I’d tried to plan for everything. I’d called Leo’s mom at the dentist’s office to ask if he was free on a certain night and sworn her to secrecy. I’d thought she might be mad or annoyed at me for calling her at work, but she’d been a good sport about the whole thing. I’d told my mom what I wanted to do and she’d agreed to let me go. I guess because we’d be surrounded by people the whole time. She’d promised to pick us up after the play was over.
I skidded around the corner to the box office so fast I had to put my hand on the exterior wall to stop myself. The stucco scratched my palm. A couple of older people in tall socks and khaki shorts exclaimed in surprise as I hurried past them.
There was no line for same-day tickets at the box office. Either the line had moved quick this morning or they were all sold out. Please please please, I said to myself as I stopped in front of the glassed-in window.
“Hi,” I said, breathless. “Do you have any same-day tickets left for As You Like It?”
“We do,” said the lady at the box office, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Do you have proof of residency?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. I was proud of myself for remembering that I’d need something to prove I really lived in Iron Creek so I could get the discount. I pulled out one of our utility bills that showed our address and my mom’s name on it. “I’m her daughter,” I said.
She looked at the bill and then at me and I started to panic. What if you had to actually be the person on the utility bill? Or what if you had to be older than me? Had Leo’s mom always bought his tickets for him?
“All right,” the ticket agent said, and I breathed out. “And you’re aware that these are the bench seats at the back, and that there are no exchanges or refunds?”
“Yes,” I said.
And then when she asked, “How many tickets do you need?” instead of saying “Two,” I said, “Three.” I handed her thirty dollars.
One for Leo, of course. One for me. And one for Miles.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because my mom would feel better about it not being a date if Miles came too? Or because I felt bad about Times of Our Seasons and wanted Miles to see something cultural and well acted instead of something that gave him nightmares?
“Nice shirt,” said the box office lady. “Is that Lisette Chamberlain?”
I froze. In all my planning, I’d forgotten to bring an extra shirt to wear. “Um, yes,” I said.
“Did you buy it at the festival gift shop?”
“No,” I said. “A friend had it made for me.”
“Very cool.” She handed me my three tickets. “Enjoy the show.”
I couldn’t freak out too much about the shirt and possibly blowing our cover because I still had to do the hardest part of my plan. Talk to Gary. And I wanted to do it immediately, before I lost my nerve. So I went into the bathroom and turned my shirt inside out before I went over to concessions.
“Hi, Gary,” I said.
“Hi,” he said. “You’re here early.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I, um, came by to ask if Leo and I could leave early from work tonight. We’re going to the play.”
Gary shook his head. “You have to ask for time off two weeks in advance. And even then, it’s not guaranteed.” He sounded stressed and his forehead wrinkled. When that happened, he looked as old as my grandpa.
“I know,” I said. “But we can’t afford the full-price tickets. So it had to be a Tuesday. And I didn’t know if we’d get the tickets until now.” I took a deep breath. Was Gary really going to say no? Leo was his best seller. And I wasn’t bad either. I should have done this differently. Asked for the day off in advance and then hoped to get the tickets. But it was too late now.
“You didn’t follow the rules,” Gary said.
“What rules?” asked someone behind us.
Meg. She must have come through the hidden hallway. “Here are the costumes you needed fixed, Gary,” Meg said. “Emily mended them. And I came over to talk with you about the concessions costumes for next year. Is now a good time?”
“It’s fine,” Gary said. He glanced at me. “I can’t give you the time off. You didn’t ask far enough in advance.”
“But I already have the tickets,” I said. I couldn’t give up that easily. Especially not in front of Meg, with her sharp eyes and her collar of safety pins and her gravelly, no-nonsense voice.
“What are you trying to get away with, Cedar Lee?” Meg asked.
“She wants to leave work early so she and her friend can go to the play,” Gary said. “Tonight.”
“And you’re not letting them go?”
Gary looked surprised. “I can’t. It’s against the rules.”
“But,” Meg said, “this is the very purpose of the Summerlost Festival. To bring people to Shakespeare. Did you buy the tickets with your own money, Cedar?”
“I did.”
“And you’re taking your friend?”
“Yes,” I said, and then for good measure, I added, “and my younger brother.”
Meg raised her eyebrows at me. Did she think I was lying? I held out the three tickets so she could see. “His name’s Miles,” I said. “He’s eight.” Meg’s eyebrows went down but she still had a quirk to her mouth. Maybe I was laying it on too thick bringing up Miles.