Upstaged

  Rachel comes over with her coffee. “Call me a rebel then. I’m gonna risk it.” She takes a sip. “Ugh, lukewarm. Oh well. Still drinkable.”

  Marissa busies herself with digging for something in the bag slung over the back of her chair. As Rachel crosses in front of us, I notice Marissa’s foot creep forward.

  I stand. “Watch out—”

  Rachel’s foot catches on Marissa’s. Her hands fly out to keep her balance. Coffee splashes over my script and part of my hand. I drop the script, and it lands in the fresh puddle of coffee.

  “Omigod, Ellie, are you okay?” Rachel grabs my arm like she’s afraid my hand is on fire.

  “I’m fine. Lukewarm, remember?” I retrieve my dripping script. “This, not so much.”

  “I’ll get some tissues.” Rachel goes to Neeta’s table.

  Shantel glances over, then re-covers her eyes and keeps on with her monologue.

  Marissa, casually sipping her water, regards me. “There goes your safety deposit on the script.” Her foot is back under her chair. But her total lack of surprise makes me suspect Rachel’s tripping was no accident.

  “That’s really all you have to say?”

  “Oops?” Marissa deadpans. “Why would I have anything to say? I wasn’t the one spilling stuff.”

  Rachel returns, and I crouch down to help her wipe up the coffee.

  “Marissa, baby, you ready to be Piper?” Neeta calls. She’s back from break, with Camilla close behind her.

  “You know it,” Marissa answers, bright-voiced. She caps her water bottle, saunters over to the taped stage area and hops onto the rehearsal bed. The bed I have to hide under now.

  Ten

  Gregor, Shantel and I grab three seats in a café near the rehearsal hall. The cozy place buzzes with people laughing, chatting, sharing stuff on their phones. Spoons clink against cups. The espresso machine hisses.

  I texted Gregor after Friday’s script soaking to see if he and Shantel could meet up before today’s rehearsal. I’m hoping for advice on how to handle Marissa.

  “We should put a Schooled poster up here.” Shantel sets down her chai tea and muffin and shrugs out of her yellow puffer jacket.

  I shift my chair closer to the low table. “The only place in my hometown this busy on a Sunday morning is the hockey arena.”

  Gregor grimaces. “Please never take me to your hometown.”

  I laugh. “Deal.”

  He lowers himself into the armchair, groaning. “My thighs are literally screaming from Friday’s rehearsal. Camilla’s trying to kill me.”

  “That’s just called dancing, you big baby.” Shantel whacks his leg.

  “Ow!” Gregor rubs his thigh, pouting in my direction. “She’s so heartless.”

  I settle in with my latté. I could watch Gregor and Shantel like a show.

  Shantel, feet up on the table, points her cup toward me. “You don’t hear Ellie whining. Camilla had her and Marissa jumping around like a couple of gymnasts before you and the other dudes showed up Friday.”

  “She did,” I confirm.

  “Easy enough for Marissa.” Gregor blows on his coffee. “She was a wannabe gymnast before she converted to the wonderful world of musical theater.”

  “She was?”

  Gregor nods. “She told me she was this total balance-beam babe till she was about twelve.”

  I can picture Marissa whipping through a routine. Finishing up with her arms and head flung back, laser-beam smile set to slay. Just her sort of thing. Too bad, for my sake, she’s not still doing it. “Why’d she quit?”

  Gregor shrugs. “Wearing those tight buns hurt her head? The scary-competitive gymnasts made her insecure? They’d make me insecure.”

  “Ha!” Shantel says. “Gregor insecure. As if.” She checks her phone. “Rehearsal starts in fifteen. I can’t wait to get going on ‘Wearing the Colors.’ That tune is outstanding.”

  “You and Claire are gonna shi-ine,” Gregor says in a singsong voice.

  “It’s Ilona’s turn at Headmistress today,” Shantel corrects.

  “Okay, Ilona’s not as great as Claire, but you are still gonna shi-ine.” Gregor clinks his cup with Shantel’s.

  “Like silver,” she agrees, then takes a big swig of chai.

  “Do you think some of that scary-gymnast attitude is still stuck to Marissa?” I lean back with my latté, try to sound casual.

  “I guess she can be kind of intense,” Shantel says. She turns to Gregor with a smile. “Remember in Oliver?”

  “Oh yeah.” Gregor laughs. “Toughest street urchin in the ensemble. Made Fagin looked like this total wimp. Marissa should have been Fagin. You know,” he says to Shantel, “I’m still mad I didn’t get to be the Artful Dodger.”

  She nods. “So right.”

  “Jonah was more like the Fartful Codger,” Gregor grumbles.

  “Burn!” Shantel laughs.

  I plunk down my cup. “I’m just asking because I find Marissa kind of harsh. Like, she deliberately tripped Rachel at the rehearsal on Friday.”

  “What?” Shantel frowns. “I don’t remember that.”

  Gregor stares into his cup like he’s still brooding about the Artful Dodger.

  “It was during the break,” I tell Shantel. “You were busy practicing your monologue.”

  “Oh. When you spilled coffee on your script?”

  “She spilled coffee on my script. I mean, Rachel spilled it, because Marissa tripped her.” My temperature rises just remembering it.

  Gregor looks up. “Marissa tripped you?”

  Why aren’t they getting this? I lean forward. “Not me. Rachel. After she told Marissa to lighten up. Marissa tripped Rachel so her coffee spilled all over my script. Marissa pretended it was an accident.”

  “That sounds complicated.” Gregor scrunches up his nose. “Why would Marissa want to caffeinate your script?”

  “Marissa was mad that Camilla said I was a quick study.” I can hear myself getting louder.

  Shantel raises her eyebrows.

  “I’m not trying to brag. But Camilla complimented me, and that bugged Marissa.”

  “So she tripped Rachel,” Shantel says, her voice flat.

  “Marissa’s intense. But she’s never been nasty,” Gregor says.

  I have to raise my voice above the noise of the espresso machine. “Maybe she’s never had competition before me.”

  There’s a sudden small patch of silence. Shantel pulls back, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve been in the ensemble with Marissa for every show before this one. There’ve always been strong performers in the ensemble.”

  Gregor nods. “Marissa’s solid.”

  “But she’s never had to share a role before, right?”

  “Have you?” Shantel shoots back.

  “No. I’ve always had the lead.” The minute I say it, I can feel it’s a mistake.

  “You know how I said you weren’t whining earlier?” Shantel asks, dead calm. “Now you kind of are.”

  I go cold. It’s as if the two of them are looking at me from the other side of a thick glass wall.

  Then Gregor flings his hand up. “Oh, whatever. You and Marissa can hurl coffee at each other for all I care. As long as you’re both awesome in the show, I’m good.”

  Shantel silently finishes her drink.

  “I guess maybe Marissa tripped Rachel by accident,” I say, though I still have my doubts. “Anyway, we should get going.”

  Shantel leads the way toward the door. Gregor moves in beside her and tucks his arm in hers. He starts singing, “We’re Off to See the Wizard,” and Shantel joins in. They skip through the café like an offbeat Dorothy and the Scarecrow.

  I trail behind, not part of their little show. They’ve made it clear—if Marissa is a problem, she’s all mine.

  * * *

  October drags along into November. The weather is gray, and school is dull. Cassidy calls too little and is too happy when she does. Yes, I’m sure West Side Story was a smash, Ca
ssidy. Apparently, Mrs. Mowat says she can’t imagine a better Maria.

  Meanwhile, Schooled rehearsals have been for parts of the play Piper’s not in. Marissa and I have more or less steered clear of each other while we’ve learned our bits in the big ensemble numbers “Missing Curfew,” “Haze” and “Benefactor’s Dance.” On Friday—yesterday—I wasn’t called at all. Drew was working the Hannah and Headmistress Winterbottom scenes. At least tomorrow we’re doing a run-through of the whole play. Then rehearsals move into the theater next week.

  “Admiring the view?” Dad’s voice startles me out of my staring-blankly-at-the-window-from-the-couch coma. He plunks a delicious-smelling bag of food onto the kitchen island.

  “I didn’t hear you come home.” I slap my science textbook shut and stretch my arms over my head.

  He walks over to our huge window. “Looks kind of cozy, doesn’t it? All those windows lighting up. Folks getting set for Saturday night in the big city.”

  I join him. “And you’re having takeout Indian dinner with your daughter.”

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He puts his arm around me. The wind whines beyond the glass, spattering raindrops against it.

  “Look.” I point to the balcony across the way. “That dude barbecues in any weather.”

  “Barbecuing, musical theater…if you love something, you keep at it through thick and thin.” Dad employs his chipper broadcast voice.

  I elbow him away. “Gee, thanks for the public-service announcement.” My stomach emits a rude gurgling noise.

  “I get the hint.” He goes to the kitchen. “Hey, I was chatting with Renée Felix today. Your artistic director?” he says, pulling takeout containers from the bag.

  “Really? She call you for a date? You two looked pretty comfy together on your show that time.” I set out dishes on the island.

  “She did not call for a date.” He blushes. “It was strictly professional. We were talking about her coming back on the show just before Schooled opens. Drum up some publicity.” He gets a beer out of the fridge for himself and an iced tea for me. “She wants someone from the cast to do a song.”

  I’m wide awake now. This is way more interesting than Dad possibly getting a date. “Which song?” I know which one would be perfect. If I do it.

  “She said she’d decide at the run-through tomorrow.” He settles onto a stool and dishes out the food, like what he’s just said is no biggie.

  I’m scheduled to do Piper tomorrow.

  I pull up a stool. “Did you tell Renée your talented daughter is playing Piper? And that her solo would be perfect because it sets up the whole play?” I try to sound like I’m joking around.

  Dad stops his food serving and gives me a wry smile. “I thought my show was awkward. Now you’re angling to get on it?”

  “I meant some of the guests were awkward.” I take a bite of naan bread. “And sometimes the host.”

  Dad throws a paper napkin at me. “Hoo-boy, for someone who wants me to pull some strings…” He shakes his head and cracks open his beer.

  “I’m kidding. But did you mention me?”

  “I didn’t. I’m a professional, and she’s a professional.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He crosses his arms. “It means I’m not going to push my personal agenda on a guest. And she’s not going to pick someone to represent her theater company based on a favor.” He sighs. “Also, you wouldn’t want to be picked just because I’m your dad, would you? You want to be picked because you’re good.”

  I hate when Dad is right. I crack open my iced tea and don’t answer.

  He unfolds his arms. “Anyway, I still have to talk to my producer, Bev, to see if there’s space in the schedule. So don’t say anything to your castmates yet.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let Renée announce it when—if—it happens.”

  “Got it, Dad.”

  “Great. Cheers.” He clinks his drink against mine.

  I tuck into my dinner, but my brain is shuttering through images. Me singing “Welcome to Your Dorm” on Dad’s show. Renée and Drew telling me how fantastic I was. Marissa hearing them tell me that. The whole cast seeing me and loving it.

  All I need to do is nail it at tomorrow’s run-through.

  Eleven

  I round the corner Sunday morning and spot Renée dashing into the rehearsal building. I pick up my pace, loving the almost tap-dance sound of my boots on the cold pavement.

  I’m so ready for today’s run-through. I had Dad wake me up early, before his morning run, so I could do a super-complete voice warm-up. I stretched every dance muscle I could. Riding the subway, I relistened to Drew’s recorded accompaniment for “Welcome to Your Dorm” on my phone.

  I am set to knock Renée right out of her ankle boots.

  I burst through the rehearsal hall door and—“Whoa!”—nearly crash into Rachel. She’s bent over, picking a muffin and a purple glove up off the floor.

  She straightens, the other glove gripped in her teeth. “That was lucky,” she says around it. Her free hand holds a large coffee.

  “Lucky?” I scan the room for Renée. There. Standing at Neeta’s table, talking with her, Drew and Camilla. Probably telling them about the possibility of showcasing Schooled on Dad’s show.

  “Yeah, lucky it wasn’t coffee this time,” Rachel says. “Remember your script? I could have soaked our artistic director. I didn’t see her come in. Plowed right into her.” Rachel hands me her gloves, including the one she’s just taken from her mouth, so she can manage the coffee and muffin.

  “You sure Marissa didn’t trip you?”

  Rachel laughs that off. “Positive. Randomly tripping is a special talent I’ve had all my life.”

  Before I can think that through, Rachel nods her head in Renée’s direction. “Do you think she’s staying for the run-through?”

  “No idea.” I can’t reveal the real reason why Renée’s here. “If she is, we just have to be great.”

  I go to hand Rachel back her gloves, and she points the pockets of her lime-green coat at me. I stuff the gloves in.

  “Three-second rule,” she says as she dusts off the muffin and takes a bite.

  “Classy.” The more time I spend with Rachel, the more I like her.

  We go to join the other actors, but Neeta calls, “Ellie, can you come here for a sec?”

  I go over. “What’s up?”

  Renée, Drew and Camilla have moved away from the table. Renée glances my way. I nod hello, but she’s already gone back to her conversation.

  Neeta finishes erasing something in her schedule. “Marissa has to miss the tech rehearsal when we move into the theater on Tuesday afternoon. She has a math test that day, and she can’t skip it.”

  “Okay.” I’m already looking forward to missing school for the tech and dress rehearsals this coming week, and now I can look forward to one of those rehearsals being Marissa-free.

  “So I’ve asked her to do Piper for today’s run-through. Then you can do Piper at the tech and take notes for her. A little swap-a-roo.”

  Little? With Renée scouting the rehearsal today? “I can do both. Today’s and tech. I don’t mind doing an extra one.”

  “You’re a trooper. But it would be helpful for Marissa to get this run-through in before dress on Wednesday.” Neeta reaches into her bag of gummy bears. The sticky-sweet smell gets up my nose. “She does Piper on opening night, remember.”

  Like I’d forget. “But if she gets all the tech notes from me and she’s at dress, she’ll be fine for—”

  “Ellie, you just need to do what your stage manager asks you to do.” Neeta’s voice is blunt.

  I back off. “Of course. No problem.”

  “Great.” She pencils my name in her notes, then yells past me, “Five minutes to Act 1, people.”

  Retreating to my chair, I hear Drew say to Renée, “For sure. I’ll leave that to you.”

  I stop. What if my swapping places with Ma
rissa has nothing to do with her test? Maybe Drew is switching Pipers today because Renée’s told him she needs to see the best performers.

  Marissa sashays past me, humming “Welcome to Your Dorm” extra loudly.

  * * *

  I love the gleefully wicked look on Rachel’s face when she and I crowd Shantel. We prowl like schoolgirl hyenas as we harmonize.

  Even though I’m only doing my ensemble part, I’m determined to sing my heart out. I glance to where Renée sits, front row center. Her legs are neatly crossed in her trim black skirt, one foot keeping time with the music.

  Her eyes focus on Marissa.

  I make a quick calculation. When Piper’s stand-on-the-bed moment happens, Rachel and I are supposed to be downstage, facing Hannah at the end of the bed. Instead, as we get to that point, I cheat my way upstage to the side of the bed. I hope Rachel will do the same, since we’re supposed to mirror each other, but she sticks with the original choreography.

  When Marissa hits the lines “together for this time / of brainy fun sublime,” I’m upstage from her and fully facing the audience instead of Shantel. I harmonize like I’m supposed to. But with more force on the high note. The note Marissa never quite lands. I hold it a second longer than her. I catch Renée turning her attention my way.

  Marissa jumps off the bed and hits the ground with a slight wobble. Rachel reaches out to steady her, but Marissa bats her away. A Piper-like move, so it fits the moment. I think.

  When the song ends, Renée applauds, then tops that with “Bravo!” She loves the number.

  But whom did she love in it?

  Twelve

  When the run-through is done, we all anxiously wait for notes from Drew and Camilla. Renée is keeping them back, consulting at Neeta’s table. I sit close by, pretending to look through my script. But soon Renée makes her exit with a wave and “See you all at the theater next week!”

  I want to shout, Have you picked a song for This City This Morning? And if it’s “Welcome to Your Dorm,” can I please be the one to sing it?

  Too many people around to safely do that. I close my script and stare at the cover. Piper/Ellie. I feel hyperalert yet drained. The run-through was harder than I thought it would be, especially knowing Renée was watching.