!” she said. “But we have to get into costume!”

  I checked my watch. “Oh, crap. We do!” I gave Dad a kiss on the cheek and grabbed Bree’s hand. “See you later!” I called to Dad.

  “Break a leg out there!” he called back.

  The dressing room was a nightmare, packed with girls struggling into dresses and curling their hair.

  “Where’s Anne Marie?” I asked, spinning in my gown to find her and almost knocking Janice off her feet.

  “She’s with Ilana getting her makeup done,” said Janice.

  I nodded. “When you’re finished, start gathering people for the circle.”

  There was a knock on the dressing room door, followed by screams from some of the partially clothed girls. I shifted my huge dress past chairs and people to open it a crack.

  “Sunny!” Stefan’s face beamed from the other side.

  “Hi!” I slipped into the hallway and reached out to hug him, but he held a single rose between us.

  My first theater flower.

  “That’s so sweet!” I gushed.

  Stefan smirked. “I would have given you more, but I didn’t want to upstage someone.” He shifted aside, and Chase stepped forward holding a bouquet.

  I squealed and took the flowers before giving him a huge hug.

  “Easy there,” said Stefan, tugging me back. “I have someone I want you to meet.” He grabbed me by the hand and led me toward the audience. “By the way, kudos on the orchestra,” he said in a low voice. “Your show is quite the hit already.”

  “Really?” I asked, giggling.

  Now that I was down on the floor, the audience could see me in my gown, and they whispered excitedly.

  I felt giddy and lightheaded and on top of the world. Now I knew why people fought so hard to be a part of theater.

  Stefan walked up to a mustached man seated front and center. He stood when we drew closer and smiled.

  “Sunny,” said Stefan, “this is Marcus Kramer, director of the STARS program. Mr. Kramer, this is the actress/director extraordinaire I’ve been telling you about.” He grinned at me.

  Mr. Kramer extended his hand, and I almost tripped over the woman sitting beside him trying to reach it.

  “So nice to meet you, sir,” I said.

  “The privilege is all mine,” he said. “Stefan’s been filling me in on how this performance came to be, and I understand you were instrumental in it.”

  I bit my lip shyly. “We all were, sir,” I said. “Even him.” I nodded to Stefan.

  Mr. Kramer chuckled. “That’s very humble of you. I look forward to watching you act, especially since we have a last-minute opening to fill.”

  “Really?” My heart skipped a beat . . . but then his words sank in, and I frowned. “Is it because of Ilana Rourke, sir?”

  Mr. Kramer started in surprise. “Why . . . yes. As you know, we only accept quality applicants.”

  My forehead wrinkled. What did quality have to do with Ilana not having money? “Sorry, sir?”

  “Apparently, she was only an understudy for the role she’s playing tonight,” said Stefan. “She lucked into this part.”

  Wow.

  Three weeks ago, I would have laughed and done my best to impress Mr. Kramer. But now . . .

  “Sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said. “Ilana is a great actress. And she didn’t even try for the starring role this year because . . . ” I squeezed my hands together, hoping one last lie wouldn’t kill me. “Because she wanted to share the theater experience and not hog the spotlight.”

  Stefan gave me a look, but Mr. Kramer raised an eyebrow. “That’s very admirable.”

  I nodded. “She’d be an asset to your program, sir. I think you should keep her.”

  Stefan rubbed his temple and stared daggers at me. I knew what he was thinking . . . I’d just blown a chance at STARS.

  “Well, thank you for that honest insight, Ms. Kim,” said Mr. Kramer.

  I smiled politely. “You’re welcome. Excuse me, I have a show to start.” With an apologetic look at Stefan, I gathered my dress and turned away.

  “Not so fast,” Mom’s voice sounded from over my shoulder.

  I spun around and practically tripped over the poor woman next to Mr. Kramer again. Mom and Grandma had been sitting two seats away, and I hadn’t even noticed!

  “You should meet the agent I was telling you about,” said Mom. She gestured to the woman beside Mr. Kramer.

  Of course.

  “Sorry!” In my flustered state, I attempted to curtsy. “How do you do. Sunny Kim.”

  “Evelyn Kramer,” she said, offering me her hand.

  I took it and hesitated in confusion. “Kramer?”

  Mr. Kramer leaned over. “My wife. Show business is a small world,” he said with a wink.

  I laughed and curtsied again, being sure to give Mrs. Kramer her hand back. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. And if you’ll excuse me, there are people onstage waiting for me to trip over them, too.”

  Everyone laughed, and Mr. Kramer put a hand on my arm.

  “Ms. Kim, we’re also looking for talented directors,” he said. “If you know any . . . ” He let the comment hang in the air.

  I smiled shyly. “We’ll see.”

  As I walked off, I heard him tell Stefan, “Yes, we will.”

  The rest of the cast were already waiting in a circle when I finally made it backstage.

  “Everybody ready?” I asked.

  “To throw up?” asked Suresh. “Yes.”

  “We’re going to be fine,” I said.

  I stepped between Bree and Derek and grabbed their hands. Everyone else followed suit. I could almost feel the floor shaking with our nervous energy.

  “Remember,” I said. “We’re all average people. Except for those two.” I pointed to Anne Marie’s green face and Max’s goat horns.

  We all laughed.

  “Do your best, and I’ll be so proud,” I said. “Let’s bow our heads.”

  Every head went down and I said a quick prayer. When it was over, I squeezed Bree and
Derek’s hands and stepped out of the circle.

  “Places, please,” I said. “It’s almost showtime.”

  Kyle approached with a head mic and I clipped it over my ear. While everyone else moved into position, I slipped through the curtain and walked to center stage. There was a loud click from overhead, followed by a blinding spotlight, and I blinked to adjust my eyes.

  A sea of faces stared back at me. Even though I’d seen most of them before, they were way more intimidating when I was in a ballgown and not a potato sack.

  “Hello,” I said to the crowd.

  “Hi, pretty lady!” a child’s voice shrieked from somewhere near the back.

  Everyone in the audience laughed, and so did I.

  “Nice. Can I take you with me everywhere?” I asked the unseen child.

  The audience laughed again.

  “My name is Sunny Kim,” I said. “And I’m Galinda, the future Good Witch of the North.”

  From all around me speakers crackled and boomed. At first I thought it was my microphone until a voice that wasn’t mine spoke.

  “She’s also our director,” the voice said. It sounded suspiciously like Suresh.

  I giggled nervously and shrugged at the audience. “Well—”

  There was a scuffling sound over the speakers.

  “And she took a chance on us when nobody else would!” Max shouted into the mic, even though I could hear him plainly without it.

  “Dude!” said Suresh’s voice. “Stop stealing my thunder.”

  “Please,” said Max. “Like you’re not gonna get enough attention in those tight pants.”

  I sighed and stared at the ceiling, but the audience just laughed.

  There was another scuffling sound, followed by a whispery voice.

  “Let her finish so we can start the show!” Bree’s voice came from above.

  “Thank you!” I shouted over my shoulder. I turned back to the audience with a broad smile. “Anyway, this first show is about appreciating the differences in everyone.”

  My eyes scanned the audience and stopped on a certain face in the crowd . . . Grandma’s. She smiled, and I felt emotion tug at my throat. “Some of them you don’t see as gifts at first,” I said, glancing to the stage exit where Kyle was watching, “but if you add a little spit and polish, you really see them shine.”