The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre

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The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre Page 24

by Robin Talley


  Too late for that. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No. As I told you, it isn’t safe for students to go in the wing until further notice.”

  “Well, which room was the fire contained in? I could tell the crew that at least.”

  She nods heavily. “I suppose you might as well. It was the costume room.”

  Oh no. Oh no. “Are the costumes toast?”

  “I don’t have any more information, Melody. All we know right now is, that’s where the most extensive damage was.”

  “But we had hundreds of pieces in there. It took the team months to make everything.”

  “We’re aware of that.”

  “How could that have even happened? I locked all the rooms myself at the end of rehearsal. Did the fire start outside the closet? But then why would it have been contained . . .”

  “I really need to get back to work, Melody.” Ms. Qiao unscrews the cap of her water bottle and takes a long swig. A thin trickle drips down her chin. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Ms. Qiao look anything less than totally composed. “Please, try to keep the cast and crew as calm as you can, and tell them there’ll be no rehearsal today. When we have news to share, you’ll know.”

  “I . . .” Oh, God. This is much worse than I thought. “All right.”

  I glance back to the middle of the room. My usual table is packed with all the crew heads, plus Gabby. There are more of them than our table has seats, so people are sharing chairs and sitting on each other’s laps. Still, there’s none of the happy, giggly vibe you’d usually get from that kind of setup. In fact, no one seems to be talking at all.

  Instead, they’re all watching me. They’ve left my usual seat open.

  They saw me talking to Ms. Qiao. They’ll be waiting for a report.

  I swallow, my tongue thick and unwieldy in my throat, and make my way toward them, still clutching my tray of cold mac and cheese.

  “Is it true?” Fatima asks before I’ve even put down my tray.

  “Is what true?”

  “About the costume closet.” It’s Jasmin who answers. “Devin heard it was completely destroyed. All the costumes are gone.”

  “Where did he hear that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Dom’s voice takes me by complete surprise. When I turn his way, there’s none of the easygoing vibe he had when we talked just a few minutes ago.

  He looks deadly serious now. But then, I probably do too.

  “Where Devin heard it isn’t important,” he says quietly. “Please just tell us if it’s true.”

  “I don’t know exactly how bad the damage is, but . . .” I sit down heavily. “Ms. Qiao said the fire hit the costume room, yeah. The good news is, it was contained there. The damage to the rest of the building is just water and smoke, but we have to stay out of the whole wing until they’re finished cleaning it.”

  No one looks like they consider any of this good news.

  My eyes slide over to Rachel. She hasn’t spoken since I got here. She hasn’t even looked up. But she’s sitting sandwiched between Fatima and Jasmin, and there’s a pallor to her face that I recognize.

  It’s the same way she looked when she came into the booth that night during R&J. There’s anger there, it’s true, but more than that she looks . . . empty. As though she’s already given up.

  I lean across the table to touch her hand, to make sure she knows I understand, but she pulls away before I can reach her.

  “Be honest, Mel,” she says, her voice flat. “Is this the curse?”

  I shake my head, but everyone’s already talking at once.

  “They’re going to cancel the show,” Tyler mutters. “They have to, if we can’t even get in the theater.”

  “You know how we found those old swords we thought were from Shrek in the sub-basement?” Estaban asks. “Jacob checked the inventory and found out they were really from the Scottish Play. I told him to toss them, but we’ve already been using them in rehearsals for weeks.”

  “Plus, Leah’s still got that weird rash,” Fatima adds.

  “You know . . .” Jasmin scratches her neck. “I heard Beth thinks she’s getting it now too.”

  “How’s the team going to start over on all those costumes?” Dom asks. I give him a pleading look—he’s supposed to be on my side, and besides, this is a crew meeting; he doesn’t even need to be here—but he won’t meet my eyes. “It’d take months to make everything again, and the budget’s already shot.”

  “Fantine’s wigs were in the costume closet.” Shannon rubs her forehead. “The long one and the short one. Even if they didn’t get burned, the smoke will have ruined them. We’re going to have to put her hair up in a stupid mop cap and it’ll probably fall off in the fight scene.”

  “Hey!” I raise my voice just enough to get their attention, then drop it again so the other tables won’t hear. “You’ve got to stay calm, everybody. We’re supposed to be the leaders here. We can’t lose control, or the whole show will fall apart.”

  No one answers. But Gabby looks right at me for the first time since I sat down.

  She shakes her head, slightly. It’s the closest thing to outright disagreement I’ve ever seen from her.

  “Look.” I scoot forward to the edge of my chair, my lunch—and everyone else’s—pushed to the middle of the table, forgotten. “This is bad. I’m not pretending it’s not. But we’ve dealt with crises before. This team is a well-oiled machine, and we can handle anything. Besides, it isn’t a BHS show without some kind of last-minute emergency.”

  “Sure, we’ve had problems on our other shows.” Tyler leans across the table, his shoulders slumping. “But the theater’s never outright burned down before.”

  “And it didn’t burn down this time either!” I take a deep breath. Stage Manager Calm. “Seriously, it’s just one room backstage. An important room, no question—but it’s not the stage, and it’s not the house. Rachel and Devin and the rest of the costume team stored all their sketches and photos on the shared drive. I’m praying at least some of the clothes are still usable, but even in the worst-case scenario, we’ve still got their designs. All that’s left is the execution.”

  “You say that like it’s easy,” Jasmin says, but she doesn’t look quite as ready to kill me as she did a second ago. “Even if we got the entire crew to drop everything else on our plates and do nothing but sew all-new costumes for the entire show, we’ve only got nine days until opening. Not to mention that we don’t have any materials, because we don’t have any money.”

  “There’s still the emergency fund we always keep in the budget.” A plan is rapidly forming in my mind. “We can’t go in the performing arts wing after school today, but we could do a thrift store run. Who’s in?”

  My friends glance at one another uneasily.

  I watch, trying not to let on how nervous I am. It would be so easy for them to say no.

  “I could drive,” Bryce offers after a minute. “I’ve got my mom’s Tahoe.”

  “I could take my car, too, if we want to split up and hit more places,” Tyler says slowly.

  “That’s a good idea.” I nod confidently, as though I never doubted they’d agree. “Maybe Rachel could go in one car and Devin could go in the other. I can pull the costume matrix off the shared drive and we can divvy it up between the groups.”

  “I was just at Filene’s with my mom last night, and the clearance bins were overflowing.” Dom nods at me, and I can’t resist breathing out a sigh of relief. Him being mad at me is worse than anyone else being mad at me. “They’ve got to have some jackets and skirts we could work with.”

  “Excellent. Let’s write this down. Who wants to go in which car?”

  I take out a sheet of paper and start scribbling notes. Soon the others are volunteering ideas. I originally brought this up just to calm everyone down, but it’s already forming into an actual plan.

  Maybe we really can put together all-new costumes for an incredibly costume-heavy
show in nine days. I never, ever would’ve chosen to do this, but what I told the others is true—we have it in us to do absolutely anything to make the show work. That’s what theater’s all about.

  By the time the bell rings, no one’s side-eyeing me anymore. We’ve all got our assignments. We’ll rendezvous at my house at the end of the day.

  The only person who still hasn’t spoken is Rachel. She listened while we were making plans, and she didn’t try to stop us, but she never said she agreed, either.

  When we get up to dump our untouched lunch trays, though, she finally catches my eye. There’s an unsettling heaviness in her gaze.

  I can only guess what she’s thinking. And none of my theories are comforting.

  From: Jennifer Marcus

  To: All cast and crew

  Date: Wednesday, 4/22, 6:52 p.m.

  Subject: Performing arts wing cleanup

  Hello everyone,

  I know there’s a lot of concern about the performing arts wing. I wish I had more information to share, but right now we’re still waiting for assessments from the fire department and our insurance provider. We’ll send out more information as soon as we can.

  Theater and stagecraft classes will continue to be held in the auxiliary gym until further notice.

  We hope to have an update by midday tomorrow regarding the spring musical. Please continue to check your email for more information.

  Best wishes,

  Ms. Marcus

  —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 3—The McIntyre-Perez house

  DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 9

  “Success!” Pops’s voice booms as he staggers down the steps carrying my old sewing machine. “Found it in the attic, but it should still work.”

  “Let me see it.” Devin hurries over to grab the other end. It’s an ancient machine my grandmother handed down to me years ago, saying if I ever wanted to save money, I could learn to make my own clothes. I never did, but I’m glad we kept it. Maybe I had a sixth sense that someday I’d need to host an emergency costume sew-in in my basement.

  Pops and Devin maneuver the sewing machine into a corner and Devin bends down to examine it. Rachel crosses the room and kneels beside him. She wound up directing our afternoon shopping trip, so clearly she’s on board with this plan, but she still hasn’t made eye contact with me since lunch.

  We had a good haul, though, and two dozen members of the crew, plus Dom, are currently gathered in my basement, sorting through the bags full of clothes we dug out of clearance bins and thrift-store racks. It’s mostly long skirts and clothes and accessories that were fashionable a decade or so ago, so it’ll still take a ton of work to transform them into usable costumes, but it’s a start.

  I texted Will to tell him what we were doing, and he texted me back a thumbs-up, but that was it. Pops said he’s been in the performing arts wing all day with Ms. Marcus and the cleaning crew, and he’ll probably be there all night, too. Dad even left work early to go help.

  We got a very stressed-sounding mass email from Ms. Marcus a few minutes ago, but she didn’t say when we’ll be allowed back in the auditorium, or if the show’s still on in the first place. I only have one mode during a theater emergency, though, and that mode is action. Even with most of the crew, plus Dom, putting in as many hours as we can physically manage, it will still be a miracle if we can assemble enough costumes for a halfway decent show in time for opening, let alone tech.

  Still, there’s nothing we can do but try.

  “One sewing machine,” Rachel mutters. “Well, looks like it works, at least. Do you have any thread?”

  “Some,” I say, trying not to let on how shocked I am that she actually spoke to me. “We’ll have to triage. What do you think, one costume for each principal?”

  “Won’t work.” Rachel shakes her head. “Valjean alone has to change at least three times, and Cosette can’t exactly wear her wedding dress for the entire show. And Fantine can’t go to the factory in her ‘Lovely Ladies’ costume.”

  “If we cover her up with a sheet for the hospital scene, we can get away without a costume for that,” I suggest.

  “You want her to die in her sex worker corset?” Rachel glances up at me, meeting my eyes for the first time since lunch. Her jaw is clenched tight.

  Wow. That’s pure, undeniable loathing on her face.

  “Fine.” She turns back to the sewing machine. I’m clearly dismissed. “You’re the boss.”

  “No, I mean, I only—”

  “More help has arrived!” Pops booms from the top of the basement stairs. “Go on down, you all.”

  Rachel glances up suspiciously, and so do I. The whole crew’s already here. It’s seven o’clock and we’re planning to be here for hours yet, ignoring homework and families and everything else in our lives. No one but us would drop it all to sew costumes for a show that may or may not be going up next week.

  The footsteps that come down the stairs are quiet at first, but they quickly get louder. It sounds like at least half a dozen people are coming down.

  “Hey, everybody,” David’s richly resonant voice calls out. “I brought my mom’s sewing box in case we need it.”

  I catch Rachel’s eye again. She looks as wary as I feel. What are actors doing here?

  “I’ve got all my brothers’ old Halloween costumes,” Beth calls behind him. “Most of them are crap, but maybe we can cut them up or something?”

  “I have some random stuff.” Odile comes down next, holding up two bulging shopping bags from Joann Fabrics. “I didn’t know what we needed so I got a little of everything.”

  Now Rachel’s outright glaring at me, but Devin rushes up to Odile. “Did you get machine thread?”

  “I got so much thread.” Odile steps forward and opens the bags so Devin can see. Behind her, Malik, Lauren, and Alejandra are trooping down the stairs, all of them carrying boxes and bags.

  “How did you know we were . . .” I stare at them stupidly for a moment. Then I make the connection, and I turn to Dom.

  “I told some of the cast what was going on.” He glances up from where he’s sorting thrift-store vests into piles. “It was Odile’s idea to bring stuff over.”

  “I asked him not to say anything.” Odile shrugs sheepishly as she bends to unload her bags. “I . . . was afraid you might not want us to come.”

  “We definitely would’ve wanted you to if we knew you were bringing thread,” Devin says.

  “I got a portable sewing machine, too.” Odile pulls a brand-new box out of the bottom of her fattest bag. “It’s a cheap one, so I don’t know how much help it’ll be, but . . .”

  “Cheap is better than nothing.” Devin rips open the box, which doesn’t actually look that cheap to me.

  I step forward to help Odile with her bags. Just like she said, they’re full of random odds and ends—thread and needles, buttons and zippers and snaps, half a dozen hot glue guns, and bags and bags full of lace and trim and beads. It’s exactly what we need to turn our pile of thrift-store finds into actual, period-appropriate costumes.

  “You’re incredible,” I whisper as the rest of the actors make their way into the room, the crew members eagerly reaching out to see what they brought. “Seriously. Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

  Odile steps forward and tilts her head onto my shoulder, which catches me by surprise. I want to put my arm around her and keep her in exactly this spot, just for a moment.

  But we’re surrounded by crew members, and even though everyone’s distracted right now, this is exactly the kind of risk we can’t take.

  I pull away.

  “We should ask how the costume team wants to use you all,” I say loudly to the actors, moving over to where Rachel’s winding thread into my grandmother’
s sewing machine. Before I reach her, a light hand lands on my elbow.

  “Hey, Mel?” I turn to see Gabby biting her lip. “Could we talk for a second?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

  I can tell she wants to be alone, so we climb the stairs to the kitchen as Devin starts loudly assigning jobs to the actors. Pops has gone upstairs, but the bread and cold cuts and protein bars he set out for us earlier are still on the counter. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but the serious look in Gabby’s eyes makes me wait to touch the food.

  “So I, uh . . .” She crosses her arms. “I wanted to ask if it’s true.”

  Uh-oh. “If what’s true?”

  “You’re with her, right? You have been for a while.”

  I swallow.

  “Please don’t lie.” Gabby swallows too.

  I shut my eyes. Then I nod. This is over. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What about the curse?” Her voice is creeping higher. When I open my eyes, her lip is trembling. “What we talked about at strike—how you weren’t going to go out with anyone because that might trigger it . . .”

  I shake my head. “I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “So you’ve just been—doing it anyway?” Gabby’s lip is full-on shaking now. She looks seconds away from outright crying. “And what, hoping none of us would notice?”

  Now I want to cry, too. “I didn’t think of it like that, but . . .”

  She turns away, intently studying a loaf of multigrain bread. I try to think of something I can say to make this better, but there’s nothing.

  “It’s not as if I planned it. It just sort of . . . happened.” But I know that doesn’t make it better, and it’s obvious Gabby doesn’t think so either. “It was one of those things. Like you and Dom.”

  “I didn’t want you to know about Dom and me because I thought you’d say it was unprofessional. You’re always talking about how we need to keep a safe distance from the actors.”

  “Well . . . I mean, that’s true, but it’s fine in this case. I don’t really care if you and Dom go out.”

 

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