The Backstagers and the Ghost Light

by Andy Mientus

  The song ended. No one moved. Blake and Kevin McQueen stared, slack-jawed. Chloe lifted her head and wiped the tears away, returning from Crystalline’s world back into hers and regaining her open, wide-eyed expression.

  “Is that it?” she asked. “Do I leave now?”

  “BRAVA!” Blake erupted. “Brava, Ms. Murphy, and thanks be to the theater gods for sending you!”

  “I think we are all in agreement,” cheered Kevin, rising from behind the table to shake Chloe’s hand.

  “We have found our Crystalline!”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Heeeeeeeey, Ghost! Heeeeeeeeeere, Ghost!”

  Sasha had already covered all of stage left and was nearly halfway through stage right with still no sign of St. Genesius’s newest resident—the ghost he had inadvertently let move in.

  Sasha was a junior, second oldest in the group just behind Hunter, but was still treated as the kid. This might be because he still found farts hilarious and saw the world through wide-open eyes, but he feared that it might be because he was somehow always getting the Backstagers into messes. The trouble that occurred during the Lease rehearsals had been his fault—he had wandered into the backstage and befriended Polaroid, the entity that had attempted to trap them all back there forever and erase the walls that separate the backstage from the outside world. Most kids would agonize in guilt over something like that, but today, Sasha was glad that it had happened—if he had befriended a ghost (or something like a ghost) then, he could do it now, and maybe this one would listen to reason and move out of the theater. Or at least stop dropping lights on people’s heads.

  When he had finished his sweep of stage right, he sat for a moment in deep thought. His eyes lit up when he got an even better idea, and he raced to the prop closet to gather tools and building materials. He was aware that he had a knack for making messes, but this time, he was determined to be the one to make his mess right.

  Meanwhile, onstage, rehearsals for Phantasm were in full swing. For the last week, the actors had gathered daily after school to learn the intricate score and begin to stage the scenes and choreograph the dances, while the Backstagers began to design and construct the sets, costumes, props, and effects.

  Chloe Murphy had lived up to that promising audition and was becoming the darling of the Genesius Drama Club—a quick study, friendly to everyone, and absolutely incredible in the role. Today, she and Kevin were rehearsing a pivotal scene in the Phantasm’s lair where she sings his ghostly opera for the first time. Kevin had won the coin toss and would be playing the Phantasm, while Blake would play Rupert, the young leading man who steals Crystalline’s heart and fills the Phantasm with a jealous rage. The Phantasm was the title role, but Rupert had the best song, so there wasn’t too much family drama over this casting development.

  As Chloe and Kevin went through the motions of the scene onstage, Aziz and Jory were huddled in a wing, studying some plans for the big candelabra explosion effect.

  “Yeah, I think it’s going to work,” Jory said, not sounding too convinced.

  “The blowing up part, sure,” said Aziz, “but then how do we clean it all up in the thirty seconds we have to change to the next scene?”

  “Right. Hmm. Maybe we could get the McQueens to move the end of Act One here? Go out with a bang and change the set at intermission?”

  “Jory, that is so, so not how this works.”

  “Right. I know that. Hmm.”

  “I wish Hunter were here. He’d figure this out in a second.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Jory said.

  “It seems like his trials are as much a trial for us, learning to pick up his slack.”

  “It’ll be back to normal soon,” Jory said, really hoping it would be.

  “I’ll take a look at what we have so far on the candelabra. Maybe inspiration will strike,” said Aziz as he emerged from the wing and tried to stay out of the way of the actors while checking out the half-completed candelabra set piece.

  Meanwhile, Kevin and Chloe were getting to the good part.

  PHANTASM:

  MY DEBUT COMPOSITION

  CANNOT FACE DERISION

  AND THUS I NEED A STAR

  WITH A VOICE LIKE CAVIAR

  AND THAT IS YOU, MY CRYSTALLINE

  SING TRUE, MY CRYSTALLINE!

  CRYSTALLINE:

  YOU ARE A GHOST, BUT AS MY HOST

  YOU HAVE BEEN KIND, AND SO I FIND

  MYSELF INCLINED TO SING YOUR SONG

  AS STRONGLY AS I CAN!

  YOU LED ME HERE, AND IN MY FEAR

  I NEARLY FLED, BUT IN MY HEAD

  I HEARD A TUNE AND IN THE MOONLIGHT

  I SHALL SING AGAIN!

  BRING ME THE SCORE!

  I WILL SING UNTIL MOR-NING!

  But when Kevin, as the Phantasm, reached into the desk set piece for the score prop, it was not there. He fished around in the drawer a bit as Chloe looked on expectantly, still trying to keep the scene going, but it was nowhere to be found. The accompanist vamped the same four bars of music again and again. The Phantasm lost his ghostly mystique and seemed much more like a teenage boy embarrassed in front of a roomful of people.

  “HOLD!” Kevin shouted, tearing the signature Phantasm mask off in a rage. “Can I get a stage manager, please?!”

  Aziz shot Jory a look in the wing. Jory shook his head emphatically. Aziz took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage.

  “The stage managers are busy right now working on . . . an effect,” he lied. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  Kevin’s eyes narrowed.

  “Well, what about Hunter? He is usually next in command, right?”

  “He’s also . . . busy right now.”

  “Does ANYONE WORK HERE?!”

  “. . . Me. As I said. So, can I help you with something?”

  “Well, we’ve got a CRUCIAL prop missing. I was told ALL props would be in place today! It’s only the very piece of MUSIC that the entire SHOW is ABOUT!”

  “Well . . .” Aziz quickly scanned the wings, looking for Sasha. Props were his department, and the missing score was definitely his mistake. Aziz spotted him downstage right, building something. He squinted and could see it was a doll-sized house but with spooky-looking, tiny sheets draped over tiny furniture and cotton cobwebs everywhere. Sasha was putting the finishing touch on it—a big sign hanging above it that read HAUNT ME in large red letters. Aziz dropped his head.

  “It was my bad,” he lied. “I was thinking about the candelabra effect and got distracted, I guess. It won’t happen again.”

  “Thank you,” Kevin said through teeth clenched into a not very convincing smile. “This is the biggest show we’ve ever attempted, and we need everyone working at their best.”

  “Of course, Kevin. I’m so sorry.” Aziz was humiliated, but he would survive—and he was glad to take the blow for his friend.

  “We’re due for a ten-minute break anyway,” Kevin said. “That’s TEN, people! Not ELEVEN, but TEN!”

  “Thank you, Ten!” some actors called back.

  Kevin swept away to regain his composure and become the Phantasm again. Aziz sighed, crisis averted.

  “Okay, I’m calling bull.” Chloe had been watching the whole exchange. “You’re working on a set effect and are in charge of props? Seems like a lot for one Backstager.”

  “We have a lot of ground to cover on this one,” Aziz said.

  “Or maybe you have someone to protect?” Chloe said, a twinkle in her eye.

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “No, I think it’s cool, you taking the fall for one of your own. That could have gotten really ugly, but you handled it so well. You’re a real leader . . . Sorry, I don’t know if we’ve actually spoken yet. What’s your name?”

  “Aziz.”

  “Nice to meet you, Aziz, I’m Chloe. Sorry we didn’t talk sooner. It’s so hard for the actors to get any personal time with the Backstagers.”

  “Well, I don’t think many
of the actors make much of an effort.”

  “You might be right about that. But have you tried saying hi yourself? It works both ways, you know.”

  “Ha, me and actors don’t really mix.” Aziz gestured to a corner of the auditorium where the ensemble boys were doing some strange ritual that would terrify a sensible person but in the theater counted as a warm-up.

  Chloe laughed. “We can be a little silly, but that’s part of our charm, I think. Don’t you wish you could just look stupid like that and not care?”

  “I looked pretty stupid just now. I’m sure all of the actors are talking about how annoyed they are that there was a technical glitch that got in the way of their show.”

  “Sounds like you are being awfully judgmental about the people you think are judging you. Maybe you should get out of your bubble a bit. Maybe you’d see we’re not all so bad.”

  That hit Aziz in a way he didn’t expect. He thought instantly back to a time a few months ago when his parents had pulled him out of drama club after the Backstagers disappeared and made him try track, where his two younger brothers could keep an eye on him. He was no athlete and the whole thing was an exhausting fiasco, but he did think at the time that it was kind of nice to hang with a group of guys who didn’t regularly fight literal ghosts or debate the best brand of spike tape to use. He had felt like a normal teenager, if only for a couple of weeks.

  “I’m gonna hit the water fountain before time’s up,” Chloe said. “Oh, and that candelabra effect? Put the whole set piece on a rolling pallet with a one-inch lip all the way around. Control the explosion so the pieces all fall on the pallet, and then just wheel the whole thing off in the transition.” She started off.

  “I thought this was your first time in a show,” Aziz said, gobsmacked.

  “It is,” Chloe said. “Just an idea.”

  She walked off into the wings as Aziz looked back to the candelabra set.

  Once safely in the wings, Chloe slowed her breath and honed her focus. She was on a hunt, but it wasn’t the water fountain she was hunting for. She moved purposefully toward the back wall of the stage, her eyes darting about wildly in the darkness. Then she spotted it—the stage door. She raced up to it, but her heart sank when she saw the thick padlock holding it closed. She pulled a pin out of her silver hair and instantly set to work at picking the lock, a steely determination in her eyes. A boyish voice from behind interrupted her work.

  “Are you looking for the ghost, too?”

  She spun around, startled. It was Sasha, beaming up at her.

  “It isn’t back there, it’s out here somewhere, but I built a house for it to haunt and left it some malted milk balls—do you think ghosts like malted milk balls?”

  He gazed at her, anxiously awaiting her thoughts on a ghost’s favorite confection.

  “What? Um, sure.” She hid the hairpin behind her back and tried to focus all of her body language to get Sasha to leave. Unsurprisingly, he did not catch on.

  “Or do you maybe think they like something see-through? Like gummy bears? Or is that weird for them, like cannibalism or something?”

  “I DON’T KNOW!” Chloe barked. Sasha’s eyes grew somehow wider, and she knew she had lost her temper. “That is,” she recovered, “your guess is as good as mine. Maybe go find all the kinds of candy you can and do an experiment?”

  “That’s a GREAT idea! I shall conduct an EXPERIMENT and I shall report my findings as soon as I can!”

  “. . . Awesome. So . . .”

  “I am going to help FIX a mess, not just cause one!”

  “Great . . .”

  Sasha smiled at her for a few awkward moments of total silence before darting off with the speed of a cartoon chase in search of candy for the ghost.

  Chloe sighed and resumed her work, now growing frantic. She felt something click within the lock and pulled down hard, but it did not come free. She let out an exasperated grunt. She was so close.

  “That’s ten!” Kevin shouted from onstage. Chloe’s shoulders fell. Too late. She dashed back through the wings, putting on her phony ingénue smile like a mask before emerging into the light.

  “Do we have the correct prop this time?” Kevin asked, trying to maintain his composure but barely masking his annoyance.

  “All set,” Aziz said, producing the prop score and slapping it down on the organ set piece with more than a little extra force. He shot Chloe a look, an almost imperceptible eye roll, and she smiled. Her smile changed into something more serious, though, when Aziz turned to go back to his work on the candelabra, revealing the ring of keys hanging from his back belt loop.

  CHAPTER 9

  The air was alive with the unmistakable hum of the opening night of a musical.

  The sound of audience members quietly buzzing with anticipation is something like music to most theater people, but to Hunter, it was the sound of a ticking clock. That countdown was ticking away in imaginary red numbers, falling one by one through the back of his mind as he tried to remain present and attentive for fight call—the last-minute rehearsal where the actors went through the motions of their stage fights for safety.

  There were a thousand and one things to think about, but Hunter tried to push all of them out of his mind, at least momentarily, as he focused on the slow-motion punches and kicks of two actors working on a choreographed brawl on the bare stage.

  “Good,” he said, attempting to maintain a tone of enthusiasm despite his exhaustion. “Just make sure those slaps are on a nice wide angle at an arm’s length away. Don’t get caught up in the moment—the audience’s eyes don’t work as fast as you think. They want to believe it. Eye contact. Safety.”

  Two faceless actors nodded and faded away into nothingness.

  Hunter looked down at his notepad. Prop check—check. Sound check—check. Fog and haze—check. Pyro—check. Fight call—finally, check.

  Was that everything? His mind was mush. He tried to go over the list again, but he kept losing his place, like when you’ve just woken up from a wonderful dream and you are trying to remember the details as they drift further and further away. He decided he must’ve done everything. Looking down at his watch, he saw that he was out of time anyway—7:29 p.m. on the dot. He raced back into the wings to his calling desk and picked up a radio handset. He took a deep breath and depressed the call button.

  “Good evening, gentlemen . . . and lady, this is your half-hour call. One half hour until the top of the show. Half hour.”

  He released the button and slumped back into his chair, completely depleted.

  “STOP.” The disappointed voice rippled through the theater as everything around Hunter—the calling desk, the curtains, the stage floor, the sound of the audience—all dissolved into the formless whiteness of the Training Room, a blank space that the stage managers could mold into any challenge they could imagine.

  Crap, Hunter thought, too tired to be as devastated as he might have been a few hours ago.

  “Almost, Hunt, but you forgot a tiny little something.” Timothy appeared in a whoosh, his tall blondness cutting a colorful column through the endless white. “The sign-in sheet? You know, that little thing that tells you whether or not all of your actors have actually shown up to work that night? If you’d have checked it, you would have noticed that Kevin McQueen is not signed in. I’m curious, how were you planning to put on a production of Phantasm without a PHANTASM?!”

  “Come on, Tim, he’s wiped, look at the guy.” Jamie’s beard appeared first, followed by his concerned expression. “You’re being hard on him.”

  “Because I know he’s better than this,” Timothy said, looking at Hunter with an equal, if different, concern. “Come on, Hunter, the sign-in sheet is basic stuff. Is something going on?”

  “No,” Hunter said quickly, more a reflex than a real answer. “I just got confused. It won’t happen again. Let’s start over. From the top. I’m ready this time.”

  “You need rest,” Jamie said sternly. He said it to
Hunter, though he was looking right at Timothy. Hunter felt like crying but kept it together. Timothy took a breath.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter. I know we’ve been pushing you. But St. Genesius needs a great stage manager after we leave, and I know you have the potential to be truly great,” Timothy said.

  “Take the night,” Jamie said. “Deal with whatever is on your mind and come in fresh tomorrow. And please, get some good sleep.”

  Jamie reached his hand out and knocked on a spot in the endless white. The spot became a door. He opened it, revealing the starry darkness beyond—the tunnels of the backstage.

  The three boys walked back through the tunnels toward the Club Room in silence as Hunter’s exhaustion gave way to embarrassment. He knew exactly what was on his mind, distracting him from his training—Jory.

  He had missed Jory so much over the last few weeks. Every time the stage manager training became too much for him, he wanted to call Jory and vent for hours, but there was always something else to study. Being a stage manager literally meant knowing everything about theater—you had to know what to do if any single department had an emergency, from lighting to wardrobe to the printing of the programs. You had to deal with the actors when they were sick or nervous or having a fight with some other actor. You had to control each and every technical cue in the show, which meant taking responsibility for the work of every single person involved in the production. If the lighting designer’s hard work got messed up, it was your fault. If a wedding cake that the prop master spent hours building out of foam didn’t get preset properly and thus wasn’t seen on stage, it was your fault. If an actor got sick and the understudy didn’t know where to stand to be in his light for his climactic moment, it was your fault.

  All of this weighed on Hunter, but rather than whine about it to his boyfriend, he chose to keep working, to get on top of it and be the best. He realized, though, that in trying to not burden Jory with his complaining, he had actually cut off contact from Jory all but completely. He vowed to be better about this from now on, starting with the date he and Jory were supposed to have in a few hours.