The Show Must Go On! (2 page)

One by one the students walked onto the stage, each taking a copy of the play. Bree felt a thrill run through her when she turned and looked out into the sea of empty seats in the auditorium. She pictured herself in the lead role, standing before a cheering crowd, taking her bows, curtain call after curtain call.

“Are you all right, Gabrielle?” someone asked, startling Bree back to reality.

“Oh, yes, sorry, Ms. Hollows,” Bree said sheepishly as she picked up a copy of the play and hurried off the stage. Only after she left the stage did Bree realize that she had never told Ms. Hollows her name, especially not her real name. Everyone, except her mother sometimes, called Gabrielle Hart by her nickname, Bree.
How did she know?
Bree wondered.

“Weird,” she said under her breath.

“What's weird?” Melissa asked, falling into step with Bree.

“Somehow Ms. Hollows knows my name already,” Bree replied. “And not just my nickname. My
real
name. No one ever guesses that Bree is short for Gabrielle.”

“Well, you are one of the top students in the school,” Melissa pointed out. “Maybe she did some research about who she might want in the play.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bree replied, not really believing what Melissa had just said. “Anyway, I'll see you later, Lis.”

Melissa waved as she ran toward her bus. “Bye.”

Later that evening Bree curled up in a big, overstuffed chair in her living room and opened the script. “
The Last Sleepover
,” she read aloud. “By M. P. Wormhouse.” Bree read on.

The play told the story of a house haunted by the ghost of a girl who had always wanted to attend a sleepover. As Bree got further and further into the script, she began to read aloud:

“(CARRIE'S BEDROOM IN HER NEW HOUSE. THE HOUSE IS AN OLD VICTORIAN THAT
IS BEING REMODELED AND HAS AN ABANDONED, HAUNTED FEEL TO IT. THE TWO OTHER GIRLS WHO HAVE GATHERED AT THE SLEEPOVER ARE HUDDLED AROUND CARRIE. CARRIE SITS IN THE MIDDLE, WITH HER BLACK CAT ON HER LAP.)

CARRIE: Thanks for coming tonight. Ready to hear something creepy?

RACHEL (EXCITED): Awesome!

LAURA (NERVOUS): What?

(CARRIE LEANS IN CLOSE TO THE GIRLS TO TELL THEM HER SECRET.)

CARRIE: Years ago, a girl named Millie lived in this house. She was a shy girl who kept to herself most of the time. Although she didn't have a lot of friends, the thing she wanted most in the world was to be invited to a sleepover. She dreamed about hanging out all night in her pajamas, in a sleeping bag, telling stories, eating, laughing . . .

RACHEL: Having pillow fights.

CARRIE: Having pillow fights. All the cool stuff we're doing tonight. Anyway, Millie waited and waited until finally a girl named Gabby had a sleepover. Gabby invited every girl in her class—every girl, that is, except Millie.

RACHEL: Mean!

LAURA: Poor Millie.

CARRIE: I know. Gabby was a bit of a bully. Millie begged her to be allowed to come to the sleepover, but every time she asked, Gabby said no.

RACHEL: Why?

CARRIE: I don't know, but that sleepover was only the first of many. At least twice a year, Gabby had a huge sleepover, and each time all the girls in the class were invited except Millie. Then Millie got sick. Very sick. In time she died, having never gotten her wish to attend a sleepover.

LAURA: That is so sad!

RACHEL: It is. But where does the creepy part come in?

CARRIE: I'm getting there. Millie's family moved shortly after her death and sold this house to another family. That family had a little girl. One night, that girl had a sleepover. And that's when the haunting began. Lights flickered on and off, and a strange face appeared outside her bedroom window.

RACHEL: Yeah, right. You're making this up.

CARRIE: I'm not. Promise. I heard the whole story from the old woman who lives next door. She remembers Millie. They went to school together a very long time ago.

LAURA: Creepy.

CARRIE: It gets creepier. Every girl who has had a sleepover in this house since Millie died has experienced the same things. It's said that Millie's ghost haunts this house and will keep haunting it until she is allowed into a sleepover!

RACHEL: Well, she's not getting into this one!

CARRIE: Nope. Not if I have anything to say about it.

(LIGHTS GO OUT ALL OF A SUDDEN. GIRLS SCREAM WITH FEAR.)”

As Bree continued to read the play, she began to get more and more creeped out.

“This play is so dark . . . and there's something else I can't quite put my finger on,” she murmured to herself when she had finished reading. She set the script aside. “I wish Ms. Hollows was putting on a happy play, with singing or something. Maybe I should wait to
audition next year.” But that didn't make Bree feel any better either.

Bree recalled her English teacher describing the feeling of being outside your comfort zone. That the best way to learn and grow was to do something that felt difficult or unfamiliar. Maybe this was the play for her, and maybe she was destined to play Carrie.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, hey, Megan,” Bree said absentmindedly, not bothering to look up at her sister. “It's a copy of the play we're putting on this year.”

“Are you seriously thinking of auditioning?” Megan asked, unable to stifle a giggle. “The shy, fly-on-the-wall, always-stay-in-background Bree wants to step into the spotlight?”

“You're always such a drama queen, Megan,” Bree replied. “It's just a play. It's just an audition. Are you nervous that you aren't the only one in this family with acting talent?”

“Okay, okay, don't get all riled up,” Megan shot back. “I'm just teasing you. So, what's the play about?”

Bree described the strange story of
The Last Sleepover
to her sister.

“Sounds creepy,” Megan said when Bree had finished recounting the plot.

“It really is,” Bree said, hoping to get Megan's advice about acting. “Just reading it gives me a really weird feeling. Have you ever been in a play like this? You know, where it just gets under your skin?”

“That's nuts,” Megan replied with a laugh. “It's just a play. It's just acting, you know, make-believe. I hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as the boogeyman, or ghosts, or other silly stuff like that. You know what I think?”

“Enlighten me,” Bree said.

“It's nerves,” Megan said. “You might just not be cut out for the stage.”

“Thanks for the sisterly advice!” Bree shouted as her sister left the room. Just when she thought Megan might be of help, she acted like, well, like Megan. “You know what I think? I think you just don't want to share the spotlight with me. Well, guess what? I
am
auditioning and I
will
get the lead!”

Bree picked up the script and stormed off to her room. She would show Megan!

But that night, as Bree drifted off to sleep, she had to
admit to herself that she did feel nervous. She couldn't shake the haunting presence of the play and its characters. They felt so real, as if they had entered her life, not as words on a written page but as real people, including a very real-seeming ghost.

She spent the night, tossing and turning, her dreams blending with her waking thoughts. It was the first of many restless nights.

Bree was distracted during her classes all day on Monday. She could focus on one thing and one thing only—the audition. Each class period seemed like it lasted for three hours. She couldn't wait for the school day to be over so she could finally get her big chance.

When the last bell rang, Bree raced to the auditorium. She couldn't decide what she felt more: excited or nervous. She decided it was pretty much a tie. Reaching the auditorium, she took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in.

“Bree!” Melissa called out as soon as Bree had stepped into the auditorium. She waved from the front, up near the edge of the stage. “Here!”

Bree hurried down the center aisle to join her friend.

“What did you think of the script?” Melissa asked. “Wasn't it spooky?”

“It totally creeped me out,” said Bree. “I wanted to put it down, but it was like something forced me to keep reading.”

“I know, I know!” Melissa exclaimed. “That Wormhouse must have been some kind of writer. I had to keep going until I got to the end . . . like,
had
to keep reading, not just because I wanted to. And the whole time I kept thinking, ‘I really want to be in the play . . . but
this
play?' But then I got such a strong urge to do it, I have to at least try out.

“I'm going to read for the part of Rachel, Carrie's best friend,” Melissa continued. “I need to set my sights on something I think I can handle.”

“I'm going for Carrie, Lis,” Bree said. “It's time for me to jump into the deep end.”

“How cool would it be if we got to play best friends in the play?” Melissa squealed with excitement.

“Yeah, well, that's not going to happen,” said someone right beside them. Bree didn't even have to turn her head to know who had spoken. It was Tiffany O'Brian, one of the most popular—and snobbiest—girls in the school.

“Really?” Melissa replied. “And why is that?”

“Because
I'm
getting the lead,” Tiffany replied. “This audition is a waste of time. I'll be playing Carrie. This reading is merely a formality.”

Bree never ceased to be amazed by the size of Tiffany's ego and her boundless sense of entitlement.

“Just because you've played the lead before doesn't mean you'll be the lead in this one,” Bree pointed out.

“Well, look who's speaking up,” Tiffany taunted. “Little Miss Wallflower, never dances at a party, never says two words. And you are suddenly going to get the lead. I think if anything you're more suited to play the ghost.”

“Leave her alone, Tiffany,” Melissa chimed in. “She's allowed to audition just like you are.”

“Waste your time if you like, Wallflower,” Tiffany said, tossing back her wavy blond hair. “But the part is mine.” Then she turned and walked to the other side of the auditorium.

“She's the worst,” Melissa said when Tiffany had gone.

“Must be nice being Miss Perfect,” Bree added. “I wonder how it feels. Maybe I should ask my sister.”

The door to the auditorium swung open, and Ms. Hollows walked down the aisle and up onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, did we all enjoy the script?” she asked, scanning the auditorium from one side to the other.

Murmurs, grunts, and nods of agreement passed through the assembled students.

“Very well then,” she said. “Let's begin. Will those auditioning for the role of Carrie please line up to my left, here on the stage?”

This is it
, Bree thought.
No turning back now.
She joined four other girls up on the stage. Tiffany, seeming to be in no hurry, was last in line.
She probably thinks she'll watch the rest of us, then go last and blow us all away,
Bree thought as she watched the first girl walk over to Ms. Hollows in the center of the stage.
And who knows? Maybe she's right.

Bree glanced at the girl performing a scene, but she really didn't hear any of the lines. Her focus was locked on the script and the lines she was going to read.

“Next,” Ms. Hollows called when the first girl had finished. Bree swallowed hard and walked briskly to the center of the stage.

“And which scene have you chosen, Gabrielle?” Ms. Hollows asked. This time Bree was less startled when the drama teacher used her full name. She figured Melissa must have been onto something yesterday.
She
must have looked me up in the school records,
she thought.

“I'm going to do Carrie's monologue during the ‘floating objects' scene,” Bree answered.