by Andy Mientus
When the game circled back around to Aziz, he mirrored the “hey” as they did, overdoing his shyness, making fun of himself perfectly. Everyone cheered. Chloe slapped him on the back affectionately.
Maybe there is something to this Onstager thing, he thought.
“Okay, everyone,” Kevin McQueen said firmly, not wanting Aziz to hold the spotlight for too long, “let’s get started. Can we have some shadowy light for the sewer scene, please?”
He waited a moment for the lights to shift from the white work light to something more atmospheric, but it didn’t. Everyone looked up to the light booth.
“I SAID, can we have some sewer light, please?”
Again no shift. Aziz raised an eyebrow.
“Ugh, what is HAPPENING around here?” Blake threw his hands up in frustration.
“I’ll get it,” Aziz said, throwing a look to Chloe.
She smiled as he passed on his way to the booth. She watched the keys hanging off his back pocket flash in the work light.
Aziz was still buzzing from his first foray into theater games, but that joy in his mind was clouded as he wondered what they were all wondering: Where the heck was Beckett?
CHAPTER 11
Bailey took one final look at her framed Lease poster, its margins full of messages and signatures.
You were sooooooo amazing! Can’t wait
until the next show! —xoxo Bradley
Girl, that vocal you were serving!
See you on Broadway —Rex
I have notes but overall, well done, Bailey.
Yours, Blake McQueen
She chucked it into a big cardboard box, along with all of her other theater memorabilia. The walls of her second-story bedroom looked bare without the show posters, cast photos, and paper-plate awards, but they also felt clean and clear.
The artifacts from her tenure as leading lady of the St. Genesius Drama Club now filled her with embarrassment and regret rather than nostalgia and happiness. She was ashamed that the mere presence of this stuff upset her so much. She had tried to get past it, but every night when she came straight home after school instead of staying extra hours working to mount her dream show at St. Genesius, the photos mocked her and sent her spiraling into an endless recap of the day she had blown the audition. She had taken for granted that she would get the lead once again and had already envisioned what her performance would be like and how it would feel to sing those legendary songs in front of an audience. Now the show that used to be her favorite haunted her every night. She needed a fresh start.
Would she try basketball? She was tallish and not totally terrible at sports. But if this was how she handled not getting one role, how would she feel when her team suffered the inevitable losses that all teams endure? Maybe student government . . . No, elections seemed like auditions but a billion times worse. Choir? Definitely not.
She found some peace as she plunked the framed photos and posters into the box, the steady rhythm taking the things that pained her further and further away. When she paused her work momentarily, she was jolted back into consciousness because the plunking rhythm continued without her. After a moment, she realized the plunks were not coming from the cardboard box, but from her bedroom window.
She tiptoed over to the window to investigate the source of the sound. She had almost reached it when outside, a pebble flew up from the ground below and smacked against the glass: plunk. She staggered back.
“Ugh, stupid kids!” Now she was angry. The last thing she needed right now were neighborhood tweens being obnoxious. She raced to the window and opened it in a fury, ready to serve some swift justice to the troublemakers. Only instead of troublemakers below her window, she found Beckett.
It wasn’t everyday Beckett. This was fancy, I’ve-watched-too-many-’80s-movies Beckett. Under his winter parka, she could see that he was wearing a button-down shirt and a little bow tie. Clean, unwrinkled ones, at that. Bailey had to laugh, he looked so unlike himself. He looked decaffeinated.
He motioned to her to come down. She nodded and shut the window and lowered the blinds. Once clear of the sight of her, Beckett stopped holding his breath and allowed himself a few of the frenzied, terrified gasps he had been stifling. He blotted his brow with a tissue from his pocket. It was close to freezing outside, but he was sweating bullets. He composed himself again quickly as Bailey crept through the front door in a robe and slippers.
“Beckett!” she whispered, pulling him in for a tight hug. “What are you doing here?! Don’t you have rehearsal?”
“Oh . . . yeah. Yeah, I actually ducked out for a minute.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know. A lot of things lately aren’t like me. I came up with a whole new cabling system for the light and sound wires, but it didn’t bring me any joy. I was up to eight Diet Cokes a day and then I quit cold turkey. Blake McQueen was walking around for a whole rehearsal with a booger in his nose and I couldn’t even laugh. I can’t study, I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about that day—that day that I ruined your audition.”
“Oh, Beckett,” Bailey said. A gust of winter wind swept across her front yard, catching her long, sleek hair. She pulled her robe tight around her, but the sight of Beckett warmed her considerably. “You didn’t ruin it.”
“Yes, I did. We both know it.”
“I didn’t have the high note. That had nothing to do with you or that stupid light falling. Which, honestly, is worse. If it was because of your mistake, I would forgive you. I know you wouldn’t do that on purpose. But it was because of me and my ability. I just wasn’t good enough, and that wouldn’t have been any different even if the light hadn’t fallen.”
“Well . . .” Beckett tugged on one of his plugs nervously, carefully crafting his next words. “I think that’s good news, actually.”
“What?”
“It’s not that you’re not good enough. You’ve gotten so many lead roles, you can’t brush that off as a fluke. But this role is for a soprano and maybe you just aren’t a soprano. I’m sure that can be hard, but I don’t think a soprano would have sounded very good on the Lease score. Those songs are for belters. And I think I’d rather hear a true belter nail the Lease score and crack on the Phantasm score than hear someone who could kind of get away with both not be really great at either. Your voice might not be perfect for every show, but for certain shows—definitely for everything I’ve seen you in—it’s absolutely magic.”
Bailey smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks.
“That’s really, really beautiful, Beckett. Thank you. To be clear, I never, ever blamed you. Sleep! Study! But maybe don’t get back on the Diet Coke. At least, not as much.”
He chuckled. “I’ll try.”
“I have really missed you, though. The drama club shows were our chance to hang. We gotta get better about that.”
“I’d like that. Definitely.” He died a little inside but tried to contain himself and play it cool.
“Out of curiosity, who ended up getting the part? I thought I was the last girl trying out.”
“Some girl named Chloe Murphy. She’s great, actually. Not that you want to hear that.”
Bailey’s smile faded slightly. “Chloe Murphy? With the silver hair?”
“Yeah.”
“But . . . Chloe Murphy isn’t an Onstager. She’s a Backstager.”
“You must be confused.”
“No, I’m sure of it. She replaced you, actually, when you transferred. I remember that her hair reflected in the light too much and the Penitent stage managers made her wear a hat.”
“Well, maybe she wanted to try something new.”
“But that’s not all,” Bailey said, her expression growing increasingly confused. “She only lasted one show with the stage crew before she dropped out to be homeschooled—less than a semester. There was a death in her family—her little sister, I think. She’s no longer a student at Penitent Angels.”
Beckett was at a loss.
The cold wind howled across Bailey’s lawn, like a ghost wailing in the night.
“But if she’s not an Onstager and not even a current student,” Beckett pondered aloud, “what is she doing acting in the Genesius musical?”
CHAPTER 12
November 3
I can’t believe I’m actually picking this thing up again. The words seem like the writing of a total stranger. Was I really this happy and carefree? Did I actually care about the production of a musical? Did I truly get upset with Phoebe for things like going into my room and borrowing my hairbrush?
The author of that diary died with Phoebe. This will no longer be a diary about frivolous teenage things like crushes and homework, but a research notebook as I set out to find my sister. I can feel her still. I know she is out there.
Up until recently, research on ghosts and paranormal activity led me to ridiculous fictions about lamps falling off of tables and footsteps in attics. Nothing about how to get in contact, or where. Recently, however, something (Phoebe herself, leading me?) caused me to cross-reference ghosts and theater. Theater was one of the only things Phoebe and I had in common, even though she preferred the onstage and I preferred the backstage. I thought maybe I could find her there.
One book, In the Ghostlight, was particularly illuminating. It speculates that ghosts manifest in theaters easily because theaters are spaces between worlds—the place where the imaginations of the playwright, the designers, the actors, and the audience all mash together and become real. That is why theaters require a ghost light left on all night, to keep spirits from crossing over and moving in.
I knew immediately that a theater would be the ideal place to make contact with her. My challenge now is finding some way to get access to a theater, alone, in the middle of the night, so I can turn off the ghost light and make contact. If Mom hadn’t pulled me from Penitent, this would be easy—I had my own set of keys to the auditorium! Now I’m going to have to get creative . . .
December 15
Checklist
1. A disguise. Be invisible.
2. The Spirit Board for making contact once alone
3. A snack, in case I get hungry
It seems extraordinarily lucky that St. Genesius happens to be having a cast party so close to the beginning of my research. The auditorium will be wide-open and everyone will be distracted. All I have to do is sneak in unnoticed, wait until everyone leaves, turn off the ghost light, and make contact with the Spirit Board I bought. That last bit has me a bit worried—I always thought of those things as fake party tricks for kids, but after all of my research, I haven’t found a better plan. I am anxious to report my findings.
December 16
MAJOR BREAKTHROUGHS. CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION BELOW!
Last night was an unbelievable success. It was almost derailed when some of the Genesius actors found where I had stashed the Spirit Board and started playing with it, but I managed to scare them off of it. Just as they were starting to freak themselves out with questions, I got the idea to sneak out of my hiding spot and smash the ghost light with a hammer. They got totally spooked and I had taken care of the ghost light—two birds with one stone!
After everyone left, I retrieved the board and input my greeting—“P-H-O-E-B-E. A-R-E Y-O-U T-H-E-R-E?” I was shocked when after just a few moments, the planchette slid beneath my hands to “YES.” I used the board to ask where she was and she answered, “C-L-O-S-E.”
I can’t tell you what that felt like, to have been right. To have actually made contact, after all this time. But suddenly I grew wary—maybe my hands were just subconsciously spelling out the answers I wanted—needed—to hear. To test this, I asked her if there was any way I could see her and took my hands off of the planchette.
It started to move on its own.
“YES.”
I asked how, and letter by letter, Phoebe told me that in the auditorium, when the ghost light was off, she could speak to me through the board, but in the backstage, she could manifest completely. She gave me a mission: Get into the backstage, go as deep as I can possibly go, and find a theater. In that theater, there will be another, larger ghost light. If I shatter that ghost light as I did the one that was onstage, then she would be free to manifest in the backstage and we could travel back to the real world together. We said goodbye and I collected the board and planchette and made my escape.
Obviously, I have too many thoughts swirling in my head to accurately put down here and I certainly won’t be sleeping tonight, but it is clear that I must have more regular access to the St. Genesius stage and I must find my way into their backstage as soon as possible. This was the last cast party for a while, so I’m going to have to come up with something else.
Phoebe, sit tight! Your big sister is coming to rescue you!
January 3
I swear, Phoebe must be working from beyond to help me, because Genesius just announced they are doing Phantasm for the winter musical. This is significant, because as much as I despise that corny show, Mom made me sing those songs in voice lessons every week until I finally told her I was giving up singing to be a Backstager. I know I can nail those songs. Crystalline is the one role I could have possibly won over the other girls and THIS winter, they choose to do Phantasm? That’s got to be some kind of influence from beyond.
My plan is to wait until all of the other girls have auditioned and left before making my entrance. The female lead must be a current student at Penitent Angels, so if I’m discovered by the other Penitent girls, the plan is ruined. I saw the sign-up sheet online—I know none of the others can handle the high note.
My only concern is Bailey Brentwood. She has gotten the female lead of every Genesius show she’s auditioned for. I have always really liked and respected her, but seeing Phoebe again is the most important thing right now. As much as I hate to get in Bailey’s way, I can’t let anything stop me from rescuing my sister . . .
January 8
The audition is today and I am reminded why I was never an Onstager. This frilly dress, this cheesy song, this fake smile I have to put on to be what they want me to be—I hope I don’t barf in the middle of the audition.
Still, I know I can endure it for Phoebe’s sake. She loved performing, so I can, too. It just goes to show that maybe everything does happen for a reason. All those years of voice lessons that I absolutely hated . . . who knew they would turn out to be so useful?
However, I still can’t understand what the reason was for Phoebe to be taken from me so young. That had to be a mistake of the universe. One I intend to correct today.
January 8, later
You know the feeling of winning and losing at the same time?
Long story short, I got the role. At what cost, though?
Poor Bailey Brentwood. When I crawled up into the light grid, I almost didn’t go through with it. Even as I was loosening the clamp that held the light in place, my mind was saying, “STOP. What are you doing? This isn’t you, Chloe.” But then I thought about Phoebe and I just . . . acted. It was like I was outside of my body, watching myself.
I made certain the light fell a safe distance away from her—she was never in any real danger. Still, she was completely humiliated when she couldn’t recover. I’ll hear the sound of her voice breaking in my sleep tonight. And the look on her face as she gathered up her things and left—I’ll remember that forever. Someday, when Phoebe is back in the world of the living and all of this mess is behind me, I hope I can sit her down and explain it all to her. I hope she can forgive me.
I should feel elated. My plan worked. I am so much closer to reaching my sister. So why can’t I stop crying?
Enough for tonight. The real work begins Monday, when we start rehearsals.
January 15
I could scream. I could break something. I was so close to her.
For days, I had been planning on slipping into the backstage on a ten-minute break, but every time, those silly McQueen boys wanted to walk with me to the fou
ntain and continue discussing their “motivation” and “obstacles” in the scenes, or whatever. Dudes, it’s a musical. Stand in your light and sing pretty. How hard is that?!
Today, though, there was an issue with a prop and Kevin McQueen went ballistic and stormed off, leaving the opening I was looking for. I found the stage door and it was PADLOCKED SHUT. What kind of Backstager locks the stage door with a padlock?! I tried to pick it, but some kid found me and started talking to me about feeding candy to a ghost or something, and then the break was over.
There was one stroke of luck, though. During the rehearsal, I started chatting up a Backstager named Aziz. I actually like him—he’s the only one who seems to have his head in the game right now—but more importantly, I noticed he is the one who holds the key. I think I feel a new friendship blossoming . . .
January 16
Today is the day. I won’t back down. Phoebe, your sister is coming to take you home.
CHAPTER 13
“And that’s when I said, ‘Organic food, man. It goes in local and comes out express!’”
All of the actors howled at Aziz’s story and he glowed, feeling for the first time what it was like to command an audience.
Rehearsal was wrapping up for the night, and for the first time, Aziz wasn’t eating with one hand while building something with another. He was sitting down on the stage, socializing with the actors, of all people. Chloe was by his side, hanging on every word he said.
“Aziz, you are totally hilarious,” she said. “Better not pick a comedy for the spring show, Kevin and Blake, or he may give you a run for your money!”
The McQueens smiled like Mona Lisa, unimpressed.
“Well, I’d better be heading back to my neck of the woods,” she said, rising from the circle and gathering up a heavy black shoulder bag. “Aziz, don’t make these guys laugh too hard—they have to save their voices for tomorrow!” And with that she was off, a shimmer of silver hair as she walked away from them toward the wings.
