Revenge of the Evil Librarian

by Michelle Knudsen

  The camp director’s name is Steven. He is cheered loudly by everyone in the room, so I assume he is generally well liked. Unless everyone is just excited that he is about to announce the shows and are just cheering for that. I ask Ryan.

  “Both,” he says. “He’s a pretty decent guy, but mostly right now everyone is thinking about the show list.”

  Steven says some general welcome-y stuff and then gets down to business. He clearly knows his audience.

  “All right. I know what you’re all waiting for, so I’m going to shut up now and turn this over to the directors, who will each come up and announce their shows. We’ll start with Upper Camp first.”

  The hush that falls over the crowd is nearly frightening in its total and complete perfection. And at that moment I suddenly realize: all of these people love theater. I am in a room filled with people who love it as much as I do. Somehow it didn’t quite hit me until this second. Right now, no one here can think about anything other than wanting to know what the shows are. Ryan tightens his arms around me, and I finally let myself relax and really appreciate the fact that I am here.

  And then the first director, a twentyish guy with multiple visible piercings, steps forward and after a dramatic pause shouts out, “West Side Story!” and everyone goes nuts, and I love every single person in the room almost more than I can stand.

  The other Upper Camp directors (all college students enrolled in various theater programs, Ryan explains) come up one by one, and the crowd continues to be nearly as enthusiastic for each one (which is only fair; it’s hard to top West Side Story). The other musicals are How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Brigadoon, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Aftermass, which is the brand-new original musical written by one of the campers for the contest they hold every year.

  The straight plays (not that I really care) are A Midsummer Night’s Dream and the female version of The Odd Couple.

  Ryan is beside himself about The Scarlet Pimpernel.

  “Oh, my God,” he says. He says it several times. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God.”

  This is a side of him I have not previously seen. He actually cannot sit still; he is wiggling around in excitement, drumming his feet against the floor and rocking me from side to side.

  I turn around to look at him. “Scarlet Pimpernel? Really?”

  He stares at me. “Do you not know that one? It’s amazing. One of my favorites. I mean my favorite favorites. I mean like of all time.”

  “It didn’t last long on Broadway.”

  “That’s because people are idiots. The music is amazing.”

  “What part would you want?”

  He looks at me like this is the most ridiculous question ever. “Chauvelin! I’ve always wanted to play him.”

  I can only look back at him. “Really?”

  “Yes!” It is clear that he cannot quite believe I am even questioning this.

  “I had to read that book in English last year. Isn’t he a horrible, disgusting old man with no redeeming qualities whatsoever?”

  Ryan sighs in exasperation. “That’s the book. The show is different. Chauvelin is awesome. ‘Falcon in the Dive’ is one of the best songs in the entire history of musical theater.”

  “Um. Okay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Okay! I believe you.”

  Just then Jules scoots over and ruffles Ryan’s hair like he’s her five-year-old brother. “I know someone must be excited about The Scarlet Pimpernel!”

  Why does she know this about him when I don’t?

  Ryan grins at her, and she grins back. I don’t want to watch that going on, so I lean over toward Susan. “What do you think of the show list?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “They’re good.”

  “Are you here for backstage?” I ask her. Hoping not, because I would kind of rather not have her on whatever show I’m working on.

  She shakes her head. “Orchestra. Violin.”

  “Oh!” Good. “I didn’t realize. That’s great!”

  She shrugs again. “Yeah. I’ve never played for theater before, though. My parents thought it would be good for me.”

  Huh. “Oh. Well, they’re probably right. I mean, you like theater, right?”

  She shrugs again. “It’s okay.”

  I would like to leave this conversation now. I peek back at Ryan and Jules to make sure the grinning has stopped. Then I make myself ask, “Which show are you hoping for, Jules?”

  “Oh, Scarlet Pimpernel for me, too. I want Marguerite.”

  Of course.

  “Well, um, break a leg tomorrow!”

  “Thanks!” She flashes me a beautiful smile. I am starting to hate her just a little.

  The directors go on to announce the Middle and Lower Camp shows, but we pay less attention, since those are for the younger kids and we won’t get to see them, anyway. Some of Ryan’s friends have siblings in those shows, though, so there are a few excited reactions to several of the selections, even so.

  Finally, the gathering breaks up into a slow migration to the dining hall, where I am introduced to the magic of camp food (not so bad, really). I sit with Ryan and his friends, and Susan, and try to remember more names. All the singers are talking about audition songs. Susan mostly just looks down at her food.

  “What show are you hoping for, Cyn?” Ryan asks suddenly. “I just realized you never said.”

  I’d been thinking about this. Part of me wants to be involved in whatever show Ryan is in, because then I’ll get to see him more. But a larger part of me, the part that’s not just thinking with its romance-y parts, wants the original show. Because it’s totally new. I’d get to design the set from scratch without trying to match or not match or consider at all whatever previous set designs have been used. I know the chances of some camper-written show being good enough to continue on to Broadway someday are, let us say, pretty slim . . . but even so, I’d be the first one to ever design a set for it. Even if I’m also the last.

  “I want the new show,” I tell him. “You know I’d love to do whatever show you’re in —”

  He cuts me off, shaking his head. “No, you need to do the best thing for you — that’s what this is all about. And we’ll still see each other plenty, no matter what shows we’re in. I think that would be great. I hope you get it.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at him. “And I hope you get what’s his name.”

  “Chauvelin!”

  “Right. That guy.”

  “It’s getting very hard not to break up with you right now.”

  “Okay, okay. I am sure I will come around to appreciating The Scarlet Pimpernel once I see how awesome it is.”

  “You better.”

  “I will!”

  “Hmph.”

  Usually there is some kind of evening activity after dinner (Ryan explains), but tonight is left open so that everyone can just catch up with friends and get settled or practice audition songs or whatever else they want to do. Ryan grabs my hand and pulls me toward one of the doors. “Come with me, young lady.”

  I call a hurried good-bye to Susan, who looks slightly terrified to be left alone, but I am not going to feel bad about it, because (a) it is not my job to walk her through every step of her camp experience, and (b) it will be good for her to practice standing on her own two feet, and (c) I appear to be about to have some actual alone time with Ryan, and I’m sorry, but that trumps keeping the new girl company by, like, a million.

  We emerge into the darkness and he leads me toward the boys’ side of camp. Girls are not technically allowed in the boys’ cabins, so I wait outside while Ryan runs into his bunk to “get something.” It’s a little chilly now that the sun’s down but not really uncomfortable. It smells good here — like, well, nature. Trees and rocks and dirt and fresh air and all of that good stuff. I look up and am startled by the number of stars I can see scattered across the sky.

  Ryan comes back out and takes my hand again.

  “What
did you get? And where are we going?”

  His eyes smile at me in the dark. “You’ll see.”

  He leads me up a long path toward one of the performance spaces. I haven’t learned all their names yet. It’s one of the larger ones, and it sits dark and silent in the middle of all the nature. We duck in through one of the openings along the side and walk back to the last row of seats. Instead of actually sitting in the seats, though, Ryan sits down on the floor behind the last row, in a small aisle tucked between the seats and the back far wall of the building. There is just enough starlight coming in through the open windows to see by. I sit too and look at him expectantly.

  From his pocket he produces an elderly but apparently still functional mp3 player and two pairs of earbuds.

  “Hey, that’s contraband!”

  “No, it’s not, Hawaii Five-O. We’re allowed to have music. They just don’t want everyone on their phones or computers all the time.” He hands me one of the sets of earbuds, and I see that he’s already got a splitter plugged into his device.

  “Oh, thank God,” I say. “I mean, I brought one, too, but I thought I was going to have to sneak it under the covers at night or something.”

  “Nope. No sneaking required.”

  “What are we listening to?”

  “We are going to address this incomprehensible issue of you never having heard The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  “The whole thing? Won’t that keep us out past curfew? I don’t want to get kicked out my first night.”

  He laughs. “Trust me, it takes a lot more than that to get kicked out. But no, not the whole thing. Just a few songs. The best ones. Starting with the best one of all.” He cues up “Falcon in the Dive.”

  It begins with some weird talk-singing and I give him the side-eye, but he shakes his head at me. “Just keep listening.”

  So I do.

  I can hear instantly that the voice part is right for him. And as the song continues, I can tell that Chauvelin is like a lot of the parts he’s drawn to: a person driven to some deeply felt goal that may or may not be understandable to anyone else around him. I barely remember the plot of the book and have no idea whether it’s remotely the same in the musical, but that doesn’t even matter right now. The song is full of passion and longing and desire, rising and falling and soaring with the emotion of the singer (Terrence Mann; I’d know his voice anywhere), and it gives me very delightful chills to think of Ryan singing it.

  When the song ends, he pauses the playback before another song can start, and looks at me. “So?”

  His eyes are fixed on mine, and I’m shocked to realize he’s nervous. Nervous I won’t like it? Nervous I won’t see what he loves so much about it? That I won’t understand?

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. And I mean it. I had no idea. I can’t believe I’ve never heard the music from this show before.

  “There’s more,” he says, looking down to cue up another song. “I won’t make you listen to the whole thing, I swear, just a few more. Some of Marguerite’s songs are gorgeous, and there’s this trio . . .” He trails off, scrolling.

  I ignore the part about Marguerite, which would only make me think of Jules, and instead just lean forward and kiss his sweet, gorgeous face. He turns toward me, and I kiss him again, this time on the mouth.

  “What was that for?” he asks afterward.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just felt like it.”

  He smiles and returns to finding the next song. I sit back against the wall and watch him. Loving that he’s so excited. About musical theater! I mean, I know this about him, obviously, but I don’t usually take the time to reflect and appreciate it. None of my really close friends have ever been into theater the way I am. They come to shows to support me, and they’re excited for me when happy theater-y things happen, but being excited for me is not quite the same as being excited with me.

  Ryan’s excitement is both purely his own and something super important that he wants to share with me. I love that we can be excited about this stuff together. And I really do love seeing him so happy. He’s the sexiest happy puppy ever.

  And he’s your boyfriend! Old Cyn whisper-shouts from the back of my brain.

  Yes, I know. Shut up.

  But yeah, he is.

  He catches me grinning before I can stop.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just . . . happy.”

  He smiles back at me in the starlight.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Auditions begin right after breakfast the next morning. Orchestra and set people get a few hours free while all the acting and singing types wait anxiously for their turn in Schulman and Santorini theaters, respectively. All the musical directors watch all the musical auditions, and then callbacks for each show are held separately. Same for the plays.

  Susan and I are sitting outside one of the craft buildings, watching the musical audition line. She’s loosened up a bit since yesterday. She now allows several inches between us when we walk around together. Ryan’s friends were apparently relentlessly kind to her last night after we left, which must have helped a lot.

  “I don’t know how they do it,” she says. “Just walk up there and sing in front of everyone.”

  “Well, you play in front of everyone, don’t you? It’s the same thing.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s different. And anyway, usually I’m playing with a whole orchestra.”

  “Didn’t you have to play alone to get into camp?”

  “Well, yeah. But it’s still different. I didn’t have to get up on a stage or anything.”

  I’m waiting for Ryan and Jules to finish their auditions. Well, I’m waiting for Ryan, but he and Jules are clearly in the habit of doing everything together at camp, and so by necessity I am waiting for her, too. When they finally appear and start walking toward us, I focus on smiling and not thinking about how easy and perfect they look together.

  “Wow, they look really perfect together, don’t they?” Susan asks. She glances at me, then, seeing my expression, quickly adds, “I mean, if he weren’t your boyfriend. I’m just saying they look like they belong together, that’s all. Like, visually.”

  I don’t say anything. I just let her run down and hope that the negative reinforcement of my nonresponse encourages her to think more carefully before she speaks in the future. It doesn’t help that she’s right, of course. Jules has that same glowing happy energy that Ryan does, like the world is just a giant amusement park and they can’t wait to try out all the rides. It’s a quality I love in Ryan. I don’t love it as much in Jules. I wish she were grouchier, or more cynical, or maybe just a little less attractive.

  Or a lot less attractive. That would be okay, too.

  “So? How’d it go?” I ask when they arrive.

  “He nailed it, of course,” Jules says, doing that annoying hair-ruffling thing again. “I was right after him and could hear him through the door.”

  “You nailed it, too,” Ryan says, smiling at her. “Of course.”

  “Great!” I say, too loudly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Susan flinch slightly. “When do the callback lists go up?”

  “They post them during lunch,” Jules says. “Then callbacks go on all afternoon, and the cast lists go up tonight!”

  They both get called back for a few different roles, including Chauvelin and Marguerite. Ryan spends the time between lunch and his callback times practicing all the Chauvelin parts he thinks they might ask him to sing. I listen and remind him that he’s awesome as often as he needs me to. Then he runs off to the first callback.

  It’s a weird long day of waiting. I’m eager for the lists to go up that night, too, since that’s when I’ll find out what show I’ve got, but in the meantime there’s nothing to do but wish the auditioners broken legs and wander around with Susan. I do take advantage of the free time to go to the computer lab and send Annie and Leticia and Diane an update of what’s happening at camp so far. After today the computer lab is only open
at particular times, and Ryan’s told me there’s always a line of people waiting to get their technology fix. So I warn the girls that (a) the chances of me being online when they might be are very slim, and therefore (b) they should actually check their e-mail, since that is the way I will probably have to contact them. I sigh and try not to miss my phone. At least e-mail is quicker than, like, actual physical mail. Although I remind them that I wouldn’t mind getting some of that, too.

  I dedicate a large portion of my message to talking about Jules. Because I’m still trying to work out how Ryan completely failed to mention her, despite their obvious closeness. Also, I know I can count on Annie, Leticia, and Diane to tell me what I want to hear about all the things that must be wrong with her and how Ryan would never even look at another girl because he has me and I’m so great and everything.

  I do also tell them the rest of my first impressions about camp, and the girls in my bunk, including Susan, who is (of course) sitting at the computer next to me. And I tell them about the shows, and which ones all of us are hoping for.

  Obviously, I am hoping Jules gets her second choice instead of her first so that she and Ryan won’t be spending hours together every day at rehearsal. But in the way of things going just how you’d expect, they both get the parts they want.

  Happily, I also got my first choice. So there is much group celebrating at the canteen after dinner, and everyone goes to bed excited for everything to start the next day. Except Susan, who doesn’t really seem to get excited about things. But she’s in the orchestra of West Side Story, so everyone else is excited on her behalf.