Full Disclosure

by Camryn Garrett

  “All right, come together, everyone,” Ms. Klein says. During school hours, she teaches chemistry, so she’s not exactly a theater expert, though I’ve been trying not to judge. She continues, “I think we’re doing fine, mostly. Rent is a difficult show to do at a high school level, and I’m proud of how far we’ve come already.”

  The members of the cast and crew gather around her in a weird half circle. Mr. Palumbo stands beside her with his hands folded. He’s a small man with a big belly and bald head. I feel like he has more command of the room than Ms. Klein, even though he isn’t speaking. He catches my eye and winks.

  Mr. Palumbo is probably the coolest teacher I’ve ever had. I’m in his music class, but during my first few days here, he let me hang out in his room during my study hall period. Most student directors get chosen after doing school shows for a while, but he chose me after a rousing debate about a potential film adaptation of Wicked. Now here we are.

  “We have to keep in mind that the premiere isn’t too far from now,” Ms. Klein continues. Her eyes lock on me, and I look away. Back at my old school, I was a member of the backstage crew, but I never directed anything. Ms. Klein’s not the only one who can tell that I don’t know what I’m doing. “We have just over five weeks to make this show the best it can be.”

  Laila, a senior who plays Mimi, leans against me. She hugged me on the first day of rehearsal, and didn’t glare at me behind Palumbo’s back like some of the other cast members. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to pick favorites, but she’s definitely mine.

  “That’s more than enough time to nail the finishing touches,” Mr. Palumbo says. “So I don’t want any of you to worry.”

  “But we have to remember that the audience isn’t expecting much from us,” Ms. Klein says, shaking her clasped hands. “And we want to blow them away, don’t we? We want to show all of those parents who didn’t want us to do this show that you are capable of handling the subject matter, that we’re capable of going above and beyond.”

  “There also isn’t any pressure,” Mr. Palumbo says, glancing at Ms. Klein. The auditorium, which is normally filled with music from the pit, singing from the stage, and whispering from the crew, is oddly silent. “The most important thing is that you all learn more about what the theater process is like, to see if this is something you want to do beyond high school. And if it isn’t, that’s okay! I’m a teacher, but I do this for fun. Some of us just love theater.”

  Ms. Klein glances at him out of the corner of her eye. I love his real life subtweeting. She’s never called him on it directly, but I’m waiting for the moment where one of them blows up.

  I’m not sure how Ms. Klein would react if I said I’m just doing this for fun. Maybe she’d strangle me. Really, though, what does she expect? I love musicals, but making a career out of them is a huge risk. I’m not sure if I’m talented enough for that.

  “It’s also important that we have the best chance of winning something at the High School Theater Awards,” Ms. Klein says, smiling without any teeth.

  At the mention of awards, a low rumble spreads throughout the crowd. Everyone whispers at the same time.

  Laila sighs against me. “I swear, that’s all she ever talks about.”

  “Well,” I say, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “awards will make her look good.”

  “But winning isn’t everything,” Mr. Palumbo says, taking a step forward. “I want you all to remember that Rent is an amazing play for so many reasons, one of them being how connected we are to the humanity of each of the characters. If there’s anything I want you to take away from this experience, it’s that.”

  “Yes,” Ms. Klein says, lips pressed together. “The musical is well known for its subject matter, but especially for the music. I suppose the characters are also important.”

  They lapse into silence. Someone coughs.

  “Can we start rehearsal now?” Eric, another one of our leads, calls out. He has an Afro that’s longer than mine, and I resent him for it. “Because I have to be home at five, and I can’t keep being late.”

  “Well, does our student director have any words of encouragement?” Mr. Palumbo asks, gesturing toward me. “Simone is more articulate than I am, so I’m sure she’ll have something amazing to say.”

  Wow, no pressure at all. Thanks, dude.

  “Uh, yeah.” I take a step forward, Laila sliding away from me. I feel naked in the absence of an ally. I can’t read all the faces, but I don’t think I have many fans around here. Most of my notes on rehearsals are negative, unlike Mr. Palumbo, who makes everything sound like a compliment. “I think we’re honestly doing great so far. I know that things are starting to get tight because other sports and clubs are going on, but I have to thank you guys for staying dedicated.”

  All I’m getting are blank stares. Eric leans over to whisper something in the ear of Claire, an ensemble member. She giggles. I cough.

  “The show isn’t going to be perfect when we do it on opening night,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t even think Broadway shows are perfect. They do hundreds of shows, and there are notes for every performance. So don’t worry about perfection. Just try to make everyone in the audience cry.”

  A few laughs echo against the walls of the auditorium. Back at my old school, all the plays took place in the cafeteria. Here, the auditorium is dedicated solely to Drama Club. I love everything about it—the stairs that lead up to the stage and the heavy red curtains that frame it. The old, heavy smell of mothballs, the fresh wood shavings and open paint cans from backstage. The vastness, the way the room continues on, like walls can’t stop it. Whenever Laila or Eric sings, I can feel it echoing in my chest.

  “Damn straight,” Rocco, who is playing Angel, hollers. “Let’s do this!”

  “Okay, cast members get ten minutes to go over their lines,” Ms. Klein says. “Exactly ten minutes. We’re going to run the entire show, so I want you to pay attention to how often you’re looking at the script.”

  Mr. Palumbo glances at her, but instead of saying anything, turns his attention to the rest of the students.

  “If you’re ensemble, come over to the choir room with me,” he says. “We’re going to focus on nailing the first few songs.”

  I resist the urge to sigh. That means I’m going to be left alone with Ms. Klein. I try not to pout as he leads a large chunk of the company out of the auditorium. It’s not even like I can work with the cast on my own terms, since Ms. Klein just gave them something to do. Maybe I’ll watch their performances with her and try to give some pointers of my own.

  As the actors take their places, I shoot Pops a picture of D.W. from Arthur without any context. He loves things like that, even though I don’t think he understands them. He doesn’t answer right away, which means he’s probably doing something important—maybe grading assignments. I flick through my other apps—Facebook, Instagram—but it’s the same stuff I saw at lunch. The algorithms are the worst. I feel like I’m running in circles all day.

  Sometimes Twitter can be pretty interesting. It wasn’t such a big deal at my old school, but it feels like everyone here has an account. It’s great for news—breakups, college announcements, or just drama in general. The backstage crew runs the Drama Department’s account, which is super interesting because of a certain someone I’m trying not to look at.

  “What about crew?” a freshman named Lily calls from the stage. “What do we do?”

  “Jesse is in charge of you,” I say, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Ask him what he needs help with. If you can’t find him, I’ll try to get something for you.”

  Lily nods before scampering backstage. I turn my attention to the rest of the backstage crew kids. Most of them are focused on painting set pieces like tables and chairs so they look like they came from the same place. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to focus on one kid in pa
rticular.

  Miles is bent over this wooden frame taller than me, but I can see everything: the tendons in his arms, the crease of muscle in his legs, and the curve of his ass. I know, I know—I guess I shouldn’t be looking at that. It’s just hard not to. I’m not used to seeing guys all over the place. It was different at my old school. There were tons of pretty girls, but I’d known them for ages and didn’t think to check them out.

  Here? I’m not sure where I should look. It’s sensory overload with all the girls and boys without uniforms. All I know is that Miles’s ass is a pretty nice place to rest my eyes.

  “Hey, Simone. What’s the play of the day?”

  I blink. He’s looking at me now, a smile on his face. Maybe he didn’t see me staring.

  “They’re musicals, not plays,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “We’ve been doing this a month, Miles. Come on. Don’t tell me my musical intervention hasn’t made any difference.”

  “Fine, what’s the musical of the day?” he amends, turning toward me. I forget to breathe for a second, but it’s super quick, so it doesn’t count. “What was it last time? Cats?”

  “Ugh, no way,” I groan, climbing up on the stage and plopping down next to him. He slides down so that he’s sitting next to me. His knee, so much bigger than mine, rests against me. I glance up at his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. It’s not that his touch is surprising, exactly. It’s the warmth of another human, close enough to share, that startles me. “Don’t talk about Cats with me. That show is terrifying.”

  He smiles wider, showing a flash of white teeth. I blink extra fast.

  “You can’t be afraid of Cats. I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head. “Your favorite musical is about a guy who cuts people up and bakes them into pies.”

  “Because it’s amazing, obviously.” I roll my eyes. “The actors in Cats are just creepy as hell, you know? Rolling all over the stage in their weird-ass costumes and trying to slither into the audience and hump your leg. I’m not into that. Keep the acting onstage.”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. Again, his skin rubs against mine. It’s barely there, but I notice it. I can’t help but notice. “That sounds cool. Like you’re part of the art.”

  “Well, it’s not.” I shudder, remembering the time Dad and Pops took me to see the show. We see something on Broadway every summer when we visit my half brother, Dave, but that summer was disappointing, to say the least. “Trust me on that. If the actors have to come into the audience, they should just do it like The Lion King. It’s a thousand times better.”

  “You’re shitting on something that Webber guy wrote?” He gives a dramatic gasp. “Wait, wait, wait. Have we shifted into an alternate universe?”

  “Oh, shut up,” I say as he collapses into laughter. “Don’t get me wrong; all the music in Cats is amazing. I’d just rather pay attention to what’s happening onstage without being distracted by a grown adult humping my leg.”

  He’s staring openly at my face, smiling. Miles smiles more than anyone else I know. I wouldn’t say his face lights up, exactly, because it’s always bright. It makes it too easy to pretend he’s into me.

  Maybe this would be easier if he were a jerk. I figured he’d give me a hard time when he first showed up, but he hasn’t done anything horrible since he joined the crew. He doesn’t fool around with anyone in the prop closet and is always looking for extra work to do. I guess the only shitty thing he’s done is walk around being a regular person instead of making out with me against a wall.

  “So.” He’s moved closer to me while I wasn’t paying attention. When he speaks, I feel his breath against my cheek. “If Cats isn’t the musical of the day, what is?”

  “Right.” I scoot over a bit. His mouth twitches. “Uh, I love Aida. It’s about this Nubian princess who is taken as a slave and then falls for Radames, the captain of the Egyptian Guard.”

  “Wow.” He blinks. “Is it Webber?”

  “No,” I say. “It’s Elton John, actually.”

  “Just Elton John?” He raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

  “I mean…there’s Tim Rice,” I say, trying not to smile. “And he collaborated with Webber on stuff like Evita.”

  “Of course.” He shakes his head. “You’re in love with Webber.”

  “It’s not Webber!” I nudge his shoulder. “Webber and Tim Rice are two completely different people!” He starts shaking his head, but I go on. “It doesn’t really count. Plus, I love Sweeney Todd and that’s Sondheim.”

  “Sure, okay.” He smacks his hands against his jeans, shaking his head like an old man. “Come on, Simone. You can say whatever you want, but I know you by now.”

  There’s this stupid fluttering in my chest. All I can think about is kissing him and how I can’t do that if he doesn’t like girls.

  I resist the urge to run a hand through my hair. Lydia would know what to say. What would Lydia say?

  “Anyways.” I swallow. “I was just thinking…You know, my friends are the co-presidents of the GSA. Are you gonna be at the meeting later today?”

  “Uh.” His brows furrow. “Should I be?”

  “Well, I mean…” My voice trails off. Trying to relate and be understanding is overrated. “I’ve been to a few meetings before. It’s cool to be around a bunch of other people who are like you. I just figured that you would want—”

  “Wait,” he says. “What do you mean by ‘people like me’?”

  Oh God. He’s really going to make me spell it out.

  “You know,” I say. “It’s the Gay-Straight Alliance. Other gay guys are there. I mean, there are straight people, too, but I promise queer people are accurately represented and—”

  “Simone.” His hand, very delicately, rests on my shoulder. I glance at his face. He looks like he’s fighting back a smirk— Why is he laughing? “I—I think you’ve got it wrong.”

  It takes a second for his words to register.

  “Oh,” I say. “You’re…not gay.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not gay.”

  But the musicals. Miles always wants to talk about musicals. Every rehearsal, he manages to find me, always asking about the musical of the day and wanting me to elaborate…

  Wait. He always asks, but he didn’t even know who wrote Aida. I had to tell him. Just like I had to tell him about Rent and Cabaret and Fiddler on the Roof.

  Oh.

  Everything has gone silent. Then, the only thing I hear is Miles’s quiet laughter in my ear. My cheeks flush. How did I think he was gay? My parents are gay, or at least queer. I should be able to figure this stuff out. It’s annoying as hell when people make assumptions about me, and somehow I’ve ended up doing exactly the same thing with Miles.

  But this isn’t a bad thing. This isn’t a bad thing at all. Before I can stop it, I’m smiling. It’s not a normal smile, either. I’m smiling one of those stupid openmouthed smiles that shows all my teeth. I scoot back, pushing myself to my feet.

  “Oh,” I repeat. “That’s—dude, that’s awesome. That’s fantastic. I mean, I love gay people, don’t get me wrong. It’s just—I’m glad you’re not. Not gay, I mean. But not because I’m homophobic.”

  “Oh my God.” Miles snorts, running a hand over his face. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Oh my God, Simone.”

  I force myself to drop the smile, pressing my lips tightly together. It doesn’t do much to help. The corners of my mouth itch to turn up, even as my cheeks burn. I’m sure that his friends will hear about this later, since I’ve made a complete fool out of myself. If I’m lucky, they’ll be the only other people laughing at me.

  “Yeah, I just, uh…” There’s nothing to lose now, so I plow forward. “Do you, like, um, like, you know—go out?”

  His face goes blank. He might actually look concerned for me.

&nbs
p; Oh God. I have no idea how normal people ask each other out, but I’m sure it’s not supposed to be this humiliating. In my defense, I’ve never had to do it before. At this rate, I’ll never be doing it again.

  “All right,” Ms. Klein says, clapping her hands. “We’re starting!”

  Thank God. I jump off the stage and bolt for the seats. I already know that there’s no coming back from this.

  CHAPTER 4

  It’s been thirty minutes and I still can’t believe I did that. I could’ve just apologized for making assumptions about his sexuality. I could’ve just walked away and said bye, removing myself from the situation like a normal person. Hell, if I was going to make a fool of myself, I could’ve done it another time. Now I have to stay at rehearsal until five and try to avoid him at the same time. It’s pretty hard to focus on literally anything else, because the scene keeps playing out in my memory.

  Mr. Palumbo, now back from the choir room, claps his hands together, snapping me out of my embarrassing instant-replay loop. “That was amazing, guys. I think Simone’s suggestions are really helping you bring the scene to life.”

  “Are you sure she doesn’t have any more notes?” Eric asks, fixing me with a pointed stare. “She always does.”

  A few members of the ensemble turn to watch us. I bite back a groan. He couldn’t have picked any other day to do this?

  “Come on, Eric. It’s Simone’s job to provide notes. They aren’t personal, remember?” Mr. Palumbo turns to me. “Do you have any notes?”

  “Uh, no.” I’m trying not to flush, but I doubt it’s working. Thanks, Eric, for calling me out in front of everyone. “Not this time.”

  Rocco shuffles off the stage, Eric following behind. I’m not very close, but I still see Eric roll his eyes. Part of me can’t blame him. I’m sure he can tell I wasn’t paying attention. God, now I’m letting a boy distract me from the musical. Normal people get crushes without letting it go to their heads, or at least they’re able to act like things are normal.