by Robin Talley
“Tom and Sebastian were never even a real thing,” Jasmin tells her.
“Wait, are you sure? I thought . . .”
Shannon trails off mid-sentence, to my relief. Hearing all this speculation about who’s going to hook up with whom is actually kind of depressing. It’s a stark reminder that I promised, way back in November, that I wouldn’t fall for anyone at all.
Not that I want to date anyone. When I remember how badly I screwed things up with Rachel, all I want to do is hide under a very large rock and never come out.
But the pain of that breakup isn’t quite as raw as it was the day my friends first brought up what Dom still calls my “love curse.” I’m on board with the plan, of course—whatever my crew needs from me, they’ll get, and I always do what I say I’ll do—but I can’t help being a little jealous that everyone but me gets to have a showmance.
I glance around for my next bake sale sign-up target. Our cafeteria table stands right in the middle of the theater cluster. It’s mostly a junior crew table—in general, actors sit with actors, the crew sits with the crew, seniors sit with seniors, et cetera—and I guess it also qualifies as the ambitious junior crew table, since by now most of us have risen in the ranks to crew head or higher. Besides Jasmin and Fatima, there’s Shannon, Kevin, Tyler, and Bryce. Rachel used to sit with us, but she moved to Estaban’s table after we broke up. Dom usually sits here too, but he’s MIA. Maybe he’ll abandon us altogether for one of the actor tables once the cast list goes up this afternoon.
I’ll post the crew list at the same time. Most of the assignments won’t exactly be a surprise—Will and I only had to move a few people around, since obviously Dom can’t be sound head if he’s in the cast, and we’ll need someone to run the light board since thankfully I won’t be doing that myself this time—and our team’s a well-oiled machine. Everyone at this table is experienced, talented, and ready to put in the work.
That’s when I realize a hush has fallen over our table and the others nearby, and I look up to see Odile walking past us. She isn’t carrying a lunch tray—just a tiny purse that couldn’t possibly contain food—but then, I’m not entirely convinced she eats. You probably aren’t allowed to consume calories if you’re in the running for a Scorsese movie.
“Make way for the ice princess,” Bryce mutters when Odile’s out of earshot, and my friends laugh. “Seriously, though, do you see the way she walks? As though she’s expecting us all to fall down and worship at her feet?”
“You mean we don’t have to do that?” Tyler says, faux-scandalized, and everyone laughs again.
Odile doesn’t look at anyone as she crosses the room. Only when she’s finally disappeared through the cafeteria doors does everyone start talking at regular volumes again.
“She seriously never speaks, does she?” Fatima frowns after her, tapping her lip.
“I heard she was talking to Mel at auditions.” Jasmin points her milk straw at me, her dark brown eyes narrowing.
“Just a little.” I squirm. “You know, actually, I’m not sure if she’s all that—”
“What’s going on, Mel?” Dom drops his tray onto the table next to me with a thud that makes his onion rings jump. His voice is shaky, and his face is sheet white. Bryce grabs his juice bottle to keep it from tipping over. “You said they were posting the cast list after school today.”
“They are.” I trade worried looks with Jasmin. I knew Dom was nervous about his audition, but I didn’t think he was going to lose it completely.
“You never said anything about callbacks.” He sits down heavily, grabs the apple off his tray, and takes a huge bite. I’m worried he’s going to choke.
“That’s because there aren’t any callbacks,” I tell him patiently. “We don’t have them here.”
“We do now,” he mumbles around a mouthful of apple. A piece of peel shoots out from the corner of his mouth. Ew. “There’s a sign on the board.”
“Which board? The one by the black box?”
He nods and takes another bite. “Callbacks for Valjean, tomorrow after school. Me and Malik and two other guys.”
I stare at him. “That’s impossible. Ms. Marcus didn’t tell me there’d be callbacks.”
“Wait, you got a callback for Valjean?” Jasmin practically shrieks. “Oh my God, congratulations!”
Dom scowls at his lunch tray. “Thanks, Jazz.”
“Oh, right. Congrats!” Crap. I forgot to get excited. God, I’m a horrible friend.
“What do I do?” Dom puts down his apple. He’s talking so loud, people are turning to watch from other tables. “The sign said I didn’t need to prepare anything, but what does that mean?”
“I think it means you don’t need to worry.” Jasmin’s clearly trying to sound soothing.
“But what are we going to do when we get there?” Dom refuses to be soothed. “Just sing our audition songs again?”
I almost shake my head, but I stop myself in time.
I know how callbacks work from theater camp. They’ll each be asked to sing a song from Les Mis—the same song, with the sheet music in front of them so they won’t have to memorize the lyrics. Probably one of Valjean’s big solos, like “Bring Him Home” or “Who Am I?”
But I can’t tell him that. I can’t give Dom any information the other guys going into the callback don’t have.
I stare down into my tomato soup.
Wait. What if I am supposed to tell him something, and the others too? As SM, shouldn’t I be helping organize the callbacks anyway?
“I need to go see Ms. Marcus.” I push back my chair.
“Wait.” Dom turns to me with a desperate hitch in his voice. “You know about this stuff. I’m not asking you to put in a good word for me or anything. Just tell me what you think we’re going to do. Please.”
I can’t risk it. “Sorry. I’ve got to go.”
He stares at me with pleading eyes. His skin’s starting to turn green again.
“Hey, don’t worry, it’ll be all right.” Jasmin takes out her phone as Shannon puts her hand on Dom’s arm. “I’m googling it. We’ll help you figure this out.”
“No thanks to our resident expert,” Dom mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I try to shake it off as I wind through the hallways to the performing arts wing. I’m just doing my job. Dom will figure that out sooner or later.
The sign announcing callbacks is right outside the door to the black box theater, in the same spot where the teachers usually post the cast lists. I take a photo so I can upload it to the shared drive. But the black box is locked, and there’s no sign of Ms. Marcus.
Now I feel guilty about walking out on Dom like that. Not giving him tips about the callback was the right thing to do, I’m pretty sure. But if I were him, I guess I might not see it that way.
There are three minutes left on the lunch period, but I can’t go back to our table after that, so I duck into the empty bathroom. I might as well glance at my Spanish notes in case there’s another pop quiz. It’s always good to be prepared even though I usually do pretty well in Spanish; it’s one of the perks of Pops being half Puerto Rican. But the door opens behind me seconds later and a familiar, slightly accented voice floats into the room.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Odile turns to shut the door behind her, speaking evenly into her phone. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me. “No, no, this is a fine time. Yes, but it isn’t a problem. Yes, yes, did you—you did?”
She pauses, listening to the person on the other end. I should probably edge out of the room—from the extra-smooth tone in her voice, I’m pretty sure this is a work call, and she probably doesn’t want anyone eavesdropping—but she’s blocking the door. I could go into a stall, but I’d have to come out before the bell rings or I’d be late for class. Besides, I don’t want her to see and think I’m peeing.
“Oh, that’s—” Odile pauses. She bends her head down, and I can see her profile as she swallows. Her eyes shut for a moment, and
her lips almost look like they’re trembling. But an instant later, when she opens her eyes and speaks again, there’s a new lilting note in her voice, even though there’s no trace of a smile on her face. “That’s wonderful. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. I know it’s been a huge effort. Yes, yes. Yes, it’s really brilliant news.”
The warning bell rings. One minute until class.
Odile will have to get off the phone, right? She won’t want to be late.
Unless whatever she’s doing on the phone is more important to her than being on time to class. Whereas I can count the total number of times I’ve been late to class in my entire life on one hand.
The person on the other end must be talking a lot, because Odile is quiet for a long time. She nods, reaching up to finger the gold hoop dangling from her left ear. I’m debating whether to cough when she slowly turns her head, sees me, and lets out a little gasp.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.” She laughs into the phone, but it sounds ever so slightly forced. “Please go on.”
I try to convey via silent gestures that I’m really sorry for eavesdropping. It involves a series of elaborate shrugs while alternately holding my hands palm up, pointing at my ears, and shaking my head, trying to show that I haven’t actually heard anything she’s been saying.
(Look, there are a lot of reasons I prefer to stay offstage.)
Odile watches me, still holding the phone to her ear, her eyebrows creeping higher with my every movement. Finally she says, “Yes, thank you. Yes, I’ll look for that email and be sure to let you know if I have any questions. I hope you have a wonderful afternoon. Goodbye.”
She hangs up and stares at me in silence for a second. Then she bursts out laughing.
This isn’t one of her calculated, glamorous smiles, where she shows precisely the right number of teeth and keeps her eyes wide the whole time. It’s legitimate, eyes-half-closed-in-a-genuinely-unsophisticated-way, hand-clutched-to-her-chest, uncontrolled laughter.
“That was awesome.” She raises her hand. “Here, tell me if you get this one.”
She holds up four fingers, then pretends to crank an old-fashioned movie camera. My dads and I play charades every New Year’s with Will, so I know all the signals. “Four words. Movie title.”
Odile nods, then holds out both arms and starts spinning around in circles.
“Um . . . you’re dizzy?” She shakes her head, then spins a little more emphatically, tossing her head from side to side. “Um . . . the Story of the Very Dizzy Teenage Girl with Perfect Hair?”
She pauses to let out an actual snort of laughter that makes me extremely pleased with myself. Then she shakes her head and cups one hand to her ear.
“You hear something?” I ask. “You hear . . . a sound?”
She nods and taps her chest the way opera singers do, which makes me blush because now I’m looking at her boobs. She tosses her hand out to one side and pantomimes like she’s singing a grand, silent aria.
“Opera?” I try to guess while she keeps belting out imaginary lyrics. “The sound of singing?”
Odile lets out an exaggerated sigh, then holds out her hands like she’s strumming a guitar and does a mini-skip toward the sinks.
“Ohh! The Sound of Music!”
She nods vigorously, grinning. “Took you long enough!”
“Wait, I’ve got one.” The bell is seconds away from ringing. I should be sitting in my seat looking over my Spanish notes, not doing impromptu charades with an ingenue in the bathroom. But I raise two fingers, then hold out my hands and draw them apart like a curtain opening.
“Two words.” Odile grins. She doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave either. “Play title.”
I nod. Then I pantomime swinging a giant hammer over my head.
“Okay, I already know what this is, but I’m not going to say it because I want to see what else you’ll do.” Odile folds her arms. She’s smiling even wider than she did after her audition.
This isn’t her stage persona, or her professional-phone-call persona. The girl in the bathroom with me right now just might be the real Odile Rose.
I pretend to grab something, then pretend-stash it in my pocket. I hold out my fists and shake them, like I’m rattling the pretend-bars of a jail, then lunge forward and run in place for a while. Then I angle my hands above my head, trying to show that I’m wearing a massive pointed hat, and run in place again. I keep waiting to feel self-conscious, like I should stop, but the sight of Odile’s grin only makes me want to keep going.
I’m doing Les Misérables, obviously. I’m trying to show Valjean stealing stuff and Javert chasing him, but I probably just look like an untrained clown.
“This is surprisingly easy to follow,” Odile says. “I want to see more characters.”
I point to her, then hold out my ponytail and form pretend-scissors with my other hand, like I’m about to chop it off.
“Hey!” She giggles. “Don’t mock Fantine’s pain.”
“Ha! I got you to say it.” I grin.
She grins back. “I could’ve watched that all day, though. I want to see you do ‘Castle on a Cloud.’”
I grab an imaginary broom, and I’m pretending to sweep up the paper towels under the sinks when the bell rings.
My heart speeds up. I’m never late, to anything. But Odile doesn’t seem particularly concerned about getting a tardy on her record.
And, well . . . I guess the damage is already done.
“I’m, um, sorry for listening in on your phone call.” Now that we’re talking with actual words, my self-consciousness makes a belated appearance and I reach back to pat down my hair. It’s long, dark brown, and frizzy, so I usually just pull it back with a plain band unless I’m going to a dance and have the patience to spend an hour with a blow-dryer and several palmfuls of gel. That doesn’t usually bother me, but next to Odile, with her salon-perfect waves, I feel inadequate. “Was that your, um—” I try to think of a Hollywood-type job title. “Your agent?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Her smile fades a little. “Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t—hey, is that the form for the bake sale?”
“Oh, yeah, um. Yeah.” I hold out my clipboard. Why can’t I just say yes? What is it about being in Odile’s proximity that adds all these nonsense words to my dialogue?
“Can I sign up? I’ve never gotten to do one since I’m always out of town. Mr. Green is so nice, isn’t he?”
“Uh. Sure.” I hold out the form. “You only have to do one shift.”
“Your name is on here three times.” She smiles up at me.
“Yeah, um. I signed up before anyone else.” I pat down my hair again. “Will—Mr. Green, I mean—he taught me to always write my own name down first whenever I’m recruiting. It’s like putting a dollar in your own tip jar—people are more likely to sign up if someone’s done it already.”
“Smart.” She smiles again. Glimpsing that smile—the real one—when there’s no one else around to see it makes a warm feeling surge inside me, as though the sun just came out from the clouds. “Could I sign up for one of the same shifts as you? I’ve never done a bake sale before, so I won’t know what to do.”
“Um. I mean, it isn’t exactly hard, but—” I stop talking when I see her smile falter. “How about Thursday?”
“Thursday’s perfect.” Her smile rises back into place as she scribbles her name down. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t make you late for class.”
“I mean, it’s not like you held a gun to my head and ordered me to stay in the girls’ bathroom.” I laugh when I realize how ridiculous that sounded. “But, um, I should probably get to Spanish. In case there’s a quiz.”
“Me too. I mean, I’m going to physics, not Spanish, but . . .” She laughs again. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Bye, Mel. See you soon.”
She gives me that smile one last time before she turns to go.
I wait until she’s gone before I plaster my hand over my face, but it still takes another full minut
e to catch my breath.
This show’s getting more complicated than I realized.
LES MISÉRABLES TECH CREW LIST
We still have room for additional crew members in some departments. If you’re interested in joining, please speak to the relevant crew head or to Melody McIntyre.
Department
Crew head
Assistant head
Crew members (list subject to change)
Stage management
Melody McIntyre, class of 2021
Gabrielle Piacine, class of 2023
N/A
Set
Fatima Pataras, ’22
Daniel Horton, ’22
Michael Coken, Lilyan Dilay, Caroline Graham, Kekoa Lauzon, Zack Nguyen, Reaiah Gerstein, Skylor Riggan
Sound
Kevin Lo, ’20
Nena Curley, ’22
TBD
Lighting
Jasmin Bennett, ’21
Ellie Nagy, ’22
Ezra Saxon, Anton van Dijkum
Costumes
Rachel Scott, ’20
Devin Schmidtke, ’21
Riya Florence, Clarisa Wright, Juan Molina, Ronee Penoi, Grant Moore, Joey Pytel, Holly Pounds, Ian Mitchell, Paul Villalovoz, Morgan Springborn, Ryan Amin
Props
Estaban Goodwin, ’20
Jacob Matushek, ’22
Matthew O’Hara, Lon Bailey, Victoria Jahn, Rayonna Feichtel
Hair and makeup
Shannon Kardas, ’20
Han Thai, ’22
Amanda Barber, Miranda Craig, Cameron Babb, Lindsey Thaniel, Preston Tekmenzhi
Publicity
Tyler Zumbrun, ’21
Aya Aljoulani, ’22
TBD
Flies
Bryce Teitelbaum, ’21
Ben Levy, ’22
N/A
Run crew (only needed from tech week through strike to handle set changes during performances)
Everyone in the set, costumes, and hair/makeup crews, plus Anjali Singh, Melissa Adler, Elijah Lackritz, Steve Nelson, Angela Schoonover, Erin Edmonds, Lexi Grenzner, and Kristen Lang