Understudy

by Wy, Denise Kim

  "I won't but my creations will be," I said, ticking off checkboxes on my clipboard.

  "You make it sound like you've created us or something. Speaking of which, everybody's talking about the party after the show."

  "What about it?"

  "Nothing. It just popped in my head." Sara traced her fingers on the redbrick backdrop for one of our outdoor scenes. Her back was to me so I couldn't see her face. "Are you going?"

  "Are you?"

  "I asked you first," she said.

  I had been asking myself the same question. After all, I was partly responsible; I loaded the gun and Eric pulled the trigger. "It depends," I said, keeping my voice even.

  Sara didn't answer right away. It was as if she was evaluating my answer. "Well, it just sucks that it has to be in Adam's house."

  The pen froze in my hand. Hearing Adam's name still made my heart race these days, but not for the same reason it had a few months ago. It was like being caught red handed for a crime you're trying hard to keep a secret. It made me uncomfortable.

  Sara finally turned around to face me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just can't mention you-know-who's-name."

  Eric.

  "I understand. You hate him," I said, forcing my hand to function again.

  "Don't we?"

  "I..." I wanted to say that no, we don't. Not anymore. But it felt wrong. I wanted to tell her that being with Eric actually made me feel better. That his spontaneity felt like a breath of fresh air. Instead, I said, "I don't know."

  Sara studied my face for a moment, and I tried to avoid looking at her as much as possible. "Do you want to tell me something?"

  I wanted to tell her everything. But I was the reason why she hated Eric. I made her to, at least that's how I saw it, given the things I told her. I couldn't just tell her to change her mind about him. Sara and Adam were good friends. And if I thought that hanging around Eric felt like cheating on Adam, how would she handle it? "I don't think so."

  "You don't think so or you don't want to?"

  Sara kept her eyes on the floor, and I was somehow grateful for it. I couldn't face her.

  "I can't," I said. "I want to, but I can't."

  She sighed. "But I bet you can tell Eric everything, huh?"

  Her words jolted me like a volt of electricity had shot through my veins.

  "How the hell did he end up in this conversation?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm jealous that you have time to play Frisbee with him and with Amanda's snotty younger brother, but you're always busy when it comes to me." The words came out like gun fire, continuous and deadly. It took me time to take it all in.

  "How did−"

  "I saw you," she said, cutting me off.

  I was at lost for words. "Sara, I−"

  "Oh damn it Kat! Save your excuses. I'm tired of hearing them."

  ***

  I hadn't spoken to Sara since. That was two days ago, and whether we liked it or not, we'd have to talk later as we got ready for the show. We’d always made up right away whenever we got into fights before. This was no different. At least that's what I told myself.

  Mom was alone in the kitchen when I came in. She immediately smiled when she saw me and handed me a plate of full of bacon, scrambled eggs and two waffles swimming in maple syrup.

  "Breakfast of champions!" she said, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

  "I don't think this is it Mom, but thanks anyway. Where's Dad?"

  "Out early. He said he had to finish some paperwork so he can come home early and pick me up to watch the show."

  "Oh, you don't have to," I said, as I grabbed a stool and put my plate down. "You won't even see me on stage."

  Mom placed her hands on her hips, her brows furrowing. "Who said anything about watching you, honey? We're going to watch Sara kill it!"

  I rolled my eyes and shoveled a mouthful of waffle, savoring the buttery maple sweetness melting on my tongue. "Too bad she doesn't get to enjoy this breakfast. But seriously. It's not a big deal, it's just a stupid play. I bet you've seen a lot of A Christmas Carol adaptations in your time. This is no different."

  "Wow, talk about support." Mom poured steaming coffee in two cups and handed one to me. "But you're a part of it, honey. I mean you've been working hard on the props and everything. We want to see them."

  "I can show you the pictures."

  Mom waved her hand to dismiss me. "I want to see it live. Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself with it."

  "I do?"

  Mom leaned over the counter and brushed some stray strands of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. "Yes. We barely see you, yet you seem happy. It's like you've been in therapy you know. Minus the shrink."

  Flashes of me playing Frisbee with Eric and the kids suddenly flashed in my mind. I shoved more food in my mouth to stop myself from talking, yet my appetite had already disappeared.

  Mom grabbed a piece of bacon from her own plate and started nibbling on it. "Is Adam's brother going to be in the play?" she asked, making me choke on my food.

  I took quick gulp of coffee, remembering too late that it was steaming hot. I grabbed the edge of my seat to stop myself from crying out loud as the hot liquid slid down my throat, spreading warmth through my body as it settled in my stomach. I let out a deep breath.

  Mom just stared at me the whole time, chewing slowly. "Guess I'll take that as a yes," she said. "Is he good?"

  Eric only had a few lines, nothing really major, yet everybody was looking forward to seeing him onstage. "He's okay."

  "You worked on his props?"

  "No. He actually provided his own leg brace."

  "Leg brace?"

  "He's playing Tiny Tim," I said, trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal, which it really wasn't, except that everybody in school, and Adam, thought it was, so in a way, maybe it was.

  "What do you think of him?"

  I was about to tell her that I hadn't actually seen him on stage, but the way she looked at me made me realize that there was something else in that question. It was the first time we’d talked about him ever since the day she saw him, that time she thought she saw Adam's ghost.

  I wondered if she knew all along that I had been spending time with Eric. Because if she did, then Dad definitely knew about it as well. Maybe that was one of the reasons why they wanted to see the show tonight. To watch me. Guess I would be performing tonight after all.

  "I think he's okay."

  ***

  Everybody was talking about the play. You'd think people actually cared about seeing the performance, but they were really more interested in the party Eric was throwing afterwards. Just two days after the announcement, the Wharton residence had become a legend. Rumors circulated that the house was haunted by Adam's ghost, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at how stupid it sounded. Adam found it funny as well.

  I got to school earlier than usual, but the hall was already packed when I came in.

  Although class would be suspended early to allow us to prepare for the show, we still had three classes to attend.

  Eric was standing in front of my locker, wearing a red v−neck shirt that made everyone's head turn as they passed by. It was the only time he wore something aside from black and white. He’d also shaved his facial hair.

  He stepped aside as I approached, watching me in silence as I took my time to grab my stuff. The faint smell of his aftershave distracted me, and I found myself clenching my jaw as I kept my eyes off him.

  "I'll be expecting you tonight," he said when I closed my locker.

  "Who said I'd show up?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but my conversation with Sara was still fresh in my mind. I suddenly had this feeling that I shouldn't be talking to him.

  "I have an inkling," he said, tapping his temple with his index finger.

  "We'll see about that."

  "Yeah," he said, then looking over my shoulder, he added, "You too, Sara. See you tonight."

  I whirled around just
in time to see Sara roll her eyes as Eric walked away.

  She was wearing light make up, which was a surprise. Sara wasn't a fan of cosmetics, and she would usually only apply makeup when attending formal gatherings. She'd immediately wipe it off as soon as she got home. Yet here she was, all glamed up hours before the performance. For the first time in years, I felt like I didn't know her at all.

  "I didn't realize you were there," I said.

  "Of course you didn't," she said, the acid evident in her voice.

  "I'm sorry about the other day, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

  Sara slammed her locker shut. "Is that what you think I'm pissed about? You hurting my feelings?"

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they were as cold as ice. "God, I wish it's as simple as that." She began walking away but I grabbed her by the elbow.

  "Please don't walk away. Let's talk about this," I said, hearing the desperation in my voice.

  "Then talk." She lifted her chin as if to challenge me, and I found myself shrinking from her gaze. I couldn't talk to her like this. Not in here. Not when she was so angry.

  Sara smiled, though it looked more like a sneer. "Yeah. I didn't think so."

  She yanked herself free and I watched her walk away.

  Chapter Twenty−Four

  My hands were shaking. I grabbed my clipboard as tightly as I could to steady them, but it didn’t help.

  The Scarlet group had just finished their performance and based on the audience’s undying applause, they were great.

  Our group was assembled backstage doing last minute preparations. For the first time since the play was announced, everybody seemed genuinely concerned about it.

  Sara was busy reading lines with Blythe while everybody else was pacing around nervously.

  Mr. Blake was pacing as well, though from excitement more than nerves. "Okay, five minutes and it's our turn. I need everybody for a pep talk."

  "I didn't realize this was a competition," Frank said as he pushed a cart filled with stage props.

  "It's not," Mr. Blake said with a smirk. "At least that's what the other group thinks."

  "Adultery and death. How do you expect us to compete with that?" Drake asked, looking dapper as Fred in his suit.

  "With joy and Christmas spirit!" Mr. Blake said. "Come on, you guys! Gather around."

  Everyone dropped whatever they were doing and gathered around Mr. Blake. He looked around the room to check on everyone, then stopped. His face turned white.

  "Where's our Tiny Tim?"

  Nobody answered. The air around the room suddenly felt heavy, and aside from the dying applause from the audience, everything went silent.

  "We have Keith as his understudy," someone said, and I didn't have to see who it was to know it was Sara.

  "He's here," I said, though I hadn't seen him since he talked to me in front of my locker earlier.

  "Would you mind bringing him here now?" Mr. Blake asked, loosening his tie.

  I had no idea where Eric was or if he even decided to show up. But I had this gut feeling that he would. I didn't know where that faith came from but it was what I held on to as I searched for him backstage.

  I found him seated on the steps of the fire exit. He was wearing his costume: an old white button up shirt with dark brown pants, complete with the suspenders, and a pair of old leather shoes. He also had his leg brace on.

  He startled when I closed the door behind me, and I felt like I disturbed him right in the middle of his meditation, or whatever he was doing.

  "Stage fright?" I asked as I sat down beside him.

  "Maybe."

  "You're going to be okay."

  "I know that. I'm going to rock the stage tonight," he said confidently, though I sensed the uncertainty in his voice.

  I followed his gaze and realized that he was staring at his leg brace. It was much better than the first one he showed me. The metalwork looked like it belonged to an earlier century, and as an artist myself, I couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details. "Nice leg brace you got there. You have the leather strap with the rivets and everything." I reached out to touch it, but Eric shoved my hand away.

  It was totally unexpected, and he was surprised himself as well. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just...I'm just jittery. I had three cups of coffee this morning."

  "Oh, wow," I said, glad of the sudden change of topic. "My Mom prepared me a breakfast for champions."

  "She knows you're not performing, right?" he asked, wincing. "I hope you didn't set up high expectations."

  "Of course she knows! But she's supportive. Both my parents are."

  "Must be nice."

  Looking at him, I saw the same envy in his eyes whenever Adam and I talked about our parents. If Adam longed for his parents, then what was it like for Eric? It wasn't a secret that Adam was the favorite child, and I used to understand why. But now, looking at him in his Tiny Tim costume with his hair styled and everything, I had a hard time picturing the same Eric I met dropping the F−word in Mr. Darby's class just a few months ago.

  I wanted to know what made him like that. What had left him scarred, and transformed him into such a selfish asshole? From what Adam had told me, Eric wasn't always like that, but he refused to tell me the details. I didn't believe him then. I did now.

  "Come on, it's time to go inside before Sara convinces Mr. Blake to replace you with Keith."

  Eric snorted. "Yeah, like that would happen."

  ***

  Mr. Blake's relief was obvious when Eric finally showed up. We all gathered once again as he spouted words of encouragement. At the end of his speech, he asked us the put our hands together, like basketball players do before a game. We felt silly but we did anyway.

  We shouted "Scrooge," because it was the only thing we came up with that wasn't cheesy or hard to scream in unison, and we were running out of time.

  A minute later, the curtain was raised and Teddy Bowman, our narrator, was up on stage.

  The next minutes became a blur as Tina, Diana and I made sure that everything was moving smoothly, production wise. We only had a few breaks to actually watch what was happening on stage before we had to run backstage and prepare for the next scene.

  Drake and Sara were perfect in their roles, and Nigel had delivered his lines without stuttering.

  "Enjoying the show?" Eric asked, as he stood beside me behind the curtain.

  I nodded.

  "Nigel is pretty good," he said.

  "He is," I said. "And you'll go out there in a few minutes.”

  "Yeah." He had his cap on and his crutch propped under his arm. He may be too old to play Tiny Tim, but that night he totally transformed himself as he climbed the stage. It was like watching a different person, one I didn't recognize.

  The audience was quiet at first, and though they didn't say it out loud, I could almost hear them thinking, Isn't he the twin brother of the young man who died last summer? Highcrest was a small town; they may not know the exact story or even Eric's name, but they recognized him.

  Even people backstage dropped whatever they were doing to watch him. The anticipation was so palpable you could almost taste it.

  Eric didn't have many lines in his scenes, but those few moments he was up on the stage were the highlights of the whole show. The energy he put into his character made you want to reach out and smother him with hugs and kisses. He was adorable.

  Even Mr. Blake was left speechless as he watched from behind the curtain.

  "Who knew the kid could act?" he said as I stood next to him. "He's completely transformed himself out there."

  "It's unbelievable," I said.

  "Do you think he has aspirations to perform on Broadway someday?"

  "I don't know."

  "What are his plans after graduation?" There was an unmistakable glimmer in Mr. Blake's eyes, almost like a fan girl watching her favorite band perform live on stage. "Surely he must've told you."

  It oc
curred to me that while I told Eric my plans after graduation, he didn't tell me his. I didn't even ask him. "I'm sorry but I really don't know."

  Mr. Blake looked surprised, but then his face turned red and he immediately shifted his attention back to the stage. "Oh, sorry. I assumed..." his voice trailed off, and before I could ask what it was he assumed, his face brightened up like a lighted candle. "Oh, it's Tiny Tim's song!"

  Now it was my turn to get distracted. "What?!" I didn't even know Tiny Tim had a song, or that Eric could sing.

  Before I could wrap my head around the whole idea of Eric singing in front of a live audience, the song started to play.

  I was lost for words. He didn't have a to-die-for voice, but he didn't sound pitchy at all. My knowledge of music was less than nothing, but hearing Eric belt it out and seeing the audience's expressions, I think it was safe to say that he was good. Adam could hardly carry a tune at all.

  That's when I remembered that I should be recording this for him. He had wanted to see Eric perform. But I was too moved by the performance to make an effort to grab my phone, which I realized I left in my bag, somewhere backstage, which meant I'd miss some parts of the show. And I didn't want to miss any second of it.

  When it was time for the final scene, the cast assembled on stage, singing, We Wish You A Merry Christmas which ended with everybody shouting, "God bless us, every one!"

  The applause was thunderous and seemed to go on for eternity. Mr. Blake went on stage and asked everybody to come up. My initial reaction was to stand beside Sara, but her eyes just passed me by without actually seeing me, and she seemed to be discussing something funny with Drake.

  Then out of nowhere, someone grabbed my hand and I was being pulled to the center of the stage. There were people everywhere I turned and I had a hard time figuring out who kidnapped me, but as we emerged from the crowd and into the glare of the bright stage lights, I finally saw who it was.

  "You deserve this too," Eric said. He was beaming from ear to ear and his face shone under the bright lights. He looked somewhat ethereal.

  "You were amazing," I said.

  He removed his hat and smirked. "I told you I'd rock the stage."

  "And you did."