Showstopper (2 page)

Austin sipped his iced tea. “Annie who?”

“Not Annie who,” I said, and laughed. “Annie the
musical
. Wouldn't it be awesome to do a full-length musical this time?”

Austin mulled it over. “Could be cool.”

“Extremely cool!” I took a bite of my cupcake, being careful to avoid getting icing up my nose. “Ya see, I was
thinking we could use my script from—”

I was interrupted by the jangling of the bell on the coffee shop door. Looking up, I saw a frantic Susan come skidding in.

“Anya! You have to come to the theater. Now!”

“Why? What's wrong?”

“I'm not really sure.” Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and her tone was positively freaked. “All I know is that Mr. Healy's pickup is parked on the lawn. There are orange cones blocking off half the street, and the whole clubhouse is surrounded by fire trucks and police cruisers!”

Police cruisers?
Fire trucks?

I looked at Austin. He looked at me.

We dropped our snacks and sprung up from our chairs.

And we ran!

The sprint from the coffee shop back to Random Farms Circle felt like a million miles. All I could think was that one of us had left something plugged in we shouldn't have, and the clubhouse had gone up in smoke.

Austin, Susan, and I were breathless when we barreled around the corner of our street. Red-and-blue lights flashed,
and I could hear the crackling of walkie-talkie radios as the first responders communicated with one another.

What these first responders were actually responding to, I couldn't tell.

I gaped at the scene, feeling helpless. As I tried to make sense of what the policemen and firefighters were saying, I noticed a strange sound . . . a kind of squishing noise interspersed with muddy
splats
. Looking down, I saw that the clubhouse lawn, which had been so lush and pristine just the day before, was now a mucky swamp. The firefighters were having trouble walking across it; their heavy boots were being sucked into the wet grass.

“Why is the lawn so muddy?” Susan asked.

“Maybe from the fire hoses?” I guessed. But I didn't smell smoke, and there were no flames shooting out of the windows. That was an indescribable relief, but it didn't explain why the grass was so soggy.

We weren't the only people who'd come to find out what was going on. Several neighbors had turned out to watch the emergency personnel in action. A policeman was posted by the curb, making announcements over his cruiser's loudspeaker, cautioning the spectators to keep a safe distance.

When I saw Spencer, Maddie, and Jane watching from the other side of the street, I grabbed Susan's hand and ran to them.

“What happened?” I asked. “Was it a fire?”

“No,” said Spencer. “I heard one of the policemen saying an underground water main burst a couple of hours ago.”

It was only then I noticed the steady stream of muddy water rushing along the curb. Because I had headed out in the opposite direction on Random Farms Circle when I'd left for the coffee shop, I'd completely missed the commotion.

I let out a long grateful breath and smiled. “Well, that doesn't sound so bad. I mean, how hard can it be to fix one little busted pipe?”

“It's a bit more complicated than that,” came a gruff voice from behind me.

I turned to see Mr. Healy, our neighborhood's grounds-keeper, approaching, a glum expression on his face. His denim work coveralls were soaked all the way up to his chest, and he was holding a heavy-duty flashlight.

“Just came from the clubhouse basement,” Mr. Healy explained. “Flooded . . . Water's as high as the electrical panel, I'm afraid. Even deeper in some places.”

“Uh-oh,” said Austin. “That doesn't sound good.”

I had to agree. I didn't know much about building maintenance, but I did know under any circumstances, water and electricity were never a good combination.

“Luckily, there wasn't much of anything stored down
there except for some old lumber the developer left behind back when he remodeled the barn.”

I looked beyond Mr. Healy to where a group of workmen were lugging large sheets of plywood and a whole collection of two-by-fours out of the basement, dropping them for the time being in the empty field behind the clubhouse.

“Is there anything we can do about the flood?” I asked. I had a sudden crazy image of myself and my whole cast using giant pails to bail out the basement, like sailors on a sinking ship. I would absolutely do that if it would help. Something told me it wouldn't.

Now a police officer joined us. “Just got word from the chief,” he informed Mr. Healy. “Department of public works says water service won't be functional for a while, and they've also asked for the power to be shut down for the foreseeable future.”

Healy motioned with his flashlight to the houses closest to the clubhouse. “So these folks will be without running water and electricity for the rest of the day, maybe longer.”

“And what about us?” asked Susan. “What about our theater?”

Mr. Healy shook his head. “In the clubhouse itself, you're lookin' at three weeks without power . . . at least.”

“Three weeks?” Austin and I gasped in unison. That
was completely unacceptable. We would need access to the clubhouse
this weekend
in order to hold auditions.

“What if we promise not to turn on the lights?” I asked, desperate.

“The electricity is only part of the problem,” Mr. Healy explained. “The basement is completely underwater. Could lead to mold issues. And remember, this is a very old barn. The building commissioner's worried about the stability of the foundation. Who knows what all that water'll do to those ancient support beams?”

Susan let out a snort. “Well, that would certainly give new meaning to a show ‘bringing down the house,' wouldn't it?”

Austin shot her a heated look.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Our props . . . ,” I said, my heart plummeting to my feet, “and our costumes . . . they're all stored backstage. Are they going to get ruined?”

Mr. Healy shook his head. “Not likely. The water doesn't seem to be rising higher than the basement. Your stuff should be okay.”

That, at least, was good news. Sort of.

One of the other policemen was motioning to the officer to return to the lawn. “You kids, promise me you won't go anywhere near that building,” he said sternly. “If you need
something from inside, we'll send a fireman in for it. No prop is more important than your safety. Understood?”

I nodded.

“Good,” said Mr. Healy. “Because until we get the go-ahead from the city officials, the clubhouse theater is
off-limits
.”

“We understand,” said Austin in a grim voice. “Thank you, Mr. Healy.”

I knew I should have thanked him too, but I just couldn't seem to get the words out. As I watched the groundskeeper head back to the theater through the line of police cars and fire trucks, I felt myself go numb.

Off-limits. Had a more disheartening word ever been spoken?

My cast members and I stood around a while longer, watching the fuss. Then Maddie and Jane hopped on their bikes, waving as they sped off to the Chappaqua Community Center to take a free origami workshop. Spencer left too; he was headed to Travis's house to shoot hoops in the driveway.

Must be nice to be carefree
, I thought.

As Austin, Susan, and I made our way back to our house, the single bite of frosted cupcake I had eaten at the coffee shop sat like lead in my stomach.

We trudged into the family room and dropped ourselves into chairs. Through the big window overlooking
the backyard, I could see the sun casting long shadows on the grass. When I was little, I always knew this particular shift in the light meant Dad would be home from work soon.

When I was little
. Before I was an entrepreneur with big dreams and a flooded basement. I wondered if anything like this had ever happened to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

For a while we just sat there, sulking in silence. Austin was frowning and Susan looked heartsick. Personally, I was on the verge of tears! It was just so unfair. If we couldn't get back into that clubhouse, there wouldn't be a second show.

Finally Susan asked the question that was on all of our minds.

“Now what?”

“We find another venue,” said Austin feebly.

Hah! As if
that
would be an easy thing to do. Finding the first one had been a challenge, to put it mildly. And then we'd done all that work, cleaning like mad and sprucing the place up, making it our own.

“Do you think if we explained to Mom and Dad about the flood, they'd let us have the rehearsals here?” Susan broached. “I mean, there's still a chance we'll be back in the theater by opening night. So it would only be two weeks of rehearsal.”

“I suppose we could ask,” I said. “But I doubt it.” I felt a sudden irrational flash of anger toward my mother for being
smart and industrious enough to run her own business out of our house. After all, that was the main reason we couldn't have the theater here at home—because it would interrupt Mom's work.

Then again I couldn't be too mad at her. . . . After all, I had wanted to do the exact same thing.

Susan's phone gave a little chirp, indicating a text message. She checked the screen.

“Don't suppose that's a message from the city officials telling us the floodwaters have miraculously subsided?” Austin joked.

“Nope,” said Susan. “It's from Maddie. She sent me a selfie.”

“Well, unless it's a picture of her signing a three-week lease on the Minskoff Theatre,” I said, “I'm not interested.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like they'd really bump
The Lion King
for us. But, hey, it's still a cute picture.” She turned the phone so Austin and I could see the photo. “Look.”

There were Maddie and Jane standing in the lobby of the Chappaqua Community Center, holding their little origami projects and smiling their heads off.

Then I spotted a small notice posted on the wall just over Maddie's shoulder, which (thanks to Susan's thumb and forefinger and the magic of iPhone technology) was now big enough for me to read.

“Summer rental prices,” I read out loud.

“What are you talking about?” asked Susan.

“There's a sign on the wall outside the auditorium door,” I said. “I forgot the CCC auditorium could be rented out.”

“Hey, that's right,” said Austin. “My mom was in a charity fashion show there last year.”

“And my Brownie troop had our Fly-Up ceremony there back in first grade. Remember, Anya? There's a stage with curtains, and spotlights and a sound system and plush audience seating.”

“That can be rented out,” Austin said meaningfully.

I was utterly thrilled for the space of one second. Then I shrugged and let out a heavy sigh.

Susan gave me a sideways look. “Why don't you look more excited?”

“Because,” I said, “it's a possible solution, but it's far from ideal.”

“Perfectionist,” said Susan.

I refused to take that as an insult.

“What does the sign say exactly?” Austin asked.

“It says, ‘Chappaqua residents may rent this space for the following rates by signing up with the special events coordinator.' ”

“We're Chappaqua residents!” Susan pointed out
unnecessarily.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Austin used his own phone to log on to the CCC website and consult the fee schedule. “The prices are pretty reasonable,” he pronounced. “We can afford this, as long as we're careful about our other spending.”

“I guess,” I said with a grimace. “But one of the best things about the clubhouse, other than the fact that it's ours, is that most of the cast can walk there. Only a few of the kids have to get a ride to rehearsal.”

“Maybe we can work around that,” said Susan, turning on the optimism. “You know the moms in this neighborhood are car pool geniuses!”

She was right, of course. I still wasn't crazy about the idea, but I also knew it was the only option we had at the moment.

So we switched from Austin's phone to my laptop, scanning the CCC website for more information. Unfortunately, that information included the following words:
Nonrefundable payment required in advance
.

“That's a problem,” I said. “If we pay up front for the whole three-week session, and then the clubhouse
is
ready in time for rehearsals, we'll be out a fair amount of money.”

Austin considered this. “Mr. Healy said we definitely couldn't get in for three weeks. This week we're off, so that
means even though we'll be without the clubhouse theater for the first two weeks of the session, there's a chance we'll be in for tech week and the show.”