Upstaged

  Shantel goes on: “I learned a lot at Moberly. Most of it wasn’t about academics. But I sure got schooled.”

  “Lights up on dorm room.”

  There’s the sound of all of us turning our script pages together. I see Piper’s song coming up. Cue crazy heart fluttering.

  Neeta reads, “One bed is tidily made up, the other appears to be piled with clothes and blankets. Hannah puts her suitcase down at the foot of the tidy bed. She steps toward the other bed.”

  I shift forward on my chair, hold my script out in front of me and swallow.

  Neeta: “Suddenly, blankets fly off. Piper jumps up and stands on her bed.”

  “Welcome to your dorm!” I declare.

  “Nastier,” Marissa says under her breath.

  I whip my head to look at her, thrown off by the interruption. But she stares at her script, giving nothing away.

  Drew interjects, “And we go into ‘Welcome to Your Dorm’ with Piper and the girls.” He points at me, and I enjoy the feeling of everyone looking my way. Well, everyone except Marissa.

  “We’re not going to sing through the songs today,” Drew says. “But I’ll play a few bars to give a sense of the mood of each number.”

  He sits at the piano and bangs out a high-energy, rapid tune. I can’t wait for the chance to sing it.

  Drew talks over his playing. “Piper’s leaping between the two beds, going around poor Hannah. In the second-to-last verse, one of you ensemble ladies will be coming in the window, one from under the bed, singing. A mini-swarm. Should be a fun, frenetic number. Camilla’s got some great stuff worked out for the choreography. Good show opener. Okay, song ends, then Piper will say—”

  “Come on, shorty. You don’t wanna be late for field hockey, do ya?” Do I sound nasty now?

  “Great,” Drew says.

  We move on to the next scene, one with Gregor’s and Brayden’s characters.

  I sink back in my chair. So that’s it for my big solo: two lines, one of which I apparently read wrong, and a song that’ll give Camilla the chance to have me flinging around the stage.

  I glance at Marissa’s script in her lap. She’s penciled all sorts of notes beside Piper’s song. She notices me looking and makes a show of turning the page and leaning away from me. If Piper’s supposed to be nasty, I’m thinking Marissa might be a natural.

  * * *

  During the break between reading the first and second acts, I go into the ladies’ room, a drafty, two-cubicle thing. One of the cubicle doors opens and a girl about my age comes out. She’s longlimbed and sunny-looking, with pixie-short hair. “Oh, hey. You’re Piper, right?”

  “One of them anyway. I’m Ellie.” Bathroom small talk always feels weird to me, but the girl doesn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m Rachel,” she says, looking at me in the mirror as she washes her hands. “This is my first play with Youth Works. Have you done a bunch?’

  “No, I’m new too.” I inch toward a cubicle.

  “You’re kidding.” She yanks three paper towels out of the holder. “And you’ve got a big role like Piper?”

  “I wouldn’t call it big.”

  “A solo? That starts the show? I’d call that big. I’m in the ensemble. All of the fun, none of the pressure. I hope I get picked to be in your number. I’d love to be the girl coming in through the window. That’s about as big a role as I’d want.” Rachel crumples the towels into the hinge-topped garbage can beside the sink. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.” She breezes out the door.

  The garbage can’s lid squeaks slowly to a stop. I watch it and think: I’m annoyed at sharing a good role with Marissa when I could be like Rachel, happy at the prospect of being in the ensemble and climbing through a window—if I’m lucky.

  Neeta calls, “Two minutes, people.”

  Just enough time to adjust my attitude.

  Eight

  Drew spreads out the sheet music on the piano’s rack. “This is a demanding number. You’ve got to punch it from the start and keep it jumping.”

  Good thing I did a voice warm-up at home this morning.

  The rehearsal hall at ten o’clock on Sunday morning is quiet compared to Friday’s first read-through. Marissa and I are the only ones at the piano with Drew, here for our first singing rehearsal. I was expecting Shantel too, but then I recall that though Hannah’s in “Welcome to Your Dorm,” she doesn’t sing anything.

  That’s okay. I can hold my own against Marissa.

  Drew rubs his hands together. It’s the first week of fall, and we can feel it in the chilly room. “I’ll play the number for you once all the way through, and then we can work it verse by verse.”

  I get my script out of my backpack. I practiced the song at home a few times after Friday, so I’m feeling ready.

  “Actually,” Marissa says crisply, “I’ve got it memorized, so I’d love to dive right in, try the whole thing.” She opens her script and smiles her big-teeth smile at Drew. “If that’s okay.”

  “That’s great. Diving in.” He shifts the piano bench closer to the piano. “Pull up a chair if you want, Ellie.”

  I don’t want. But I tuck the script under my arm, reach a chair off the stack under the nearest window and set it down beside the piano. I remind myself about Rachel’s easy acceptance of being in the ensemble. I remind myself that I’ve always loved every part of rehearsals. I can make myself enjoy watching Marissa work.

  She takes off her oversized knit scarf, circles her head a bit, stretches her mouth wide and shakes out her shoulders.

  Yes, Marissa, we can see you preparing.

  “Anytime,” she says to Drew.

  Drew rolls up the sleeves of his denim shirt. “Start with Piper’s line, and then I’ll come in.”

  Marissa plants her feet. Nods. “Welcome to your dorm!”

  Doesn’t sound any nastier than I did.

  The intro is jangly and rapid, chipper yet bossy. Marissa sings, “Welcome to your dorm / your home away from home / your palace on the quad. / That is if palaces are prisons / and homes are crowded pens. / The primitive conditions / might drive you ’round the bend. / Welcome to your dorm.”

  The rising notes on drive you ’round the bend are a bit out of Marissa’s range. I shift forward on the chair.

  She goes on: “Welcome to your dorm / your shelter from the storm / the place to rest your head. / That is if ‘rest’ means squeaky bedsprings / a roommate who will snore / especially after sneaking / three beers and then four more—”

  Marissa mimes some wobbly drinking. Cute. But it doesn’t hide that she’s not landing those same notes.

  “Welcome to your dorm.”

  Drew stops playing. “Hold it there. The next bit is Piper with some of the ensemble. Those actors won’t be here until…” He looks to Neeta, who’s bustling in with an extra-large coffee.

  “Eleven,” she says. “You’ve got forty-five minutes.”

  Drew laughs. “How’d you know what I was asking?”

  Neeta dumps an overstuffed messenger bag onto the table. “Mind reader. All stage managers are. Morning, chickies.” She raises her coffee to Marissa and me. “Continue.”

  Drew turns back to us. “Remember, you’re both ensemble for the performances when you’re not Piper. So Ellie, join Marissa for this verse.”

  When I stand next to her, Marissa edges away. I shift closer just to bug her. She deliberately avoids eye contact.

  “Piper stays on melody, ensemble on harmony. I’ll sing it for you first, Ellie.” Drew’s telling me, not asking, like I’m probably not as prepared as Marissa.

  He plays the music, singing the harmony, and looks at me to see if I’ve got it.

  I nod.

  Marissa and I sing, “We know this isn’t quite the place you were expecting / of academic sisterhood reflecting / the dreams of bright young minds busy connecting /with other bright young minds / together for this time / of brainy fun sublime—”

  Marissa snarks Piper’s spoken line: “
Too bad.”

  Drew laughs and says, “Yes!” as he keeps playing.

  Marissa carries on alone to the end of the song.

  Neeta claps. “That number’s awesome. Piper’s such a weasel.”

  A weasel. I’ve never played a weasel before. I suspect Marissa has.

  Drew rests his hands in his lap. “Terrific start, Marissa.”

  “Thanks. I love how wordy this song is. A fun workout for your mouth.”

  I’m tempted to point out that she ran some words together.

  “Yeah, you really need to limber up before that one,” Drew says. So I was right about her words running together!

  Drew gestures to me. “Okay, Ellie, you ready?”

  “Totally.” I look at Marissa and wait for her to go sit in the chair this time.

  She looks back at me. One thin eyebrow arcs the tiniest bit, just for me to see. “I should stay here for the ensemble part, right, Drew?”

  “Perfect,” he says.

  Fine. Marissa can stand wherever she wants. This moment is what I’m here for. To be the fantastic singer I know I can be.

  I launch easily into the first verse, belting the high notes. It feels great. A vocal bull’s-eye.

  Second verse, same thing.

  When Marissa sings the ensemble part, I keep on belting. And when I end the song, Neeta puts down her bag of gummies to clap again. “Wowza. No surprise that you were cast.”

  Drew grins. “Good set of pipes.”

  I get a rush of warmth. I feel at home. I’m doing what I’m good at.

  “Yeah, you’ve got a strong voice,” Marissa says.

  “Thanks. So do you.” That’s easy enough to say, knowing mine’s stronger.

  “But you know…” She tilts her head and pivots to face Drew. “Can I say something about singing as Piper?”

  Oh-oh.

  “Sure.” He crosses his arms.

  “Strength like that isn’t right for Piper. She worries she’s not good enough for the school. That’s why she’s mean to Hannah. I was showing her insecurity. Vocally.” Marissa waves her slender hands between her throat and chest. In case we’re not clear where vocals come from. “You can’t just sing a song so it sounds good. You have to act it.”

  “And hit the notes,” I can’t help adding.

  Drew gives a flicker of a smile.

  Marissa laughs. “Obviously.”

  Even though she obviously didn’t hit them.

  “Good point, Marissa,” Drew says. “That’s the thing about musical theater. When characters can’t express their feelings with words alone, they sing.”

  “And when singing’s not enough, they dance!” Marissa exclaims, like she’s hoping to win a game show. “Didn’t Stephen Sondheim say that?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember,” Drew says. “But you’re right about having to act a song.”

  Marissa looks down, doing her best to act modest about being right. Some acting job.

  Drew flips the sheet music back to the beginning. “Let’s do the Piper section again. How about both of you sing it together?”

  “Great,” I say.

  But if I could sing and dance my real feelings about Marissa right about now, it’d be one noisy, foot-stomping number.

  Nine

  “Hold it!” Camilla shouts just as I’m about to leap off the wooden rehearsal bed. I freeze. Drew stops playing piano.

  We’re in the middle of choreographing “Welcome to Your Dorm.” Rachel and Marissa, on either side of the bed, are my cheerfully malicious dorm mates in the number. We’re giving Shantel’s Hannah a rotten welcome.

  Camilla looks up at me with her dark, kohl-lined eyes. “Ellie, don’t broadcast your moves. If Hannah saw Piper’s jump coming, she’d just get out of the way.”

  Shantel does an exaggerated moonwalk away. “I’m outta here, maniac.”

  I laugh and straighten from my half squat. “Got it. No cat-about-to-pounce-on-a-dust-bunny move.”

  “Exactly.” Camilla smiles and gives my hand a quick squeeze before walking away. Drew was right—so far, working with Camilla is better than auditioning for her. She even knows my name now.

  She leans against the table where Neeta takes notes. “Back to the top of the number, girls. Let’s see if the pieces fit together.”

  “Great,” I say.

  I am feeling great. My jazz shoes don’t kill me anymore. Camilla’s worked us for over an hour, and I’ve kept up with the pace. I found a video online this week of another student production of Schooled. I had no idea if their choreography would be the same as Camilla’s. But I needed some sort of preparation after Marissa’s fully memorized singing at last rehearsal. It’s paid off: a lot of the moves are similar to Camilla’s.

  Drew asks, “Everyone ready?”

  “Yeah.” I’m back to lying down under the itchy wool blanket, ready to surprise Hannah.

  Marissa’s “yes” comes from under the bed, where she’s an evil dorm mate in cramped hiding. I know I’ll have to do that part too, but I’m happy to let her rehearse it first. Though I have to hand it to Marissa—she hasn’t made a peep of complaint or criticism today.

  “Wait,” Rachel says, sounding panicked.

  I poke my head out.

  She looks at the floor, where colored tape marks out the different entrances and exits. “I forgot already. Is this the window?”

  Neeta leans across her table. “Nope. Blue tape’s for the next song. This song’s red. The window is stage left of you.”

  Rachel’s face lights up, and she hops to her spot. “Thanks, Neeta.” She smiles at me, and I give a thumbs-up and tuck my head back under the blanket. I’m happy to have Rachel at rehearsal. Her wish came true: she gets to be the girl who enters through the window.

  “Let’s go,” Drew says. “Lights up. Hannah enters the dorm.”

  First, a brief silence in which I know Hannah is looking around, taking in her new home. I hear her step toward the bed. My cue is to be the sound of her suitcase hitting the floor. Shantel doesn’t have that prop yet, so I listen for the flump of her dropped purse.

  There.

  I fling the blanket off and spring upright. “Welcome to your dorm.” I spread my hands, sort of for effect, really for balance. It’s hard to go from lying down to standing up in one smooth move. Or even one unsmooth move.

  Drew plays the intro, and I jump off the bed and throw my arm up and around Shantel’s strong shoulder. Feet planted wide, I sing the song’s opening. I love the power of my voice filling my body and reaching out into every corner of the rehearsal hall.

  I link my arm through Shantel’s and march her around the room for the lines about palaces and prisons and primitive conditions. Then I spin her around. Shantel is great, already giving me lots of reaction to work with. She makes being mean feel awfully fun.

  I half lounge on the bed for the squeaky bedsprings and snoring roommates bit. Drew’s change to a minor key signals Marissa’s entrance. She slithers out from under the bed as the two of us sing, “We know this isn’t quite the place you were expecting.” I help her up, and we do an exaggerated waltz with Shantel wedged between us. Camilla assured us earlier that this will look good—and it’ll be funny, since Shantel’s about five inches taller than Marissa and I are.

  Marissa’s easy to waltz with. She even takes my lead. She’s supposed to, but still, I’m surprised.

  The three of us circle to the window, where Rachel is crouched. Marissa and I break apart. We mime opening curtains. Rachel pops up on “with other bright young minds” and pretends to climb through as she sings about “brainy fun sublime.” Her voice is sweet yet sly, and her harmony and Marissa’s work nicely with my melody.

  Shantel backs away until she half-falls onto the trunk at the foot of the bed. I leap onto the bed itself.

  It’s awesome to be so high above everyone else onstage. I can practically feel the warmth of a spotlight. I hold the high note at the end of the line “we’ll move in for the ki
ll” while Shantel cowers on the trunk. Then I jump down—smoothly this time—for another “welcome to your dorm.” Big nasty smile.

  “It’s working!” Camilla springs forward. “Nicely done for a first go-through. Ellie, you’re a fast study.” She sounds pleasantly surprised. Maybe even impressed.

  “Thanks.” I feel carbonated inside.

  Marissa says nothing, her face a neutral mask.

  Drew, still at the piano, asks, “Can we go through that section again, but with Marissa as Piper?”

  Darn. I’m revved and ready to keep going.

  “Let’s do it.” Marissa perks up and dusts off her leggings.

  “A quick loo break first?” Camilla asks. She holds up an empty water bottle. “I’ve been hydrating too well.”

  “Omigod, I’m so glad you asked.” Neeta pushes out of her chair. “Five minutes, ladies and gent.” She and Camilla jog off toward the bathroom together.

  Drew stands, stretches and scruffs his hand through his shaggy hair. “Guess I’ll go grab some fresh air then. Good work, girls.” He strides to the door, pulling on his slouchy sweater.

  “Thanks,” I call after him.

  Shantel lies back on the bed, drapes her forearm over her eyes and quietly runs lines for her upcoming monologue. I’d like to tell her how fun she is to work with, but I don’t want to interrupt her.

  “Do you think there’s any coffee left?” Rachel heads to the small table where Neeta has set up a metal coffee urn and a stack of cups.

  “Coffee’s bad for your voice. Every actor should know that.” Marissa sits with her ever-present bottle of water. She and Camilla always drink like they’re camels before a long trip.

  “Good thing we’re not real actors then,” Rachel says.

  “Speak for yourself,” Marissa snaps.

  “Totally am. Lighten up.” Turning her back, Rachel hums as she pours her coffee.

  I want to laugh but don’t. Rehearsal’s been great so far. Marissa’s been in a good mood. I’d like to keep that going. I take my open script off the chair beside Marissa and sit down. “You’re right about coffee.”

  “I know. That’s why I said it.”

  Ah. There’s the Marissa I know and don’t love.