Showstopper (16 page)

She was waiting in the lobby, a huge grin on her face and an envelope in her hand.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Special delivery. Open it.”

I slid open the flap and pulled out a piece of letter-size paper; folded inside it was a check made out to Random Farms Kids' Theater for the cost of a full-page ad. My heart sped up as I read the advertisement.

I couldn't believe it. Matt had told me on the phone he was pretty sure Mr. Krause would contribute an ad. I never imagined he'd handle it so quickly.

But here it was! I felt a surge of hope. How could my parents cancel a show that was being sponsored by the guy
who sold the lowest-priced gasoline in town?

I folded the ad and slipped both it and the check back into the envelope, which I tucked carefully into my tote bag.

“How'd you get it?” I asked Becky.

“Matt swung by to drop it off a few minutes ago,” she said with a wag of her eyebrows. “And he seemed very disappointed at not being able to hand it to you in person.”

I felt a huge smile spreading across my face.

“Okay, everyone,” I said, herding my cast from the lobby to the theater. “Let's get moving. This show goes up in two and a half weeks.”

I hope.

Because Becky had never been the sort to leave things to chance, she'd spent all her downtime over the last few days Googling “stage combat.” She'd also consulted with two of her older brothers, Ben—a high-school track star whose best event was the javelin—and Charlie, who took fencing as an elective in college. Not only had Charlie given his sister a crash course in swordplay, he'd also allowed her to borrow some equipment to use for today's rehearsal.

“What are those?” asked Travis, indicating the two long,
slim weapons Becky was holding.

“This one's a foil,” Becky explained. “And this is an épée. They aren't sharp or pointy, and they're really flexible.” She demonstrated the bendy quality of the foil by pressing its tip to my solar plexus. “See how it arcs? And the end is blunted, which is why Anya isn't bleeding to death right now.”

“Cool,” said Travis.

“Two skinny swords isn't much of an arsenal,” Austin observed. “Maxie?”

“Not a problem,” said Maxie. “The play kit was really helpful about props. They listed all sorts of websites that sell stage weapons, and there's a promo code for Drama-o-Rama customers that will get us a pretty good discount.”

“Good,” I said. Even with the Krause filling station full-pager, we were still operating on a budget. “Let's meet after rehearsal to discuss that,” I suggested, eager to get to the actual stage combat. I was looking forward to seeing my bestie in action. “We'll start with these two. Everyone else can just mime for now.”

The cast assembled onstage, including the stage crew, since they'd be playing suitors and warriors. The play called for a major battle scene to take place between Odysseus and the suitors upon his return to Ithaca. My vision was that the battle would be executed as part knock-down, drag-out
brawl, part dance number. Mackenzie would be a featured performer in both, taking on most of the dance parts; she and Becky were going to work together to find just the right balance between grace and grit.

Odysseus and Telemachus (Teddy and Spencer, respectively) stood downstage right, while their enemies, Antinous and Eurymachus (Brady and Jane), positioned themselves downstage left, just as we'd blocked it the day before.

“The gist of this scene is that Odysseus has come home at last,” I reminded them. “He's disguised as a beggar, thanks to Athena, and only his son, Telemachus, knows who he is.” I nodded to Austin to continue the summary.

“You've all read the script, so you know that Penelope has had it up to here with the suitors, and since at this point she's pretty sure her husband is history, she's resigned herself to choosing one of the obnoxious guys to take his place.”

“That's not very romantic,” said Sophia.

“No,” I conceded, “but it does make for a really thrilling action scene. And speaking of action scenes . . .”

On this cue Becky got down to business.

For most of the rehearsal things went smoothly, since we had only two weapons to contend with. But at one point Elle zigged when she should have zagged, just as Nora bobbed when she should have weaved, which sent Teddy shuffling
left when he should have been skittering right; unfortunately, this all resulted in Sophia accidentally taking a foil to the back of the head.

“Hey, watch the hair!” she shouted.

“Sorry,” Teddy muttered.

But as the battle raged on, it became clear that blunted or not, a poorly aimed stage weapon could definitely do some damage. I tried to imagine the ruckus of ducking and spinning and parrying and thrusting when we had not just two but more than a dozen actors wielding actual (fake) spears, clubs, and swords. It had the potential to be like the worst piñata experience ever! I could practically hear my mother shrieking in terror,
It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt
, and, of course, that old parental favorite,
Somebody is going to lose an eye!

Austin came to the same conclusion. “We're going to have to be dead-on with this fight choreography,” he whispered. “Or else take out an insurance policy.”

“I agree,” I said.

When Becky told her warriors to “take five,” I waved her over and whispered my concerns.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing, since I'd feel horrible if anyone got hurt doing something I taught them.”

I knew this was true because when we were six, she'd tried to teach me to do a cartwheel, and I wound up spraining my wrist; she'd cried harder than I had!

“So what do the YouTube tutorials and Drama-o-Rama people recommend for directors who don't happen to have Zorro on speed dial?” I asked.

Becky laughed. “They strongly suggest fight calls.”

“Fight calls?” I repeated. “You mean, like, ‘Charge!'?”

Becky shook her head. “In professional theater, actors performing stage combat are obligated to have what's known as a fight call before every single performance. It's basically a mandatory extra rehearsal of the fight choreography for the purpose of knowing it cold and leaving nothing to chance.”

That made sense. After all, a single mistimed step, stumble, or stab (even with phony weaponry) could be a really big deal. Knowing the choreography by heart and having the timing memorized down to the split second would go a long way toward keeping the actors from getting hurt, either by inadvertently tripping over one another or accidentally taking a swat to the gut.

“We'll definitely allow for fight calls in the rehearsal schedule,” I said.

Knowing the actors would be so well prepared was a huge relief. I tore a page from my notepad and wrote down
a number. “Here's what we can afford to spend on weapons,” I said, handing this dollar amount to Maxie. “Anything that costs more than that we'll have to do without. And make sure you get the shipping details. We're going to need these by next week if we want to rehearse with them before the show.”

“Gotcha,” said Maxie.

When the cast returned from their break, Becky and Mackenzie spent the rest of the day matching the performers' actions to the raucous series of loud metallic clanking on the sound effects CD, which Deon played from the theater's state-of-the-art sound booth.

The auditorium was alive with whooshing, scraping, ringing, and crashing noises. It really did sound as if the actors were in the heat of battle. In a few spots, there were even sounds of spears whizzing through the air or swords being pulled out of sheaths, so Becky and Mackenzie needed to be sure they allowed for corresponding movements at just the right moments.

“It's really not all that different from getting a dance step to happen on a particular beat,” Mackenzie observed. “Just imagine the swords and spears ‘dancing' to the ‘music' of the sound effects.”

It was good advice and it worked. After a few more tries, the “warriors” were able to mime their actions in perfect sync
with the sounds.

“How are we going to make this happen in the clubhouse,” Austin asked me, keeping his voice low, “if we don't have a PA system?”

“We might not even have a clubhouse,” Susan replied grimly.

Or a director
, I added silently.
If my parents decide to ground me for the rest of my life
.

CHAPTER

16

By the end of rehearsal on Thursday we'd managed to make it through the entire first act of the play without any major snags. But not without a little drama.

I noticed that Travis, who'd been such an enthusiastic Athena at auditions, seemed to have lost a bit of his zeal. He hit his marks and said his lines, but there was a stiffness and a self-consciousness to his performance that hadn't been there before.

After his first scene with Odysseus, I pulled him aside.

“What's up, Trav?” I asked gently. “You seem a little . . . I dunno . . . reluctant to put your heart into it or something.”

Travis shrugged, unwilling to meet my eyes.

“Are you not feeling the same energy from Teddy that you had with Mackenzie when she was your scene partner?” I prompted.

“Nah. That's not it. Teddy's a great Odysseus. It's just . . .”

I waited. Travis let out a long rush of breath.

“Well, I was telling some of my friends I'd be playing a goddess in the show, and they started goofin' on me pretty bad. Ya know . . . for dressing up like a girl. I told them all that stuff Austin taught us about guys playing ladies' roles in Shakespearean times, but they just laughed harder.”

“Oh.” I forced myself to appear calm, but inside, I was on the verge of panic. Why did boys have to be such . . . such . . .
cavemen?
Still, I understood Travis's hesitation. Nobody wanted to get hassled by his friends for any reason.

“So . . . are you going to quit?” I asked.

Again Travis shrugged. My stomach flipped over.

This was
not
good. I hated the idea of losing Travis as Athena, not only because he was awesome, but because recasting his part would mean completely adjusting the complicated web of dual casting choices we'd worked out. More important, I wanted to see him stand up to his friends and do what he knew was right, which was to play the role he'd been given.

Then again I didn't want Travis to feel uncomfortable, and (perhaps a bit selfishly) I didn't want a lackluster portrayal of Athena to undermine our show. So it was on the tip of my tongue to suggest he switch roles with Susan, and play Zeus
instead, when my sister's voice exploded behind me.

“Tom Hanks, Tyler Perry, Adam Sandler, Dustin Hoffman.”

Travis and I whirled to see my sister holding out her iPhone.

“Just Googled it,” she said in her booming Zeus voice. “A list of big-time actors who've played women's roles in movies and gotten huge accolades for doing it. Think any of your buddies would ever have the guts to laugh in
their
faces?”

“No,” Travis conceded.

“Didn't think so,” said Susan. “So who cares what they think? Trust me, Trav, you're going to be hilarious as Athena.”

“I agree with Zeus . . . uh, I mean Susan,” I said.

Travis looked deeply pleased by our show of faith.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I'll do it. I'm having fun, so why should I let those jerks ruin it for me?”

When he was gone, Susan gave me a cocky smile. “And
that's
how we do it on Mount Olympus,” she said.

On Friday we kicked things off with our first official “fight call.” This consisted of reviewing the stage combat basics we'd learned the day before, then practicing the choreography Mackenzie and Becky had created. Mackenzie was going to
have a featured role in the battle scene, performing a highly imaginative hybrid of jazz dancing and stage combat.