“Perfect. Consider it done. So? What do you say?”
No more ridiculous ensemble work and slam poetry and pretending the floor is made of tar. No more gluing sequins or sorting screws. No more master classes that reinforce my lukewarm feelings about performing. I’d get to be in charge of something again, to immerse myself in work-that-doesn’t-feel-like-work for more than a fleeting twenty-four hours. I’d get to mess around on the piano with my friend all day every day, and I’d get paid for it. For the last three weeks, Allerdale could be exactly what I want it to be.
“I’m in if you are,” Russell says. His fingers are tapping his thighs like they can’t wait to get to a keyboard.
“Let’s do it,” I say. “We can call it Bye Bye Banquo.”
Russell and I arrive late to the company meeting and lurk near the back of Legrand as Bob makes an announcement about the new show. People congratulate us over and over as they pass us on the way out the door, and a couple of girls even ask us to make sure they get solos. I hear a lot of grumbling, too—two non-eqs from Macbeth complain that their serious show is being “tainted” with songs, and a few girls from the Birdie ensemble bitch about how they’ll need to learn all new choreography. But the only reaction I really care about is Zoe’s. Her beautiful lead role is being snatched away from her, and I’m afraid she won’t take the news well. Even though none of this is my fault, I’m so involved in the new show that I’m scared she’ll blame me anyway.
But when she spots me near the theater door, she breaks into a huge smile and throws herself into my arms. “Holy crap, Brooklyn, I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks,” I say. “It doesn’t even seem real yet. How are you feeling about the whole thing?”
“It totally sucks, to be honest. We’ve put so much work into Birdie, and it seems kind of unfair that we have to start completely over and the other cast barely has to change anything. But at least I’ve got someone on the inside who’ll make sure I still get lots of stage time, right?” She bats her eyelashes at me.
I have no idea if I’ll get any say in casting, but I say, “I’ll do what I can.”
Zoe grabs my hand. “We should go celebrate. We have the whole day off. Let’s go somewhere special.”
I can’t believe she’s finally offering this now. “I would really, really love to,” I say. “But Russell and I have meetings with the directors and designers all day.”
Her face falls. “Oh. Right. You’re all important now. Maybe we could go out for dinner, at least?”
“I doubt we’ll have enough of a break to go anywhere. I’m sorry.”
“All right,” she says, and I can tell she’s struggling not to sound annoyed. “Just text me when you’re done for the night, I guess, and I’ll figure something out?”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks for being flexible.”
“It’s fine. Write us something great, okay?” She’s smiling, but I know her heart’s not in it. I tell myself it’s enough that she’s trying to be happy for me, even if she doesn’t totally mean it. She’s not used to my having priorities at Allerdale other than her.
Russell and I spend the whole day in production meetings, discussing the logistics and structure of Bye Bye Banquo with the directors, stage managers, and design team. At first I’m too intimidated to speak much, but people keep asking for my opinions like they really matter, and I finally start to relax and concentrate on the show instead of what everyone thinks of me. When my ideas go up on the whiteboard right next to the directors’ and Bob’s and Marcus’s, I feel that same pure joy that always breaks across my family’s faces when they sing. This is so much better than performing, and I never want it to end.
But my euphoria stutters to a halt when the meeting finally wraps up and I look at my phone for the first time since this morning. It’s nearly eleven, and I have four missed calls from my mom and six texts from Zoe asking where I am. My mom can wait—I emailed her about the fire last night and told her everyone was fine—but Zoe’s going to be pissed that I’m running so late. I text her that I’m on my way home, then practice apologies in my head as I walk back toward Ramsey. She probably planned something special for us even though she was upset, and I’ve paid her back by ignoring her all day. I’m the worst sort-of-girlfriend ever.
When I get to the dorm, she’s waiting for me on the front steps in a little black dress with a flouncy, fluffy skirt. “Hey,” I say as I rush toward her. “I’m so, so sorry I didn’t get out until now. I know wherever you were going to take me is probably closed, and I totally suck for ruining our night, but you look really pretty, and I’m—”