Curtain Up (3 page)

Austin smiled. “That's theater for ya. Even when it goes wrong, it's still pretty incredible.”

“Right!” That was
exactly
how I'd felt at the time! I couldn't believe how much this kid “got it.”

“So the fifth-grade adaptation of
Cinderella
was a bit of a step backward for you,” he observed.

“Well, the production was a lot less professional if that's what you mean.” I shrugged. “Not to sound full of myself, but I probably could have been cast as Cinderella if I hadn't totally flubbed my lines at the audition. Sophia was watching my audition from the wings, and she picked that exact moment to have a sneezing fit. It totally distracted me.”

“Interesting,” said Austin. “If I remember correctly, Sophia wound up being cast as Cinderella.”

I nodded. “To be fair, though, Sophia really is a talented actor.”

“Talented enough to make a phony sneezing fit sound believable, at least,” Austin joked.

I laughed. “But the thing is, being in those plays made me realize that I wanted to do something big in the world of theater someday. I made sure I learned all I could about everything from lighting cues to costume changes. I took in every minute of it, from the overture to the final curtain call. Although, for the record, during
Cinderella
I wasn't completely professional when it came time for us to take our bows.”

Austin raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when Sophia came out to take her bow, I couldn't help myself—
I
faked a big loud sneeze!”

This cracked him up.

“It's not fair that the sporty kids in our school have a whole list of teams to choose from,” I said. “And the leadership-types have student council, and there's even a science club and a chess club, but there's no drama club.”

“That's why I suggested they start one,” Austin said glumly. “But you heard Mrs. Warde. The school board cannot presently”—he gestured sarcastically with air quotes—“ ‘allocate the necessary funds' for that kind of thing.”

“Well, I'm not sure what ‘allocate funds' means,” I admitted with a grin, “but if it's anything like shelling out the cash, don't worry about it. The club I'm thinking about has nothing to do with the school board. Or even with school, for that matter.”

He frowned. “I don't understand.”

I took a deep breath. “What if we put on a play ourselves?” I said, hoping to sound excited, capable, and confident all at once. “By ourselves. And not just any play,
your
play. Right away. This summer!”

“
This
summer?”

“Yes! Who needs some out-of-touch school board when we can put on your play ourselves? And if it goes well, we can
do another one. And another one . . .” I forced myself to stop. I didn't want him to think I was the type who got carried away.

Austin took a long sip of his drink; his eyebrows were knit together as he mulled this over. Finally he said, “How would we do this?”

“Well, I haven't actually gotten that far yet,” I confessed. “The idea just came to me this afternoon, somewhere between my crash-and-burn soccer tryout and your conversation with Mrs. Warde. But c'mon, you've got to admit—it's tempting, isn't it? We can cast it ourselves, produce it, and advertise for it. . . . I bet lots of people will want to see a world-premiere play by a local playwright, starring local kids.”

I could tell he was flattered. “I like the way you think,” he said with a crooked grin.

The grin made my cheeks feel warm. “Thanks.”

“I want this to be an actual theater. Our own real theater, except kids do everything. Act, direct, choreograph”—I pointed to him with my straw—“write and compose!”

“That sounds amazing,” said Austin. “There's just one small problem with that last part. I haven't finished writing the play yet.”

“Oh.” I frowned. “Well, you get straight As in English, don't you? So, how long can it take?”

“Maybe days, maybe weeks.” He shrugged. “Maybe even years. That's how it is with creative writing. Some days I can barely get the words down fast enough, and other days . . . nothing.”

This was what one might call a major glitch. Half a play was definitely not what I had in mind. “That certainly puts a damper on things.”

“Not necessarily,” said Austin. “You've still got a great idea. It would be cool to put on a musical, even if it isn't mine.”

“You mean, we should put on a famous play, like
Hairspray
or
Into the Woods
?”

Austin was clearly impressed at the way I'd just rattled off these titles. “Wow. You really are an expert, aren't you?”

I gave him a modest shrug. “Aspiring theater professional, remember?” I drank a little more soda and considered his suggestion. “I really wanted to do something original,” I said at last. “Something no one's ever seen before, ya know? Something new.”

“I think I can still help you out,” he said.

My heart thudded. “That would be awesome, Austin. But how? I wouldn't want you to rush your writing. Especially since that musical is going to be your Tour de France.”

He laughed. “I think you mean my ‘tour de force.' And believe me, I'd never do that. But here's the thing about
writing. Even though my big musical is probably going to be a work in progress for quite a while, that doesn't mean I can't work on other projects at the same time.”

“It doesn't?” I had no idea playwrights could be such multitaskers.

“Nope. Which is why I think I can help you put together something that's more suited to your needs. Something bigger than a skit but smaller than a full-on musical.”

“You mean, like a theatrical revue?” I said. “Individual acts and numbers, like a cabaret?”

“Exactly.”

I liked that we agreed so easily. This seemed to bode well for our professional partnership. “Okay, so, how do we make this happen?”

“I've got a pretty awesome collection of scripts and scene books and sheet music at home. I'll just pull a bunch of songs and monologues and scenes, and assemble them into a script, writing some original stuff in between to connect them.”

“We've got tons of that kind of stuff too,” I told him. “Including my
Annie
script from that regional production.”

“It won't take long to put together something pretty great,” he promised. “And it might be good for me to shift my focus for a bit.”

It was all I could do to keep from throwing my arms
around him and hugging him. I could only imagine what the high-school coffee drinkers would think of
that
!

Instead we clinked bottles and finished our sodas.

“We'll have to start advertising right away,” I decided. “I should go home to get started on that. Not to mention thinking about the details. Great theater is all about the details.”

“Great quote,” said Austin. “Who said that?”

“I did,” I said, and laughed. “Just now.” My heart flipped over in my chest as I summoned the courage to ask my next question. “Do you . . . um . . . want to come over to my house and . . . um . . . ya know . . . start thinking about it . . . together?”

“Sure,” he said, standing up and heading for the door. “Let's go.”

OMG . . . I just invited a boy with amazing blue eyes to come to my house.

And he said yes!

When we turned onto my street, Random Farms Circle, I found my little sister, Susan, hanging out with a bunch of her friends on the lawn of the old neighborhood clubhouse. It was this antique barn left over from, like, the early 1900s, when Random Farms was an actual farm. It was later renovated into a community center for the neighborhood, and for many years it hosted bridge tournaments, rummage sales, birthday parties, and bake sales. But lately it had just been sitting there, empty.

Susan and her friend Mia Kim were sitting under the tall oak tree on the clubhouse lawn. When they saw me approaching with Austin, they both stopped talking midsentence and stared. I could tell they were stunned by the fact that I was walking home with a boy. To be honest, I was pretty stunned myself.

Susan was a year younger than me, which, in the kid food chain, should have made us natural enemies. But she was pretty cool, much smarter than the average eleven-year-old, so I didn't have a problem with her most of the time. Occasionally, I actually liked hanging out with her.

Of course, also occasionally, she drove me totally nuts. As she hopped up and came sprinting across the lawn, I was hoping this wouldn't be one of those times.

“Hi, Anya.” Her eyes darted meaningfully to Austin, then back to me. “So . . . what's going on?”

“Nothing,” I said airily. “Austin's just coming over to talk about this idea I have.” Then, before Susan could say anything embarrassing, I motioned for Austin to keep walking.

When we reached my front porch, I said, “I'm just going inside to get my computer. Be right back.”

Austin sat down on a porch step, and I bolted into the house.

Minutes later I came back, laptop in hand, only to find Susan sitting beside him. “How'd the soccer tryouts go?” she asked me.

“As expected,” I reported.

“Oh. Sorry.”

To be honest, I'd pretty much forgotten all about my soccer disaster. My mind had been tumbling with theater
thoughts the whole way home from the coffeehouse, and I was ready to start planning. All I needed was for my sister to get off the porch. But before I could tell her to leave us alone, she smiled at me.

“Austin just told me about the theater. How can I help?”

“By going back to the clubhouse and hanging around with your own friends,” I said a bit snippily. I felt bad as soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth, but c'mon . . . When you were planning your first official theatrical business venture with an extremely cool boy, you wouldn't exactly want your little sister tagging along.

“I can be helpful, Anya. You know I love theater.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But this is serious stuff.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Look who's Hal Prince all of sudden.”

“Wow.” Austin laughed. “The kid knows who Hal Prince is, Anya. I think we kind of have to sign her up.”

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “But you can't goof around or anything. I want my theater to be professional.”

“I can be professional,” she assured us. “So what show are we doing?
Bye Bye Birdie? Beauty and the Beast? Urinetown
. . .” She giggled. “
Urinetown
. Eww.”

I cringed. Did my sister really just make a urine joke in front of Austin? So much for professional.

“We're going to do a musical revue,” I informed her. “Austin's going to compile it, and I'm going to produce and direct.”

“And I'm going to twirl flaming batons!”

“You are absolutely
not
going to twirl flaming batons. This is a serious theater, not a traveling circus.”

We agreed that what we needed first was a name.

“Backstage Bunch?” Susan suggested.

“Too babyish,” I said.

“Chappaqua Youth Repertory Theater?” Austin offered.

“Maybe a little too snobby.”

“Yeah,” said Austin. “Maybe.”

I frowned, concentrating. Then it hit me: “What about the Random Farms Kids' Theater?” I said. “Except I don't want people to think this theater is a ‘random' thing. Because it's not. It's extremely
not
random. It's totally intentional.” I realized I was beginning to ramble, but I was getting more and more excited by the minute. “The Random Farms Kids' Theater is kind of a mouthful, so maybe later on we can just shorten it to Random Farms.” I bit my lip, playing the name over again in my head. “Or maybe the Random Farms Kids. Unless . . . You don't think it sounds like a street gang or something, do you?”

Austin smiled. “No, Anya, I don't think it sounds like a street gang.”

“Good, so maybe we leave
Theater
in the name for now so it's clear that's what we are. After all, the Random Farms Kids could be anything . . . a softball team, a political party, an activist group.”

Susan was looking at me like I'd lost my mind, so I finished quickly with “We can shorten it later,” and then I shut up.

“Advertising,” said Austin, moving on. “Super-important.”

We came up with an ad, which I immediately posted to the community bulletin board link on the Random Farms Neighborhood Association's website (under someone's post about a whole box of calico kittens they were giving away for free) and which Susan (aka@soozapalooza2) instantly tweeted to her ever-growing list of Twitter followers:

BE A STAR at the Random Farms Kids' Theater. Actors, singers, dancers, stage crew! Reply @soozapalooza2 for info #bigdrama #theaterrules