by Robin Talley
All I can do is shrug. Odile’s ways are as mysterious to me as they are to them.
She heads for an empty corner, and I go over to the lighting group so I can talk to Jasmin about the star drop. They all get quiet when I walk up, casting glances back at Odile.
“What’s she doing here?” Ellie whispers. “I mean, I like lasagna, but it’s weird.”
“She thought it was an actor party, too,” I explain.
“Why would she think that?” Jasmin doesn’t bother to whisper. That’s probably fine given how loud the room is, but I still kind of wish she’d lower her voice, just to be polite. “We didn’t tell the actors we were doing this. Unless you did.”
“I didn’t. She probably just overheard some of us talking at rehearsal. It’s no big deal.”
“I don’t know.” Jasmin shakes her head. “Something doesn’t seem right.”
“Okay, well, anyway.” I shrug. “Who here’s heard of a star drop?”
“A—wait, seriously?” Ellie’s eyes widen. “Can we get one? No way!”
“It depends on the budget, but I hope so.” I grin, glad the subject’s sufficiently changed. Even Jasmin’s gaping at the idea.
We talk about logistics for the next ten minutes. We could keep going for another ten at least, but I’m supposed to be circulating, so eventually I say goodbye and move on to hair and makeup. Shannon’s already got her team sketching out ideas for how to gather David’s long hair into a Javert-ish ponytail and experimenting with cocoa powder to see how dirty they can make each other’s faces, so it’s clear they don’t need my help. Though I notice a few of them are casting uncomfortable looks Odile’s way, too.
Gabby’s sitting with Estaban and the props team, looking over their sketches, and Rachel’s crew is going through the fabric bags. Fatima’s group is gathered in the far corner, talking to Will about the turntable and munching lasagna.
I glance at Odile. She’s sitting on the floor with her purse beside her, a thick paperback open on her lap.
Well, I don’t want her to feel like we’ve abandoned her.
“Homework?” I ask as I approach.
She flips over her book so I can see the cover, and I laugh. She’s reading Les Misérables.
“I haven’t read that all the way through since ninth grade.” I slide down the wall to sit beside her, leaning over so I can see which edition she’s got. It’s the newest translation, and it looks well-thumbed. “I should warn you, there’s fifty random pages about the Battle of Waterloo halfway through.”
“I actually kind of like that chapter. I lived in the UK for a few years, and we were taught to view Waterloo as a victory for humankind. It’s interesting to see the French perspective.”
Wow. I don’t know anyone else who’s actually read the entire book. “Oh. I guess that makes sense.”
A sudden burst of laughter makes me glance back into the room. The set crew, halfway across from us, is doubled over. “He’s a lot better-looking than Newt Scamander, that’s for sure,” Caroline says, to even more laughter.
“I’m telling you, Malik’s gonna be the hottest Marius of all time,” Daniel says. “It’s like if Idris Elba went back in time thirty years and started singing ‘Heart Full of Love.’”
“Too bad Leah’s got that giant stick up her ass,” Skylor adds. “I always want to root for Marius and Éponine.”
“She’s still better than Christina,” Daniel says. “If she’d gotten Éponine, you know she would’ve changed the song to ‘On Your Own’ and it’d be all about how she’s way too good for Marius anyway.”
More laughter. Next to me, Odile shuts her book and rubs her fingernails softly over the worn paper edges.
Maybe it’s kind of inappropriate, the way we talk about actors. But they’re annoying when they talk about us, too. The other day I overheard two freshmen in the ensemble say the only people who’d ever voluntarily sign up for stagecraft were the ones who’d already flunked out of the real theater classes.
When I turn back to Odile, though, she’s smiling. Maybe she didn’t hear the set team after all.
“So you’ve read the whole book?” I ask her.
“A couple of times. But I’m slammed with make-up work this semester, so I’m just rereading Fantine’s sections now. I’d forgotten her tendency to ramble.”
“Yeah, I guess life spent an awful lot of pages killing her dream.” I worry for a second Odile will get offended by me trivializing her character’s suffering—Fantine’s story is sad, but once you’ve seen the show a few times, you forget how gravely upsetting it all is—but to my surprise, she laughs.
Every time I make Odile laugh, I feel like I should get a gold star.
“Are you disappointed you’ll be the first death in the show?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “It’ll be nice, honestly. After everything I have to do before that, I’ll be more than ready for a break.”
“Ha. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little worried about how many characters we have dying onstage this year.”
“Worried? Why?”
“Well, between this show and R&J, our body count is through the roof. It’s like we’re tempting fate. Our theater doesn’t have a great track record when it comes to morbid stuff.”
“So . . . you really believe in all the superstitions, then?” Odile raises her eyebrows.
“I don’t know if I literally believe in all of them, but it’s my job as SM to enforce it all regardless. Good teams always play by the same rules.”
Odile nods. “True, but I also think you can never prepare for every possibility. That’s one thing I love about theater—so much is unpredictable.”
I laugh. “You love it when things go wrong?”
“No, but I do love how everyone works together to pull things off, no matter what. I did a show once with food poisoning, and it wasn’t fun when it was happening, but it made a great story I could tell later. And it worked, because everybody came together and made it work.”
“Wait. You went on with food poisoning?”
“Yep. The ASM kept a bucket backstage for me, and I’d step off into the wing to, you know.”
My jaw drops. “You left to puke during a scene?”
“A couple of times.” She grins. “The hard part was holding it until I’d gotten through my lines.”
“You’re joking.”
She shakes her head. “I wish I was!”
“Wow. I guess I should add puke bucket to my list of backstage necessities. Did you not have an understudy?”
“I did, but the director really wanted me to do it.”
“Couldn’t you have said no?”
“Huh. That never actually occurred to me.” She pauses. “I guess I’m old-school. If my director wants me to do something, I do it. The show must go on.”
I nod. “I say that all the time.”
“Of course you do.” She laughs. Another full, genuine laugh.
That makes twice in one night. It feels like I just won a marathon.
“That’s why I’m skeptical about the rituals. Which doesn’t mean I don’t follow them,” she adds, when she sees me getting ready to interrupt. “I promise, I’ll never whistle or say ‘good luck’ or anything else like that. The first rule of theater is whatever the SM says, goes.”
Interesting. I don’t know anyone else in theater who doesn’t believe in any superstitions at all. Even Will refuses to say the real name of the Scottish Play.
“So, did you read the book for a class the first time?” I ask her, to change the subject.
“Sort of. I did an independent study unit on it in eighth grade, but it was my idea. I’d just seen the musical for the first time and I was obsessed. Plus, I’d always really liked the Disney Hunchback movie, so I wanted to read all the Victor Hugo.”
“Ooh, I love that one. That ‘Hellfire’ song is so creepy. I can’t believe they put it in a cartoon.”
“Me neither!”
“For real! By the w
ay, how’d you get your teacher to let you do an independent study in middle school?”
She strokes the book’s spine. “I was homeschooled for most of eighth grade. I got to design the curriculum myself.”
“Ohhh.” Now I get it. She must’ve been in eighth grade when she was in New York doing Annie. “Was that fun, being homeschooled?”
“Not really.” Her smile is fading.
There’s another burst of laughter, from the lighting group this time. When I look up, though, Jasmin isn’t laughing with them. She’s watching us, and she looks uneasy.
“It must’ve been fun working on Broadway, though,” I say. My phone buzzes with a text, but I’ll look at it in a minute. “That’s always been my dream. I mean, not the acting part obviously, but I’d love to SM there someday.”
“You’d be great.” Odile smiles, but it isn’t the wide, open smile she had before. “It wasn’t for me, though. It’s so different from regular theaters. No one really talks about working hard to put on a good show. It’s all about making money.”
“Oh. That . . . doesn’t sound so great.”
“There you are!” Will strides up to us with two brownies balanced on a plate. “Nice to see you, Ms. Rose. Ms. McIntyre, I thought you were circulating between the groups.”
“Right. I am.” I climb to my feet, bracing myself awkwardly against the wood-paneled wall. Odile stands up too, a lot more gracefully. Jasmin’s still eyeing me, and a few of the other crew heads are looking our way too. “Actually, it’s probably a good time to put the movie on, if people are starting to wind down.”
Will glances up at the schedule on the wall and passes a brownie to Odile. She reaches for it, but doesn’t take a bite.
“Didn’t you want to have a group debrief before starting the video?” Will says.
“Right . . .” But I kind of want to keep talking to Odile instead. “But I think it’s too soon. Maybe we should take a break and watch the recording for a while instead. Then we can debrief at the end when all the groups are feeling more solid about their ideas. What do you think?”
“Well, I . . .”
“There you are, Mel.” Jasmin charges toward us. “We need to talk about the star drop.”
“Okay.” I glance reluctantly at Odile. Jasmin sees, and her eyes narrow.
“Also, the set crew wanted your thoughts on the barricade.” Jasmin glances over her shoulder, and I see Fatima a few feet back. She’s talking to Rachel, but they’re both watching us. Are they waiting for Odile to lash out with her evil actor claws or something?
I sigh. “Okay, let’s go ahead and debrief. We can all talk then. And . . .” I glance back at Odile. “Maybe then we can put on the video. As long as everyone finishes their worksheets.”
Jasmin frowns, but Will holds up his hands in front of him. “You’re the boss, Ms. McIntyre. If you want to voluntarily change a schedule for the first time in sixteen years, that’s your prerogative. I’m just in this for the food.”
I ignore his low-grade mockery and Jasmin’s pointed looks and call out for the crew’s attention. We gather in a circle on the floor, and I start my timer. The debrief lasts exactly fifteen minutes. I call on the crew heads and take notes and answer questions and do everything else I always do at these meetings.
And through it all, I keep casting glances into the corner, where Odile is slowly turning the pages of Les Misérables.
The instant my timer goes off, I start the video. Then I stand up, ready to head back into the corner where Odile is still lingering with her paperback while the overture plays.
“Mel.” Jasmin steps in front of me. “Do you have a second?”
“What’s up?”
“I tried to text you, but . . .” She lowers her voice. “People are talking.”
“If this is about Odile crashing the party, it’s not like she meant to—”
“It’s not about the party, it’s about the curse.” Jasmin raises her eyebrows. “Remember?”
“What? I mean, sure, I remember, but that has nothing to do with Odile being here.”
“Mel. Come on. It’s obvious you’re into her.”
I start to laugh, but Jasmin’s face is still stony, so I answer seriously. “She’s hot, sure. I admit it. Even you’ve got to admit that, and you’re straight.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Mel.”
“What? I promised I wouldn’t fall in love during this show, and I’m not going to. My point is, it doesn’t matter that she’s hot. If you haven’t noticed, she’s about twenty miles out of my league.”
“It’s only—”
“We’re supposed to trust each other, right?” I hold Jasmin’s gaze, so she can see I’m serious. “I promise, if I was anywhere close to falling in love, I’d know. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you and the others. I’d never do anything that could hurt this show.”
Jasmin stares back at me for a moment. Then she nods. “All right. We trust you.”
“Good.” I unfold my arms, give her a nod back, and walk away.
Right up to the corner where Odile’s still sitting.
So what if I can’t fall in love? There’s no rule that says I can’t still have fun.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. “Do you want to, um . . . go somewhere?”
Odile doesn’t smile, but there’s a light in her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
I hold out my hand to help her up. As she takes it, her fingers squeeze mine for the briefest moment.
And—oh. Oh, no.
I could shut my eyes and stay in exactly this spot, exactly this moment, for the rest of my life, and be perfectly happy forevermore.
But that’s not an option. Not an option.
I let go of her hand as soon as she’s on her feet.
What I told Jasmin was the truth. I’m nowhere close to falling in love with this girl. Okay, so I don’t know the exact words for what is happening here, but I won’t cross that line.
I know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing.
But when Odile smiles at me again, there’s a brief moment when I’m not so sure.
UNREAD TEXTS ACCUMULATING ON MEL’S PHONE, SATURDAY NIGHT
Gabby:
Where’d you go?
Dom:
How’s the crew party? It’s weird not being there ☺
Fatima:
Mr. Green says he doesn’t know the turntable dimensions yet so I don’t know how big to build the barricade
Jasmin:
Everyone’s talking about you leaving with her
Jasmin:
Just so you know
Shannon:
Please help me explain to the freshmen why we can’t put REAL dirt on the actors’ faces
Estaban:
Jacob had a cool idea. Do you know if we can use part of the set budget?
Fatima:
Hey, are you here? Someone told me you went somewhere with Odile?
Estaban:
If we get a few rubber chickens cheap I bet I can borrow my mom’s butcher knife and we could have Beth and Julio chop them up for real onstage
Estaban:
It’ll be hilarious, they can be throwing all these rubber chicken parts into the soup pot
Shannon:
Wait did you really leave with her?
Estaban:
Gabby said you might have a safety concern but we can just get them to be careful
Estaban:
WAIT I just heard a rumor, is it true you’re not answering my texts because you’re running around with Odile Rose?
Gabby:
Seriously, I can’t find you. What’s going on?
Scene 7—The McIntyre-Perez Front Porch
DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 75
“Want to go outside and talk?” I ask Odile when we’re halfway up the stairs. “You brought a coat, right?”
She nods.
I think about setting my timer so I’ll know when the video is done, but we should only be gone for a
few minutes. I felt eyes lingering on Odile and me as we walked past the others, and I gave Gabby a little wave on our way out. She waved back, unsmiling.
I shake all that off as Odile and I climb up to the empty first floor. My dads must have retreated upstairs. We grab our coats from the rack and step out onto the porch. It’s February in Massachusetts and thus frigid, with patches of snow still dotting the lawn, as we sink down into the patio cushions.
There’s so much moonlight pouring into the yard that I decide not to bother turning on the porch light. At the last second I remember the blanket we keep in the basket under the table, so I pull it out, but it feels rude to spread out a blanket over my lap without offering Odile anything, so I just lay it on the table. My phone buzzes with another text, but I only slide it deeper into the pocket of my jeans.
I expected things to get awkward between Odile and me once we were alone, but now that we’re sitting down, the conversation picks up easily. As if we’ve been doing this for years.
At first, we talk more about Les Mis. I find out why she wanted to play Fantine (she thought it was a more mature role than Éponine) and why she wouldn’t want to play Cosette even if she were a soprano (we both agree that the Marius/Cosette romance in the musical is absurd, and he’d obviously be happier with Éponine). Then things get quiet, and out of nowhere I find myself apologizing.
“I’m sorry about the way my friends acted.” I didn’t mean to say this—it feels like I’m betraying my crew, kind of—but it’s hard not to say what I’m thinking when I talk to Odile. “We aren’t used to actors hanging out with us. Especially actors like you.”
“Please, don’t apologize. The cast here is even worse when they talk about the tech crew. It makes me miss other theaters.”
“What, you mean professional theaters?”