What's Your Status? (16 page)

Gingersnap → mad_mac
Mad, I guess that means you’re not making it to the strike?
No worries. But let’s catch up ASAP!!

I looked at Ginger’s message, torn. I had been a Thespian—part of Putnam High School’s theater group—since my freshman year, but didn’t tend to hang out a ton with the other theater kids, most of whom traveled in a
Glee
-quoting, Sondheim-belting pack. And since prom stuff had taken over my life, I’d been spending even less time with them, and I had a feeling that it was causing some of the theater kids to feel hurt.

I also had a suspicion that a certain former understudy of mine was stoking these feelings, and I knew that the best way to defuse the situation would be to make an appearance at the strike. I glanced into my bag at the crown, then made a decision. I could just drop the crown off after the strike. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen to it. And it wasn’t like the hotel was going to close. After checking quickly that Kittson was really gone, I reversed direction and headed down to the theater wing. I was actually happy to have the chance to talk to the other theater kids about the review. It had
been pretty terrible and hadn’t gotten any less stinging the six times I’d read it over the course of the day.

I reached the greenroom and found it deserted except for Mark Rothmann, who was sitting slumped against the back wall, staring at the floor. “Hey, Mark,” I said. “How’s it going?”

Mark didn’t even look up; he simply shrugged. Clearly, it was not going well. But given the review, that was to be expected.

“Are you going to the strike?” I asked, gesturing toward the blackbox.

“What’s the point?” Mark asked bitterly, sitting up a little and looking at me. “I’d probably just mar a mildly competent production with my preposterous attempt at an accent and tone-deaf affectation.” I took the fact that Mark was reciting whole passages from the review to be a bad sign.

“It’s just a stupid review,” I said. “I mean, they called me ‘acceptably adequate.’”

“But that’s a good thing!” Mark said. “That’s a positive thing. They didn’t call you ‘a blight on the entire production, and perhaps on the institution of theater itself.’”

“Well, no,” I admitted. I’d actually been kind of hurt by the “acceptably adequate” thing, but it didn’t seem like Mark was going to appreciate that right then. “But maybe striking the set will make you feel better,” I said. “I mean, you’ll get to break things.”

Mark just shook his head. “Go on without me,” he said, slumping over again. “I’ll be okay.”

It didn’t seem like it, but it also didn’t seem like
Mark wanted company at the moment. I headed out of the greenroom, walked through the lightlock, and made my way onstage. The stage was in a state of disaster, as the main set—Ham’s home, Elsie Nora Farm—was currently being dismantled. I walked carefully around my fellow Thespians, most of whom were wielding hammers with entirely too much vigor and entirely too little expertise. After watching the destruction for a few moments, I decided I liked my appendages too much to be there. I carefully backed out of the blackbox, left through the lightlock, and headed into the costume shop.

The first thing I saw was a huge pile of costumes. But a moment later, half buried beneath them, I spotted Ginger Davis, a tape measure looped around her neck. Ginger was my closest theater friend, the only one of the Thespians who was—ironically—above all the drama. She was super sweet, even though she did have a tendency to get drunk on nonalcoholic beer at every cast party. She did the costumes and makeup for every show and was incredibly talented. In fact, the costumes in
Dane
had been practically the only thing that the reviewer had liked.

“Hey, Ginger,” I said, and she looked up as I approached.

“Mad!” she said with a smile. “Oh, good, you’re here. Sarah had been asking where you were….”

I allowed myself a small eye roll at that. Since freshman year, Sarah Donner and I had found ourselves competing for roles. She usually ended up understudying me, as she had on
Dane.
Our relationship had never been great,
and she had even been one of the people I’d suspected of hacking my Friendverse. But she hadn’t been involved, and we’d actually had a talk about it that had made working together a little easier. But that didn’t mean she still didn’t seize every opportunity to make me look irresponsible.

“I’m here,” I said, dropping my bag in the corner and heading over to the pile of clothes. “How’s the costume strike going?”

Ginger looked around, then sighed. “Slowly? But I’m making progress. I think.”

“Mads, you’re here,” someone behind me said. I turned and saw Sarah Donner striding up, clutching a clipboard. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

“I’m here,” I said again, doing a quick check of her outfit. I was pleased to see it was a normal T-shirt and jeans. Until recently, Sarah had been far too attached to what she’d called her “rehearsal clothes”—overalls and a bandanna that were incredibly unflattering. Ginger and I had staged an intervention a few weeks earlier and Sarah hadn’t worn the overalls since. Ginger had given her a makeover, and without the bandanna, Sarah was really surprisingly pretty.

“So,” Ginger said, looking up from a long flowered gown, “did you guys hear who doesn’t have a prom date?”

“Oh, you heard about Brian?” I blurted.

“No,” Ginger said, looking at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, frustrated with myself for accidentally breaking my no-gossip rule. Sarah was looking at me, clearly interested in hearing more, but I pressed my
lips together and shook my head firmly. “Forget it. Who doesn’t have a prom date?”

“Well, Mark doesn’t,” Sarah said. “Is that who you meant?”

“Mark doesn’t have a date?” I asked, surprised. I suddenly felt very out of the loop and wondered if when I’d stopped gossiping, people had stopped returning the favor.

“No, he’s going solo,” Sarah said. Then she sighed. “Me too.”

“Seriously?” I asked. I wished we’d gotten her to ditch the bandanna a few weeks earlier.

Sarah shrugged, trying for nonchalant, but as always with her acting, she overdid it. She turned to Ginger, clearly intent on changing the subject. “You and Josh are going together, right?”

“Yes,” Ginger said, blushing slightly. Josh Burch had played Ham in the production, and he and Ginger had been an item since the tech rehearsal. I liked Josh, but I didn’t know how Ginger was putting up with him, because he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tack in the toolbox. Or wherever it is that you keep tacks. But Josh and Ginger seemed to be working out, and I was happy for her.

“And Madison, you’re going with Nathaniel?” Sarah asked, sounding a little disgruntled.

“Nate,” I corrected. “And it’s actually Jonathan.” Sarah had decided that Nate must be a nickname for Nathaniel. And that she was going to call him that, even though he’d never asked her to. And the fact that it wasn’t actually his name. “But yes.”

Sarah sighed dramatically. “Well, tell me who
doesn’t
have a prom date,” she said, turning to Ginger. “It might make me feel better.”

Ginger looked around the costume shop, and I smiled at her paranoia. “Ginger, I think we’re alone in here,” I said.

“You never know who’s listening,” she said gravely.

“Just us, I’m pretty sure,” I said, but I moved a step closer to her. “Spill.” Just because
I
wasn’t gossiping anymore didn’t mean that I couldn’t reap the benefits of those who were.

“Justin Williamson,” Ginger said, a bit of wonder in her voice. “Can you believe it?”

“Not really,” I murmured, stunned. While I’d known that Justin hadn’t gone out with anyone post-Kittson, I had assumed he would have a prom date. Guys like Justin didn’t go to the prom stag.

“Mad, is it true that you have the Hayes crown?” Ginger asked, clearly done with talking about Justin. “Like, with you?”

I paused, wondering how she’d known that, before I remembered my Status Q update and smiled at Ginger’s incredulous expression. “I do.”

“Could I see it?” she asked. “Just for a minute? To examine the construction?”

I considered it. It wasn’t like it could hurt the crown at all to be taken out of the box. And I couldn’t think of anyone who would treat it more carefully than Ginger. “Why not?” I said. I walked over to my bag, pulled out the jewelry box, held it out to Ginger and Sarah, and opened it.

The crown was resting on a bed of dark blue velvet, patchy in spots, that matched the case. It was surprisingly small and made of white gold, with four teardrop crystals standing up from it. Or they might have been diamonds, I realized with a sinking feeling, remembering how everyone went on and on about the crown’s value. The crystals—or (hopefully not) diamonds—were nevertheless very sparkly, and they caught the costume shop’s light and sent rainbows onto the walls.

“OMG,” Ginger breathed. “It’s so…beautiful.”

“You think?” I asked, staring down at it.

“You don’t?” Sarah asked, leaning closer to it. “It’s stunning.”

“I like the one that you had me wear in
Romeo and Juliet
better,” I said to Ginger.

“But that was rhinestone,” Ginger said, eyes still on the crown. “This is real.”

I stared at it, beginning to worry that she was right, and suddenly feeling nervous about having to transport something that had real diamonds in it. If this was as important as Dr. Trent was making it out to be, I couldn’t help wishing that he’d hired an armored car or something.

“Mad, would you try it on for me?” Ginger asked excitedly. I looked at her and saw what I recognized as designing frenzy in her eyes. She got like this whenever she was sketching for the next production. When it hit, she became almost impossible to say no to. It was how I ended up modeling potato sacks, to see if she could make one of Felia’s costumes out of them. She couldn’t. And for the record, potato sacks are not comfortable.

“I don’t know…” I said, fearing the Wrath of Kittson if she found out.

“Please?” Ginger asked, hands clasped. “Please please? Just so I can get some pictures of it? For my files? Please please please?”

I looked down at the crown. It would probably be easier to try it on than to listen to Ginger beg me for an hour. And it wasn’t like I was ever going to be prom queen, so this would probably be my only chance to wear it. “Fine,” I said, reaching for the crown.

“Wait!” Ginger said, looking around the pile of costumes she was mired in. She dug through the clothes, tossing shirts and dresses over her shoulder, making even more of a mess. “Aha!” She pulled out a beautiful taffeta dress and held it up.

“That’s gorgeous,” I said, taking it from her. It really was. It was pale pink and cut fifties-style—strapless with a tea-length skirt that stood out slightly, thanks to the crinolines underneath. It looked like something a young Audrey Hepburn might have worn. I suddenly liked my own prom dress—a modern column-style peach sheath currently on hold for me across town at Caitlin’s Closet—a little bit less.

“Put it on!” Ginger said, clapping her hands. “It doesn’t make any sense to see the tiara with what you’re wearing, Mad.”

I didn’t need convincing. I’d wanted to put on the dress since Ginger had held it up. I handed the jewelry box to Sarah and headed to the small curtained area at the back of the costume shop. I changed quickly and looked at myself
in the mirror. Unbelievably, the dress fit. Not able to resist, I did a little twirl, just to see the skirt flare out gently.

“Mad?” Ginger called, and I tore my eyes away from the mirror and pulled aside the curtain. Ginger smiled when she saw me. “I knew it would fit,” she said. “Crown?” she said to Sarah, who shook her head and held on to it.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “I think it might be bad luck or something.”

“It’s not bad luck,” Ginger said quickly. You had to admire her. Normal Ginger, who was deeply gullible, would have absolutely believed this. But when she was on a costume-related mission, she was relentless.

“I think it’s only bad luck if you’re in the running for prom queen,” I said. “Which I am not.”

“I just don’t know,” Sarah said. “I mean, what if there’s a curse or something?”

“There isn’t a curse,” Ginger said dismissively.

“How do you know?” Sarah asked. “I mean, maybe it’s not supposed to be worn by anyone until the prom queen, when she’s crowned. There
might
be a curse.”

I glanced down at the crown, which looked small and sparkly and totally innocent. I shook my head. “There isn’t a curse,” I said with a little more certainty than I felt. I picked it up off the velvet base. It was heavier than I’d thought it would be, and I admired it for a moment before placing it on my head and pressing the small combs into my hair to secure it.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Ginger said. She struggled to her feet and pulled her phone out of the pocket of her jeans as Sarah watched, frowning, arms folded.

“I don’t like this,” Sarah said. “Just so that’s out there.”

“We heard you,” I said. I wasn’t sure if this was actually about the crown, or if she was just upset that Ginger had asked me, and not her, to try it on. “I promise it’ll be fine.”