Upstaged

  No doubt Marissa would agree. This time I have no problem keeping my mouth shut.

  Fifteen

  I hear Dad leave for work at four in the morning. Same as always. I burrow farther under my duvet.

  My brain snaps on. Marissa’s singing on his show this morning.

  When I came home from tech rehearsal close to nine last night, Dad was already in bed. But he’d left a sticky note for me on my bedside lamp: Hope tech was good. Schooled spot airing 7:45 tomorrow if you want to watch. (It’s ok if you don’t.) Love you!

  I don’t want to watch. Or maybe I do. But what if she’s great?

  I turn over and force myself to go back to sleep. At least I have the pleasure of missing another day of school.

  * * *

  Before the dress rehearsal, girls take turns checking themselves out in front of the one full-length mirror in our crowded and cluttered dressing room. Putting on our Moberly Prep uniforms makes the world of the play feel suddenly real. Also, it’s an excellent distraction from waiting for Marissa to swan in from her TCTM appearance. Which I did not watch. But which some people have said was so great!

  Pulling the itchy wool skirt on over my dance shorts, I say to Claire, “You have to wear this stuff every day?” She goes to a private school.

  Claire is buttoning up her headmistress blouse. “Have I mentioned how happy I am to graduate in six months? University sweatpants, here I come.”

  Shantel takes command of the mirror. “I think I rock this look.” She flips up the lapels on her blazer. “Look out, Moberly, ’cause Hannah’s comin’ to shake you up.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Lucy pokes her head in. “Neeta wants me to remind everyone that I have authority to kill you if your phones are on during rehearsal.”

  Her voice is much softer and sweeter than Neeta’s, so it’s almost funny to hear her threaten us. But when she gives a pointed look to Ilona and a few ensemble girls caught in mid-text, they quickly power off their phones.

  “Thank you,” Lucy says. “And Drew wants everyone onstage for vocal warm-up.”

  “Right now?” I ask, adjusting my necktie.

  “Right now.”

  “Marissa’s not here yet,” Shantel points out.

  And she’s supposed to be doing Piper for this rehearsal.

  Rachel, sitting with her feet up on the makeup counter, raises her eyebrows at me. She told me earlier that she didn’t watch Marissa this morning either: Well, I slept in. But even if I was awake, I probably wouldn’t have watched.

  Lucy puts her headset back on. “Renée called. She took Marissa out for breakfast after the show. They’re five minutes away.” She leaves.

  “Ah, celebrities,” Rachel says, dropping her feet to the floor and standing. “Keeping us nobodies waiting.”

  “Come on.” I link arms with her. “Time to warm up. No rest for the nobodies.”

  * * *

  Marissa’s timing is off all the way through Act 1. Then, as soon as lights come down on “Hazing Hannah,” the Act 1 closing song, she breaks away from the rest of us and beelines backstage.

  Drew’s voice cuts through the dark. “Remember what I said at tech: hold position for a five-count before exiting.”

  “I gave Marissa that note last night,” I whisper to Rachel, who’s beside me in the end-of-song tableau.

  I gave Marissa all the Piper notes when she showed up near the end of the tech rehearsal. There were a lot. Which I’d written out for her. Then she left before everyone else because she had to get up so early, you know.

  “It’s not your problem,” Rachel whispers back.

  The stage and house lights come up. Neeta, beside Drew in the back row, says, “Very short break, for necessities only. Bathroom, costume fixes, makeup refresh. Do not leave the building. Be in your places for the top of Act 2 in fifteen minutes. Lucy will call you.”

  As Gregor and Shantel walk past me, I hear him ask, “Think something’s wrong with Marissa?”

  “Only all the time,” Rachel jokes to me.

  “Nah,” Shantel answers Gregor. “Dress rehearsals are always wonky.”

  But as we all head backstage, I feel an uneasy twinge in my gut.

  * * *

  Most cast members are already back in the wings when Lucy calls into the backstage hallway, “Two minutes to places, please.”

  Marissa finally comes out of the ladies’ bathroom.

  “Are you okay?” I’m standing right outside the door, feeling a little like an ambushing fan.

  A feeling made stronger by the startled and then annoyed face Marissa makes. “Of course I’m okay. I was just so rushed this morning I hardly had time to pee.” She hurries past me, leaving a faintly sweaty smell in her wake.

  “Right. Great job on This City This Morning, by the way,” I say after her. It’s like my guilt for staking out the bathroom, or for not watching her this morning, or for…something, is making stupid things come out of my mouth.

  Marissa stops and turns back to face me in the narrow passageway. She looks pale. “I know you didn’t watch the show. Ilona said you were practically bragging about that fact to Rachel. Way to support the play, Ellie.”

  I feel the color drain from my own face. “I wasn’t bragging. I mean—”

  “It must be embarrassing that your own dad couldn’t convince Renée that you’d be a good choice to do a song on his own show.”

  “That’s not how it works,” I say.

  She keeps on, pinning me to the spot with words. “Even though I’m sure you were desperate for the chance. The whole time we’ve been rehearsing, you’ve been desperate for people to notice how good you are. You had to resort to upstaging me so people would notice you. You think you’re good just because you get the same role as me. On your first audition. Without having been part of this company for three years. Like I have. Without putting in your time in the ensemble.” She takes a shuddering breath in and out. “You’re good, but you’re no better than anyone else in this company. At least Renée and Drew and Camilla know that. That’s why they wanted me to do the song this morning, not you.”

  Other cast members not needed at the start of Act 2, have come out of the dressing rooms while Marissa’s been saying all this. They keep a safe distance back, even Gregor, like witnesses to a robbery. I’m in a spotlight of humiliation.

  Marissa gulps in another breath. “And you know what?” She blinks.

  “What?” The word barely makes it past the wedge in my throat.

  There’s a painful pause while her mouth moves as if working out the most devastating thing to say to me. Her eyes widen.

  I step forward. “Marissa?”

  She throws up at my feet.

  Sixteen

  I look at Marissa’s hair hanging down as she’s bent over, and I feel everything turn to slow motion.

  An ensemble girl going, “Whoa!”

  Someone else saying, “I’ll get Lucy.”

  Footsteps running away.

  “Marissa?” I repeat. I should help her, but I feel trapped by what’s between us. Literally. “Are you okay?”

  Still looking down, she leans one hand against the wall and presses the back of her other hand against her mouth. From behind her hand she says, “Obviously not.” She lifts her face and gives me a look that’s equal parts contempt and sadness. “Guess you get Piper to yourself now.”

  Time speeds back up. Lucy squeezes past two ensemble guys hovering behind Marissa. She takes in the view and pulls her headset mic to her mouth. “Neeta? We have a problem.”

  * * *

  The lights come up again at the end of Act 2. None of us onstage move. Out in the third row, Drew is leaning forward, forearms resting on the seat in front of him. Camilla stands in the aisle beside him, hands in a praying position under her chin.

  “Well,” Drew says, pivoting in his seat to face Camilla. “That went surprisingly well.”

  “Nothing like a little trauma to focus a cast,” Camilla answers.


  They come to the stage, clapping, and everyone around me whoops and claps with relief. I make the effort to act happy too. I am glad we did a good job. But I worry that everyone’s looking at me differently.

  The scene with Marissa outside the bathroom plays on a sickening loop inside my head. Sickening not because of what she did but because of the truth she told.

  I was desperate. For a role. For attention. For center stage. And that was more obvious than any talent I may have thought I had.

  Camilla hugs one of the younger girls. She took over the ensemble part Marissa and I do when we’re not Piper. “You were stellar, Darci! You fit right in to the choreography, and you got those couple of lines. Very professional. Did you happen to memorize Act 1 as well?”

  “Totally,” Darci says, beaming up at Camilla like a bloom facing the sun. “I just paid attention at every rehearsal.”

  Camilla turns to Drew. “Problem solved. If Marissa’s still sick tomorrow—”

  “Has anyone checked in with her?” I burst out. “Since her mom came to get her?”

  That turns down the volume on the general congratulations-all-around party.

  “Good point, Ellie. We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves,” Drew says. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Neeta said she’d call Marissa’s mom as soon as we’re done here. By the way, you did a great job stepping in as Piper with no notice. Especially after…” He pauses, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  After the barf? After being revealed as a desperate attention hog?

  “Thanks” is all I say.

  Gregor gives a “Brava!” from across the stage, and Rachel, Shantel and a few other people clap.

  But I’m relieved when Drew deflects the attention with “Okay, all, let’s go sit. Camilla and I have a few final notes before tomorrow. Opening night, people!”

  * * *

  A little while later, Gregor and I wait together outside the theater for Shantel and Rachel so we can all walk to the subway. It’s a cool, clear night with no wind, and the fresh air feels good after the stuffy dressing room.

  “So it’s good Marissa had food poisoning,” Gregor says.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I mean, good it wasn’t some nasty bug that would have wiped her right out of the show. Bad, of course, that her fancy restaurant breakfast sausages were past their best-before date.”

  We had gotten these gritty details from Neeta at the end of notes from Drew. Including the fact that Renée had only had cottage cheese and fruit for her breakfast and so was fine. And that Marissa “guaranteed” Neeta she’d also be fine and ready to play Piper on opening night.

  “It must have been the bad sausage talking when Marissa said those things to you today,” Gregor says. “I’m sure she’ll apologize when she sees you.”

  I’m not so sure. Do people apologize for being right?

  We’re quiet for a bit. We watch an orange cat trot across the empty street to scout out a garbage bin behind a building.

  “Gregor, why did you decide to help me at my audition?” I ask without looking at him.

  He shifts from foot to foot, keeping warm. “Because you looked like Snow White, remember?” He gives a little laugh.

  “That’s not a real reason.” I shove my hands deep in my jacket pockets.

  “Really?” He sighs. “Because you looked so lonely.” His voice is simple, not a hint of funny, dramatic flourish to it.

  I flash back to September, me sitting on that hard bench with my one song, Marissa and her binder of songs throwing serious shade my way. I didn’t know a soul in this city. Loneliness must have been wafting off me in waves. Then I met Gregor. My eyes start to sting with tears.

  Gregor, as if he senses that, tucks his hand in the crook of my arm. The same way he did when he first led me into the theater.

  “It hit me right here,” he says as he flattens his hand over his heart. “And I thought to myself”—now he swings out to face me, taking my hands in his in a cliché musical-theater move—“Gregor, this girl needs you!”

  I have to laugh. He laughs too and lets go of my hands. I quickly wipe at my tears.

  “Thank goodness you could actually sing.” He bumps up against me, arm to arm. “I don’t know what I would have done if you were crappy. Kicked you to the curb, I guess. Scram, sister!”

  The orange cat scurries down the block. We laugh again.

  Voices come from behind the backstage door.

  “Finally,” says Gregor. “Was someone offering free manicures in there or something?”

  One more thought hits me. “Wait. So I’m here because of your pity?”

  “Omigod, now who’s being the dramatic one? Nobody gets cast in musical theater because of pity.” He looks me straight in the eye. “Seriously. You’re talented, Ellie. You belong here.”

  Shantel, Rachel, Brayden and Claire pile out of the theater, and we start off for the subway. Gregor shouts, “Well, my lovelies, shall we sing?”

  “No!” we all answer.

  The moment makes me think of Drew explaining the basis of musical theater. How characters need to sing when talking isn’t enough, how they need to dance when singing isn’t enough. I could sing and dance how wonderful it feels to be with Gregor and everyone right now. But in real life, after everything Marissa said to me, just being with them is enough.

  Seventeen

  I wake up before my alarm has a chance to go off. Tonight’s opening night.

  After a restless night replaying yesterday in my head, I know there’s one thing I need to do before I can get on with today. I reach beside my bed, haul my laptop off the floor and plop it onto my duvet. I pull up the TCTM site. There’s Dad, smiling like Mr. Good Morning in front of the city skyline. The thumbnails of videos from past shows line up below him. I click on the one titled “YWTC gets Schooled.”

  There’s an intro bit between Dad and Renée. Dad tells a lame theater joke. Renée laughs. He beams at her. She touches his arm. They’re even cuter with each other than they were during her first appearance back in September.

  I’m going to have to think about what all that might mean some other time.

  I scroll the bar at the bottom of the video until I see Marissa come into view. I let it play.

  She’s alone in a column of light. The Moberly Prep uniform makes her look younger. When Marissa or I perform “Welcome to Your Dorm” onstage, we are with castmates and in almost constant motion. And when we’re in the ensemble, we never actually have a chance to watch closely how the other one performs. Now, alone on the bland TCTM set, Marissa simply stands there and sings.

  Even though she’s still, I can hear the whole action of the song in her voice. Yes, she hits the notes strong, gets the timing dead-on, sings each word clearly. That’s impressive enough. But she makes Piper come to life.

  I remember the first vocal rehearsal we had with Drew. I thought Marissa was making excuses for her singing when she said Piper felt insecure and that’s why she was mean to Hannah. Now she shows me the truth of that. Marissa understands Piper’s insecurity. And she makes the audience understand that too. The fear behind the swagger.

  When the song’s over, Dad, Renée and the off-camera tech people clap as the camera holds on Marissa’s face. She looks straight into it. I feel like she’s looking at me, asking, “Do you get it now?”

  I do.

  I close the laptop. I’m glad Marissa’s going on as Piper tonight. She deserves it.

  * * *

  I’m just about to go into the theater when my cell phone buzzes.

  “Hey, Dad.” I pause at the backstage door. “How’s the day?”

  “All good. How was school?”

  “Made way better by the fact that I knew I had a show to open tonight.”

  He laughs. “I just called to say ‘break a leg.’ I’m looking forward to tonight.”

  Claire and Ilona come around the corner and head toward the theater.

  “It’s Marissa’s nig
ht to be Piper,” I remind Dad.

  “I’m coming to every performance,” he reminds me.

  I hadn’t even thought about how nice it will be to know Dad’s out there in the audience again. Like back in Rossmere. “Aww, you’ve always been my biggest fan,” I joke.

  “And I always will be,” he answers. No joke.

  “Back at you.”

  Claire mouths Hi and Ilona ignores me as I step out of the way so they can get inside.

  “By the way,” Dad says. “Renée tells me there was a spike in ticket sales at the box office after, uh, she was on the show yesterday.”

  It’s cute how he avoids mentioning Marissa. “Awesome. Also by the way, I had a chance to watch the spot online this morning.”

  “Oh yeah?” He sounds like he’s bracing himself for my opinion.

  “Marissa was great. You’re going to like watching her tonight.”

  “She was, kiddo. It’s nice you can see that. Of course, I only watch you if you’re onstage.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.” But I love him for saying that. I pull open the backstage door. “I better go. See you later, fanboy.”

  * * *

  The cast has nearly finished the onstage vocal warm-up when Marissa walks through the audience entrance.

  “Nice of her highness to grace us with her presence,” whispers Rachel.

  I watch Marissa sidle past the last-row seats to get to Neeta, sitting right beneath the control booth.

  “One last roll down from standing, everyone.” Drew stands facing us, not noticing. He’s decked out in his version of opening-night formal wear: non-faded jeans, new high-top sneakers, a blazer and a yellow-and-green-plaid tie. “Hang from your hips like a rag doll. Let your spine, your shoulders, your neck, everything relax. Release any tension.”

  My tension decides to stay put. Something about being bent over like this reminds me of Marissa bent over outside the bathroom yesterday, steadying herself with one arm. Why isn’t she hurrying to join us onstage?

  “And slowly roll back up,” Drew continues.

  I do. Marissa is now sitting down. Neeta is standing beside her, hands on hips, staring holes into Drew’s back. But she lets him finish.