by Robin Talley
Ms. Marcus and I go over the week’s schedule after that, and then she heads backstage while I go around with my shiny set of keys, checking and locking each room. When I’m finally done, I head over to where Odile’s stepped into the wing, turning my back so the others won’t see us talking.
“Thank you, again.” I smile at her. “I can’t even tell you how much that star drop means to me.”
She smiles back. “I’m so glad.”
“Are you heading out?”
“Well, my parents probably want me to have dinner with them, but . . .” She trails off. “Are you staying?”
“Yeah. I signed up to paint tonight.” Everyone on the cast and crew has to do at least two painting shifts during the run, but I signed up for all of them. Which, granted, is a little much, but every time I see a set piece I worked on, I feel this intense wave of satisfaction. As though I’d painted the words “MEL WAS HERE” on every tree or sign post or palm frond.
“Well, I didn’t sign up for today, but suddenly I feel like adding on an extra shift.” Odile grins. “If that’s all right with the boss.”
“Of course it’s . . .” I stop myself before I can say more. I want to spend more time with Odile tonight. I want that a lot.
But with the way Rachel was eyeing us . . . plus, Jasmin’s here too, and she’s been onto us from day one . . . and then there’s that strange look Gabby gave me . . .
But I can’t tell Odile any of that. Besides, I want her to stay. I’ll always want her to stay.
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s very much all right. You might want to see if we have any spare painting clothes, though, because . . .” I grin and gesture to her black-and-white polka-dotted jumpsuit, which I’m pretty sure came straight from some Fashion Week runway. Odile grins back.
It turns out Daniel has a suitcase full of old clothes he brought in with the other supplies, so Odile goes to the bathroom to change. I get an assignment from Fatima—the gate trim needs touching up, which is perfect, since I love painting trim—so I grab a detail brush and set to work.
Odile comes out of the bathroom shortly afterward wearing a pair of sweatpants that are just a little too short for her and what looks like Fatima’s dad’s old Bruins jersey. It’s a good look on her. A very good look. She gets assigned to help with the bridge on the opposite side of the stage from me.
Whenever I steal a glance at her, that same rush of feeling I had when I first saw her peeking out from behind the star drop surges up all over again. I smile goofily and have to stop myself before someone notices.
Someone like Rachel. All through the shift, she keeps hovering in the edges of my peripheral vision, like a creepy guardian angel.
Or maybe I’m overthinking things. Rachel’s got an agenda tonight, a legitimate one. Her team has wrapped up most of their major work, and now they’re doing the final fittings for the principals and featured soloists, so she keeps coming to the stage to pull actors away to try on their costumes. That’s got to be the real reason she keeps popping up. It isn’t like her to be intentionally sinister.
Like always, the actors are psyched about their fittings. Dom gets to try on his special red vest for the first time, and he spends the rest of the shift gushing about it to anyone who’ll listen. Even Odile comes back beaming after trying on her “I Dreamed a Dream” dress, and there’s no sign that Rachel said anything weird to her while they were alone.
Before the painting shift ends, I head back to the scene shop to check out the still-in-progress barricade. It’s awesome, how good a bunch of old props and scrap wood can look when they’re thrown together onto a wheeled platform in a design that’s carefully calculated to look haphazard. When I come back around the corner, jogging because I want to make sure I reach the stage in time for Fatima’s official dismissal, I hear voices.
“I just want to know what’s going on,” Gabby’s saying quietly. “I don’t like all this—”
I don’t want to eavesdrop on her, but I’m moving too fast to stop subtly, and I’m also wearing sneakers with rubber soles. Which means I skid into the narrow hallway outside the otherwise deserted scene shop just in time to see Gabby and Dom with their arms around each other and their faces inches apart.
Oh my God. Because there wasn’t enough awkwardness in life already.
They’ve seen me too. They spring apart, even though clearly there isn’t much point.
“Wow,” I say, very articulately. “Hi. Sorry, I was just in the scene shop, and . . .”
“Hi, Mel.” Dom rubs his hand over the back of his neck, looking only mildly sheepish. Gabby, though, steeples her hands in front of her face, as if she can’t bear for me to see her. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
I have no idea know what to say. It’s fine for Gabby and Dom to hook up, or whatever it is I stumbled into. It’s kind of shocking, though. I know Gabby’s only two years younger than Dom and me, but I think of her almost as a kid sister. And it’s hard not to feel a little betrayed that they kept this a secret from me.
Except for the part where I’m keeping a secret from them, too.
“So.” I try to think past my panic. “Don’t worry, everything’s cool. I’m just going to . . .”
And then I leave without trying to come up with an explanation of what, exactly, I’m going to do.
To my relief, there are no footsteps in the hall behind me. By the time I get back, the others are packing up.
I help Daniel seal up the paint cans, and as I’m hauling them off I spot Odile rolling up drop cloths in the wing. There are paint splatters in her hair, and her makeup has faded, leaving her face fresh and open. Somehow she looks prettier right now than she ever has onstage, even with all the lighting and costuming and theater magic in the world.
“Hi.” I grab the opposite end of the cloth she’s holding. “Can I help?”
She smiles. “Of course.”
I keep my eyes focused on the drop cloth as I roll it toward her, still trying to sort out the jumble in my head. People are leaving and calling out goodbyes, and I turn to wave without meeting anyone’s eyes.
They can all see me with Odile. I’m letting them see.
Because the truth is, I despise secrets. I always have.
Theater is all about trust. I trust the crew to follow the cues I call, and they trust me to call them right in the first place. That’s the cornerstone of any successful production.
But it’s bigger than that, too. The actors trust me and my team to keep them safe. We trust the actors to learn their lines, and to do whatever it is they do that makes audiences so happy.
It’s really, really hard to trust someone who’s been keeping secrets.
I meet Odile’s eyes over the drop cloth. She’s smiling at me again.
And I remember that I’m keeping a secret from her, too. She has no idea that all this time, the real reason I didn’t want to tell anyone about us is some stupid curse that isn’t even real.
I have to be honest with her. Tonight. As soon as the others are gone.
I glance over my shoulder. Fatima and Daniel are still packing up. I didn’t see Dom and Gabby leave, but they’ve got to be gone by now, like everyone else.
Maybe they left together. Maybe they’re talking about me. Maybe they talk about me all the time. Maybe I can’t trust them anymore, either.
I step out of the wing and make a big show of checking the placement of the glow tape on the stage. Odile’s eyes flash with something I can’t quite make out, but it’s too much of a risk for me to tell her anything until the others are gone.
A few minutes later, Fatima and Daniel climb down the steps. Fatima looks over her shoulder at me, but I can’t read the expression on her face. She waves and glances back toward the wing.
“See you tomorrow,” I call, trying to act normal. Fatima just nods.
I wait until I’m sure the door is firmly closed behind them before I sigh and step back toward Odile.
I shut my eyes and breathe in t
he moment. This is what I’ve needed all night—to be alone with her. When it’s just the two of us and all the complications can fade away.
“So, um . . .” I open my eyes and meet her gaze. There are only inches between us. “I know I already said this, but . . . thank you, again, for the star drop. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”
“I loved doing it.” She smiles again and reaches for the end of my ponytail. “There’s sawdust in your hair.”
“Sorry. I went by the scene shop.”
“I like it. It smells nice.”
“I . . . um, there’s something I should say . . .”
“What?” She never stops smiling that soft smile.
“I trust you.” That isn’t what I meant to say at all, but now that the words are out there, I’m astonished by how true they are.
I’d trust her with anything. I’d trust her with everything.
Odile’s smile widens, and she loops both arms around my waist. I shut my eyes and lean against her. The next thing I know I’m collapsing into her, and she’s laughing, rubbing her hands over my back as she takes on more of my weight. “Now you can’t let go, or else I’ll fall,” I say, and she laughs again.
It’s the truth, though. At some point, when I wasn’t paying attention, Odile became a lot more important to me than I’d ever planned.
It feels like I’m giving up control. But this time, weirdly, I want to give it up.
“So . . .” Odile pulls back a little, and I look up at her. She’s still smiling. “We could go to the dance studio.”
I nod. Honestly, I don’t care where I am right now, as long as I’m with her.
“But—wait.” She freezes, her smile fading.
I take a small step back. “You’re right. There’s something I have to tell you first.”
“No, it’s not that. Do you—” She inhales sharply, then wrinkles her nose. “I smell something.”
“What? You smell—?”
Then the alarm goes off, and I smell it too.
Smoke.
Something’s on fire.
GROUP TEXT THREAD FROM EARLY WEDNESDAY MORNING
Christina:
HEY EVERYONE
Christina:
I’m sorry to send a big group text like this but DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS A FIRE IN THE THEATER
Fatima:
FIRE? What???
Fatima:
Are the sets okay????
Fatima:
We had the barricade almost done!!
Gabby:
Mel what’s going on?
Christina:
I got to school early for cheerleading practice and there’s a FIRE TRUCK outside the performing arts wing
Christina:
There’s police tape around and no one’s being allowed inside
Mel:
Hi, everyone. Don’t worry, it’s under control. The fire department came, and the auditorium’s still standing.
Mel:
Crew heads & Gabby, let’s meet quickly at lunch to discuss next steps. Cast, I’ll let you know as soon as
I hear the plans for today’s rehearsal.
Estaban:
Wait was there seriously a fire?
Alejandra:
Is everyone all right????
Christina:
Okay look you all this is clearly the curse
Christina:
I don’t know why everyone is so afraid to say it so I’ll say it. Something must’ve set off the curse.
Mel:
Relax, everybody, no one was hurt
Mel:
These things happen. There’s a long tradition of theater fires going back to, like, ancient Greece
Christina:
WE KNOW
Christina:
THAT’S WHY WE’RE CONCERNED
Lauren:
Is the opening going to be delayed?
Mel:
Look, the fire’s out now and no, nothing’s delayed. Remember the first rule of theater: the show must go on!
Mel:
I’ll text everyone as soon as I know the plan for this afternoon
PRIVATE TEXT TO MEL, LATER THAT MORNING
Gabby:
Seriously, could you tell me what really happened last night? Please?
Scene 2—Beaconville High School Cafeteria
DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 9
I turn off my phone and slide it into my backpack as I step into the back of the lunch line. I have no idea what to tell Gabby. I don’t know what to tell any of them.
I can’t believe Christina just threw out the word curse in that text thread. Like it was nothing.
“So what exactly is going on?” Dom jogs up and ducks into the line behind me. The two texting baseball players he just cut in front of eye him warily, but he ignores them, and they roll their eyes and go back to texting. “Nick’s telling everyone the whole theater melted down.”
I sigh. “Nick just wants a day off from rehearsal.”
“What really happened? You were there when the fire started, right?”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“Fatima said you and Odile were still in the theater after everyone else left.”
“That doesn’t mean we were there when it—”
“Okay, but were you?”
I cross my arms and try to think. I don’t want to lie to Dom, but I don’t want to admit that Odile and I were alone together when the smoke alarm went off.
“I don’t know any more than anyone else,” I say without meeting his eyes. “There was smoke out of nowhere, and then the alarm went off and the sprinklers came on, and we ran outside and called 911. It was scary.”
“Hell, I’m just glad you didn’t try to put out the fire yourself with that water bottle from your kit. I wouldn’t put it past you to go into seriously full-service stage management.”
I force a laugh, but after that we both get quiet, shuffling forward as the line creeps toward the front.
There’s so much we aren’t saying. He isn’t asking about Odile, and I’m not asking him about Gabby, either.
I wish I’d told him everything from the beginning. He’s the one person who might not’ve thought I was a horrible person. But now he’s doing—whatever it is he’s doing with Gabby.
Gabby, who was already worried about the moral implications of not telling the cast every detail of my so-called love curse. Gabby, who maybe actually kind of looks up to me a little bit. Or used to.
I have to tread carefully. Anything I tell Dom could get back to her.
Which means there’s no one I can talk to about what’s really happening. My dads are furious with me for hanging around in the building so late, and, as Pops put it, “Nearly getting burned to a crisp because you couldn’t be bothered to come home and kiss your girlfriend in our perfectly safe, well-appointed, fire-hazard-free living room.”
Even the teachers seem mad. I emailed Will and Ms. Marcus and Ms. Qiao this morning asking how I could help deal with the fire’s aftermath, but none of them responded. There was an announcement over the intercom that today’s theater and stagecraft classes had been moved to the auxiliary gym, but that was as much as anyone’s said.
Worst of all, I can’t even talk to Odile. I never got a chance to tell her about the superstition. And now, with what Christina said on that all-cast, all-crew text thread . . .
Could she be right? Did I set off the curse last night?
All those feelings . . . stuff I’ve never felt before, about anyone . . .
If I triggered the curse, that means I’ve fallen in love with Odile. Doesn’t it?
Have I?
No. Yes. I don’t know.
It’s too much to think about. I need to focus on something else.
Like making my cast and crew calm down already. Rumors are clearly going around fast. Lauren even asked if the opening was going to be delayed over this, and that’s exactly the kind of story we can’t have spreading. I
’ve got to contain this ridiculousness, now.
Moving our performance dates is a nonstarter. As soon as we strike, the dance company in downtown Beaconville has the auditorium rented for the next four weeks for their annual recital, and they’re paying the school system way more than our show could ever earn in ticket sales.
I’ve got to calm everyone down long enough to get through the last few rehearsals, then tech this weekend and dress rehearsals next week. Surely that’s doable. There are still nine days until we open, and the theater looks fine. From the outside, anyway.
As I’m leaving the lunch line with my plate of salad and mac and cheese, I spot Ms. Qiao heading for the door. I run up to her, fighting to hold my tray steady.
“Ms. Qiao!” I wave, but she doesn’t seem to notice me. “Ms. Qiao, please!”
When she turns around, there are bags under her eyes. “Can it wait, Melody?”
“Oh, sorry. I, uh.” I’m used to the theater teachers looking at least somewhat happy to see me. “Sorry to bother you, I just . . . no one seems to know what really happened—how bad the fire was, I mean—and there are a lot of rumors spreading. I want to tell everyone not to be so worried, but it would help if I could give them some real facts.”
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have many of those yet.” She glances out into the cafeteria. The theater section in the middle of the room is packed. Everyone’s leaning into their tables, talking urgently, cast and crew alike. Ms. Qiao sighs. “All right, here’s one thing you can tell them. The fire seems to have been largely contained to one room backstage, but the smoke damage was extensive, and the sprinklers soaked everything. There’s a cleanup crew working around the clock, but we don’t know when students will be allowed back into the performing arts wing.”
“Okay.” That sounds . . . not as bad as it could, I guess, but still not good. “It won’t jeopardize the show, will it? We’ll still be able to open next week like we’re supposed to?”
“It’s too soon to know those particulars.”
I swear my heart stops beating. “You don’t think there’s a possibility we’ll have to cancel?”
“As I said, it’s too soon to determine.” She sighs again. “But keep that to yourself, please. No need to cause a panic.”