Showstopper (21 page)

On Saturday, Susan, Austin, and I went on an ad-selling spree in town.

I was happy to find that many of the business owners who'd so kindly allowed us to put up posters in their windows were just as happy to purchase ad space in our program. This was a good thing because, even with the money we'd be reimbursed for the undeliverable stage weapons, renting the theater for a third week was going to take a pretty big bite out of our budget.

We'd just finished selling a half-page ad to the manager
of the coffee shop when my phone chirped. It was a text message from the CCC receptionist.

LARGE PACKAGE JUST ARRIVED AT FRONT

DESK FOR RANDOM FARMS KIDS' THEATER.

PLEASE COME PICK IT UP AT YOUR EARLIEST

CONVENIENCE.

“Maybe they were able to ship the stage weapons after all,” cried Susan, taking an enthusiastic bite into the cupcake she'd charmed the barista into giving her for free.

It was as good a guess as any. Maybe the gods had decided to smile on us after all. We headed straight to the CCC.

When we got to the community center lobby, the receptionist handed us a large cardboard box. We tore into it, hoping to see an entire arsenal of swords, spears, and clubs.

But it wasn't the stage weapons.

It was Deon's portable follow spot. The one he'd rented when we were still holding out hope we'd be having the play in the clubhouse. Now that we'd be performing in the state-of-the-art CCC theater, with its high-tech lighting board and sound system, we had no use for the portable spotlight.

“Should we send it back?” Susan asked.

“Might as well,” said Austin. “I'll have Deon bring it to the post office on Monday.”

“I hope the rental fee is refundable,” I grumbled, although
the way my luck had been running, I doubted very much that it would be.

Suddenly Susan's face went pale.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Upchuck!” she whispered.

“You're going to be sick?” I asked. “Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?”

“No,” said Susan, pointing across the lobby. “Upchuck. The band.”

I whirled to see Tessa Trent strutting across the lobby, grasping her omnipresent drumsticks. But this time three more girls were with her. One carried an electric guitar hanging from a shoulder strap.

A terrible feeling began to wash over me as my eyes went from the spotlight box to Tessa's band—who, I realized, was heading directly for the theater entrance!

“Mrs. Sawicki,” I said, panic rising in my throat. “Why did you call me down to pick up this spotlight? Why didn't you just wait and give it to me on Monday morning?”

Mrs. Sawicki looked confused. “Because I didn't expect to see you on Monday. According to Ms. Napolitano, your rental agreement expired at the close of business yesterday. I called out to you when you were leaving. I wanted to say good-bye and wish you luck with the show, wherever you
ended up holding it, but I guess you didn't hear me. You seemed like you were in a hurry.”

“Please . . . ,” I said, my voice rasping. “Please tell me the theater hasn't been rented for next week.”

“I'm sorry, dear, but it has,” she said, pointing to Upchuck. “Tessa and her band start rehearsing first thing Monday morning. In fact, they're setting up for it now.”

“I don't understand,” said Austin. “I thought we reserved the theater for next week.”

“You put it on hold,” Mrs. Sawicki corrected. “Which meant you had until the end of business yesterday to make your payment. You didn't, so the hold became null and void. Since you hadn't contacted Ms. Napolitano to extend your rental agreement, we just assumed you'd gotten your old venue back.”

I closed my eyes and saw a computerized calendar with a band of pink highlight disappearing from next week's dates.

I'd forgotten to renew the rental.

And now the theater had been reserved right out from under us for a week's worth of heavy metal madness! “Hey!”

I opened my eyes and saw Tessa smirking at us from the theater doorway. “You guys better get your theater junk out of here. We need to set up our instruments.”

Austin quickly took out his phone and called Gracie while Susan used hers to call Mr. Healy in the neighborhood association's maintenance office. I assumed they were requesting the use of Nick's pizza car and the groundskeeper's pickup truck to haul our belongings out of the theater and deliver them to . . .

To . . .

That was the problem:
To where?

CHAPTER

19

“We have to cancel the play.”

“We aren't going to cancel the play.”

“Austin, c'mon. . . .” I was seated beside him in Nick's pizza delivery car. The trunk was packed with all the things we'd hastily collected under the scathing glare of Tessa Trent and her fellow Upchuckians. Mr. Healy's pickup was right behind us, with Susan in his passenger's seat and the bulkier set pieces (like our two gorgeous backdrops, neatly folded) secured in the bed of the truck.

Of course, we had nowhere to hang them now.

“What about having the play in your backyard?” Gracie suggested from the front seat (over the blare of Nick's voice advertising that night's pizza special over the car's PA speakers). “Wasn't that the original plan when you started the theater?”

“It was,” I said. “But there's no way that's happening now.”
I gave a glossed-over version of how I'd blatantly abused my parents' trust. “Anyway, this production needs a much bigger space.” I thought of the dance numbers and the clanking of our nonexistent swords. “Not to mention great acoustics.”

Great acoustics . . . where had I heard that before?

“So that's it?” said Austin. “You're giving up?”

“What choice do I have?” I shot back. “It's not like Athena is going to send Hermes down to point me in the direction of the nearest theatrical venue.”

As I said it, I saw something through the car window that just might well have been the most inspiring sight I'd ever seen in my life.

Not Hermes.

Matt Witten. On his father's ride-on lawn mower!

Heading toward the clubhouse.

“Nick, stop the car!”

Nick swayed the car toward the curb and hit the brakes.

“What's going on?” asked Austin. “Anya, what are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that everything we know about theater today originated in the outdoor amphitheaters of ancient Greece.” I gave him a big smile. “At least, that's what I've heard.”

It took a minute for him to understand what I was suggesting.

Then he practically dove out of the car, and we were racing after Matt.

Getting permission to hold our show outdoors on the clubhouse property was much easier than it had been to get the go-ahead to do it inside. I still had to consult with the Neighborhood Association president, Dr. Ciancio, but this time things went much, much differently.

Austin, Susan, and I knocked on the Ciancios' door, all dirty and sweaty after unloading the car and the pickup truck and lugging all our theater belongings into the clubhouse for safekeeping.

Sophia opened the door and made a face. “You guys are a mess.”

“We know,” I said. “Sophia, there's been a change of plans.”

As she stood in the open doorway and listened, I gave her the SparkNotes version of the situation, from the temporary hold I'd placed on the CCC theater, to a girl with an eyebrow ring, to my realization that the clubhouse back lawn bore an uncanny resemblance to an ancient Greek amphitheater.

“Technically, the lawn is a neighborhood common area,” I concluded, “so we need to ask your dad if he'll sign off on
letting us do the show outside.”

I felt my sister and my theater partner beside me, holding their breaths. I was sure they were remembering, like I was, the horrible deal we'd had to strike with Sophia the first time we found ourselves in this unenviable position.

But to our collective shock, Sophia simply turned and called through the foyer, “Daddy! We're doing our play on the clubhouse back lawn.”

Dr. Ciancio's voice floated back to us from deep inside the house where (I couldn't help but imagine) he was probably busy polishing Sophia's solid gold toothbrush or perhaps grooming her brand-new pony.

“Whatever you say, princess,” was his immediate response.

“Wow,” said Susan. “That was easy. While you're at it, do ya think you can get him to purchase a full-page ad in the program?”

“Consider it done,” said Sophia.

With that, she slammed the door in our faces.

“Susan, text everyone,” I said. “Let them know we're having an emergency meeting tomorrow at the clubhouse.” I gave her a smile. “Tell them we're coming home.”

Sunday was a whirlwind of reorganization.

Susan's text brought everyone to our new venue bright and early, with the exception of Brady, who was at his grandfather's birthday party somewhere in New Jersey, and Maddie, who had to go to her cousin's bridal shower in Ossining.

Tried to get out of it,
Maddie texted.
But I'm the junior bridesmaid, so my attendance is sort of mandatory.

Mackenzie was also a no-show. This had me furious!

I considered calling her on the Fleisches' house line, but with everything I had spinning in my brain at the moment, the last thing I wanted was to have another awkward phone
conversation with Mrs. Fleisch.

The first thing we did was check the extended weather forecast. I had Deon consult his weather app.

“The week should be clear and sunny for rehearsals,” D reported. “Except for a passing thunderstorm on Tuesday morning. Should blow through by lunchtime, though. And for the record, this wouldn't be an issue at an indoor theater.”

I gave him a look.

“What about the weekend?” asked Austin.

It came as no surprise to me (and I was sure it wouldn't have shocked Odysseus, either) that the weekend called for heavy rain, beginning Saturday afternoon and going into late Sunday night.

“How's Friday look?” asked Teddy.

“Gorgeous,” said Deon.

“Friday it is, then,” I pronounced. “Opening night. We lose a whole day of rehearsal, but we'll just have to deal. And we're gonna have to push our start time to a little later in the evening. I'm thinking the curtain shouldn't go up until nine o'clock. I know it's late to be starting but we need to wait for full dark.”

Joey turned a teasing eye to Travis, Elle, and Gracie. “Can you fifth graders stay up that late?” he joked.

“Yes, we can,” said Elle. “And for the record, we're not fifth
graders anymore. We're about to be sixth graders.”

“And besides,” Travis added, “I'm Athena. So I operate on goddess time.”

“That's great for you, Trav,” I said, “but since the rest of us are mere mortals who operate on regular old Eastern Daylight Time, we'd better get to work.”

And so we did.

Matt had done a fabulous job of cleaning up the meadow and the sloping hillside. He promised to come back on Friday morning and do it again so the area would be perfectly trimmed and manicured for the show.

Which would be taking place on a brand-new, custom-made outdoor stage!

Because the night before, I had arranged a meeting with Gina and her dad, Mr. Mancuso. I'd told him about the bind we were in, and that although we could not pay him to help us build a stage, we'd be more than willing to barter for his services.

“What did you have in mind?” he'd asked, sipping his espresso.