“I’ve always had a thing for furry earflaps, personally.” She leans in to kiss me, but my dead-bird hat bonks her in the forehead, and we both start giggling. She tips the brim up and tries again, and this time it goes better. I love that she’s willing to risk kissing me when someone could come up here at any moment and catch us, and I pull her tighter against me. Now that this weekend is finally over, I never want anything to come between us again.
After a minute, Zoe pulls away and runs her thumb gently over my cheek. “You,” she whispers, “look absolutely ridiculous.”
“Says the girl with the dead wombat on her head.”
“Take a picture with me,” she says. “We need to commemorate our hotness.”
She pulls out her phone, and we lean our heads together and make sultry faces. Zoe clicks and clicks and clicks, like she can’t get enough of documenting us. When she ducks under the brim of my absurd hat and snaps a photo of herself kissing my cheek, the joy that wells up in my chest makes me feel like I might pop and scatter bits of velvet and red crinoline and plastic cherries everywhere.
It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
At ten minutes to midnight, Zoe and I head over to Haydu to get our rehearsal room assignment for the play festival. Everyone’s there, clutching blankets and snacks and psyching themselves up for the all-nighter ahead. Most of the company’s wearing T-shirts and yoga pants, but a few people are taking the sleepover thing to the next level—Pandora’s in a lacy shortie pajama set that definitely isn’t appropriate for anywhere but the bedroom. Our cast looks wide awake and ready to work, and they greet me with friendly smiles. Even Jessa seems to be making an effort to set our differences aside for the night. I wonder what Zoe said to them.
Russell introduces himself to everyone, then turns to me and holds up his hand for a high five. “Ready to kick some ass?”
“Ready,” I say. Even though I’m nervous, I do feel ready, now that things are good between Zoe and me again.
Bob reads off our rehearsal room assignments, leads us in a countdown to midnight, and then sends us off to “make some brilliant theater.” The seven of us set up camp in Haydu 107 with some party-sized bags of Doritos and a whiteboard. I’m crunching on chips and waiting for someone to suggest a starting point, when Jessa turns to me and says, “You’re supposed to be our director, right? So, what do we do?”
I’ve never really been in charge of anything before, and I realize I have no idea how to begin. I glance at Russell for help, but he nods like I should go ahead and take the lead. “Okay, well, um, we have people here from both shows, which is really great,” I start. “Maybe the Midsummer cast could give us a refresher course on the basic story, and then you could walk us through the Dreamgirls sound track, Jessa? How does that sound?”
The words come out timid and hesitant, but Zoe says, “Sure, sounds good,” and when she and Livvy and Kenji and Todd start listing Midsummer plot points on the whiteboard, I start to relax. When we’re done listening to the sound track, Russell and I lead a discussion on which parts of the Midsummer story we should keep and where we should insert our parody songs, fitting the text and the music together like a puzzle. It’s challenging, but it’s really fun, too, and it occurs to me that this is the first Allerdale-sanctioned activity that hasn’t felt like work. I can totally do this.
We agree that Zoe, Livvy, Kenji, and Todd should play the four confused, manipulated Midsummer lovers. Zoe will double as Titania, queen of the fairies, and Russell will make a brief appearance as Puck, who just has to run across the stage and administer a love potion. Jessa will play Bottom, the actor who gets his head swapped for a donkey’s and gets drawn into a brief love affair with Titania. I’ll be the accompanist instead of appearing onstage, but for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m trying to hide behind the piano. I’m excited to show the whole company how well I can play.
When it’s time to start working out the parody lyrics, Russell and I sit down on the bench side by side, but it’s hard to fall into our usual rhythm with so many people watching us. I never think twice about singing when I’m alone with him, but performing even the smallest snippets in front of the other apprentices makes me feel sick with nerves. My back is to Jessa, but I imagine the triumphant looks she’s probably exchanging with Livvy and Zoe every time I open my mouth—See, I told you she didn’t deserve to be here. No wonder her mom didn’t let her perform in class.
I stop singing and clear my throat, and Russell breaks off in the middle of a phrase. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “My allergies are acting up. You’ll have to forgive my voice tonight.”
“I think you sound fine,” he says.
“Thanks, but I really don’t.” Behind me, Jessa coughs, and I can’t tell if it’s a subtext-laden cough or a genuine one.
“Well, I don’t exactly sound like Beyoncé, either, but it doesn’t really matter as long as we write some great lyrics, right?” Russell starts playing again and sings another little snippet. “What do you think about that?”