The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre

by Robin Talley

  He finally stops whistling. I exhale, thinking he’s done what he set out to do, but then he opens his mouth and shouts, “Macbeth! Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth!”

  “What the hell!” I can’t believe this. “Shut up!”

  “Come on, you don’t actually think any of this matters, do you?” He takes a step toward me.

  “What are you talking about?” I cross my arms, but it feels like I’m walking into a trap.

  “While she’s got us busy doing stupid tricks, our show’s on life support.” Nick’s words boom out, directed at everyone in the room at once. The way he’s holding himself, the passion in his voice—he actually sounds like a lead actor for the first time. Oh, the irony. “Our costumes are toast. David’s in the hospital. Our theater’s shut down. We all know there’s a bigger problem here than some crew guy saying ‘good luck.’”

  There’s a collective sucking in of breath from the crowd around us. I glance from face to face, trying to figure out what they’re thinking, but there’s no way to tell.

  “You make us follow every single rule, but you think you’re above it all.” Nick lifts his chin, the same way he always does during his first big solo in rehearsals, except this time he’s looking right at me. “You’re going out with that girl even though you know it means the rest of us could get hurt.”

  “I’m not—I wouldn’t—” But I can hear my voice waver, and I hate myself for it.

  “Everybody knows.” Nick looks around at the group. Christina and a couple of the other actors nod, but most of them are still swiveling their heads back and forth between Nick and me. “There is a curse on our theater, and it’s all because she’s a slut.”

  “Hey!” I shout, and it’s comforting when a handful of people—actors and crew both—chorus “Hey!” and “Don’t!” at Nick, too.

  But my relief only lasts a second, because right away, it becomes clear that all they’re mad at him for is the use of that one particular word. And as soon as they’re done complaining about it, they fall quiet again. No one’s actually come over to my side.

  “Is it true, Mel?” Jasmin asks in the sudden silence. “You’re with Odile?”

  “I . . .” I can’t keep this up. I’ve hated lying to them.

  I shut my eyes and nod. It’s a relief not to see anything while I listen to the chorus of whispers and sighs that follows.

  “Tell them the rest,” Nick adds. When I open my eyes, he’s sitting back in his seat, a triumphant grin on his face. I turn away, but that only leaves me facing the crew side of the room, where dozens of incredulous mouths are hanging open. “About how the curse works.”

  I shake my head. “I . . .”

  “So the theater’s cursed because of that fire a hundred years ago, right?” Nick sounds absolutely delighted to explain this. “So what the techies do is, they get together and secretly pick a rule for every show. If we don’t follow it, the show’s ruined. This year they told us the rule was we couldn’t say thirteen—oh, and by the way, thirteen, thirteen, thirteen! Yeah, just like I thought, nothing happened. See, they didn’t tell us they’d already come up with a secret rule already. She”—and here Nick points at me, his grin widening—“wasn’t supposed to go out with anyone. But she did it anyway and then lied to everybody.”

  “Those two have been screwing us over all along.” Christina smirks, and it occurs to me, dimly, that she’s Odile’s understudy. She probably thinks if she goes along with this, somehow it’ll translate into her getting to be the star.

  This whole thing is so gross.

  “God, look at her—she isn’t even trying to deny anything,” Leah murmurs. “I didn’t want to believe it, but . . .”

  “Now we know why so many things have been going wrong.” Nick’s voice is still booming, but he isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s roving his eyes over the others, and they’re hanging on his every word.

  He thinks he can convince them that me being with Odile is why he lost his voice and nearly ruined everything. Hell—maybe he even believes that’s the truth.

  “She’s supposed to be our leader, right?” he booms on. “She can’t let her personal feelings take priority over the show.”

  The way he says that word, leader, drips with condescension. I want to scream at him, but that isn’t what an SM does.

  “Everyone.” I’m shaking, but I try not to let it show. “Think about this. We’ve had plenty of problems when I wasn’t dating anyone. Remember when Julio got a bloody nose out of nowhere? That happened before Odile and I started going out.”

  Except . . . it happened while Odile and I were blatantly flirting a few feet away.

  It’s true. God, it’s true.

  The curse, the superstition—I knew it all along. I just didn’t want to believe it.

  For years, I’ve lived and breathed theater. All I cared about was putting on a perfect show.

  It never could’ve happened. I’ve been messing it up for everyone all along.

  What if we can’t ever get back into the theater? Or worse—what if someone else gets hurt?

  This can’t keep going.

  “I’m sorry.” I stand up. I can see Ms. Qiao just outside the door of the black box, thumbing her phone. The break time must be up, but I don’t look down at my timer. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I charge through the group without making eye contact with anyone and stop Ms. Qiao as she’s walking inside. “Hi. I’m really sorry, but would it be all right if I missed the first couple of minutes back from the break?”

  Ms. Qiao nods, frowning. “If absolutely necessary. Is something wrong?”

  “I . . . no. I’m really sorry. I’ll be right back.”

  I’m not conscious of where I’m going until I’m already halfway to the dance studio.

  I have to do something.

  I have to fix this.

  From: Melody McIntyre

  To: All directors and crew heads

  Date: Thursday, 4/23, 3:07 p.m.

  Subject: Damage to Set Pieces Due to Backstage Fire—Preliminary Assessment

  List compiled based on verbal report from Mr. Green:

  Turntable—Some visible smoke damage but shouldn’t impact functionality and doesn’t require repair (hallelujah).

  Barricade—Two barrels were soaked by the sprinklers and will need to be replaced (or removed) before tech. The rest has some visible smoke damage, but to quote Mr. Green, “It adds verisimilitude.”

  Cart—Too much smoke and water damage; declared unsafe and removed by the cleaning crew. A parent* volunteered to build a new one out of the old Tevye cart from storage.

  Gate—Structurally sound. Needs complete repainting.

  Bridge—Structurally, looks sound but needs another round of testing. Also needs complete repainting.

  *Incidentally, the parent of the SM writing this list.

  Thank you, everyone! —Mel

  —Also stored on BHS performing arts department shared drive.

  Created by: Melody McIntyre, stage manager, class of 2021

  Viewable to: Crew heads and directors

  Editable by: Current SM ONLY

  Scene 5—Dance Studio, Beaconville High School Performing Arts Wing

  DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 8

  I find her here, like I thought I would. The lights are off, so I can just see her silhouette. She’s standing by the bookshelf with her back turned, the phone to her ear.

  My heart thunders in my chest. I should’ve come into this with a plan—but I’m not used to meticulously planning conversations with her, the way I do with other people. She’s the one I actually take risks with.

  Or she was.

  “Thank you,” Odile’s saying into the phone. “No, I can’t wait. I just have a few things to wrap up here and then I’ll be set.” There’s a pause, and she laughs. The same full-throated, genuine-sounding yet totally fake laugh I’ve heard her use on a dozen phone calls before. She’s acting.

  “Yes, certainly, let�
��s catch up on Monday,” she says, turning around and spotting me in the doorway. She smiles and holds up one finger. “Thank you again. Of course. Goodbye.”

  I wait until I’m positive she’s off the call before I say anything. When I do, my voice comes out in an embarrassingly fragile whisper. “Odile?”

  “Hi.” She looks tired, but she smiles when she meets my gaze. “The Netflix show is a go. I don’t have to meet the producer after all. I guess that’s good. But . . . anyway, has rehearsal started back yet?”

  “Yeah, but we’ve got a few minutes. They’re starting with ‘One Day More,’ so they won’t need you for a while.”

  “Still, I should be there, and so should you. . . . Right?”

  “I’ll head back soon.” I shut my eyes. All I can see is the quiet, pale faces of the crew realizing what I’d done.

  I can never let anyone look at me that way again.

  I open my eyes and stare down at the shiny wood floor, shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. I’m wearing my Midsummer shirt, which might not have been the best choice. Every time I look at it, I remember how ethereal Odile looked in her shimmery fairy queen gown.

  “There’s sawdust in your hair. How’d you manage that, with the scene shop closed?” Odile smiles and steps toward me, like she’s going to pluck it off my head, but when we’re three feet apart and I still haven’t moved, she drops the smile. “Is something wrong?”

  “Um.” If I just say the words, maybe this will get easier. “There’s something I should tell you. Some of the crew—and now the cast, too—well, they’ve got a new superstition, and it involves, um . . . me. And you.”

  “Right.” She nods, a short, heavy movement. “The rule about you not dating during shows?”

  I freeze. “What?”

  “David mentioned it a while ago. He said Nick was trying to spread some idea around that you were trying to sabotage the production by going out with me, but no one actually believed it. He wanted me to know so I wouldn’t be confused if anyone looked at me strangely, but I told him they already did that anyway.”

  She knew? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I—I tried. I mean, I was going to. But . . .”

  “I understand.” The corners of her lips turn up again. “You have to look like you believe in this stuff for your team’s sake. You’re the one who has to keep things going, whatever it takes. The show must go on, right?”

  I have no idea what to say.

  “I wish the whole world was only you and me.” She sighs. “Like that night before the fire started, when it was just us on that empty stage. It was only a couple of minutes, but it felt so good. As if the outside world didn’t exist. I wish it could always be like that.”

  “Me too.” I reach forward and thread my fingers through hers. Even though I shouldn’t.

  “I know you love the crew, and I do too, but I can’t believe they made you do that.” Odile shakes her head, still smiling softly. “I know they take the superstitions seriously, but that one crossed a line. They’re your friends. They had to know they couldn’t hold you to an expectation like that.”

  “Well . . .” I swallow. “It’s just that it looks bad, you know? I’m the one in charge of making sure everyone follows the rules, and here I am, breaking one.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Did something happen after I left rehearsal?”

  “Nick kind of . . .” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have lied to my team. I’ve got to do something to make them trust me again.”

  She nods, squeezing my fingers in hers. “You’re right. I wanted to keep things quiet at first, but it’s gotten too complicated. It’s time to tell them the truth. No more worrying about rumors.”

  “They already know.” I glance down at our intertwined fingers, then pull my hand back. “It’s too late.”

  “Wait.” She peers at me through the wispy curls that frame her face. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I have to fix this.”

  The words hang in the air between us, clogging up the space.

  Odile bites her lip. “Fix it . . . how?”

  “I need to come up with something that’ll make them leave us alone.” I shrug, but I’m trembling. “I don’t know. Maybe we should pretend to break up.”

  “You want to pretend to break up?” Odile blinks, hard, then nods, short and heavy, all over again. “Okay. Right, okay. Is . . . this your way of letting me down easy?”

  I freeze again. “What?”

  “If you want to end things, you don’t need to make up some excuse.” She reaches back and tugs on her long wavy hair, as though she’s going to pull it into a ponytail, even though she doesn’t have a hair tie in her hand. “I know I’m not like the other people you’ve gone out with. Everyone at this school has always thought I’m strange. But I thought things were different with you and me.”

  Rachel’s voice echoes in my ears. She said exactly the same thing.

  “They are different.” I swallow.

  “Then why are you suggesting we pretend to break up? And please don’t tell me it’s about getting the crew to trust you. You don’t make up for lying to someone by lying to them more.”

  She’s right. It’s just that I can’t bear to think about breaking up for real. “I don’t know. I barely understand any of this.”

  “Do you believe the curse is real?” She shakes her head. “Because if you do, then us pretending to break up won’t do any good, will it?”

  She’s right, again.

  I don’t want to be standing here. I don’t want to be saying these things that are making her look at me this way.

  I don’t want any of this to be happening. I want to wake up and have everything be the way it was.

  “You could tell them it’s none of their business if you want to date someone, and that this superstition has gone too far.” She shakes her head. “Of course, you can’t say that if you don’t believe it’s true. So do you?”

  “I . . .”

  “You know what, actually—I just realized I’d rather not know.”

  “Odile, I . . .”

  I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. All I know is, she’s turning toward the door, and that isn’t what I want. It’s the opposite of what I want.

  “The way I feel about you—” I stumble over the words. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone.”

  “All right, well, it would be nice to believe that, but you’re clearly very good at lying.” She shoves her phone back into her pocket.

  “Wait. Please.”

  She doesn’t look at me. Just shakes her head again.

  Some part of me is thinking, Okay. So we’re breaking up. I can deal with the breakup kind of pain. I know how to do that.

  But I already know this is different.

  I’m trying to focus on breathing—in, out, in, out—when the door behind me slams open.

  Bryce runs inside. When she sees us, her face goes slack. “Mel! We’ve been looking everywhere! Do you have your first aid kit?”

  Oh, God. “It’s in the black box. What’s going on?”

  “It’s Fatima.” Bryce looks like she’s about to throw up. “We were in the scene shop. There’s been an accident.”

  LES MIS CRISES TO DATE

  Victim

  What Happened

  Cause

  Julio

  Somehow got hit in the face without ever actually getting hit in the face

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Leah (Beth and Peyton have also theoretically gotten it, although I haven’t seen evidence of this)

  Weird rash

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Nick (also perpetrator)

  Got laryngitis right before rehearsals started

  Yelled
at a hockey game (in other words, being a dick)

  David

  Broke his leg (in my house)

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Gabby

  Got a cold (which is weird because she said she never gets colds)

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Fatima

  Got her hand caught on the turntable (she doesn’t need stitches and apparently it could’ve been a lot worse, but still)

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Kevin

  Got stomach flu the day of the pep rally/sitzprobe

  Completely random—no natural explanation (in other words . . . totally could’ve been the curse)

  Only logical conclusion:

  I, Melody McIntyre, have cursed my own show.

  —Stored on Melody McIntyre’s home laptop hard drive and Melody McIntyre’s home laptop hard drive only.

  Scene 6—Beaconville High School Gymnasium

  DAYS UNTIL SPRING MUSICAL OPENS: 7

  “The battery needs to clip onto your back.” Dom holds the wireless microphone pack above his head so the other principals can see. “The crew will keep them wrapped up, so don’t worry if you get sweaty. During shows they’ll clip onto your costume, but for today just stick them on your belt loops. You switch them on and off at the top.”

  “Like this?” Alejandra tries the switch, then taps the mic to see if it’s working.

  Feedback whines out through the gym, and we all cringe. Then, of course, two more actors immediately tap their mics exactly the same way, as though they’re expecting a different result. Dom waits for the feedback to end before he answers.

  “Yeah, that’s the right switch, but try not to tap the mics.” Dom sounds a lot more patient than he probably feels. I can’t believe I never noticed how good he was at acting. “In fact, it’s best not to touch them at all.”