Curtain Up (22 page)

Here was what happened on the afternoon of opening night:

Sam's loose tooth fell out.

Mia got her voice back completely, so it probably
had
just been nerves and not something more serious. Still, since Susan was the one who'd brewed the tea and added the honey, she chose to take full credit for Mia's miraculous recovery. Mia and I chose to let her.

During our lunch break, Mr. Healy showed up with a certified electrician and informed me that it was high time a brand-new electrical panel was installed in the barn, and this would basically guarantee there wouldn't be any more blown circuits.

I felt a wave of panic. A new electrical panel was probably a very expensive upgrade, and thanks to bobby pins and sticky piano keys, the Random Farms Kids' Theater was
pretty close to broke. I explained this to Mr. Healy.

He gave me a snort and a gruff look. “Nobody's askin' you to pay for it, girly. I'm in charge of the neighborhood common spaces, and I decide when things need improvement. The whole cost'll be comin' straight out of the association's petty cash fund.”

I was so pleased, I actually offered Mr. Healy a high five. To my shock, he high-fived me back. “Thanks,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. Then, as Mr. Healy escorted the electrician to the barn's cellar, he turned over his shoulder, gave me a wink, and said, “Break a leg, kid.”

I had no idea how he knew to say that instead of good luck, but I was awfully glad he did!

Ten minutes after the house had officially opened, I was in the girls' restroom, smearing on some lip gloss Maxie had given me. I'd left Susan and Becky to handle ticket sales and had ducked into the restroom for a few minutes to get myself (as Papa Harold might say) “dolled up.”

Three minutes later Jane came in holding what had formerly been Sophia's raggedy Cosette dress.

“Anya, if it's all right with you, I'd rather not sing ‘Castle on a Cloud' tonight.”

I stopped mid-gloss smear and stared at her. Was she kidding? Was this a joke? I couldn't tell. I was about to ask,
but she hurried on.

“I was thinking about what you said the day the cast list went up. So I've been listening to Mia's and Sam's and Sophia's incredible voices these last few days, and I realized something.”

“What's that?”

“I realized . . . that I'm not ready yet.”

I was so glad she'd said “not ready” instead of “not good enough.” After yesterday I knew better than anyone how it felt to be afraid of not being good enough, and I would never want anyone in my cast to ever feel that way. Jane may not have been a natural-born singer, but I knew that with some patience and maybe a little coaching, she could eventually improve a whole lot.

“Okay, Jane,” I said. “If that's what you want.”

Jane smiled. In fact she looked a little relieved. “It is. Definitely. Now, about Sophia . . .”

Uh-oh
. “What about her?”

“She really wants to sing the solo, and she's agreed to wear the raggedy dress. . . . That is, if it's all right with you.”

I looked over Jane's head and saw Sophia peeking in through the restroom door.

“She's sorry,” said Jane.

“I'm going to need to hear that from her,” I said, putting
the cap on the lip gloss and slipping it into my pocket.

There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the door. A moment later Sophia entered the bathroom. She was holding something behind her back.

“I'm sorry for our . . . misunderstanding yesterday,” she said. “I'd really like to sing the song.”

For a split second I considered saying no. I was the director, after all. But I knew that wasn't what real theater was about. And besides, as I'd told Austin, I was never good at being bossy.

“You've got your solo,” I said with a nod.

Sophia nodded back, then handed me what she'd been hiding behind her.

“I thought you might want this,” she said, “in case you're thinking of starting a Random Farms scrapbook. It's an advance copy of tomorrow's
Chappaqua Chronicle
. Ms. Bradley gave it to me.”

The headline nearly knocked me over.

LOCAL GIRL FORMS YOUTH THEATER. GREAT THINGS EXPECTED.

Beneath this boldly printed vote of confidence was a photo . . . of me, Austin, and Susan! It was a candid shot,
taken near the piano. We were looking over sheet music and smiling. The photographer must have snapped it just before we'd started our disastrous dress rehearsal.

“Thanks for this,” I said. Then, before I could do anything I'd regret—like hugging Sophia Ciancio—I walked out of the girls' room. . . .

And—to my great surprise and indescribable joy—straight into a fully packed house!

It was one of the most awesome sights I'd ever seen. Every last one of those fifty folding chairs was occupied and, to my shock, behind the last row of chairs were at least fifty more people standing. They were parents, as expected, but also siblings and teachers and teammates and friends. I saw Mrs. Warde with her husband, and the Quandts with their grown-up daughters and their husbands. There were more grandparents than I could possibly count. The lady from the teas-of-the-world café was there with her private-school daughter. Even Daria Benson and Abigail Silver and the entire starting lineup of the girls' soccer team were there. Gracie's cute older brother had brought his cute girlfriend.

The electrician who'd replaced our circuit panel was there
with his wife and kids, as was the barista who'd rung up my and Austin's sodas yesterday at the coffeehouse. Sam's baseball buddies took up an entire row of folding chairs, and Becky's whole family was there, as was the
Chappaqua Chronicle
's editor in chief, Ms. Bradley, who was seated beside the illustrious drama critic and all-around good guy, Mr. Jefferies.

And of course, my mom and dad and Papa Harold and Nana Adele were sitting right up front, looking as proud as could be in the very best seats in the house.

The most incredible part was that no one looked as if they'd been dragged here kicking and screaming. They all looked as if they truly wanted to come to this world-premiere performance of the musical revue called
Random Acts of Broadway
! All of them! Even Daria Benson.

“Isn't it amazing?” cried Becky, rushing over to me. “Susan and I have been selling tickets like crazy. When we ran out of chairs, she decided to charge two dollars for standing-room only. But don't worry; Mr. Healy says it's not a violation of the fire codes or anything. So you won't get arrested.”

I laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

“I knew you could do it,” she said.

I didn't see any point in telling her that, less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thought exactly the opposite.

Austin was taking his seat on the piano bench. Susan
joined him; her job would be turning the pages for him during the performance. We all exchanged smiles, then I told Becky I'd see her after the show, and hurried backstage where my whole cast, including Sophia, was waiting for me.

They looked nervous.

And excited.

And nervous.

But most of all, they looked
ready
.

In theater, it's sort of a tradition for the director to say something inspiring on opening night. So on my walk over I'd prepared a long fancy speech in my head. It was all about the importance of teamwork and the magic of theater and the satisfaction of a job well done. It included advice and reminders and all sorts of other directorial wisdom I thought I should share before I sent them out onto that stage.

But now that it was time to express it all, I decided on something else entirely. Something that, in its own way, encompassed all that other stuff . . . and more.

“You guys are the best,” I said. “I may have been the one who dreamed up this theater, but not one single bit of it could have happened without all of you. We've worked really hard, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like work and started feeling more like . . . well, maybe this sounds cheesy, but . . . it started to feel like it was all meant to be.”

“Doesn't sound cheesy to me,” said Teddy, grinning.

“Me either,” said Maddie, spitting her gum into a tissue.

“This all started because I wanted to be on a team,” I continued. “And I wound up being on the best team I could have ever asked for. So, thanks.”

“Showtime,” said Eddie.

“Let's do this!” I cried.

Deon was ready at the light controls. I gave him a nod, and the house lights went down. The murmuring and whispering of the audience faded to silence.

“Places,” I said.

My cast took the stage. In a moment I would slip out from the wings, tiptoeing through the shadowy house to take my place in the back, where I would enjoy the show.

Our show.

Heart racing in my chest, I turned to Maxie (whose hands were already clasped expectantly around the pulley rope) and whispered the words I had been waiting to say my whole life.

“Curtain up!”

Maxie gave a mighty pull on the rope, and the curtain sailed upward. Deon hit a switch and the stage was suddenly alive with light. Piano music filled the theater, and twelve incredibly dedicated, talented kids—my actors . . . my
friends
—began to perform, dancing and singing with all their hearts.

In the audience I saw people smiling and tapping their feet.

For them, this was the start of an unforgettable show.

For me, it was the start . . . of
everything
.

I had never heard such a complete quiet.

The clubhouse theater was empty now, except for me, seated dead center in the front row, looking at the dark stage. Everyone had gone to the ice cream place with their families to celebrate our success over milk shakes and sundaes.

I suppose the reason this quiet seemed so quiet was because a mere thirty minutes ago, people had leaped to their feet to cheer and applaud and shout, “Bravo!” A few of those people had even had tears in their eyes. My mom, for one. And Mrs. Warde. And me. The show had been
that
good.

Although that wasn't to say there weren't a few bloopers. If someone had asked me yesterday how I would have reacted to mistakes in the performance, I probably would have said I'd be horrified. But when they actually happened, I was surprised to find that I was able to let them go. It was like I
could finally see the bigger picture. It didn't have to be perfect; it just had to be amazing. And besides, the little mistakes had felt almost like inside jokes, because no one in the audience could have possibly noticed them. The crowd hadn't known that in the
Oliver!
scene, Sam had been wearing Eddie's Dodger costume while Eddie had been dressed in Sam's Oliver clothes, or that Gracie had left out three whole lines of her Veruca Salt monologue from
Willy Wonka
. Teddy's mustache had been on upside down, so it'd looked less like an old-time handlebar and more like some wacky overgrown goatee; Mia had forgotten one whole verse of “Maybe”; and in the
Fantasticks
dance, Travis and Mackenzie had bumped heads not once but twice.