Upstaged

by Patricia McCowan

  “Rehearsal notes, everyone,” Neeta announces. “I want to see pencils out. Write down everything your fearless leaders tell you. So you remember.” She jabs the air with her own pencil for emphasis.

  Rachel and Shantel sit down on either side of me. “Bring it on,” says Shantel. She pulls a sharpener out of her bag and hones her pencil to a lethal point.

  Camilla stands in front of us, looking like a disappointed parent. Drew, beside her, runs his hands through his hair and surveys us with a weak smile. “So that was…” He lets out a long sigh.

  “Rough,” Camilla finishes.

  “Come on,” Rachel whispers beside me. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  I nudge her to keep quiet.

  “My overall note to everyone is”—Drew points to his ear—“listen. Listen both as your character and as a performer. Listen onstage, to every other person there with you, so that you are completely in the moment. Listen offstage, so you are always aware of the state of the show. Is your cue coming up? Is the energy flagging? Are you too loud backstage?”

  Brayden drops his pencil, and Camilla darts a look at him.

  “Musical theater is never about one character, one performer, one moment.” Drew walks back and forth, propelled by what he says. “Each of you is part of the rehearsal or the performance for the entire time it is happening. Whether you’re in the scene onstage or not.” He comes to a dead stop. “If you are in the building, you are in the play.”

  I have a sudden need to cough. I swallow it away.

  “If that level of attention is too difficult for you,” Drew says, “then musical theater is too difficult for you.”

  “What he said,” Shantel murmurs, and Gregor gives her a quiet low five.

  Rachel and I exchange a wide-eyed look.

  “Okay.” Drew drops into a chair and smiles at us, like he’s finished an unpleasant chore. “Let’s get down to details.”

  Everyone seems to let out a breath.

  “Claire and Shantel, tighten your reaction time in Scene 1. Brisk, Claire. Welcoming but brisk,” Drew says. “Headmistress Winterbottom is working to keep her doubts in check.”

  Claire nods and makes a note in her script. So does Ilona, the other girl playing the headmistress. That makes me realize that even though I didn’t get to be Piper today, I should take down any notes about her.

  Drew continues. “Shantel, I liked the look you gave Headmistress when she froze. But make sure it’s brief.”

  “Aww, no milking the moment?” Shantel tilts her head.

  He laughs. “Absolutely no milking. Unless I say so. Then milk away.”

  A few kids laugh, and the mood in the room lightens. Phew.

  “Now, ‘Welcome to Your Dorm.’” Drew turns the page in his script and then looks for Marissa, Rachel and me. My throat tightens.

  “Can I jump in?” Camilla asks. Drew agrees.

  “Girls, it was fine, but fine is death for an opening number. The moves have to be sharp. Marissa, you need to land your jump off the bed clean. Bam!” She slaps her thigh for emphasis.

  Marissa, a few chairs away from me, squirms until she gets Drew’s attention.

  He lifts his fingers off his lap in an I’ve got this gesture. “Ellie, you need to be careful about where you are at that point. Make sure you’re facing Hannah, not the audience. You upstaged Marissa there.”

  Camilla nods.

  “Upstaged?” Rachel blurts out.

  Heat bolts up from my gut like lightning. Please shut up, Rachel.

  “It’s when one actor pulls focus from another by doing something upstage from that actor.” Drew’s expression is pained at even having to explain this. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Marissa settles back in her chair. She’s only half smiling, but I sense she’s fully gloating.

  I flutter my hand like a white flag of surrender. “Okay, sorry. Got it.” I bend over my script and scribble face Hannah just to hide my burning face.

  “Moving on,” says Drew. “Brayden, your entrance was late.”

  I don’t hear the rest. Upstaged. The word repeats in my head like a pulse. I flash back to my audition, when Gregor sneered, “Only amateurs upstage.”

  Rachel bumps my leg with hers and, as if she’s read my mind, gestures to Gregor. He mouths Ouch! at me. Could be sympathetic, could be snarky. I haven’t trusted him the way I did before he and Shantel shut me down about Marissa.

  I look away and force myself to refocus on what Drew and Camilla are saying. Slowly, the sound of the other actors jotting notes settles me down enough to see that maybe I’m not the only one who messed up.

  Although I am the only one who got a warning about upstaging.

  How could I have been stupid enough to have thought this run-through was all about who should sing on This City This Morning?

  Thirteen

  Later, I come out of the bathroom to what looks like an abandoned rehearsal hall. The tall windows show the late-afternoon darkness outside. My tactic of stalling until everyone else leaves seems to have worked. But then I spot Drew and Neeta standing by the main door with Marissa. They don’t notice me.

  “We’ll tell the rest of the cast on Tuesday.” Drew’s voice carries in the empty room. “Renée says it’ll be great publicity. And being on a breakfast TV show will be fun for you.”

  So there it is. Marissa’s going to do the appearance on Dad’s show. I’m not surprised, after how I performed—or didn’t—today. I’m not even that disappointed. I just want to go home. But I have to get past them. I don’t want to face Marissa after being busted for upstaging her.

  I duck my head and dig for my phone in my backpack as I speed toward the door.

  “Hey, Ellie,” Marissa calls. “Thanks for agreeing to do the tech rehearsal for me.”

  She has that sheen of happiness people get when they’re holding back exciting news.

  “No worries. Good luck with your test.”

  “Rest up. Hydrate. Tech and dress rehearsals are intense.” Neeta wags a warning finger at me.

  “It’s always great to get into the theater.” At least Drew sounds a positive note. “You’ll see, it makes a huge difference.”

  Meaning maybe I’ll up my game there. “I can’t wait,” I say and hustle out of the building so they can get on with planning Marissa’s breakfast TV debut without me.

  Out in the cold, I turn my phone back on. Instantly, a text pops up from Cassidy. You haven’t liked my post yet. All the cast party photos!!!

  I haven’t liked it because I haven’t looked at it. I’m afraid that I’ll miss everyone in the shots too much. Or maybe that I won’t. Rossmere seems so long ago.

  I keep walking and text, Have tech & dress, then opening Thurs. So busy. So behind on homework. :( Will check out post soon.

  I’ve barely hit Send when my phone rings.

  “Hey, Dad,” I answer, ducking into a coffee shop to get out of the cold.

  “Hey, El. Good rehearsal?” He sounds rushed.

  “Yeah, fine.” I’m not about to cough up all the grim details. “I’m nearly at the subway, so I’ll be home in fifteen.”

  “I won’t be. That’s why I’m calling. Work thing.”

  “It’s Sunday night.”

  “I know. Sorry. There’s leftover butter chicken in the fridge.”

  I get in line behind the other customers. I’d rather grab some “artisanal” sandwich and sit with a bunch of strangers than go eat leftovers in an empty condo. “Great.”

  “Also, I talked to my producer about someone from Schooled coming on to the show.” He clears his throat. “The good news is Bev says we’ve got space on Wednesday morning…so…”

  So that leaves the bad news. He knows. Renée probably called him right after she left the rehearsal hall. I have zero desire for sympathetic parent blabber. “I know, Dad. The bad news is it’s going to be Marissa, not me. It’s fine. Renée made her choice.”

  The woman ahead of me orders three of the most c
onvoluted drinks possible.

  Dad goes on: “The thing is, El, I was the one who told Renée she should pick a song you’re not in.”

  The woman says, “And make sure the grande is skinny.”

  “What?” I leave the lineup and go stand by the window. “But last night you said she didn’t even know I was your daughter.”

  “That was before I talked to Bev this morning. She gave the spot a green light, as long as we avoid anything that looks like conflict of interest. It’s station policy. Renée needed to know that before she picked someone.”

  “Wait—before? When did you tell Renée?” A guy opens the door, letting in a gust of cold air.

  “After I talked to Bev.” There’s a pause. “This morning. Before your rehearsal.”

  “I thought you went for a run,” I say. Stupidly. Like it matters.

  “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. It’s still great publicity for the play. You’ll get bigger audiences. Renée is very excited.”

  “I bet.” It suddenly seems weird for Dad to be so comfortable talking about Renée. “Um, I’m heading into the subway now, so I’m going to lose the phone signal. Have a good work thing.”

  I get back in line, order my sandwich and hot chocolate, and take them to the high counter against the window. I watch people and traffic go past as I eat. And think.

  Renée knew coming into today’s run-through that I couldn’t do the TCTM spot. So her picking Marissa had nothing to do with Drew changing who played Piper today. It also had nothing to do with my upstaging Marissa. Renée probably didn’t even spot that—she wouldn’t know Camilla’s choreography.

  It’s a small comfort. I still messed up. And Marissa’s still going to get all the attention.

  My phone buzzes with another text from Cassidy. Send photos of your big-city theater for me! I’m suffering show withdrawal :(

  It’s as if she’s finally remembered I’m doing a show too. I text that I will, then go to my phone’s photos. There’s the shot I took of the rehearsal hall on the day of the first read-through. I stare at it and try to put myself back into the music, the sunlight, the anticipation of that day. But it’s as if everything that’s happened since then has upstaged all that excitement.

  I finish my food and join the stream of people hurrying through the chilly November night.

  Fourteen

  “Close your eyes. You need to do your first entrance right.” Gregor links his arm in mine as we stand outside the Sidestreet Theater. The word Backstage is stenciled in yellow letters on the beat-up metal door in front of us.

  “Is this some weird theater tradition I’ve never heard of, where newbies are brought in like hostages?” I can see my breath. Despite the midday sunshine, the air is frosty, and I just want to get inside.

  “Wow, harsh. You need to have a little more trust in your fellow actors.” Gregor purses his lips.

  I laugh. “Okay. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Dramatic is my default mode, girlfriend.” He wriggles his fingers at my eyes, hypnotist-style. “Now, close them.”

  I do as I’m told. That’s my game plan after messing up at Sunday’s run-through. Stick to the script, Ellie.

  The door squeaks open. “One short step up,” Gregor says.

  I let myself be led up and then a few steps forward. The sounds of wind and cars die down, and then the door cranks shut with a bang. I flinch.

  “You’re fine, you big chicken.” Gregor’s voice travels only a few inches in the deadened air. And even though I can’t see, I sense the dimness here compared to the brightness outside.

  “Now, breathe it in,” he says.

  A musty but dry smell. With an undercurrent of hairspray and makeup. Also paint. “It’s not pretty,” I say. “But I like it. Can I open my eyes?”

  “You may,” Gregor declares, a wizard granting permission.

  We’re in a narrow passageway. The black walls are chipped, probably from earlier show crews knocking awkward props against them.

  Gregor still holds my arm. “That was a test. Only true performers understand the beauty of this smell.” He wafts the air toward his nose with one hand. “Glorious eau de backstage.”

  “So I passed? I’m a true performer?” I try not to sound desperate.

  “I didn’t say this was the only test. We still have to see how you get through tech and dress and opening and second night and—”

  “I get it!” I whack his arm the way Shantel would. “Can you just show me where to go now, oh True Performer?”

  “That’s the spirit.” He takes me toward the stage and the voices of our castmates.

  The day stretches ahead of me, full of the pleasure of being Piper. And no Marissa to spoil it.

  * * *

  Tech rehearsals were never this detailed in the poky Rossmere auditorium. Rachel and I have shifted the two dorm-room beds and the window wall onstage and off three times. I’ve had to make quick notes about every entrance and exit and set shift in my script to pass on to Marissa.

  Now Rachel, Shantel and I stand squinting out to where Drew and Neeta sit in the middle of the darkened audience section—the house. They’re in a circle of light cast by the desk lamp clamped to their makeshift table. They look awesome out there, like the classic movie image of a director and stage manager.

  Drew was right about things feeling different once we got into the theater. It’s miles better than the rehearsal hall. The show is starting to form into a real thing.

  “We should do that one more time, girls,” Drew says. “So you’re solid with getting everything in place.”

  “And so Cheng can lock in the timing for the cross-fade after Shantel’s spotlight,” Neeta adds.

  Cheng, the twentysomething sound and lighting guy, pokes his spiky-haired head out of the control-booth window at the back of the theater. “Don’t worry, people—you’ve only got about four and a half more hours of this torture.”

  “We love you, Cheng,” Neeta shouts sarcastically over her shoulder.

  He gives a cheesy grin and a thumbs-up and goes back to his adjustments.

  Neeta says something into her headset’s small mic.

  In the wing beside me, Lucy, Neeta’s red-headed friend who is working as our stage-crew person, replies into her own headset, “Got it.” She calls out, “Headmistress Winterbottom, back onstage with Hannah, please. Piper and roommate, back in the wings.”

  Ilona—“the lesser Headmistress,” as Gregor has privately nicknamed her—emerges from backstage to join Shantel. I go to the foot of my bed in the stage-left wing; Rachel goes to hers, stage right. When we hear our cue, we have to get the beds in position and lock their wheels in place. Then Rachel has to bring the window wall out and crouch behind it until her line in the song. All of this in dim lighting behind Shantel in her spot.

  For now, though, we all stand at the ready.

  Cheng calls, “All set here.”

  Drew says, “Shantel, take it from I can’t wait to get started.”

  And we start the scene again.

  * * *

  “So, Marissa’s gonna be a celeb.” Brayden, hands in the pockets of his artfully ripped jeans, walks backward to face the rest of us. He, Gregor, Shantel, Rachel, Ilona and I are on our way to grab a quick bite. Renée showed up just before our break to announce Marissa’s appearance on This City This Morning. Too bad Marissa couldn’t be here to act humble while soaking up the glory in front of us all.

  “I don’t know if being on some local morning show makes anyone a celebrity,” Ilona sneers. She’s the more judgmental of the two Headmistress Winterbottoms. “Who even watches those things anymore?”

  I’d like to elbow her in defense of Dad. I can make fun of his show, but no one else should.

  “Oh, my mom watches, that’s who.” Shantel projects like she’s still onstage. Passersby turn to look. “Every morning before she goes to work, I hear her crushing on the host dude: That Mark is one fine cut of prime beef!”

 
I practically choke. But I can’t help correcting her. “It’s Mike.”

  “Oh-ho, you’re a fan too?” Gregor says, shaking his hand like he’s burned it. “Older man!”

  “He’s my dad.”

  That gets their attention. They all stop dead. Two guys shoot us dirty looks as they have to detour around us.

  “Get. Out.” Gregor faces me.

  “It’s true,” I say. “Mike Fisk, This City This Morning host. Ellie Fisk, daughter of.” I start walking again so we don’t keep blocking the sidewalk.

  “Cool.” Rachel gives her laid-back approval. “I bet it was your idea for them to do a spot about Schooled.”

  “Uh, well—”

  Before I can clarify, Brayden says, “I bet being him would be an awesome job.”

  “He does a pretty good job of being him already,” I say.

  The others laugh, and Brayden goes, “Right… right. Still, I think I might have to look into that idea.” He gazes off into the distance.

  If I’d known I’d get such a great response to my dad being the TCTM guy, I might have confessed to it sooner.

  We step into a pizza place. As we line up for slices, Shantel asks, “Why aren’t you going on the show? Since he’s your dad.”

  “’Cause it’d be weird?” Ilona says.

  “Actually, Renée was thinking of me doing the appearance.”

  The words come out of me so easily it’s almost scary. Although, strictly speaking, there’s no proof Renée wasn’t considering me before she knew I was Mike Fisk’s daughter. I hurry on with, “But Dad said the station policy wouldn’t allow it.”

  “That sucks,” Brayden sympathizes.

  “Anyway,” I say, “I thought she should have chosen you, Shantel. You are the lead.”

  I should stop surprising myself with what I’m saying. None of this seems to fit my morning stick-to-the-script plan.

  “Uh-uh.” Shantel shakes her head. “If I went on your dad’s show, my mom would explode. Literally.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “Marissa will represent. That girl works herself so hard, she deserves a little glory.”