by Robin Talley
“I know, but . . . I’m sorry again about before.”
“Don’t be. This, you and me—this is what really matters. All the rest of it is just . . .”
“Sawdust. Right?”
“. . . Exactly.”
Act 2
April
LES MIS REHEARSAL SCHEDULE
APRIL 20–24
Reminders:
All actors are now required to be off-book. This is the last week the SM will provide your lines if you forget them. Next week in dress rehearsals you’re on your own.
NO ACTORS ALLOWED in the auditorium on Friday. The crew will be installing the turntable and if you enter without permission you most likely WILL GET HURT.
All cast and crew are required to report to school on Saturday and Sunday for tech starting at 9:00 a.m. and continuing through 5:00 p.m. (later if necessary). Tech may continue through Monday if we can’t wrap it up over the weekend, so please please please be on time both days.
Monday, April 20—No school, no rehearsal (Patriots’ Day—go, marathon runners, go!)
Tuesday, April 21
Time
Who
What
Where
3:00–6:00 p.m. (later if necessary)
Full cast
Run through “At the End of the Day,” “Lovely Ladies,” “The Runaway Cart,” “Master of the House,” “Look Down/The Robbery,” “One Day More,” “The First Attack,” “The Second Attack,” “The Final Battle,” “Wedding Chorale/Beggars at the Feast,” “Epilogue”
Auditorium
Wednesday, April 22
3:00–6:00 p.m. (later if necessary)
Full cast
Act 1 run-through
Auditorium
Thursday, April 23
3:00–6:00 p.m. (later if necessary)
Full cast
Act 2 run-through
Auditorium
Friday, April 24
12:00–12:45 p.m. (lunch)
Full cast (except Fantine)
Pep rally rehearsal—“One Day More” flash mob
Gym
2:00–2:45 p.m. (seventh period)
Full cast (except Fantine)
Pep rally—“One Day More” flash mob
Gym
6:00–9:00 p.m.
Full cast & orchestra
Sitzprobe
Band room
—Distributed by hard copy and emailed to all cast, crew, and directors.
Also stored on BHS performing arts department shared drive.
Created by: Melody McIntyre, stage manager, class of 2021
Viewable to: All cast, crew, and directors
Editable by: Current SM ONLY
Scene 1—Beaconville High School Theater
DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 10
“Nick missed that cue,” Ms. Marcus whispers. “And tell Alejandra to work on that line. She should go the whole phrase on one breath instead of pausing between soon and to.”
I nod and jot it all down. I won’t actually be telling anyone any of this myself, which is good, since if I had to personally break the news to Alejandra that her singing was off, we’d both probably wind up in tears. Instead I’ll hand over my notes to Ms. Marcus at the end of rehearsal, and she’ll decide what to do with them. It’s still kind of weird being the only one who knows exactly what all the actors are doing wrong, but I’m used to keeping secrets.
The ensemble joins in to sing the finale. It’s almost seven at night, and we’re at the end of another epic rehearsal. All the rehearsals are epic now that we’re this close to tech. Logically we should all be exhausted, but the actors’ giddiness is shining even through their fatigue. I spotted the same light in Gabby’s eyes last time I caught sight of her backstage, and it’s there on Ms. Marcus’s face, too.
It’s all coming together now. After weeks of running these songs, endless production meetings agonizing over every detail, hours upon hours spent discussing every sound and light and set cue, our show is actually, finally, getting good. The harmonies are soaring, the blocking is solid, the emotional scenes are emotional, and the sets and costumes and props look real. The actors are even mostly remembering their lyrics without my help.
Best of all, we haven’t had any real crises, apart from the catastrophe that Nick’s singing voice wrought on us all. Fortunately, he’s gotten better thanks to lots of diligent tutoring by Ms. Qiao, who should seriously get a raise for having to spend so much time with Nick the Dick. She somehow convinced him to start drinking hot water with honey before every rehearsal, and made sure he knew the crew wasn’t going to pour it for him.
We’ve still got a ton of work to do, but this show is already going to be incredible. The best musical BHS has ever put on. And it’s all happening under my watch.
Best of all, the curse hasn’t reared its head once. All that worrying over nothing.
I just wish I didn’t have to keep this thing between me and Odile secret from my friends. When we ran into Rachel at that restaurant Sunday night, I was sure it was all over. But we’ve had two rehearsals and a production meeting since then and no one’s looked at me any weirder than usual. Besides, Rachel seemed distracted. She probably didn’t pick up on what was going on.
Plus, it’s not like I’m planning on lying to the crew forever. I’ll tell them at the cast party, once the show’s safely closed. Odile and I can pretend we just got together after exchanging lots of flirty glances from afar.
For now, though, we’ve actually got a shot at pulling off a perfect show on opening night. Which means we can’t risk anyone getting worked up over nothing. If the crew knew what’s been going on, it could mess with their heads and affect their work. It’s like Will said—fear of the curse is worse than the real thing.
The whole cast belts the last line of the song together, and as the final notes of the piano trickle out, Ms. Marcus claps harder than I’ve ever heard her clap.
“Terrific, everyone! Terrific!” She climbs to her feet, still clapping. “It’s late, so let’s hold off on running the curtain call until Thursday.”
A few of the cast members make big shows of acting disappointed—actors will rehearse bowing until their heads fall off if you let them—but I’m relieved. Ms. Marcus decided to add a final “One Day More” reprise at the end of the curtain call, so rehearsing it always takes forever, and we’ve still got a lot of set pieces to paint tonight.
I clap along with Ms. Marcus and wait for her to call the cast to the edge of the stage so she can deliver the notes. Usually we go straight into them as soon as the rehearsal ends, so I don’t know why we’re spending all this time clapping. Sure, the singing was good, but the actors obviously know that. They’re even clapping for themselves.
That’s when I realize I can’t see Gabby. She always stays in the wings during full-cast run-throughs, but there’s no sign of her now. And, even weirder, Odile is gone, too. She should be up front with the other principals, but there’s a hole in the lineup at her usual spot.
“I think Gabby might be dealing with a problem backstage,” I tell Ms. Marcus, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. “Is it okay if I go check on her?”
“Please wait here for now,” Ms. Marcus says without looking at me.
Okay, this is getting really odd.
I shift in my seat, trying to get a better look into the wing where I last saw Gabby. There are few things I hate more than not knowing what’s going on.
That’s when I notice a dark, unfamiliar shape above the stage. A moving shape.
Something’s come loose. It’s slowly falling down from the rigging with the entire cast on the stage below it.
Oh my God—this is the worst possible thing that could happen.
The curse! It’s finally here!
I’m about to leap to my feet when I realize the dark shape isn’t falling—it’s moving too smoothly for that. Someone’s got to be lowering it. One of the curtains, or a scrim, maybe—it’s too high up for me to be sure.
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“Somebody’s using the flies.” I sit straight up. It could only be Gabby, since no one else on the crew is here—but Gabby hasn’t been fully trained on the flies yet, and she’d never use the equipment without telling me. “I should go—”
“Please stay in your seat, Melody.” Ms. Marcus’s eyes are locked on the moving shape, and she’s wearing a mysterious smile. “You’ll appreciate this more from the house.”
“Appreciate this?” Something’s happening in my theater, and I don’t know what. I don’t appreciate anything about it.
Onstage, the actors are craning their necks, watching the curtain come down with mild curiosity. A couple of them have their mouths open in little Os. A few seconds later, I see why.
The curtain that’s descending upstage is dark—as black as the night sky—but all over it are twinkling stars. Hundreds of them.
It’s a star drop.
Thirty seconds ago we were winding down a garden-variety afternoon rehearsal. Now it’s midnight in the middle of a gorgeous, bare landscape, with nothing in view for miles around but starlight.
It’s breathtaking.
It’s exactly what I wanted to rent for this show. It’s perfect for Javert’s big solo, but the cost would’ve blown our budget completely. Or that’s what Ms. Marcus told me.
“Oh my God, this is unbelievable! Did you find the money after all?” I turn to her, nearly panting with excitement. “Would it be unprofessional to hug you?”
“I had nothing to do with this, beyond giving my consent.” She holds up her hand with a laugh. “Your gratitude’s due to a member of your cast.”
“Wait, what?”
I turn back to the stage—and that’s when I get my first glimpse of her. She’s peeking out at me from the curtain, watching for my reaction.
It’s Odile. She got us the star drop.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
I am the luckiest person in the world.
“Oh my God!” I leap to my feet and run toward the stage. In this instant, I couldn’t care less that there are other people in this room besides her and me. “You rented this thing?”
“Well, not exactly, but—” She’s grinning, practically squealing as I climb the steps up to the stage, her shoulders scrunched up around her ears and her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “It’s ours—the school’s, I mean. It’s custom-sized for this theater, so we can save it and use it for other shows. Or for concerts, or—anything, really. Do you like it?”
“Are you serious? I love it!” I’m about to throw my arms around her when I catch up to the fact that we have an audience.
When I turn around, the entire cast is staring at us. Everyone except David, who’s staring up at the star drop like his birthday’s come early.
The actors—except Dom, who’s looking pretty delighted about the star drop too—don’t know about my so-called love curse. But they don’t know about me and Odile, either, and I have to keep it that way. Once the cast knows, the crew will find out in a microsecond.
“This will be incredible for the show.” I raise my voice. “It’s so generous of you. Gabby, did you see—”
Gabby steps out of the wing behind Odile, grinning. “Of course. I helped Mr. Green get it set up.”
“She and Mr. Green have been my partners in crime, getting this in and keeping it a secret.” Odile is still beaming, and I probably still look just as ecstatic, with or without all the eyes on us. “It was so hard not to say anything.”
“I can’t believe you all did this.” I laugh. If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said there was no way in hell I’d be okay with this kind of subterfuge in my theater, but right now my heart is pounding with pure joy. I can’t believe she did something so huge, just for me. “You were so sneaky!”
“Well, I didn’t know you wanted it this much.” Gabby’s still smiling, but there’s a confused crinkle between her eyebrows, as though there’s a lot she’s thinking but not saying. “I know you said it would be cool, but . . .”
“It’s just astonishing to see it, you know?” I’m talking too fast. I’ve been talking too fast ever since I reached the stage.
“I can’t wait to rehearse with it,” David says. Next to him, Dom’s eyes flick back and forth between me, Odile, and Gabby.
“Good. We’ll unveil it for ‘Stars.’” Ms. Marcus must have climbed up onto the stage at some point in the past few minutes when I was too distracted to notice. “We might use it again for your suicide, too—we’ll see how it looks at Thursday’s rehearsal. First, though, we need to go over today’s rehearsal notes. I know everyone’s excited, but let’s try to focus.”
I will my heart to stop thumping so fast as the cast assembles, sitting down and dangling their legs off the edge of the stage.
“Mel?” Ms. Marcus turns to me with an impossibly patient smile.
“Yes?”
“The notes, please?”
“Oh. Right! Sorry, sorry!”
I try to focus on not tripping as I run back up to the table where I left my notes. Most of the cast smiles good-naturedly as I run back down and thrust them into Ms. Marcus’s hand, but Dom is watching me with a decidedly neutral expression on his face, and Gabby still looks concerned.
Ms. Marcus starts delivering the notes, which is going to take forever since I just handed her five entire pages full of scribbles. I sit on the edge of the stage, only leaving a few feet of space between Odile and me. She smiles, and I answer her smile with one of my own.
Being with her is nothing like I ever imagined it would be. She’s so warm. So smart, too, and so funny. I don’t think I’ve ever liked any other human being as much as I like her.
I can’t get over how she surprised me today. All I’ve managed to do, romantic-gesture-wise, was steal her cell phone and take her out for drinks with paper umbrellas. I need to do something big and exciting for her, too, in front of everyone.
Wait—prom!
She said she’s always wanted to go. I could ask her. I could do a big promposal, something grand and theatrical, to make her feel the way she made me feel today. The night of the cast party, maybe.
I dip my head, grinning at the thought. Then I notice Rachel. A few of the crew members have arrived backstage to start the painting shift. I spot Fatima, too, and Jasmin, and some of the others from the set crew walking around quietly, studying the star drop and moving painting supplies into place.
But Rachel’s looking right at me. Glancing back and forth between me and Odile, in fact.
The crew’s probably heard that we have the star drop because of Odile. Word travels fast in theater land. They all knew how much I wanted it, too.
But thanks to our run-in on Sunday, Rachel knows something the others don’t. And from the calculating steadiness in her dark eyes, I have a feeling she’s put it all together.
Rachel knows.
Shit, she knows.
I scramble up from my seat. Odile glances at me, her eyebrows knitting in confusion, but I don’t meet her gaze. Instead I step carefully through the group of actors and drop down to sit next to Ms. Marcus.
None of the others seem to notice, but when I look up again, Rachel’s still watching me. She finally steps back behind the star drop just as Ms. Marcus finally gives the last of the notes and tells everyone who didn’t sign up for tonight’s painting shift they can leave.
“Ms. Marcus?” Leah raises her hand from her seat next to Nick. “I need a Band-Aid for my shoulder.”
“Of course.” Ms. Marcus nods to me. “You have some, right, Mel?”
“Yep.” I climb back up to my feet and try not to think about Rachel’s harsh gaze as I lead Leah down the steps toward my SM kit.
She takes her time following me, pausing to pull back the neck of her sweater to show Malik whatever it is that’s bothering her. When she finally climbs down into the house and flounces toward me, she grimaces for the maximum possible drama. “Do you have anything for this, or should I g
o see the nurse?”
“The nurse’s office closed hours ago.” I study the spotted red rash on her shoulder. It’s hardly a rehearsal-related injury, but I pull a tube of hydrocortisone cream out of my first aid kit anyway. “What did you do, stick your shoulder in poison ivy?”
“No, I haven’t even been near any bushes!” Leah scratches the rash again. She angles her shoulder toward me like she expects me to put the cream on it myself, but for all I know it’s catching.
“Here you go.” I offer her the tube, then reach for a bottle of hand sanitizer. “Actually, on second thought, use this before you touch anything.”
“That’s creepy,” Nick says as he climbs down from the stage. “You should see a doctor. It could be scabies, and that’s highly contagious.”
Leah blinks rapidly, looking terrified. “How do you know?”
“Yeah, how do you know that, Nick?” I ask, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. We don’t need our cast getting paranoid about contagious skin diseases a week before opening. “Do you have a secret dermatology degree?”
Nick folds his arms. “I get why you boss around all the stoner techies, but tell me again why we’re supposed to act like you’re in charge of us, too?”
“Because the teachers made me stage manager, which means it’s my job to control what happens in this theater whether I enjoy it or not?”
Leah backs away, carefully unscrewing the cap of the tube I gave her.
“Mel . . .” Ms. Marcus waves. “Do you have the updated costume matrix?”
I leave Nick with a mutual glare and hand the printout to Ms. Marcus with a flourish. It’s a ten-page spreadsheet listing every costume piece in the show. Rachel and I spent three only-semi-awkward hours working on it last week. With sixty cast members, some of whom have six or more clothing changes over the course of the show, the costume team is wrangling hundreds of shirts, skirts, dresses, hats, pairs of pants, and accessories, and we have to keep track of every single one.