Exit Stage Left (24 page)

“
What
are you doing!” I do my best Ms. Sharp impression. “I didn’t even hear her come up. I almost took out that statue.” The headpiece droops farther back. I catch it before it falls off completely and Oliver can see my awful hat hair. “Now I have to pin this ugly thing back into place.”

I grab an empty chair in front of the mirror and work on fixing
the headpiece. Harrison is still sitting in the same seat. He looks greener than ever. Amanda’s moved to my other side, twisting her hands together and staring into space. Annoying Danielle is a couple of chairs down, singing scales over and over. Of course, she can’t stay seated. She keeps popping up and then sitting, popping up and sitting. Then she runs off to pace the room while still singing scales. Just watching her is enough to make anyone nervous.

Amanda grabs a bottle of water and takes a sip. Then she goes back to twisting her hands.

“You’re going to do just fine,” I remind her.

She doesn’t say anything—just gives me a nervous smile. No matter how many pep talks I give her, something really doesn’t feel right.

Ms. Sharp flies in, waving her arms and practically running over Jill, who’s (supposedly) in charge of calling us. “Nuns! Maria! To the wings.” She skitters out.

Jill shakes her head. “Beginners, two minutes,” she says.

I take one last look at my headpiece.

“Now, ladies!” Ms. Sharp pops her head around the corner, claps her hands, and we all rush toward her. As we step silently into the wings, I glance behind me.

Amanda’s nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Amanda?” Ms. Sharp says in a frantic whisper.

The other nuns shrug and look at each other.

I peer around the corner into the dressing rooms as Jill races past me. Harrison is still sitting in the same place. Oliver’s murmuring something under his breath. Trevor’s straightening his jacket in the mirror—and somehow, both Grimaldis have managed to get themselves back here. But Amanda hasn’t reappeared.

“I think she’s in the changing rooms,” I whisper to Ms. Sharp.

Ms. Sharp’s face starts to go red, and her hands wave wildly on either side of her head like she’s shooing away mosquitoes.

Before she has the chance to explode, I offer to get Amanda.

“Q-quickly!” Ms. Sharp stutters as I speed-walk toward the curtained-off stalls.

“Amanda!” I stage-whisper at the curtains. No answer. I squat down and duckwalk along the floor, looking for feet. My huge black dress trips me up, and I sprawl forward just as I see Amanda’s shoes
disappear behind the last curtain. “I know you’re in there,” I say to the curtain as I haul myself up. “The show’s about to start. Ms. Sharp is going to have a meltdown of epic proportions if you don’t get out here now.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not doing this show.”

I yank the curtain open. “Are you kidding me? After how hard you’ve worked and everything we’ve been through, you’re
not
doing the show?”

Amanda’s curled up on the bench in her nun costume. She hugs her knees to her chest and stares at the wall. “I have stage fright.”

I snort. “Right. You’ve never had stage fright a day in your life.” I mean, this is the girl who played a piano solo on a morning show in Indianapolis when she was ten and won a thousand dollars in their talent search contest. She doesn’t know the meaning of the words
stage fright
.

“You don’t even care about this play, so what’s it matter to you if I don’t go on?” she says.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re turning this around on me.” I pull the curtain closed as I slip inside the tiny stall. “I do care. Earlier, when I was standing on the stage by myself, singing to an empty house, I felt . . . something. Something that told me this is where I belong. I want to be in this play, and I know I want it to be the most amazing show anyone out there has ever seen. And, the truth is, it won’t be without you in the lead.”

Amanda turns her head and looks at me. “You really don’t mind me having this role?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I mean, I wanted the part. Obviously. But you got it, and it took me a while, but I’m okay with it. I’m really and truly happy for you.” And that’s the truth. I’m not just making it up to help Amanda feel good. Maybe trying—and failing—at all those other things crystallized what I truly love. I peek outside the curtain. Oliver and Harrison are standing there, listening in. Oliver gives me a thumbs-up. I pull the curtain shut again, and turn to Amanda. “Ready to go on?”

“No.”

I suck down a sigh before it escapes my mouth. “It’s Trevor, isn’t it? What he said to you.”

Amanda shrugs. “I just don’t want to go on. That’s all.”

“Amanda! Where are you? What’s going on back here?” Ms. Sharp’s loud whisper is just outside the dressing rooms. I can hear Oliver and Harrison talking to her, and then Ms. Sharp’s voice goes all high-pitched as she shoos the Grimaldis toward the wings. As their footsteps die out on the wood floor, I silently thank the guys for buying us more time.

I push her feet off the bench and sit down. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”

Amanda takes a huge breath and twists the hem of her costume. “I tried not to let it, but Case . . . I was already so overwhelmed with this role. It’s like he knew. He knew just what to say to make it worse.”

“But that’s just it—they were only words. Really awful words, but none of it was true. He was only trying to put you down to make himself feel better about you rejecting him.”

“Except they were true.”

“Like what? You tell me one thing he said that you actually believe.” I cross my arms and wait.

“I can’t remember the lines.”

I laugh. “That’s a good one. I mean, considering you have a repertoire of what, at least a couple hundred musical pieces committed to memory? In addition to math formulas dating back to Algebra I, and at least a dozen sonnets. Next.”

“I can’t sing.”

I poke her knee. “Puh-lease. You’ve been singing with me since we were in elementary school. Remember how we brought down the house in the third-grade talent show? No one else could do ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ with an original two-part harmony.” I start with the melody, and after a moment, she gives in and sings the descant she wrote on her own—when she was nine years old. When we finish, she’s actually smiling.

“Hit me with another one,” I say.

“I shouldn’t even try to dance.”

And with that, I double over in laughter.

“What’s so funny about that?” she asks. “It’s because it really is awful, isn’t it?”

I catch my breath. “No, goofball. Did you completely forget that Bollywood class I signed us up for freshman year? In an attempt to expand our skills?”

Her face crinkles as a smile finds its way to the surface. “Oh my God,
you
were horrible at that.”

“It was the hand things, remember? I couldn’t do that right to save my life. The teacher ended up sticking me in the back for the recital, while you got center stage and a mini-solo.”

Amanda sits up, feet on the floor. “You’re right. I can do this.”

“Are you sure that’s it? You don’t need me to remind you about how you can play three musical instruments or how you have that weird talent for actually being able to lick your elbow or how your hair actually air-dries perfectly straight?”

She elbows me. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m just . . . I’m still really nervous. Going out there, carrying the whole show, everything.”

I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to decide what to say next. “Okay, so Harrison and I have been trying all these new things—”

Amanda raises her eyebrows, questioning.

“Not like that! I’ll tell you about it all later. It’s a pretty good story, too. Think flying clay and near death by horseback. Anyway, I tried all this new stuff, and none of it really took, but between that and facing the truth about Trevor, I figured out something about myself. And that is, I’m kinda . . . brave.” It sounds so dumb saying it out loud.

“Of course you’re brave, Casey. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

“Really?” I’d never really thought of myself that way, until tonight. “So, now it’s your turn to be brave and show all those people what you’re made of. And to give Trevor a giant eff-you, for both of us.” I stand up and hold out a hand.

She grasps it, and together, we go out to face the world.

I take a deep breath. Then I put on my best Mother Abbess face and lead my fellow nuns out onto the stage for the first scene—just a few minutes late. My heart flutters. And my throat feels like I swallowed sand. The stage lights are blinding and hot, but at least they make it impossible to see the audience. If I can’t see the audience, then it feels just like rehearsal. Which is what I tell myself every time I step out for a performance. The familiarity of it settles my stomach and lets me ease into character.

Amanda swoops by me and the other nuns as we leave the stage after the first scene. I cross my fingers as she starts her song. It’s pitch-perfect, and her voice fills the theater. I have to clench my hands so I don’t start clapping. I knew she could do it.

My next scene with Amanda and the other nuns flies by. Before I know it, I’m in the wings hearing the audience’s applause. I stop and listen for a moment. And I smile. Nothing—nothing at all—feels as good as that high of being onstage and then hearing the audience’s appreciation. I want to go back out there right away, grab the audience with my voice, and make them fall in love with this show. That moment I felt earlier when I was practicing wasn’t a fluke.

Acting is definitely in my blood.

“That was perfect,” Oliver whispers in my ear.

I try really hard to ignore the shiver that shoots through my entire body. “Thanks,” I say. “It feels great to be onstage again. Even if it is as a nun.”

He gives me a smile and pulls on his tie again. “I hate waiting so long for my first scene.”

I look him over. “You’re getting nervous again.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Please. I can spot nervous a mile away.” I think for a minute. “I know. Let’s hang out by props and listen in.”

“Silently, though, or Ms. Sharp will have us hanging from the catwalks.”

I smother a laugh. From our perch next to the props tables, we can’t really see the stage, but we can hear everything. Danielle flubs her first line, which makes me want to laugh out loud so badly I have to smash my knuckles against my lips. Trevor rattles off his lines perfectly. As much as I don’t like him, I still have to admit he’s a great actor. Amanda handles the scene smoothly, as if he never affected her at all.

“Harrison!” Ms. Sharp whispers. “Have you seen Harrison?” she asks everyone she passes, Jill at her heels.

I look at Oliver and then race back to the dressing rooms. Harrison isn’t anywhere in sight.

“Harrison?” I call.

No answer.

“Seriously, what am I? The stage fright police? There’s no time for this.” I rush toward the curtained dressing stalls—again—and pull open each one until I find him.

“I puked.” His head is buried between his knees.

“Good. Now get out there.” I stand back and point toward the wings.

“Can’t.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, Harrison. It’s not like you’ve never been onstage before. You’ve been acting as long as I have. You’re a professional. And you’re amazing. So go!”

“No, I’m awful. I’m a fraud,” he says to his knees. “Ms. Sharp only gave me this role because she pitied me.”

I cross my arms. How in the world am I going to get
him
onstage? Especially after we’ve spent two months moaning about how bad we are at acting and convincing ourselves that we need to find something else to do? Even if he figured out that the answer is still theater long before me, I don’t think that’s going to help him now.

Oliver runs into the hallway and opens his mouth to say something. I hold up a finger to stop him.

“Harrison, what about Kelly? She can’t sing the duet without you. She’s depending on you.”

He looks up. His glasses are all foggy from where he’s been breathing on them. He pulls them off and wipes them with his microfiber cloth.

Good. At least I have his attention.

“And Oliver here.” I gesture to Oliver at my side. “He needs you too.”

Harrison nods slowly.

“I need you. Amanda needs you.
Everyone
in this cast needs you to get yourself onstage. There’s no time to fawn around back here and wait for your understudy to get into your costume. You need to go.
Now
.” I hold my breath and hope for the best.

Harrison looks from me to Oliver. “Fine,” he says. “I’m going.”
He stands up, tugs on his costume shirt, and then walks past us toward the stage.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard,” I say.

“You knew the exact right thing to say to him,” Oliver says. “You know, you’re a really great friend.”

I give a short laugh. “Sure. When I can get out of my own head long enough.”

“Yes, you are. Look what you did for Amanda earlier.”

“It remains to be seen whether that keeps working or not. Or else I’ll have to take drastic measures against Trevor.”

He raises that one eyebrow, which is really kind of hot. “So that assassin thing worked out for you?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Which I layer with as much meaning as possible. Whatever his response was going to be, it’s interrupted by the Grimaldis laughing over something by the vanity tables.

“Ms. Sharp is going to murder them,” I say. “Let’s go listen some more so we don’t have to witness the carnage.” I grab his hand and pull him toward the wings. His grip tightens and he doesn’t let go, even after we’re comfortably leaning against the wall of backdrops.

From the wings, I watch Amanda make it through the party scene—dance, kiss, and all—with no hesitation and absolutely no hint that anything was bothering her before the curtain went up.

Amanda’s face is flushed when she reaches the wings. She grabs me into a hug, with more life than she’s had in a long time. “I did it! And I think it was even good!”

Together, we wait as the scene ends. The rest of the cast exits the stage, and the lights darken. The floor rumbles beneath my feet as the fly crew moves the abbey backdrop into place and the stagehands push out pieces of scenery. I sing in the dark with the other nuns, and then I take my place onstage. The lights go up, and Amanda enters from the wings as our scene starts.

It rushes by, and before I’m ready, the orchestra plays the beginning notes of my solo. I don’t even have the chance to feel nervous. The words flow out, and my voice is strong and secure. The lights keep me from seeing anything except the first couple of rows of the audience, but I still look out over where I guess their heads are as I move across the stage and sing to Amanda.

And there is absolutely nothing else I’d rather being doing right in this moment.

As I reach the climax of the song, I just let it all out. All my resentment over not getting the lead, my jealousy toward Amanda, all the confusion and hurt about Trevor, my fear of never finding my place in the world—everything that’s been holding me back for the past few months. I pour it all into the song, and my voice soars over the crowd. This is
exactly
what I’m meant to be doing. It’s only one song, but it’s my song. I hold the final note until after the last of the music has died out. When I finish, there’s silence.

Oh God. Was it bad? It didn’t sound bad to me. I think I hear crickets chirping. Maybe in all my searching to become someone else, I completely lost the ability to hear pitch.

Then the crowd erupts into applause and whistles. I try to stay in
character and not grin like a crazy person. Amanda says her last lines of the scene, and the curtains close for the end of the first act. We rush offstage. I almost run right into Harrison and Oliver.