I looked around the room at Lou and Sebastian, perched in the center, their scripts open and lines already highlighted. At Jenny by their side, armed with a pen and big pink binder with the words Dance Bible splashed across it. At William and Raj and Radhika, Sarah and Esther, all of them looking to me for answers and trusting that whatever decisions I’d make were for the sake of the show. I glanced over to Belinda, armed with a notepad and pen with a silver tinsel pom-pom on the end. She nodded for me to continue.
“You know,” I said, “The Fantasticks is the longest-running show to have ever appeared in New York. Its first production off-Broadway ran for forty-two years. Unfortunately, we don’t have quite that much time,” I added. “Only eight weeks, so I guess we should dive right in and begin reading through the script.”
I took a seat in the folding chair and opened my binder.
“Skip the pages I crossed out. Those are cut for time. And, oh,” I said, another thought popping into my head. “I guess I should maybe read the stage directions.”
“Oh no, honey,” Belinda piped up from her seat. “Let me. You shouldn’t have to do anything but listen and give it your full attention.” She smiled and gave me a wink. “You’re the director now.”
And with that, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. As she spoke, my brain began firing and flashing with images. All that worry that I’d mess things up or not have enough good ideas seemed to fall away, and the prospect of coming up with something new, something maybe even great was enough to let me know I was in the right place.
“This play should be played on a platform,” she read. “There is no scenery, but occasionally a stick may be held up to represent a wall. Or a cardboard moon may be hung upon a pole to indicate that it is night.”
Louisa
TWO WEEKS AFTER OUR FIRST rehearsal I couldn’t believe how quickly the time was flying. Neither could my camp friends, who, upon learning that Jack and I had signed up for Ghostlight, had practically lost their minds with excitement and were now counting down the days until our reunion.
Wistful camp memories had been replaced with plans for our Marriott takeover, while jokes about—well, everything—flooded my phone with buzzes and chirps throughout each day. The biggest news—that Kaylee had been cast in the lead role of Ti Moune in her school’s presentation of Once on This Island, had prompted a new tradition that Kaylee liked to call “Role Call,” in which we all had to announce our characters’ names at the beginning of our respective rehearsals. So on Tuesday afternoon of our third week of rehearsals, as I sat in the auditorium waiting for Jack to announce his game plan for the afternoon, I decided to take the initiative and get our “role call” started.
ME: ROLE CALL! LUISA PRESENT! (AND SO IS JACK—BUT HE IS BUSY GETTING READY TO DIRECT!!)
KAYLEE: TI MOUNE IN THE HOUSE!
TEDDY: J. PIERPONT FINCH REPORTING 4 DUTY!
KAYLEE: ONLY 4 WEEKS TIL WE’RE ALL TOGETHER!!!
TEDDY: WOOT WOOT!
“Looks like somebody’s in a good mood.”
Startled, I looked up to see Belinda standing over me, an amused expression on her face.
“Oh! I was just texting with our friends from camp,” I explained, blushing slightly. “They’re both gonna be at Ghostlight, too.”
“Of course, the perennial winners,” Belinda said, her faux leather stretch pants making a sticky rubbery sound against the worn wood of the chair as she squeezed into the seat next to mine.
“Well, only one trophy goes to the winning school, actually,” I explained. “My friend Kaylee’s school has never even placed. But she just got cast as Ti Moune in their presentation of Once on This Island, so she’s super psyched.”
“As she should be,” Belinda said. “I saw the original production of it in New York—and I’m talking the original off-Broadway production, before it moved to Broadway—and it was stunning. Your friend must be pretty talented if she’s playing Ti Moune.”
“Oh, she’s incredible,” I said, thinking back to Kaylee’s performance at our camp revue. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
“So, you feeling good about your decision?” Belinda asked, making a sweeping gesture across the auditorium. The sleeve of her leopard-print blouse slid down her arm, revealing about a dozen sparkly bracelets. (I wondered how much closet space Belinda had, since I’d never seen her wear the same thing twice.)
“Totally,” I replied, taking in the scene. “This is really cool.”
I’d never been a part of something that was almost entirely done by kids. You might think that putting us in charge of something would be a recipe for disaster—lots of goofing off and not taking things seriously—but you’d be wrong. It was, in fact, pretty much the opposite of those things; we were even more serious about our work because it was all ours.
In one corner sat Sebastian and William, each with a set of earbuds tucked snugly in their ears, their musical scores laid out in front of them as they quietly sang along with the accompaniment that Mr. Hennessy had recorded for them. I laughed silently as I watched William carefully stroking his upper lip. Having claimed to be able to grow a mustache after getting cast as El Gallo, he’d become obsessed with its growth and had therefore developed this hilarious habit, coaxing the hair follicles to deliver what was (in his opinion) the defining feature of his character. I clearly wasn’t the only one to notice, because all of a sudden I heard Belinda’s voice whispering in my ear:
“I hope William knows that a full mustache doesn’t translate to a full performance.” And with that my silent laugh became a full-on giggle.
Meanwhile, in another corner, Raj and Radhika Jupti were busy coming up with their comedic bits for Henry and Mortimer, the aging (and often forgetful) actor and his oddball sidekick. In the original script, it says that Mortimer is dressed as an American Indian, but Raj and Radhika, of course, were originally from India, so they suggested we dispense with the headdresses and war paint and instead embrace their cultural heritage, which we all thought was a great idea.
“I can borrow one of my mother’s saris,” Radhika had announced, “though I will need a lot of safety pins; they are all very long.”
Finally, onstage, Jack and Jenny were working with Sarah and Esther on their duet, “Never Say No,” in which the two fathers (now mothers) explain their theory: that the best way to get your children to do something is to tell them not to do it:
“And children, I guess, must get their own way
The minute that you say no.”
Jenny, who had prepared for her role as choreographer by cramming YouTube videos of famous dance routines set by legendary choreographers Jerome Robbins, Michael Kidd, and Agnes de Mille (all former ballet dancers, of course), had quickly come to the realization that her newfound knowledge of musical theater dance history would be of little use to Sarah and Esther, who were both woefully lacking in coordination. But what they lacked in physical grace was definitely made up for in comedic timing, so Jack and Jenny had decided to take a more slapstick approach to the number. Instead of pivot turns and jazz squares, Sarah and Esther were bumping into each other and tripping over benches like they were in an old vaudeville comedy routine. It was great.
“Smart,” Belinda murmured, watching my friends turn lemons into lemonade. “That’s not an easy skill—being able to adapt to the circumstances you’re given—but Jack and Jenny are doing it naturally.” I turned to see that she was genuinely impressed.
“You know,” she said, and I could tell a Belinda zinger was on its way, “there are a couple Broadway directors and choreographers I’d like to invite down here. Maybe they could learn a thing or two.”
As I looked around the auditorium, I felt awash with pride knowing that I’d helped to assemble this impressive group. Even though I wasn’t the director, I still felt a certain kind of ownership of the project, and it made me excited in a new way�
�a way I never would have felt if I’d been cast in The Sound of Music.
“Hey, Jack?” Belinda’s voice suddenly cut through the room, seizing Jack’s attention.
“Yes?” he asked, peering out toward our row. Belinda consulted her watch, its rhinestone border catching the light.
“You said you wanted to move on to ‘Metaphor’ by 3:30, and it’s 3:35.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Thanks,” said Jack, clapping his hands together. “Sarah, Esther, and Jenny—you cool to keep working on stuff in the back of the auditorium?”
“Totally,” said Jenny, grabbing her water bottle from the edge of the stage. “C’mon, girls.” They all hopped onto the floor as Jack called out, “Sebastian and Lou—you ready?”
Am I ever, I thought, scooting past Belinda and bounding down the aisle, happy as I could possibly be.
Oh, but all that pride, excitement, and happiness came to a screeching halt the next day.
“William just quit the show.”
Jenny and I were on our way to French class when Jack intercepted us in a wide-eyed panic.
“What?” I gasped, having of course heard what he’d said but refusing to believe it. The image of him with his earbuds, mouthing the words to his songs, suddenly took on an utterly tragic hue. Speaking of hues, Jack looked positively green.
“He got his first grade on a math test yesterday and it was below a ninety.”
“So?”
“I’m sorry, did you say below a ninety?” Jenny asked, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“How far below a ninety?”
“I don’t know! It doesn’t matter!” Jack spat out, clearly distraught. “His parents are super strict, and they blame our show for being too much of a ‘distraction.’ So they’re making him quit.”
“Are you sure he’s not just chickening out because he can’t actually grow a mustache?” Jenny asked.
“This is no time for jokes!” Jack wailed.
“I’m being serious!” Jenny shouted back.
“Hold on—why doesn’t he just promise to study harder?” I asked in desperation. “I mean, it seems like his parents are kind of overreacting, right? Over one test?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jack said, shaking his head woefully, “they won’t let him do it. He’s out.”
We all groaned in shared misery.
“Ugh! Who are we going to find to replace him?” Jack lamented, searching our faces for answers. Just then the bell rang.
“Shoot, we gotta run or we’ll be late,” I said, feeling guilty for having to leave Jack alone in his despair.
“We’ll figure something out,” Jenny called over her shoulder as we jogged down the hall. I found myself grimly wishing that I could share her confidence. It wasn’t like El Gallos grew on trees around here.
“Je voudrais un billet a Paris.”
The last thing I wanted was to be partnered with Tanner Falzone in French class. But here we were, sitting on opposite sides of his desk, having been randomly assigned by Monsieur Radnor to act out an exchange between a passenger and ticket agent in some French train station. All around us our classmates garbled French words to one another in self-conscious monotones.
“Aller-simple ou aller-retour?”
I myself was a very distracted ticket agent. Unfortunately, my customer noticed.
“What’s your deal, Benning?” Tanner, breaking character, was looking for any excuse not to speak French. It was understandable, since his accent left much to be desired. I shook my head, offering up a French word that I actually knew by heart.
“Rien.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” I said, fiddling with my pen.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. Just don’t make me say any more lame French things.”
Pas de problème, I thought, further indulging in bilingual self-pity.
“Seriously, what’s up?” Tanner asked. For some reason he didn’t want to let me off the hook. “Did you sing a wrong note or something?”
I grimaced. Tanner was always so pleased with himself when he made jokes like that, no matter how stupid they were. But then came the Grin. I wanted to smack it off his face, but also . . . not. I looked over at Monsieur Radnor, who was completely engrossed in his Kindle. Assured that we were safe from reprimand, I sighed and reluctantly began to talk, keeping my voice low so as not to attract attention.
“You know that thing we’re doing? The thing Sebastian’s doing? With us?”
“Oh yeah, that play contest thing?”
“Yeah, well, we just lost one of our most important guys.”
“Who?”
“William Hyde.”
“How come?”
“Strict parents.”
“Bummer.”
I couldn’t tell if Tanner was actually interested in any of this or just bored enough to carry on a conversation with me about my problems. I hesitated, waiting for him to become more interested in something else—like, say, the etched grooves on his desk, or the mark on the floor where a chair leg had scraped, or the sound of his own breathing. But he didn’t; he just kept his eyes fixed on me.
“Yeah, total bummer,” I said finally, averting my gaze. Tanner pressed on.
“So do you guys, like, have to drop out of the contest now?”
“I don’t know—hopefully not.”
“What part was William supposed to play?”
“El Gallo.”
“Who’s that?”
Still not convinced that Tanner cared about any of this, I cautiously began to describe the role: a tall and commanding figure who needed to be sort of menacing yet really charming; slightly cruel yet also sensitive.
“Huh,” Tanner said when I finished my description. “Well. Good luck finding somebody.”
He looked down at his French workbook as Monsieur Radnor’s voice cut through the room.
“Mademoiselles et Monsieurs, it is time to switch roles, s’il vous plaît. The passager becomes the agent de la billetterie, and vice versa.”
I sighed again as I turned back the page of my workbook to where we’d started our French scene, then looked up with a start as I realized Tanner had suddenly leaned across the desk so that his face was very close to mine. I felt my heartbeat quicken as I realized I wanted to simultaneously run out of the room and—yikes—lean in even closer. “Tanner, what are you—”
“Oh la la,” he interrupted, whispering in a ridiculous French accent, “I’ve always wanted to play the agent de blah de blah.”
Even though I was still upset about William dropping out, and even though the fate of our Ghostlight participation was now a complete unknown, I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Loud enough that I had to cover my mouth with my hand so that Monsieur Radnor wouldn’t know it was me. Triumphant, Tanner just leaned back in his seat and shook his head at me, his lips curling in a devilish smile.
“Benning,” he chided under his breath, “I’m just trying to sell you a train ticket. Don’t get me in trouble.” And it was in that moment that I saw very clearly: a tall and commanding, sort of menacing yet really charming, slightly cruel yet also sensitive person sitting right across from me.
Jack
“TANNER FALZONE?!” I BLURTED into the phone. Even saying the name out loud made me shudder. He was the last, the very last person I expected Lou to offer up as a potential El Gallo. “Why, because you like him now?”
“Ew, no!” she yipped into my ear with a disgust so piercing that I had to pull the phone away from my head. “No, it’s nothing like that. We’re desperate,” she whined. “You said so yourself.”
“Apparently!” I hooted. “I guess I didn’t realize just how desperate.”
“I’m serious, Jack.” I could hear Lou’s voice tensing. “El Gallo is supposed to be tall, slick, and menacing. Tanner
is nothing if not menacing. It was so clear in French class today. Plus, Sebastian already promised it’s okay to miss the game the weekend of the competition. They’re playing Adlai Stevenson, and we beat them last year thirteen to nothing.”
The phone was beginning to feel hot against my cheek. I thought back to my first semester at SHMS, back when I lived in fear of ever coming in contact with the huge, blustering seventh-grader that was Tanner Falzone. Even after he surprised us and joined the cast of Guys and Dolls in the role of Big Jule, he still made me suspicious. That being said, he was pretty funny onstage and was awfully convincing with his tough-guy act, but this was way different. El Gallo was a much bigger part—and one that required a good deal of singing.
“I’ve gone through everybody else in our grade,” Lou said. “Trust me, I’d never suggest him if I thought even one other person could do it. And besides, do we want to win or not?”
I did want to win. Even though it didn’t seem like a big deal at the beginning, once I started seeing how good our show was, I couldn’t help daydreaming about the awards ceremony, running up onto the stage and feeling the weight of the trophy in my hands.
“All right. Let’s call him.” I sighed. “But you have to do it. If I call Tanner Falzone and ask him to give up his free time, free time that I’m sure he spends flipping truck tires or tearing phone books in half or whatever, and instead do a musical, he’s going to laugh in my face,” I said. “Or worse.”
The line went silent for a few seconds before Lou spoke up.
“Well, you’re in luck, because I may or may not have already offered it to him,” she said through what I could only assume were clenched teeth.
“What?! Lou!”
“Yep,” she said quickly. “In fact, I told him to come to rehearsal tomorrow to observe and have Mr. Hennessy record some of his music. Okay-I-have-to-go-BYEEE!”
I heard her line go dead in my ear. I shook my head and muttered under my breath: “Lou Benning, you will be the death of me.”
Act 3 Page 7