In the Henry and Mortimer scene, Raj recited his Shakespeare lines with the polish of an actor three times his age—I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought it was a good idea to cut them. And during Mortimer’s fake death scene, Radhika committed so thoroughly that she almost toppled off the stage. Luckily, Tanner was there to catch her, his soccer-goalie reflexes coming in handy.
Sarah and Esther were the only two actors a little sad to see the modern version go—they loved getting to play the mothers like rich New Jersey housewives. In the end, I decided to let them stick with the characterizations, and thank goodness I did. The audience roared with laughter as they tripped across the stage in tall stiletto heels, pretending to pull each other’s hair and throw wineglasses full of water in each other’s faces.
Halfway through the presentation, I stopped counting how many small mistakes were being made. If the people in the audience even noticed, their applause and laughter seemed to suggest that they didn’t mind. What was most clear was that everyone was having a great time.
The one scene where everything came together exactly as rehearsed was when Lou and Sebastian entered the stage to perform “Soon It’s Gonna Rain.” They sang the tune better than I’d ever heard, infused with the kind of joy that only comes from being reunited with something sorely missed. In the final verse, where Jenny sprinkled the blue tissue paper from above, the audience was so quiet, you could hear the tiny shreds of “rain” falling gently on the stage.
The most shocking moment came toward the end of the presentation, when Tanner entered for the abduction scene. As a director, I’d made it a theme that whenever El Gallo was playing the kidnapper, he would tie a red scarf around his neck and take it off when he was addressing us as the narrator. But this time, Tanner had forgotten his scarf. I could tell Jenny noticed, too, but I could have never anticipated what happened next. With only moments to spare, Jenny grabbed ahold of her silk ballet skirt and pulled hard, tearing off a ribbon of red cloth. She ran over to Tanner and tied it around his neck before dashing offstage. I turned to Belinda in shock. She was just as surprised as me; if there was one thing Jenny cared more about than her dancing, it was her fashion.
I was so exhilarated, I barely noticed that thirty minutes had flown by. Before I knew it, Mr. Hennessy was playing the intricate arpeggios of the finale as our cast trilled their final Love! Love! chorus. I could feel my eyes beginning to well up with tears. It was imperfect and under-rehearsed, probably even a little bit sloppy, but not a single person in the audience could deny the passion radiating from the stage. As the lights blacked out, an explosion of applause erupted from the students and parents surrounding us. My palms stung as I clapped louder than I ever had in my life, so proud of everything we’d done.
And in that moment, I became suddenly struck with a realization—our journey with the show wasn’t so different than that of the two lovers in The Fantasticks. We’d set out in search of some shinier, fantasy world only to return home, battered and bruised, realizing the answers were right there in our own backyards.
Louisa
I STOOD IN THE DARKNESS, stunned. Our presentation had been nowhere near perfect, with lots of goofy mistakes, uneven pacing, and a wild energy that no doubt came from a super-intense four-hour emergency rehearsal that ended minutes before our call time. But the applause now erupting around us was unmistakable in its enthusiasm. Loud cheers and high-pitched whistles bounced off the walls, confirming that despite our gaffes, we’d miraculously pulled it off. In anticipation of the lights coming back up, my castmates and I fumbled for one another’s hands so that we’d be in position for our curtain call. I felt Tanner’s hand reach for mine, and as the lights hit our faces, he gripped it so tightly, I thought my fingers might break.
“I guess we did okay!” he shouted over the noise of the crowd. I nodded, still in a state of disbelief. We bowed twice, and as we were about to walk off the stage I caught Jack’s silhouette in the back of the ballroom, jumping up and down and pumping his arms in the air. Yep, I thought, I guess we did okay.
We skipped off the stage, already laughing about all the things that had gone wrong and gushing with praise for what had gone right:
“Oh my God, sorry I was late for that entrance—I was looking for my camera and then forgot I didn’t need it anymore!”
“Jenny, your dance was incredible!”
“Radhika—you were hilarious!”
“You mean when I almost fell off the stage?”
“But Tanner totally saved you—it was amazing!”
“Yeah, and you should do stand-up, Tanner—how’d you come up with those lines?”
“I don’t know, I can’t remember anything I said!”
“Oh, Sebastian and Lou—you guys almost made me cry!”
We could have gone on like that for hours, probably, but Trish the technical director was having none of it.
“Please clear the area,” she barked. “The next school needs access to the stage to get their set in place.”
We responded with a chorus of oopses and sorrys, then scampered toward the back of the ballroom. On our way to the exit, a uniform line of kids dressed in immaculate costumes began to pass us on their way to the stage. Cavendish was up next.
“Lou, you guys were great!” Teddy, dressed in a crisp gray suit, a Bluetooth hooked over his right ear, jumped out of the line to give me a hug. We had to flatten ourselves against the wall to let our castmates pass in either direction.
“I couldn’t watch your whole presentation ’cause I had to go to our preshow pep-talk thing, but I thought it was so good,” he said. “Jack did an amazing job.” I smiled, thinking how pleased Jack would be to hear that.
“I thought you guys were doing a modern thing with it, though?” Teddy asked. “What made Jack change his mind?” I worked hard at keeping a straight face, thinking how much drama the complete and honest answer to his question entailed.
“It’s a long story, Teddy,” I said, “But I’m sure Jack will fill you in at some point.”
“Okay! Can’t wait!” he called over his shoulder as he ran to catch up with his cast.
“Break a leg!” I called back.
Out in the hallway, a euphoric Jack and Belinda were engulfed in a group hug, while all the parent chaperones took photos and videos with their phones. I gave my mom a quick squeeze (“You sparkled up there, Lulu!” she whispered into my hair), then rejoined my friends as the swirl of congratulations turned into an animated interrogation of Jack and Belinda as everyone demanded to know how the show really went.
“I mean, so much went wrong, but then they were, like, crazy afterwards,” said Jenny, still buzzing with adrenaline.
“Be honest—was it actually good,” asked Esther, “or is everyone just really nice here?”
Jack laughed.
“You guys were awesome, seriously,” he gushed. “Your energy was so great, it was contagious—”
“And that’s what made everyone love you,” Belinda chimed in, beaming, “and you all worked together to tell a great story. The mistakes . . .” She flicked her hand in the air as if shooing away a fly.
“The mistakes didn’t matter at all,” confirmed Jack, catching my eye. “I’m so proud of you guys. Thank you for being so amazing.”
“Thank you!” I cheered, setting off a rapid-fire round of more thank yous from everyone else.
“Shh!” We looked over to see a stern attendant hissing at us, his bald head poking through one of the slightly opened ballroom doors. “The next school is about to perform!”
As everyone continued to giggle quietly, Jack and I exchanged a meaningful look. We needed to head back inside to watch Cavendish.
“Excuse us,” I said to the group, “we’re gonna check out the competition.”
Back inside, the energy of the room had cranked up a notch. It made sense—the reigning champion of Ghostlight was about to perform; of course expectations were running high. Jack and I found two aisle seats in the sixt
h row, and just as we were about to sit down:
“I think they should get points off for having such a long title.”
We turned to see Tanner standing next to us, the red swath of cloth from Jenny’s ballet skirt still draped around his neck. He stared scornfully at the stage. Behind him stood Jenny, and behind her stood the rest of our cast, all looking for seats.
“I mean, c’mon,” Tanner continued, “How to Succeed in Whatever Without Really Doing Whatever? Who has time to say all that?”
“What are you guys doing in here?” I asked, genuinely surprised to see everyone. I assumed now that their work was done that they’d have gone off to find the indoor pool or retreat to their hotel rooms to watch movies. Was it possible that they were all embracing their inner MTNs?
“Whoa, ’scuse us,” Tanner said playfully, “is this, like, special Jack and Lou time?”
“N-no, of course not,” I sputtered, embarrassed. “You guys should totally stay—if you want to.”
“Then move over,” ordered Tanner, and Jack and I complied by scooting over one seat to the right, making room for Tanner on my left. As he sat down, I felt Jack’s elbow poking me in the ribs, and I elbowed him back so hard that he let out an “Oof!”
Jenny, finding a seat directly behind me and Jack, leaned in between us.
“Hey, look,” she said, pointing to the stage, where the Cavendish kids were setting up their flat-screen TVs and contemporary rolling desk chairs, “they have a ‘concept.’” She said it in such a deadpan way that we all started to giggle. Thank goodness we were already able to find humor in what we’d been through these past few weeks.
“Guys, quiet,” Tanner whispered with mock sternness. “How to Do All the Stuff Without Doing Any Stuff is starting.”
Everything we’d heard about Cavendish was true. Their sets were fancier, their costumes sleeker, their props way more expensive. The actors were slick, polished, and professional, enunciating each word with perfect diction and executing each dance move with a sharpness that only came from hours and hours of rehearsal. Unlike our presentation, it was impossible to spot any mistakes. But the best part of the Cavendish presentation had nothing to do with its fancy trappings or its perfect execution. The best part, by far, was watching Jack watch Teddy, who shone as J. Pierpont Finch. Every time Teddy sang, Jack would lean forward in his chair and rest his elbows on his knees, listening intently to each note. Whenever Teddy landed a laugh with the audience, Jack’s grin practically took over his entire face. And when the lights came down and the audience exploded even louder than it had exploded for us, the biggest cheers of all came from Jack.
“Wooo-hoooo!” he screamed, prompting Tanner to turn to me, confused.
“Aren’t we supposed to, like, hate them?” he asked over the applause.
“No!” I shouted back. “The lead guy is our good friend from camp!”
“Oh, okay,” Tanner replied. I could tell he was still confused as he reluctantly clapped his hands together.
“Whew!” Jack said once the applause had subsided. “It’s always great when you don’t have to lie to someone after a show. I can honestly tell Teddy that he was incredible.”
“You sure can—he was pretty perfect,” I agreed, then asked, somewhat cautiously, “Can you also honestly say that you’re still glad we did our old version of The Fantasticks after seeing Cavendish perform?”
Jack paused, then smiled.
“I can,” he said proudly. “I mean, all their modern stuff was really cool, but sticking with the traditional version was definitely better for us.”
“I totally agree,” Jenny said emphatically, inserting herself into our conversation, “their show worked much better with a modern twist. Ours . . .” She made a face like she was sucking on a lemon wedge. Jack and I exchanged a look. All right, Jenny, point taken.
“Who’s up next?” Tanner asked.
“Our friend Kaylee’s school,” Jack replied.
“Jeez—do you guys have friends from every school?”
“No, only from Cavendish Prep and Rustin Middle,” Jack said with a smile.
“They’re doing a show called Once on This Island,” I added.
“Still too long,” Tanner grunted, cracking his knuckles.
Just then Kaylee and the rest of her cast came filing in, passing the Cavendish kids, who were now filing out.
I watched as Kaylee grabbed Teddy to give him a congratulatory hug, much like the one Teddy had given me after our presentation.
“It’s so weird here,” I heard Tanner remark. He had followed my gaze over to where my friends chatted excitedly.
“We would never do that with our competition before a soccer game,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Well, it’s different in theater,” I replied, feeling a rush of pride and joy as I thought about what I’d just said. It was different in theater. Sure, the next Ghostlight champion would be named tomorrow, but . . .
“The winning and losing part isn’t what makes this special,” I continued, thinking back to the last night of Camp Curtain Up, when Kaylee and Teddy had first told me and Jack about Ghostlight and what it was that made them love it so much. The chance to celebrate their shared love of doing theater with other kids was what got them so excited to return. And it’s why they wanted us to be here, too.
“You’re saying you don’t care if we lose?” Tanner asked, still skeptical.
“I’m saying it’s not as important as being part of something,” I said as I watched my two incredibly talented friends from two completely different schools exchange enthusiastic, heartfelt hugs. We were all here for each other—that was the real prize.
Tanner chuckled softly.
“Okay,” he said, “I guess that’s sorta cool.”
A few minutes later, after Kaylee and her castmates had arranged their simple set pieces on the stage, the lights dimmed once again. Once on This Island’s prologue began:
“There is an island where rivers run deep
Where the sea sparkling in the sun earns it
The name ‘Jewel of the Antilles’ . . .”
The pulsing rhythm of the musical introduction sent a chill racing up my spine. A split second later I realized that the spinal jolt had actually nothing to do with the music; it was because Tanner’s hand was suddenly resting halfway on top of mine. I froze, keeping completely still, as I wondered whether the placement of his hand was some kind of accident, and whether anyone (namely Jack or Jenny) had noticed. There was a chance Tanner didn’t even know we were touching. But then, after a few moments, he lifted his fingers and gently curled them around mine. I instantly had two thoughts: the first, that there was nothing accidental about intertwined fingers; the second, how different this hand-holding was from when Tanner almost crushed my fingers during the curtain call. With what felt like a great deal of courage, I pressed the tips of my fingers into his hand. He turned his head in my direction to flash the Grin, which prompted my stomach to flip over about twenty times. On the other side of me I felt Jack’s elbow digging into my ribs once again, followed moments later by Jenny pulling on the waistband of my skirt from her seat behind me. Guess they noticed. But as I sat there watching Kaylee and her classmates deliver a stunning performance of Once on This Island, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I just felt happy.
Playing Ti Moune, Kaylee sang that she was “waiting for life to begin,” yearning for opportunity and adventure. I realized that, at least in this moment, I wasn’t waiting for anything. My life—the life I dreamed of living—had most certainly begun.
Jack
“AND THE WINNER OF THE Ghostlight Festival is . . .”
My grip tightened around Lou’s shoulders as the announcer’s voice echoed through the event center. The memories from the previous two days all swirled together in my head like a kaleidoscope. The only sound that could be heard was the tearing of envelope paper and the sounds of a thousand hearts beating in unison.
“Rustin Midd
le School, for Once on This Island!”
A seismic wave of screams and cheers swept the auditorium as the entire audience leaped to its feet. Of course Rustin Middle School won! The second Kaylee opened her mouth to sing the first notes of Ahrens and Flaherty’s enchanting, soulful score, everyone in the audience realized the contest was over. While Once on This Island didn’t have the slickness of Cavendish’s How to Succeed or the improvised comedy of our The Fantasticks, the simple beauty of their stripped-down performance—plus Kaylee’s devastating pipes—made Rustin a shoo-in for first place. In the end, it didn’t matter how cutting-edge a concept was, or how much money was spent on sets and costumes. The school that simply told the story the best was the one that took home the trophy.
Lou and I screamed ourselves hoarse as the Rustin Middle School team swarmed the stage, their faces streaked with tears as they passed the giant trophy down to our friend and newly crowned Queen of Ghostlight, Kaylee Cooper.
As for Cavendish? They placed second, collecting high points in creativity and production elements. As for Shaker Heights Middle School . . . we came in eighth. It was still a pretty amazing feat for a school that had never even competed before—and whose entire show had been rebuilt in the span of an afternoon.
Once the commotion finally ended, representatives from each of the top ten teams joined Rustin Middle School on the stage to collect our plaques. Even over all the applause, I could hear the sound of Teddy whistling with his fingers as I took a self-conscious bow.
As the cheering subsided, the cast of Once on This Island started a celebratory and impromptu a cappella version of “Why We Tell the Story.” The rest of us joined in with gusto.
“Hope is why we tell the story,
Faith is why we tell the story,
Jack & Louisa: Act 3 Page 13