Showstopper

by Lisa Fiedler

  “Oh-jee-jee-yuh … wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

  If we’d actually had aisles, the audience would have been rolling in them.

  All in all, our production wound up being a combination of moments so right and perfect, they surprised even us. But there were also plenty of silly goofs and unlucky pitfalls of the sort that have actors silently reminding themselves the show must go on.

  Our “perfect moments” went as follows:

  The lights Gina’s father’s electrician set up for us were great, and Deon’s rented follow spot worked like a dream.

  The clashing of swords and spears booming through the pizza car’s speaker created a truly chilling effect as the sounds echoed into the darkening night. And the fact that there were no actual weapons gave the battles a weird and eerie quality.

  “Let’s hear it for pantomime,” said Susan.

  Nobody missed a single line of dialogue, and the comic timing was flawless.

  Nora cried on cue. Athena was amazing. And the Cyclops scared us all half to death.

  It was the costumes that really blew me away, though. The togas looked awesome, and even the pigs looked professional, but the undisputed wardrobe highlight was Jane’s Charybdis costume—a work of artistic genius and incomparable creativity! Maxie had taken an old Hula-Hoop and draped it with jagged strips of sheer blue fabric and green tulle of varying widths and lengths, and embellished these shreds of material with glittering sequins and crystals. Deon used one of the colored gels that came with the portable spotlight to shine a circle of aqua-blue shimmer on her, and when Jane set the hoop in motion, the fabric fanned out and fluttered, spinning and twinkling. She really did look like a furiously churning whirlpool.

  The only noticeable mistake (that totally had us cracking up) was a scenery glitch; Gina and Brittany forgot to roll down the sunset backdrop and left the interior of Odysseus’s house in place for the Siren scene. It looked as if our hero’s ship was sailing through his living room.

  When the cast finally came out to take their bows, the crowd rose from their blankets and lawn chairs and applauded wildly.

  We’d done it again.

  “It was an adventure,” said Austin, giving my shoulder a congratulatory squeeze. “But in the end, the theater gods smiled on us.”

  I turned to Deon, a huge smile on my face. “See, D?” I said. “Even without the lights and the microphones, it all turned out great, didn’t it? And now that we know we can rent portable lights and stuff, maybe next time when we’re back in the clubhouse theater we can—”

  Deon cut me off with a shake of his head. “You might have to find another tech guy for next time, Anya. One who doesn’t mind that his opinions don’t matter.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “D, what are you saying?” asked Austin.

  “I’m saying I’m not sure if I’ll be back for the next Random Farms performance.”

  Onstage, the cast had their arms outstretched to acknowledge the stage crew. With a shrug, Deon jogged out to join Maxie, Brittany, and Gina for their bows.

  “What just happened?” I asked Austin, my eyes wide, my heart racing. “Did he just … quit?”

  Austin frowned. “I think he’s just still upset about the vote. Give him some time to cool down and think it over. He’ll be back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Austin’s answer wasn’t exactly an answer. “Let’s enjoy the moment,” he said. “After all, if there’s one thing we learned from this odd odyssey, it’s that there’s no telling what the gods have in store.”

  I managed a smile and shifted my focus from Deon’s shocking words to the joyful sound of cheers and applause. It had been an exciting journey, with all sorts of challenges, and what I’d learned was that while heroes and battles might be thrilling, when you got right down to it, friendship was the most epic adventure of all.

  As I watched my cast take one final bow, I knew Austin was right: the theater gods were smiling on Random Farms.

  And I didn’t want to miss a second of it.

  I woke up Saturday morning feeling proud and a little sad. I loved that the show had been a success. But I hated that it was over.

  When I went downstairs, I found Susan already at the kitchen table, counting our ticket money.

  “We made a fortune,” she informed me. “In case you were wondering.”

  One look at the amount of cash and I knew she wasn’t exaggerating. Between the box office earnings, our advertising revenue, and our bake sale income (minus the cost of the CCC theater rental, the follow spot, and a few other various expenses), we were left with what Susan called “some serious bank.”

  When my dad came down to breakfast, I took a ten-dollar bill from the table and met him at the coffee maker.

  “Here,” I said handing him the cash.

  He looked perplexed. “What’s this for?”

  “It’s … um … well, what’s it called when someone hires you to be their attorney?”

  “A retainer.”

  “Okay,” I said, smiling. “That’s what this is … a retainer. Random Farms is hiring you to be our lawyer.”

  “I’m flattered,” said Dad, opening the bag of coffee and scooping some into the machine. “But why in the world do you need a lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” said Susan, squinting at me. “Why in the world do we need a lawyer?”

  “Because we used all those songs and scenes in Random Acts of Broadway without paying the licensing fees, that’s why.”

  “Oh, that,” said Susan, pushing aside the piles of money and reaching for the Cheerios. “I forgot about that.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” I said firmly. “Dad, we need to settle up with all the people or companies who own the rights to everything we used in our first show. I’m not sure exactly how we do that yet… . I guess I’ll have to research who owns the rights, then write letters or send e-mails explaining that when we used the material, we didn’t know about permissions and licensing fees. Now that we do know, we want to do the honorable thing and pay what we owe.”

  My dad was staring at me with a weird expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is ten dollars not enough to secure your legal services?”

  “It’s not that,” said Dad. “I guess I’m just a little thrown off by your bringing this to my attention after the fact.”

  “I think what Dad’s trying to say,” said Susan, pouring some cereal into a bowl, “is that you already got away with it, so why bother?”

  “I’m not saying that at all,” my father said. “I’m saying that I feel like maybe I dropped the ball a little by not advising you on this issue for the first play.”

  “But you didn’t even know what songs we were using until you saw the show,” I pointed out. “So how could you have known we were using them illegally?”

  “That’s true,” Dad allowed. “And in my defense, intellectual property isn’t my area of expertise. Honestly, it just never occurred to me that there would be a problem.”

  “Aw, don’t beat yourself up about it, Dad,” said Susan, munching on her Cheerios. “We didn’t realize it either until we tried to license Annie. But we’ve got the funds to settle up now, so it’s all good.”

  Dad tucked the ten dollars into the pocket of his bathrobe and smiled. “Consider me officially on retainer and, if I may say, officially proud. Not only about this, but for the incredible job you did on The Odd-yssey. It was a fantastic show. I loved the way you chose to mime the battle scenes. It was very imaginative and unusual.”

  “And unavoidable,” muttered Susan.

  I was helping myself to a bowl of cereal when the doorbell rang.

  “Can someone get that?” called Mom from upstairs.

  “I will!” I replied, breezing into the foyer. I suspected it would be Becky, or maybe Austin showing up with the morning edition of the Chappaqua Chronicle. With any luck, there’d be an excellent review of our show in the arts and entertainment section.
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  But when I opened the front door, it wasn’t Becky or Austin.

  It was Mackenzie. And her mother.

  And there was nothing excellent about that.

  CHAPTER

  23

  “What do you mean, you quit?” I heard myself saying.

  I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to get the words out, what with Mrs. Fleisch scowling at me like she was. From the second I’d opened the door, she’d been looking at me as if I’d done something truly awful and unforgivable. It was kind of a miracle I’d even heard Mackenzie say what she’d said.

  Which was, I’m quitting the theater.

  “I don’t want to quit,” Mackenzie said, her voice trembling. “I have to. My mother’s making me.”

  “But why?” I was careful to address this to Kenzie and not her glowering mother.

  “Because … I lied. I lied about being part of the theater right from the start. I pretended to go to the dance studio because I knew my mother would never let me join Random Farms if I told her the truth. I really thought I could pull it off, and even if I couldn’t, I convinced myself it would be better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”

  From the look on Mrs. Fleisch’s face, I had a feeling the forgiveness part wasn’t going quite the way Mackenzie had hoped it would.

  “Can you imagine my shock, Anya,” said Mrs. Fleisch, “when I went to pick up Mackenzie from dance class on Friday afternoon and she wasn’t waiting for me outside as usual? I was a nervous wreck! I went inside and her dance teacher explained that she’d been missing classes for weeks!”

  So that was why Mackenzie had wanted to leave early on Friday. To get to the studio before her mother did. I’d made her stay late … and she’d gotten caught. Not that I thought it was okay for her to be lying to her mother. But I hated being the reason she was in trouble. The whole thing was a mess!

  “Do you know how important Mackenzie’s dancing is to her?” Mrs. Fleisch asked.

  “I do,” I said. Then I mustered up my courage and, in as respectful a tone as I could manage, I said, “But maybe the theater is important to her, too.”

  At this, Mrs. Fleisch sighed. “Anya, what you’ve put together here is very admirable but it’s not a professional theater.”

  That assessment hit me like a slap across the face.

  “I disagree,” I said. “We’ve all worked very hard. We put on a terrific revue. And last night’s show was a huge hit. We got another standing ovation, and we made twice as much money as we’d even hoped for.”

  “I’m happy things went well last night,” Mackenzie said, her expression earnest. “But I think you’re going to have to use some of that money to hire a choreographer for future shows.”

  “Future shows?” Mrs. Fleisch shook her head and patted my arm as though she actually thought she was being helpful. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Anya, but I doubt very much there are going to be any ‘future shows.’” She turned and started down the porch steps. “Let’s go, Mackenzie. You have a lot of classes to make up.”

  “I’ll be right there,” said Mackenzie.

  Frowning, Mrs. Fleisch hesitated, then continued on her way, leaving us alone on the porch.

  “What did she mean there aren’t going to be any future shows?” I asked, struggling to keep the anger out of my voice. “Kenz, has your mom done something to put an end to the theater?”

  “No,” Mackenzie said quickly. “She hasn’t done anything, but I heard her talking on the phone to some of the other moms.”

  “Saying what?”

  Mackenzie was wringing her hands. “Saying school starts in two weeks, and that I’m hardly the only kid who has extracurricular commitments.”

  She had a point. I thought of Sam’s baseball responsibilities, and Joey’s guitar lessons. Maddie and Jane would have cheer practice starting in September, and I was pretty sure Travis and Spencer both played in the youth football league.

  “Well, we can be flexible,” I said. “We can work around those things.”

  “I hope so,” said Mackenzie. “But I heard my mother tell Mrs. O’Day that she doubts very much many parents will allow their children to skip their professionally taught lessons and activities to take part in a twelve-year-old’s backyard theater.” She paused. “I think Mrs. O’Day agreed with her. So did Mrs. Walinski.”

  At the curb, Mrs. Fleisch gave a quick blast on the car horn.

  “I’m really sorry, Anya,” said Mackenzie, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just wanted to give you … ya know … a heads-up about this. If the other moms decide not to let their kids be part of Random Farms, well …” She trailed off, finishing with a shrug. Kenzie gave me a hug, then hurried down the steps.

  All I could do was stand there, watching her go, my mouth hanging open and my mind spinning.

  It was true that when I’d first come up with the idea for the theater, I’d imagined it as a summer activity. But somewhere along the way it had become much bigger than that. It had to keep going! We’d found a theater of our own, we had a reliable business model, and most important, we had a group of talented actors, dancers, and singers who shared a love of theater and a willingness to work hard.

  For crying out loud, we even had an attorney on retainer!

  But I suddenly found myself wondering if any of that would matter when school started and all those tempting sign-up sheets and permission slips for teams and clubs and organizations began to circulate. Activities run by grown-ups, who handled all the details and headaches so the kids could just show up and have fun instead of worrying where the follow spots and costumes and set pieces were coming from.

  And what about homework? Tests, projects, and book reports …

  Would my cast and crew be able to handle all that and rehearsals, too? And there was still the question of whether Deon would come back, not to mention the fact that Sophia and Nora could barely stand the sight of each other!

  So what did all this mean for the future of the Random Farms Kids’ Theater?

  I really and truly did not know.

  Only after Mrs. Fleisch’s car had sped away did I notice Austin jogging across the front lawn. He was carrying the morning Chronicle and smiling his head off.

  “The reviews are in,” he announced, waving the newspaper over his head like a flag. “The headline reads, and I quote, ‘They’ve Done It Again! Random Farms Has Stunning Success with Second Show.’ ”

  “That’s great,” I said, forcing myself to return his smile.

  He frowned at me, noticing that I was still in my pajamas and bathrobe. “Hey, did you forget about the big double date? Shouldn’t you be dressed already?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right.” But I had forgotten about it. I’d forgotten all about Matt and Becky and bowling and everything else in the world. “Just give me a minute,” I said.

  As I trudged up the stairs, I tried to let the excitement of the fact that I was about to go on my first real date push all the miserable thoughts about what Mrs. Fleisch had said out of my brain.

  After all, I was going bowling with a cute, smart guy, and my two best friends were joining us. I had everything to be happy about.

  Didn’t I?

  In my room, I changed into the shorts and shirt I had picked out to wear today. It was the perfect outfit. I could picture Becky at this very minute, rifling past all the soccer jerseys and running pants in her closet to get to that adorable cotton skirt with the scalloped hem she loved so much but rarely wore. This made me smile.

  Our first double date.

  I picked up my hairbrush and gave my long dark hair a few strokes. Susan and I had debated for a full hour before we went to bed last night about how I should wear it. We’d decided on a messy bun, that all-purpose casual style that made me look closer to thirteen and a half than just plain twelve.

  When my hair was done, I smeared on a bit of tinted lip gloss and felt my spirits begin to lighten.

  Because, really, I had an
awful lot to be happy about. I had great friends and an awesome family, and I was pretty sure Matt liked me as more than a friend, which was a totally new and flattering experience.

  And over the last few weeks I had (with a whole bunch of help and support) succeeded in putting on two amazing shows. I was seriously proud of that, and I’d always be proud of it.

  Even if two turned out to be the limit.

  Even if we never got to do another show as Random Farms.

  Which I desperately hoped would not be the case. But right now it was hard to say what was going to happen.

  “Hey.”

  I turned to see my sister grinning in the doorway. “Hey.”

  “You look great! Matt’s going to be swept off his feet.”

  I blushed. “Thanks, Susan.” Then, on an impulse, I ran to her, threw my arms around her, and hugged her as tightly as I could. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Uh … oh-kay. You’re welcome?” The baffled look on her face made me laugh.

  As I picked up my purse and slung it over my shoulder, Susan cocked her head and asked, “So what was all that about with Mackenzie before? Did I hear Mrs. Fleisch talking to you? Sounded pretty intense.”

  “It was,” I admitted. “But I’m not going to think about it right now.”

  With that, I gave Susan a brave smile and headed down the stairs.

  LISA FIEDLER

  Lisa Fiedler is a lifelong fan of musical theater. She saw her first Broadway play at age seven and has been badly belting out show tunes ever since! Her books for children and young adults include the Mouseheart trilogy; Romeo’s Ex: Rosaline’s Story; and Dating Hamlet: Ophelia’s Story. She and her family divide their time between their home in Connecticut and their cottage on the Rhode Island seashore.

  ANYA WALLACH

  Anya Wallach is the real-life creator of the Random Farms Kids’ Theater, a not-for-profit organization she started in her parents’ basement when she was a teenager. Today the Random Farms Kids can be regularly seen on Broadway and in film and television. Anya also created the theater’s extensive outreach program, with a focus on bullying prevention. In conjunction with Random Farms, Anya has been featured in the New York Times and on Fox News and Teen Kids News, and was recognized by the Huffington Post for her work as a young social entrepreneur. She lives in New York City, where she runs Random Farms full-time. Learn more at www.anyawallach.com and www.randomfarms.com.