Act 3

by Andrew Keenan-Bolger

  “I’m going back to the car,” she said, pointing a manicured nail toward the parking lot. “If you want to say good-bye to your friend, I’ll have your dad pull the car around.”

  “Oh, Mom, wait!” Teddy said, giving a wily grin. “I just remembered—I need to grab my jar of tomato worms. I left them in the cabin, and I’m thinking of building a terrarium for them in the basement.”

  “Ugh.” She shuddered. “Please tell me you’re joking, Theodore. Those are not coming in the car with us.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll be there in a second, then.”

  And with that, she turned and began teetering back to the parking lot, her heels sinking into the grass with every step.

  “Have you really been collecting tomato worms?” I asked once his mom was out of earshot.

  “Sick, no!” He laughed. “Those things are nasty—but did you see her face?”

  He flashed a smile at me for a second, before turning his gaze to the parking lot.

  “I should go,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  I reached out for a handshake but felt his stomach crunch into my arm. Oh, we’re going in for a hug. Of course, you idiot. His arm reached around my back and did a kind of double pat on my shoulder blade. We pulled out of it awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

  “Okay . . . see ya,” I said, and started off toward my van.

  “See ya,” he echoed.

  It only took a few steps to realize that we were, of course, walking in the same direction, but because we had already said “good-bye,” we continued in silence. The only sound was our tennis shoes, treading softly on the grass.

  We paused once we got to the parking lot, where my parents were loading the last of my things into our minivan and Teddy’s mom was waving impatiently next to a sleek silver sedan.

  “Well . . . ,” I said, not sure what to say.

  “Bye, Jack,” Teddy said, in a tone I couldn’t quite decipher. With that, he took off toward his mom, leaving me at the edge of the parking lot, unsure of what to think.

  “Bye, Teddy,” I said, to no one but myself.

  I could still remember the exact moment I realized what it meant to be “gay.” I had just finished a performance of Mary Poppins and was bouncing down the stairs from my dressing room to meet my mom at the stage door. When I made it to the landing, I caught sight of one of my favorite cast members, Charlie, greeting a group of friends who had just seen the show. Charlie was one of the younger men in our cast, a floppy-haired dancer who played Neleus, the statue who comes to life in “Jolly Holiday.” Charlie was popular with all the kids in the cast because he would always bring baked goods to the theater—salted caramel brownies and coconut macaroons and red velvet cupcakes made in his apartment kitchen. Everyone in the cast would groan as he pushed through the stage door on Sunday matinees, his cheeks rosy and arms loaded with Tupperware containers.

  Oh no, Charlie! What are you torturing us with this time? the chorus girls would moan as he passed their dressing rooms, the smell of chocolate rich and tempting in the cramped halls.

  “They’re only pretending they don’t want those cookies,” my wrangler had to explain to me, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, by ‘Step in Time,’ those cookies will be gone quicker than a pair of free house seats to Wicked.”

  I hesitated in the stairwell, watching as Charlie hugged one of his stage-door friends, a man with a scruffy beard and thick black-rimmed glasses. The scruffy man grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and kissed him on the lips. Charlie then reached down and took his hand, laughing as he pushed through the metal stage door and into the heavy crowds of 41st Street.

  My feet froze on the rubberized stairs. Charlie kissed that guy the way my uncle Bill kissed my aunt Linda on their wedding day, or how my dad would kiss my mom after returning from a long weekend at a city-planning conference. The next day when I mentioned the stage-door encounter to McKenzie, the oldest of our Jane Bankses, she shrugged it off, barely looking up from her iPad.

  “Oh yeah, you didn’t know? Charlie is totes gay.”

  “Totes gay,” I mumbled. I guessed that meant that you were a boy and wanted to kiss another boy the way Mr. Banks kisses Mrs. Banks, or Harold Hill kisses Marian the Librarian, or basically every leading man kisses his costar nightly on every stage in our ten-block radius.

  I stared at the new text message on my phone screen.

  TEDDY: I’M STARTING THIS GROUP THREAD RIGHT NOW SO KAYLEE AND LOU DON’T HAVE PANIC ATTACKS ON THEIR CAR RIDE HOME.

  I leaned my head against the car window, the glass cool on my cheek. Thoughts raced through my head like cars on the interstate. I tried on each idea like a back-to-school outfit.

  Why couldn’t I stop thinking about Teddy Waverly?

  Maybe I’m just not used to having “guy friends.”

  Is this what having a new best friend is supposed to feel like?

  I found myself thinking back to Charlie and his scruffy-faced boyfriend.

  But did I really want to kiss Teddy?

  The phone buzzed again in my palm.

  TEDDY: ALSO I JUST LET OUT THE SICKEST BELCH EVER. I’M PRETTY SURE I COULD TASTE SOME OF THAT STEPHEN SONDHEIM SLUDGE BUCKET FROM LAST WEEK.

  Yeah, nope. Definitely didn’t want to kiss him.

  Well, if I don’t want to kiss him, I thought to myself, then I’m probably not gay.

  My phone vibrated again. This time gray writing appeared beneath Teddy’s message. Kaylee Cooper has named the conversation “The Four Musketeers.”

  KAYLEE: I CHANGED OUR GROUP NAME ;) LUV U GUYS!!!

  Bzzz

  LOU: OMG THE FOUR MUSKETEERS! ALSO I MISS YOU GUYS SOOOOOOO MUCH.

  MISS YOU GUYS TOO, I typed. HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GOOD TRIP BACK.

  Send.

  My mom lowered the volume on the car radio.

  “That sweet boy you introduced us to—Teddy, was it?” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Was he one of your good friends at camp?”

  “Um, yeah,” I said, adjusting the seat belt that suddenly felt like it was cutting into my neck. “Yeah, him and Lou and that girl Kaylee were kind of my best friends.”

  “Well, that’s great,” my mom said, looking over to my dad. “It’s nice to see you making friends with some boys. I know in Shaker Heights it hasn’t always been the easiest.”

  “Well, I mean I’m good friends with Sebastian and Adam and, like, a lot of the boys from the soccer team,” I responded somewhat defensively.

  “Right, right,” my mom agreed. “I just mean, it’s good that you’re making friends with boys who have the same interests as you.”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied flatly.

  “I’m just happy to see that you’re happy, is all.” She smiled, turning back around and reaching for the volume nob.

  Bzzz, my phone vibrated in my hand.

  LOU: 350 DAYS, 7 HOURS AND 13 MINUTES UNTIL CAMP CURTAIN UP

  “Hold your breath,” my dad announced to the car. “We’re about to cross the state line into Ohio.”

  I filled my lungs with air as a blue-and-white sign breezed overhead, the state motto challenging me with its cursive writing—

  “Ohio: So Much to Discover.”

  After a minute, a green mile-marker sign zipped by on the side of our minivan, marking our first stretch into my home state. We all let out dramatically loud gushes of air just as my phone vibrated once again.

  KAYLEE: WELL AT LEAST I’LL GET TO WATCH TEDDY WIN AT GHOSTLIGHT :P

  I knew it was foolish, but in that moment the only thing I could feel was jealousy. Even losing horribly to Teddy still meant getting to hang out with him. Without fully realizing it, my fingers took over and began gliding across the screen of my phone. They closed out the text thread and clicked on the web browser icon. At this point I knew it was pr
obably pointless, but curiosity had gotten the better of me. I typed into the search bar:

  “Ghostlight Festival dates?”

  We pulled up to our driveway in the Sussex Meadows subdivision, the air filled with the buzz of cicadas. I flung open the car door and bounced out onto the asphalt, the idea of a theater competition flickering in my head. Sure, it maybe wasn’t totally fair and Teddy’s school would probably win again, but if we got to see our friends, what would it matter? And it’s not like we had anything else to do except wait around for our director, Belinda Grier, to announce our spring musical.

  “Dennis, if you want to start unloading the car, I’ll go switch on the AC,” my mom called to my dad, unlocking the front door.

  I carried my backpack and dance bag into the house, immediately struck by the familiar lemon scent. Sometimes it took a couple weeks away to realize what things actually made me think of home. I made my way up the stairs, flicking every light switch I passed, and dumped my bags on the floor of my bedroom. In anticipation of my return, someone had decided to make my bed—a truly rare sight, which I hoped was not a hint. I walked back downstairs to unload the rest of my stuff from the trunk, but was shocked to find my neighbor standing in my driveway, a mischievous grin on her face.

  “Whoa,” I muttered. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Aw,” Lou said, her hands clasped behind her back. “You miss me already?”

  “Ha.” I bounced down the stairs.

  “Well, this will make you feel better,” she trumpeted. From behind her back she drew a rustling newspaper. It was opened to a half-page black-and-white ad, the graphic of a snowcapped mountain with a swirl of music notes looping around it. In big letters across the top, it read clearly:

  “The Heights Are Alive! The Shaker Heights Players Proudly Announce Auditions for Our Fall Musical: The Sound of Music.”

  Louisa

  “WOW,” SAID JACK, BLINKING at the newspaper in my hand, “welcome home.”

  “Right?!” I said gleefully, hopping from the dark lawn onto his stoop. “I was sure the Players were going to do a show with no kids, but instead they’re doing a show that’s, like, all about kids!”

  I couldn’t believe it. I’d spent the ride back from camp dabbing my eyes and blowing my nose, obsessively texting “The Four Musketeers” pathetic messages like LET’S JUST GO BACK! and I MISS US! By the time we pulled into our driveway, I’d used up every tissue my mom had provided, plus half a dozen rough paper napkins from the burger place we passed near Coldwater. I was totally prepared to spend my evening watching television with my parents in a funk of self-pity, so you can imagine how I felt when the first thing that greeted me upon my return was the Sun Press delivering the news that the Shaker Heights Players would be doing The Sound of Music in the fall. It was like the theater gods had once again heard my cries and given me a perfect coming-home present. I couldn’t wait for Jack to get home so I could share our good fortune.

  “They announced it early this year,” Jack said, taking the newspaper from me and studying it closely.

  “I know—gives us more time to prepare!”

  “Oh—you wanna audition for it?” He looked up with a wry smile.

  “Ha-ha,” I said, snatching the paper away and swatting his arm with it. “Very funny!”

  I dropped the newspaper on the ground and grabbed his hand, forcing him into a waltz around his front lawn.

  “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . .”

  “Long time no see, Lou,” Mr. Goodrich called out as he walked past us carrying Jack’s heaviest duffel bag. “Don’t you want a break from all that singing and dancing?”

  “Never, Mr. Goodrich!” I shouted back, twirling Jack around and around.

  “Help!” Jack cried out in mock despair. “I’ve been hijacked by a musical number!”

  “What’s going on, you two?” Mrs. Goodrich asked, emerging from behind their car with Jack’s sleeping bag.

  “The Players are doing Sound Of Music this fa-all,” I sang out, squishing the words together to fit the melody of “My Favorite Things.”

  “Ooh, what a classic!” Mrs. Goodrich said, and without hesitation joined in the song, pretending Jack’s sleeping bag was her waltz partner.

  “Brown paper packages tied up with string,” she and I sang, “these are a few of my favorite things!”

  “Dad, help!” Jack cried out again.

  “Hey, Von Trapp family, keep it down.” Mr. Goodrich re-emerged from the house, laughing, “It’s Sunday night and some people might want to enjoy a little peace and quiet before their work week begins.” As he gestured toward the neighboring houses, we all stopped twirling and stumbled backward, dizzy and slightly out of breath.

  “Thank you,” Jack gasped, bending over and clutching his knees for balance.

  “You’re right.” Mrs. Goodrich sighed. “Our neighbors might not be as entertained as we’d like them to be. But hey—this is very exciting, Lou. Thanks for sharing the news. There’s just one more bag, Jack. Can you bring it in?” she asked, walking into the house.

  “Yup, I got it,” Jack replied. I followed him to the car, my initial excitement giving way to strategy.

  “Okay, so I’m thinking I’ll go for Brigitta, since she’s the feistiest one,” I stated, referring to the role I thought I could play in The Sound of Music, “and even though you’re a little young, I think you should go for Friedrich.”

  Jack furrowed his brow.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I mean, you’re definitely closer in age to Friedrich than to Kurt.”

  “What if I’m not right for either one of the boys?” he asked, approaching the trunk.

  I was surprised by this sudden doubt coming from my friend. It was as if he’d forgotten how good he was or something.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” I said, leaning on the side of the car. “I mean, maybe if they were doing this on Broadway? But the Players never get enough boys to audition for their shows, and since they know you from Into the Woods, it’s hard to imagine that they wouldn’t cast you. Plus, you don’t look that young anymore. I think that if you stood up really straight—which you’d have to anyway as a Von Trapp kid—you could totally pass for fourteen . . .”

  I thought for sure he’d throw me a look for teasing him about his height, but instead he responded with a halfhearted, “Yeah, maybe.”

  I followed his gaze into the trunk, where one overstuffed tote bag remained.

  “Hey,” I said, pointing to a crumpled red wad of fabric with bleach spots peeking out from a corner of the bag, “isn’t that Teddy’s T-shirt?”

  “Yep,” Jack murmured, gently pulling it out to reveal the logo of Lou Malnati’s, Teddy’s favorite deep-dish pizza place in Chicago. He started to smile.

  “That jerk.”

  “You mean you didn’t know it was in your bag?” I squealed. Jack shook his head, and we both started to laugh.

  Looked like Teddy had won this round of their heated debate over New York vs. Chicago-style pizza. As our laughter subsided, I turned to face Jack, who held a curious expression.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Startled, Jack blinked a few times, then hastily grabbed the tote bag, stuffing the T-shirt deep inside.

  “Yeah, totally,” he replied, “I’m just thinking about how I can get him back.” He slammed the trunk shut and headed toward his house. The same strange thought that I’d had the night before started to creep into my brain again, as I remembered the look he and Teddy shared when I’d asked them if they wanted to walk with me and Kaylee. In the year that I’d known Jack, he’d never talked about liking someone—you know, in a crush way. It was hard to imagine him talking about anyone, let alone a boy (let alone Teddy—who loved describing farts and voluntarily ate sludge with a spoon!). And I certainly wasn’t going to ask. Be
sides, there were other subjects that were much easier and much more fun to discuss, like our future theatrical adventures.

  “So, hey—you wanna come over and watch Sound of Music tomorrow? No point in waiting, right?” I called after him.

  “Um, maybe,” he said, opening the screen door to his house, “I told my mom I’d help her with chores and stuff, since I’ve been away for two weeks and everything. But maybe tomorrow night?”

  “Okay, great!” I chirped. “Let me know if you’re free.”

  “Will do,” he said, letting the screen door shut behind him. I skipped across Jack’s lawn to the sidewalk, the pulse of the summer crickets providing accompaniment as I hummed the rest of “My Favorite Things” on my walk home.

  The next day my mom had plans for me, too, insisting that in order to “avoid the lines,” we needed to get my back-to-school shopping out of the way. By three thirty we’d loaded up on school supplies, new jeans, packets of socks and underwear and hair ties, plus a new fall jacket. We were now (finally) wrapping up our outing with a trip to the shoe department at Macy’s, where I waited on a bench for the salesman to bring me a variety of choices in—ugh—size four and a half. Mom was wandering aimlessly around the nearby cosmetics counters in a shopped-out daze, so I seized the opportunity to check my “Four Musketeers” text thread. I’d texted earlier to tell them about The Sound of Music, and an assortment of predictably amusing reactions were waiting for me.

  KAYLEE: SOUND OF MUSIC?!? OMG, SO FUN!

  TEDDY: LET ME GUESS LOU . . . BRIGITTA?

  JACK: UR A GENIUS.

  KAYLEE: WHAT ABOUT U JACK?

  JACK: LOU SAYS I CAN PLAY FRIEDRICH IF I STAND UP STRAIGHT.

  KAYLEE: OMG, FOR REALS? LOL!

  TEDDY: JACK I THINK U SHOULD B TOTALLY HUNCHED OVER + WALK W/ A LIMP. DARE 2 B DIFFERENT.

  My fingers were poised and ready to text a witty retort when a shadow fell across my phone’s screen. A voice behind me, deeper than I remembered but nonetheless unmistakable, made my hand freeze in midair.