The Fall Musical

by Peter Lerangis

  “Kyle?” Harrison repeated. “Hello?”

  “He’s not here,” someone called from the hallway.

  Brianna sprang out of her seat. “What do you mean, not here?”

  She ran into the hallway, asked where Kyle was. Nothing but shrugs, duh-filled eyes. No one knew where he was. She ran out the school door, sprinted around the building and onto the playing field.

  Kyle was limping quickly across the grass, looking up and over his shoulder—and heading straight for the fence. A football was bulleting toward him. “KYLE!” Brianna called out.

  He glanced at her. The football hit him in the shoulder. As he tried to avoid the fence, his ankle buckled beneath him. He lurched forward, hit the fence, and fell.

  Brianna ran toward him. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m cool,” he said, struggling to his feet. “Did the tryout start already? Damn. I thought I had some time. Yo, yo, dudes! I gotta go! Be back later!”

  He put an arm around her shoulder and hobbled back into the school, letting go of her only when they got to the auditorium. Apologizing to everyone, he limped down the aisle and climbed onstage. His overalls were caked with mud. He had a cut on one cheek.

  Brianna took a seat next to Charles. “The soiled look is all over the Paris runways this season,” he said.

  “Shut up and listen,” Brianna said.

  “Hello, Kyle,” Ms. Gunderson asked. “May I have your music?”

  “Music?” Kyle’s face fell. “Crap, it’s outside.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Harrison grumbled. “If he knew he was supposed to sing—”

  Brianna ran to the piano and leafed through the stack of Ms. Gunderson’s music. She read off a list of songs, tunes she knew Kyle could handle: “Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat” from Guys and Dolls, “Almost Like Being in Love” from Brigadoon, “Bring Him Home” from Les Misérables.

  He didn’t know any of them.

  “I thought your mom listened to show tunes,” Brianna said.

  Kyle smiled. “Doesn’t mean I know them all. Most of them kind of suck, you gotta admit.”

  “What do you know?” Brianna asked.

  “‘Danny Boy’?” he said sheepishly. “My dad sings that, like, seventeen times a day.”

  Immediately Ms. Gunderson began playing the intro. Brianna crossed her fingers.

  “‘O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are falling . . .’” he began.

  The correct word was calling. But it didn’t matter. Kyle sang the song with style. And no mistakes. And he made Charles cry.

  They gave him “sides”—sections of the play’s dialogue. He read them without any preparation. He was a natural actor, Brianna noticed. Funny, warm, comfortable in his body. And he could sense wherever Dashiell’s spotlight was. It was something not every person could do—half the time kids would just walk into a shadow and not know it. But Kyle had that ability to “find the heat.” Wherever the light was, there was his face.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. It was at times like this that she regretted deciding to be student director. If she had been allowed to audition, she would be playing opposite him. The possibilities would have been endless.

  “I can’t take my eyes off him,” Brianna whispered to Charles.

  “You’re not the only one,” he replied, gesturing toward stage right.

  Reese, her cardigan abandoned, was walking onstage. With a big smile, she sidled up close to Kyle. “If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to put him through a simple dance routine.”

  “Uh, ‘y’all’?” Charles said. “Since when did we become Southern?”

  “Look at her body language,” Harrison said with disgust. “She might as well thrust them in his face.”

  “I can hear you, you know,” Reese said. “Now, Kyle, can you do this? Sidestep, kick-step-kick.” She demonstrated a dance step that was all chest thrusts and hip wiggles, ending up right next to Kyle with her chest positioned so that his eyes could not help but go south.

  When Kyle tried the dance step, with the same thrusts and wiggles, the whole auditorium burst into hysterics.

  Kyle grinned at Reese. Reese scowled.

  Yes, he was a keeper.

  Brianna’s only regret was that she couldn’t be onstage, acting and singing next to him. That hurt.

  Then again, she’d be able to tell him what to do. There were some definite advantages to that.

  8

  Journal

  Kara Chang

  Thursday, September 13

  Callbacks are happening now, and I am at home. This is because I am such a jerk. Number One, I closed the window on the only people I know in this school when they were being nice to me, which was rude, dumb, and immature. I could have invited them in, or at least talked to them. Number Two, I didn’t apologize to Brianna about it. Yesterday, I was still too freaked to say anything. But I MEANT to do it this morning at the lockers and would have if MOM hadn’t burned cranberry pancakes for breakfast and insisted on making another batch, making me almost late for school, despite the fact that I HATE cranberry pancakes but ONE TIME when I was six or seven I must have said “Yum” when I saw a plate of them, so she somehow thinks they’re my favorite food ever and she made them especially for me because she sensed I was upset—and how can she be so wrong about one thing and so right about the other? But this is typical of Casey the Coward. I can’t tell Mom the truth about this, ever, and then when I finally arrive at school late and have to go straight to homeroom and miss my morning locker-time with Brianna, I totally chicken out and can’t say a word to her the WHOLE DAY LONG and by the end of the day I figure the Drama Club is pissed at me anyway so even if I begged to be involved, why on earth would they want me?

  Well, I blew my chance. Stage managering would have been nice. Maybe someday I can at least make friends with them. If they don’t totally think I’m scum.

  I just ate a whole pint of Haagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche ice cream. Mom’s working at the hospital so she wasn’t here to stop me. That’s another thing. I’m fat. Since we moved here, I can’t stop eating. Maybe if I stay away from the Drama Club, I’ll have time to concentrate on losing weight.

  It was cold, way too cold for the time of the year. Casey’s teeth chattered as she rushed toward school in the setting sun. If she believed in divine retribution, this would be the right punishment for her behavior.

  Rounding the corner of the auto-body shop, Casey saw the back of the school. The parking lot, just beyond the playing field, was still fairly full, and she thought she could spot Mr. Levin’s beat-up old Taurus. Good. Maybe they were still there.

  To shore up her nerves, she took out her cell phone and looked at Brianna’s text message:

  WE ♥ YOU PLS COME AFTER CALLBAX IF U WANT @ 5:30 WE COULD USE SOME HELP.

  It was now 5:47. She would have been there earlier, but she picked up the message only a few moments ago. It was that kind of day.

  “He goes back to pass!” a voice yelled.

  Walking with her head down, Casey hadn’t paid much attention to the guys playing touch football on the field. She looked up to see Kyle Taggart limping backward toward her, away from the other guys.

  “Excuse me!” she called out, moving to avoid him.

  But he was fast, even with the bum ankle. He backed right into her, and before she had a chance to scream, she was hurtling toward the ground, wrapped in a pair of long, flannel-clad arms. “Sacked by Chang behind the line of scrimmage!” Kyle shouted, falling to the ground and pulling her on top of him.

  Casey let out a scream of surprise. “Kyyyyyle!”

  “Flag on the play!” he bellowed. “Chang will not let go, ladies and gentlemen! She’s tough! She’s brutal! The crowd goes wild!”

  He was on his back, holding her above him, rolling from side to side. He was gentle, playful, not what she would have expected. She was in Kyle Taggart’s arms and the fact made her giggle helplessly. Kyle finally rolled them both to a sitting position and feigned
exhaustion and defeat.

  The other guys, Kyle’s friends, were averting their eyes impatiently and snickering. “Come on, Taggart!” one of the other guys called out.

  “I’m on the temporary disabled list!” Kyle shouted back, tossing them the football. He smiled at Casey. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

  She brushed herself off, feeling as if the earth had tilted back in the other direction and it was now mid-August and her fall jacket was making her way, way too hot, while the words “couldn’t resist” rolled around in her head with all the hints of possibility. “No problem. Um, how did you do this afternoon?”

  “In tryouts?” he asked.

  “Callbacks. Not tryouts.”

  Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t throw anything at me. You?”

  He had no clue about his talent. She looked into those big-sky eyes and that fearless smile. Absurd as it seemed, this guy who could tackle a strange girl on a dirty field and make her feel good about it, who could tuck an auditorium full of theater geeks into his back pocket, who could throw a football like a bullet, had no clue.

  “I didn’t get a callback,” Casey said lamely, checking her watch. “I’m just visiting. Well, uh, good luck.”

  “Later!”

  As he limped back to his friends, Casey ran toward the school. Her legs weren’t feeling too steady either. She gripped the handle of the back entrance and pulled the door open.

  Brianna was standing on the other side. “Boo,” she said with a startled laugh. “Hey, you’re here! You got my text message! I’m so glad you came.” She took Casey’s arm. “We already picked the cast. Want to see the list? Listen, there’s a lot you can do to help out. The others will be thrilled—”

  “No, wait,” Casey said. “I don’t want to see everybody yet. Can we talk, just you and me?”

  Brianna let go. She gave Casey a curious look, then smiled. “I am all about talk. My car is in the lot. The red Camry.”

  Casey blanched. She hadn’t anticipated this. “Wait. I was thinking we’d walk somewhere—”

  “We’ll walk when we get to the mall,” Brianna said.

  “Mall?”

  “You are in for the treat of a lifetime. You’re going shopping with me.”

  She was nervous. Brianna noticed it right away.

  On the drive to the parkway entrance, she had given Casey the final cast list and schedule: Kyle as Jesus, Harrison as John the Baptist/Judas, Lori as the “Day by Day” soloist, and Reese, Corbin, Ethan, Jamil, Lynnette, Aisha, and Becky as the other disciples. Rehearsals to begin Monday, September 17, performances November 16 and 17. It all seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Except for the news about Kyle. Casey had seemed interested in that. Judging from the little incident on the football field, which Brianna had seen through the window, Casey had fallen for him like everyone else.

  Brianna put down the windows. Patches of brown and yellow mottled the trees, and if you tried hard enough you could detect a faint salty whiff of the ocean. It didn’t help. Casey looked like she hadn’t ever been in a car before. Her right hand gripped the door handle, her right leg was rigid against the floor. She had barely said a word, and now they were already onto the parkway, halfway to the mall. As Brianna signaled and slipped into the center lane, she noticed Casey peering at the speedometer. Seventy-six miles an hour. Oops. Okay, that was a bit much. Brianna eased up on the accelerator.

  “I hope you’re not expecting the Mall of America,” Brianna said. “Taft Field is like the world’s first mall or something. I think Cleopatra used to shop there. They’ve fixed it up, though—you can’t really be a Long Islander until you’ve shopped at Taft Field. And besides, you’re going to need some power clothes if you plan to be stage manager.”

  “Huh?” Casey finally looked at her. “Stage manager? You still want me to do that?”

  “Do you want to?”

  Casey looked stunned. “Well, the reason I came to school was to apologize. I was mean to you the other day.”

  “Apology accepted!” Brianna said. “Now, let’s discuss the pros and cons of being a stage manager. First the pros. One: You’re perfect. Two: Everybody loves you. Three: You can do this job—it’s mostly just holding the clipboard with the schedule on it, and making sure people stay on track during the rehearsal. Four: If you say no, poor Charles will have a heart attack. Now for the cons. Wait . . . ummmm. Well, I can’t think of any cons, can you?”

  Casey didn’t answer for a long time. “It’s a lot of responsibility,” she finally said. “So much that can go wrong.”

  “It’s a show, Casey. It’s not football or lacrosse or hockey, where you can get your kishkes knocked out.”

  “Kishkes? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s something Vijay says. It’s Yiddish.”

  “Isn’t he Indian?”

  “Yes. You see what a bunch of eccentric and interesting people we have?”

  Casey sighed. “People can get injured onstage. Props can break and cut people. Turntables can trap shoelaces and mangle people’s feet. I read about someone whose jaw had to be wired after she ran into another actor in the dark. I would be responsible for the safety of everyone. I don’t know if I can trust myself.”

  Trust myself? Brianna had to look at her to make sure this wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t. This was too lame. Maybe Casey was afraid of something. Somehow the football incident with Kyle came to mind. “Can I ask you a personal question? Is this about Kyle?”

  “Kyle? Not at all.”

  “Is it the time commitment? Because I totally understand that. There are ways to get your homework done. All of us do really well in school, especially Harrison. Well, me, too. My parents will disown me if I don’t go to Yale. Which is fine with me, because afterward I can go to Yale Drama School. I’ll have six APs, and if I can keep my average above a ninety-six and crack a twenty-three hundred, maybe twenty-three fifty on the SATs, plus community service, school radio station, and orchestra—”

  “Wow,” Casey said. “Do you ever sleep?”

  Brianna hated that question. It sounded like her mother speaking. “I sleep enough. Some people don’t need much sleep.”

  Through her left window, Brianna saw a massive Hummer heading into her lane. She leaned on the horn and swerved to the right.

  “Watch it!” Casey yelled.

  WHAAAAAA! The driver of the car to the right of them leaned on his horn.

  The Hummer lurched back into its lane. A scornful face appeared in the passenger’s-side window, accompanied by a flipped middle finger.

  “He does the wrong thing and then abuses me?” Brianna leaned on her horn again. “Hey, you’re two for two—you destroy the environment AND you’re ugly!”

  The Hummer braked and started to slow down. Its passenger’s-side window slid open.

  “Brianna, don’t!” Casey shrieked.

  “Yeeps, road rage, time to book,” Brianna said. The exit for Taft Field was just ahead. She got into the right lane, signaled, took the ramp off the highway, and slowed to a smooth stop at a red light. “Well. That was exciting.”

  Casey was staring straight ahead. Her eyes were wide, her skin pale. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Brianna asked.

  “Fine,” Casey said, mopping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s just park and get out of the car.”

  Brianna nodded. The light turned green. Another car blared its horn. Brianna glanced in the rearview mirror but did not respond.

  Turning left, she drove to the mall. Casey was still clutching the armrest, at twenty-six miles per hour. Brianna wanted to scream.

  In the parking lot, a bus was unloading white-haired ladies in pantsuits at the mall entrance. Brianna bit her lip, pulled into a spot, and managed not to ask Casey if she wanted to join them for the ride home.

  9

  YaLeBiRd: BRI, I GOT IT! I AM STAGE MGRING A PLAYYY!!!!!!

  YaLeBiRd: called
caucasian chalk circle

  dramakween: woo-hoooo rachel kolodzny is hot. watch out yale!!! never hoid of ccc. is it like harold & the purple crayon?

  dramakween: that would make a good play.

  YaLeBiRd: maybe in 2 years, when ur here

  dramakween: lol

  dramakween: hey, guess what! we found a new sm!

  YaLeBiRd: whaaaat??? you replaced me? impossible! ☺ rofl . . .

  dramakween: well shes not as brainy and bootilicious as you.

  dramakween: in fact, shes a little weird. i thought she was going to turn us down.

  YaLeBiRd: is she crazy??? what did you do??????

  dramakween: took her to taft field, bought her clothes, fed her a mochacino (sp?) and brownie and half of my carrot cake.

  YaLeBiRd: then she said yes? because of carrot cake?

  dramakween: nope. she kept saying no. i couldn’t believe it.

  dramakween: i tried to act like siobhan the super-nanny. the way she deals with colter when he’s annoying. She just listens.

  dramakween: so i listened. and listened and listened.

  YaLeBiRd: mmmm

  dramakween: she sez she has this fear of cars, & that explained her behavior, i guess. casey, not siobhan.

  dramakween: big tearfest. she was all wound up about it.

  dramakween: then she said yes. tada. instant sm!

  YaLeBiRd: uh-huh. so ur happy?

  dramakween: yes!!!! can u imagine no sm? charles was gonna have a heart attack.

  YaLeBiRd: congratz. but

  YaLeBiRd: FEAR OF CARS? where does she come from? jupiter?

  dramakween: i know. my B.S. meter goes wild with this girl. i dont know why . . .

  YaLeBiRd: b careful

  dramakween: u know me. caution is my middle name.

  dramakween: gotta go. lurve & kishkes . . .

  “Crap!” said Corbin, throwing his script to the main stage floor. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

  “Language, plee-ee-eease!” Ms. Gunderson sang out sweetly from her seat at the piano.