Authors: Lisa Fiedler
Showstopper (15 page)
Their moms cheered as these tiny new recruits fell into step (well, sort of) with the rest of the dancers.
“Future Random Farms cast members,” Austin said, laughing.
“Future dues payers,” Susan said, rubbing her palms together and beaming.
When the song finished, everyone was laughing breathlessly.
As the workmen went back to the clubhouse, Mackenzie and I sold the few remaining goodies to the audience at a discount; they all expressed their hope that the theater would be ready in time for our second show.
Everyone was in a terrific mood . . . until a silver sedan pulled up to the curb.
I recognized the car immediately. It belonged to Mrs. Fleisch.
Mackenzie, who was handing our last brownie to a customer, dropped it like it was on fire. Her face went completely pale. When Mrs. Fleisch got out of the car, I could see her expression was one of pure fury.
I had no idea what Mackenzie's mother was so upset about, but as she stomped across the grass, one thing was perfectly clear. . . .
She wasn't here to buy a cookie.
“Mackenzie Allison Fleisch, what in the world are you doing?”
Mackenzie opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Didn't matter; Mrs. Fleisch was clearly in talking, not listening, mode.
“I called the dance studio to let them know I'd be picking you up early today. I almost had a heart attack when Miss Juliette told me you weren't there.”
I wondered if Mrs. Fleisch's potential coronary had to do with the fact that Mackenzie was missing . . . or just that she was missing dance class.
“I can . . . um . . . Let me just . . . I can explain,” Mackenzie stammered.
But Mrs. Fleisch continued as though she wasn't aware half the neighborhood was watching. “I told Juliette she
simply had to be mistaken, because you had an advanced pas de deux class scheduled for four thirty. But she told me you hadn't shown up for it. And then she went on to tell me that you weren't there yesterday, either. In fact, your attendance has been spotty all summer!” Mrs. Fleisch gave her daughter a disappointed look. “Spotty, Mackenzie! Do you think when Anna Pavlova was twelve years old,
her
attendance was ever
spotty?
”
“Anna Pavlova,” Susan whispered to me. “Lemonade stand, right?”
“No,” I whispered back. “Shhh!”
“I did go to the studio this morning,” Mackenzie said, “just like I told you I was going to do. I rehearsed all day. But not in class. I worked independently. I guess Miss Juliette didn't realize I was there.”
“Why would you do that?”
Mackenzie swallowed hard and I realized she was stalling.
Correction:
lying!
“Because,” Mackenzie said at last, not quite meeting her mother's gaze. “Because Desiree Morton is in all those same classes, and you know how awful she is to me. She always tries to psyche me out and make me feel self-conscious.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Fleisch pursed her lips and nodded. “She does do that.”
“I thought if I could just practice on my own,” Mackenzie went on, “I'd be able to focus on my dancing without Desiree playing head games and messing me up. So I found an empty practice room and spent the day working there.”
Not true
, I thought, feeling queasy.
She spent the day with us at the CCC
.
“But what about pas de deux?” Mrs. Fleisch countered. “You certainly can't practice
that
by yourself!”
This time Mackenzie didn't miss a beat. “Vladimir texted me and told me he was skipping class,” she said easily. “I didn't tell Juliette because I didn't want him to get in trouble. But since I wasn't going to have a class partner, I didn't see any point in staying. So I got a ride home from Annabelle's mom, but because there's so much construction at the east end of Random Farms Circle, I just had her drop me off at the corner and I walked. Jogged actually. To burn more calories.”
At this, Mrs. Fleisch actually looked pleased.
“That was when I saw Anya was having a bake sale, so I stopped to help out. I've been here only a few minutes.”
I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the card table because I didn't dare look at Mrs. Fleisch, or for that matter, Mackenzie. I was sure my shock was as plain as the nose on my face. This had to be one of the most exquisitely detailed lies ever told.
“Please don't tell on Vlad,” Kenzie went on, her voice
catching dramatically. “He's such a good partner and he's the best male dancer at the studio. I don't want to get him mad. He might start dancing with Desiree instead of me.”
At this statement, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at Kenzie's mom. She looked horrified at the thought of this Desiree person stealing away her daughter's pas de deux partner. Finally she shook her head, as though dismissing the entire incident.
“Get in the car, Mackenzie,” Mrs. Fleisch instructed. “I've managed to get you into a special class tonight in Manhattan. We're going straight to the train.”
Without another word, Mackenzie gathered up her things and bolted for the car.
But as Mrs. Fleisch strode around to the driver's door, I heard this:
“I hope you haven't eaten any of those baked goods. Have you seen the dancers in New York? They're positively svelte.”
“What's
svelte?
” Susan whispered.
I didn't know. But for some reason, it sounded like one of the ugliest words I'd ever heard in my life.
No one said a word.
Even though it was clear Mackenzie had just blatantly lied to her mother about where she'd been for the last two days (not to mention the entire first session of the Random Farms Kids' Theater), nobody, it seemed, had the stomach to say it out loud.
I certainly didn't. The two lemon bars I'd eaten earlier were suddenly churning in my belly, creating a whirlpool worthy of Charybdis. I felt positively sick. And not just because Mackenzie had proven herself to be the most amazing liar in the entire world.
But because I was a very close second.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Anya!
Ma chérie
!”
“How's Paris?”
“It's wonderful! Dad and I are getting ready to go out for an elegant dinner.”
“That's great.” I paused, picturing a swath of awkward silence forming across the Atlantic Ocean. Even with several time zones between us, my mother knew something was up.
“Anya, what's wrong? Did something happen?”
The fear in her voice made me feel even worse than I already did.
“Everything's fine,” I said quickly. “Nobody's hurt or anything. There's just something I wanted to tell you. Can you put me on speaker so Dad can hear?”
The phone fumbled a bit, then I heard my father's equally worried voice. “I'm here, Anya. What's going on?”
I took a deep breath. “I was dishonest with you guys, and I lied to Nana and Papa.” My throat felt tight and there was a stinging sensation behind my eyes. “I'm sorry. I know it was wrong. But I really needed a place to hold rehearsals while the clubhouse was closed down, and when the Paris trip came up, I knew if I could convince Mom to go, I'd be able to have rehearsals at home and you'd never know. When the kids came for auditions, I kind of led Nana and Papa to believe that I had your permission.”
More grim silence filled the atmosphere between the two continents. Finally I heard my father sigh.
“This isn't like you, Anya. You've never lied to us before.”
“I know,” I said. “But I was desperate. I told myself I really wouldn't be breaking the rules, because we wouldn't be bothering Mom while she was working. And even though it was supposed to be two weeks, it was only those first two days. After the flood weâ”
“Flood?” cried my mother.
“It's fine now,” I assured her. “We cleaned it up and the washer is working again.”
My mother gasped and I heard my father whisper something to her before turning the conversation back to me. “And what about your play? I assume you were forced to call it off?”
“Not exactly,” I said. Then I explained all about the community center and Matt Witten's ad and the bake sale.
He was quiet again, and I realized I was waiting for him to tell me I shouldn't have bothered going to all that trouble because he fully intended to exercise his parental rights and teach me a lesson by canceling not only this play, but any show I dreamed of ever producing in the future.
To be honest, if I were
my
kid, that was what
I
would have done.
When at last my father spoke, I heard a tone of uncertainty in his voice. “On the one hand, I'm impressed by your ability to troubleshoot. You had a problem, and you found an intelligent solution by renting the community center theater. That is a skill you can be proud of.”
“Thank you.”
“But on the other hand, you were dishonest, not only with me and your mother, but with your grandparents as well.”
My head bowed of its own accord as tears welled up in my eyes.
“And even though the washing machine debacle was taken care of, things could have gone very differently.”
“I know,” I said, my voice little more than a croak. “So I guess I'm going to be punished, right?”
“
Absolument
,” said Mom.
I didn't speak French but I knew a
darn right!
when I heard one. My heart went cold. “Do I have to cancel the show?”
More whispers. I held my breath.
“This is going to involve further discussion on our part,” said Dad. “Your mother and I will have to think long and hard about this, Anya. We'll let you know our decision when we get home.”
For one frantic moment I considered begging, reminding them how much I loved my theater and explaining that the thought of not having a second play had resulted in a touch of temporary insanity.
But instead I simply said, “Okay.” The word was lost in a sob.
I hit end on my cell phone, feeling dizzy.
Friday!
Three whole days before I'd learn my fate.
Once again I felt like Odysseus. He was always at the
mercy of the gods who held his hopes, his dreams, his very life in their hands. His future was determined by their whims, just as mine would be determined by my parents' decision.
Of course, Odysseus was a brave and noble hero.
And I was just a big selfish liar!
Would there be a second show or wouldn't there? And what was I supposed to do for the next three days? Cancel rehearsals or carry on, as Odysseus did? He had a responsibility to his men, just like I was responsible to my actors. And I didn't want to let them down any more than Odysseus had wanted to see his buddies get gobbled by Scylla or pounded against the rocks by Poseidon.
I could keep it to myself until I knew for sure, but wouldn't that be lying all over again?
Feeling miserable, I curled up on my bed, my Broadway playlist blasting through my earbuds, and started counting the minutes until Friday.
The next morning, Papa drove us to the community center. I felt anxious and confused, wondering how much of my current problem I should reveal to the cast. As we picked up the rest of our car pool riders, I kept telling myself that my parents were kind, rational people. Even if they did decide I should be punished, they'd never be heartless enough to punish my entire cast along with me. I'd simply point out to Mom and Dad how hard everyone had been working and how unfair it would be to take the play away from
them
when
I
was the one who'd made the bad judgment call.
This line of reasoning bolstered my spirits a bit. By the time we pulled up to the CCC entrance, I was actually smiling. Because it was Wednesday and that meant Becky would be joining us to help choreograph the battle scenes.
Even though I'd felt a little strange about it at first, I was
really excited now. My best friend and I had never taken part in an activity together. This was long overdue.