The Backstagers and the Final Blackout

by Andy Mientus

“I take no pleasure in announcing that I will not be running for president on a ticket with you, brother, but rather . . . as an individual. As an opposing candidate!”

  There were some cheers in the crowd as well as some guffaws.

  “Well, dang,” Aziz said, impressed.

  Blake could only stare at his brother, who looked back mournfully.

  Timothy broke the silence and announced, “In that case, elections will be held when we return from exams week. The candidates may use this next week and a half to campaign in any way they see fit. The race is on!”

  Blake stormed off, leaving his brother behind. Kevin looked to where the Backstagers were sitting and gave them a nod of solidarity.

  “Things are about to get very interesting,” Hunter said.

  CHAPTER 8

  We are all one crew.

  Kevin McQueen for Drama Club President

  The first sign went up the very next morning, a simple hand-drawn expression of unity with the Backstagers.

  Sasha admired the sign hanging in one of the hallways on his way to English class. Even though this whole election thing was really the Backstagers’ backup plan to resist Thiasos while they waited to depart for the Forest of Arden Theater, he was still moved by the sentiment.

  When he emerged from English class fifty minutes later, he was startled to find the sign had been eclipsed by a larger, professionally printed banner.

  KEEP THE DRAMA ONSTAGE.

  BLAKE MCQUEEN FOR DRAMA CLUB PRESIDENT

  But it wasn’t until he sat down at lunch period that Sasha saw how divided the Drama Club had really become.

  “Check it out,” Aziz said to Sasha as he pointed toward the Onstagers’ table.

  There, two Onstager boys, Jay and Will, were locked in a heated, tearful argument. Sasha strained to hear them.

  “I can’t believe you don’t put Onstagers first!” Will cried. “I thought I knew you!”

  “Obviously you don’t if you think I’m the kind of person who’d leave the Backstagers behind!” Jay replied passionately.

  Sasha turned back to Aziz and said, “But they’re the power showmance of Genesius Drama. If they break up, love must not EXIST!”

  Suddenly, there was a crash as Will flipped his tray in frustration, sending disco fries and fruit punch everywhere. He stormed off as Jay sat, shocked, dripping punch and gravy.

  Aziz could only shake his head and say, “Politics, man . . .”

  The situation became so tense that by the time Friday rolled around, the Backstagers could have easily forgotten that the relief they were feeling was due to getting back to the backstage and not simply getting away from the drama.

  They all gathered in the student parking lot of Genesius and loaded Mr. Rample’s van with their bags.

  Bailey had come by to see them all off. Beckett greeted her with an awkward wave and said, “We’re not going to have much service out in the country, so email is probably better than texts or calls for the week. But I promise to check in when I can!”

  “That’s funny,” she said. “I see shows at Forest of Arden with my family all the time and I never have a problem.”

  “Erm, what I mean is that the guys are all trying to unplug this week. You know, Tiny Store of Terrors is such a huge technical show. We don’t want any distractions.”

  “Distractions. Right.” Bailey looked down at the pavement.

  “No, I just mean—”

  “No, I get it, Beck. This is a huge opportunity for you guys. Just . . . check in, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled at her and she smiled back, though it seemed to take a bit more effort. Beckett leaned forward, but before Bailey realized that he was leaning in for a kiss—or, he hoped it was before she’d realized—she spun around and made her way back toward her car, waving to the guys.

  “Don’t get eaten by any rogue plant puppets!” she said.

  And then she was gone.

  Beckett could scarcely unpack the moment before Sasha asked him, “Hey, Beck, can you give me a hand with my bag? I’m too short!”

  The duffel bag was bigger than minuscule Sasha, and as he struggled to hoist it into the back of the van, he looked a bit like a tiny dog lugging a whole fallen tree branch. Beckett had to crack a smile.

  “I hope you boys know how ticked off I am that you get to save the world AND hang with the Forest of Arden crew while we have to take tests all week,” Timothy said, cramming a backpack onto the top of the pile.

  “You make it sound like a vacation,” Reo said. Timothy’s smile fell a bit.

  “Sorry, Reo, I was just kidding. We just really wish we could help you.”

  “Any idea how you’ll start?” Jamie asked.

  “I’ll perform some divination, ask my spirit guides,” Reo replied. “Hopefully they feel like talking.”

  “That’s everything,” Mr. Rample said, slamming the van’s trunk doors shut. “Ready to head out, Backstagers?”

  “Thanks again, Mr. Rample,” Timothy said as he and Jamie began hugging their crew goodbye.

  “Don’t mention it,” Mr. Rample said. “Once a Backstager, always a Backstager.”

  And soon they were off, barreling down a leafy green highway, deeper and deeper into the country.

  As Jory looked out the window, he felt freedom and excitement he hadn’t felt since he was on the plane to Greece, though this time, it was so much better since he was with his best friends.

  “Okay, so what do we know about the Show Bible?” Hunter asked. He was riding shotgun since he was the most senior Backstager without Timothy and Jamie present.

  “Well, obviously I don’t know about the legendary Show Bible,” Beckett said, “but ‘show bible’ is a term stage managers use for the master script of a production. Where they write down all of the blocking and cues and stuff.”

  “So we think the legendary Show Bible . . . is a script?” Aziz asked.

  “Some kind of book, I bet,” Beckett said. “A show bible holds the most important information in a production, so I have a feeling the legendary version must hold some pretty important information.”

  “Like all the SECRETS of the UNIVERSE?!” Sasha, luckily seat-belted in, exclaimed.

  “I mean . . . possibly?” Beckett said. “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Like where all the missing socks go, and why cats purr, and whether they named the color orange after the fruit or the fruit after the color!” Sasha was blowing his own mind.

  Meanwhile, Reo was in the last row of the van with his headphones on, focused on a deck of tarot cards. He thought about the Show Bible as he shuffled the cards, drew a single card from the top of the deck, and reshuffled, again and again. But something strange was going on. There were seventy-two cards in a tarot deck, so the odds of drawing each individual card is one out of seventy-two. Reo was no mathematician, but it seemed impossible, then, that he was drawing the exact same card, over and over, no matter how he shuffled. He could only stare in amazement as he pulled the Tower. The Tower. The Tower.

  CHAPTER 9

  When the van finally slowed to a stop, the Backstagers looked out their windows to see a big, rustic brown barn set against the edge of a lush forest. “Here we are!” Mr. Rample announced, switching off the engine. “The Forest of Arden Theater!”

  The boys stepped out of the van and were instantly entranced with the damp smell of leaves, the gentle babble of a nearby stream, and the soft light filtering through the canopy above in golden beams. The Forest of Arden Theater was every bit as magical as the Shakespearean forest it was named for, and this was only the driveway.

  “You made it! Ha-HA!” A voice boomed across the serene clearing, making all the Backstagers jump. They turned to see a short woman dressed all in denim with copper skin, a tight and dark fade, and an infectious smile.

  “Bert! I want you to meet my boys!” Rample said.

  “Ha-HA!” It was unclear what was funny, but she galloped up to w
here the boys were exiting the van and, despite being total strangers, scooped each of them into a big bear hug.

  “I’m Roberta Rodríguez, the production stage manager around here, but if you call me Roberta, I’ll have you untangling cords and organizing spike tape all week, just try me! It’s Bert, thank you very much!”

  “Hey, Bert, I’m Jory! I’m head of wardrobe at Genesius.”

  “Reo, props.”

  “I’m Aziz, head carpenter. This place is dope.”

  “I’m Sasha, head of lighting, and sound, and tool-mouse trainer, and—”

  “Beckett. I do a bit of everything, but let’s say ASM.”

  “I’m Hunter, I’m the stage manager. Well, on deck to be, next semester.”

  “My stage managers! So you guys’ll be working with me!” Bert lit up extra-bright. Beckett and Hunter smiled at each other, excited to be acknowledged in their new, advanced roles.

  “Should we bring their bags to company housing?” Rample asked.

  “Nah, let’s leave ’em for now,” Bert said. “I wanna get these guys started ASAP. It’s load in! We can use all the help we can get!”

  Bert led them around the side of the building, away from the big, folksy barn doors to a smaller, gray metal door around back. The stage door. Inside, she gave them each a lanyard with an official Forest of Arden crew badge and led them down a long hallway to a door marked STAGE LEFT.

  “Wanna see what we’re working with so far?” Bert asked.

  “Yes, please!” Sasha cried.

  “Ha-HA!” Bert bellowed and swung open the door, letting the guys inside.

  “Wow,” was all Hunter could say as they stepped out onto the stage and took in the scene.

  The big, open auditorium was alive with activity. Drills buzzed, hammers clanged, and a cacophony of voices shouted. A few yards ahead of them, a big drop was being attached to a low-hanging fly rail with the speed and precision of a race-car pit stop before it was hoisted aloft into the fly just moments later. Some of the younger crew people were hauling big tables into the audience, right out over the seats, and setting up computers, controls, and lamps—“For the creative team during tech,” Bert informed them. Just past the lip of the stage, an older crew woman, her gray hair tucked into a black baseball cap, climbed into some kind of rolling, walled-in machine that, when wheeled into place, began to lift up impossibly high, to the rail where the lights hung. Once at full height, the gray-haired woman bravely reached out and began adjusting lighting instruments with no fear. Bert informed them that machine was called a Genie, and it was not to be messed with, much to Sasha’s disappointment.

  A heavily tattooed crew guy trotted up to them. He was dressed in black shorts and a T-shirt, with tall black socks and a newsboy cap.

  “Hey, Bert, you want me to set up the calling desk on the deck or in the booth?” he asked.

  “Dude, are you brand-new?! Ha-HA! The deck, of course! I wanna be close to the action.”

  “We call from the deck at our school, too,” Hunter said proudly.

  “Knew I liked you,” Bert said. “Everybody, this is Thom, he’s head electrics here.”

  Thom took off his cap and twirled it in greeting.

  “Oh WOW,” Sasha said. “I’m head electrics, too!”

  “Good to meet ya, my dude!” Thom said, extending a bear-paw hand to warmly shake Sasha’s. “You wanna come help me set up the calling desk and monitors? Then I can show you our board. She’s brand-new and she’s beautiful.”

  “I’d LOVE to!” Sasha said.

  “I’ll send him your way in a minute,” Bert said. “I’m gonna introduce all you guys to the department heads so we can put you to work and get you some big-kid experience! But first, I wanna show you the oldest part of our backstage. Copy?” she asked, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

  “Copy,” Reo said, resolute.

  Bert and Rample led the Backstagers through some tunnels under the stage to the trap room—the room where the automation team piloted the elevators and trap doors. At the very back of this low, cavernous space was a small door labeled just like it was in their Club Room: UNSAFE.

  “Of course, Rample told me why you guys are really here,” Bert whispered as she took a ring of keys from her belt loop. “I do hope you get your backstage problems figured out before the end of the week, though, because we really do want your help on the show!”

  She slid an old key into the lock on the door and opened it, revealing a welcome sight: the starry void of the tunnels of the backstage. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief on behalf of everyone.

  “Now, you were all careful about keeping your phones off, right?” Rample asked.

  The Backstagers all nodded.

  “Then we shouldn’t have to worry about Thiasos following you here, though I’m sure they’re expecting you to find some way into the backstage during your week off.”

  Just then, a short, wiry crew person approached the crowd of them from behind.

  “Hey, Bert,” they said. “I doubt we’re getting to automation until—oh wow, the door’s open!”

  “Oh hey, Nik! Everybody, this is Nik. They’re head of automation.” Nik was scarcely taller than tiny Sasha, so the low ceiling of the trap room wasn’t a bother to them at all. They wore a black beanie that concealed all but a few strands of their neon pink hair.

  “And yeah,” Bert continued, “I’m just giving them the full tour.”

  “Funny,” Nik said, “I’ve never seen this door open before. There are a bunch of legends about it, though, and with the lock on it and the ominous ‘Unsafe’ label, I was kind of expecting something more exciting than an empty closet!”

  Sasha looked through the open door into the vast, cosmic nothingness of the tunnels and then back to Nik, who looked unimpressed.

  “Yeah,” Bert replied, “I know, something about a gas leak a long time ago. I keep it locked and labeled just to be safe.”

  “Huh, I’m gonna keep this revelation to myself, so the legends can live on. Anyway,” Nik said with a yawn, “I’m not gonna need to get into any automation stuff until Tuesday at least, so I’m wondering if I might be useful somewhere else.”

  “Why don’t you check in with the puppet designer and see if she’s planning to automate any of the plant’s movements?”

  “Great thinking. Nice to meet y’all!” Nik said, before they left the trap room.

  After a quiet moment, Bert let out a “Ha-HA!” Bert had this way of using her guttural belly laugh to mean any number of things. Just now it seemed to mean the coast is clear.

  “What was that all about?” Jory asked. “Nik couldn’t see the tunnels! They thought it was just an empty closet!”

  “Most crew folks don’t know a thing about the REAL backstage that’s past the Unsafe doors of the world,” Bert said. “You have to discover it when you’re young, before you decide that you know what’s possible and impossible. Luckily, you guys found it in time. My crew? They missed out. If they hadn’t, I would put tech on hold and have the whole theater helping you guys out. But sadly, they’re just regular crew folks. You’re Backstagers.”

  “Why can you see the backstage, then?” Jory asked.

  “Because I was taken through the Unsafe door at Penitent Angels when I was your age,” Bert replied.

  “You’re looking at my very own date to Dance at the Gym,” Rample said, beaming. “She was the first person I called when I lost my job at Genesius, and luckily she had a spot for me on the crew here.”

  “Once a Backstager, always a Backstager,” Bert said, eyes twinkling.

  “So,” Rample said. “Any ideas of where to start looking for the Show Bible?”

  “I think I have one,” Reo replied. “I’ll need some thread so I can find my way back in case I get lost. And some solitude. You can all pitch in upstairs with tech. I’ll be all right.”

  “Take a walkie, just in case,” Hunter said. “If you run into any trouble, any at all, call and we’ll be there in an inst
ant.”

  The Genesius crew each gave Reo an encouraging hug and dispersed.

  Bert brought Reo a long spool of red cord and a walkie. He tied the end of the cord to a pillar in the trap room and carried the spool with him, unraveling it slowly as he walked, creating a tether back to the world outside the backstage. He stepped into the Unsafe door, looked back to Bert, and nodded bravely as she shut the door behind him.

  Now Reo stood surrounded by darkness and stars. Unlike the frenzy of the tech upstairs, the tunnels were perfectly silent. Most kids would be scared to be alone in such a place, but Reo learned to trust himself in quiet solitude a long time ago.

  He pulled a single tarot card from his pocket. It was the Tower: a foreboding picture of a tall dark stone tower at the moment it’s struck by lightning, sending its inhabitants falling helplessly into the depths below. He focused on the image, memorizing every detail. Then, when he could picture the place in his mind with perfect clarity, he closed his eyes, held the spool of cord in front of him, and began to walk.

  CHAPTER 10

  Driving down the commercial strip of Maple Avenue en route to St. Genesius at what felt like the earliest hour any human had ever been awake in recorded history, a million things ran through Timothy’s mind. He needed to know what was up with the guys. He needed to get back into the Club Room and salvage what relics of past shows he could, or else let them be lost forever. He needed COFFEE. The last thing he needed was to take exams all day in subjects that he would never study again once he started school for stage management at Wolverine University.

  “Let’s just drive past the school,” he said to Jamie, who sat in the passenger’s seat, uncharacteristically quiet. “Let’s just keep driving until we get to the airport, then get on a flight as far away as we can. Somewhere beachy.”

  “Heh, yeah. That would be nice,” Jamie said.

  “What’s stopping us, honestly? We’re already accepted to Wolverine! We’re never gonna need quadratic equations or the structure of cells or the details of the Louisiana Purchase or Latin. This is all so pointless!”

  “Well, there is some financial aid we can apply for with the results,” Jamie said. “So I’m focusing on that.”