Curtain Up (6 page)

“Anya, that's great!” cried Becky. “You found a theater program!”

I grinned at her. “Not found. Found
ed
! I'm starting my own theater. Well, not by myself. Austin Weatherly's going to help me, and we're going to open it up to any kid who wants to join.”

“That's amazing.” Becky looked genuinely impressed and very happy for me.

“I was going to tell you about it,” I explained, “but I didn't want to steal your soccer thunder. I planned on calling you tonight once Austin and I got everything figured out.”

“Austin Weatherly,” said Becky, her eyes dancing. “He got a lot cuter this year, didn't he?”

We could have stood there talking about Austin's upgrade
in cuteness for hours. But I had scheduled a rendezvous with my in-house playwright, my administrative assistant (or, as she'd dubbed herself, my as-
sister
-ant), and good old Cranky Frankie Ciancio.

“Text me after your diving lesson,” I said, giving her another hug. “I'll fill you in on the whole theater thing then.”

“Okay,” said Becky.

“Congratulations again.”

“You too. And thanks for not stealing my soccer thunder.”

As I took off, I called over my shoulder, “Hey, maybe that can be your team nickname. Soccer Thunder!”

“I love it!” she shouted back. “I'll have them embroider it on my warm-up jacket!”

The last thing I heard as I rounded the corner was Becky making thunder sounds and laughing like crazy.

Austin and I met in the middle-school parking lot then walked the three blocks in nervous silence to the elementary school, where we found a weepy Susan saying her heartfelt good-byes to her fifth-grade teacher and the school principal. Not that my sister was a suck-up or anything, but leaving the elementary school you've been in since pre-K, with the
daunting prospect of middle school looming at the end of the summer, would make anybody emotional.

And speaking of daunting prospects . . .

“Do you know what you're going to say to Dr. Ciancio?” Susan asked me, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and giving a big sniff as she fell into step between Austin and me.

“I'm just going to give him the facts and appeal to his sense of neighborliness,” I said lamely.

“Good luck with that,” she grumbled.

We found Dr. Ciancio in his driveway, putting his tennis bag into the trunk of his car. A woman I didn't recognize was standing beside him.

“Are you kids here to see Sophia?” he asked.

“God no,” said Susan.

I gave her a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“We're here to see you, sir,” said Austin. “About the clubhouse.”

Dr. Ciancio closed the car trunk impatiently. “Well, you'll have to make it quick. We've got a tennis game in twenty minutes.” He turned to the house and called, “Sophia! Let's get a move on!”

I smiled at the woman in case she was a member of the Neighborhood Association board. She smiled back. To my
surprise, Austin reached out to shake her hand.

“You're Ms. Bradley, the editor in chief of the
Chappaqua Chronicle
, aren't you?” he said politely. “I've seen your picture in the paper.”

“I am,” Ms. Bradley replied sweetly. “And it's nice to know young people are taking an interest in the
Chronicle
.”

Sophia came out the front door, dressed perfectly in the cutest little tennis dress I'd ever seen. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a bouncing ponytail that was tied with a crisp white ribbon.

Wonderful. The last thing I wanted to do was make my pitch to Dr. Ciancio in front of Sophia. She joined us in the driveway, twirling her tennis racquet. “Hi, Austin,” she said with a bright smile.

“What is it you wanted to ask me about the clubhouse?” Dr. Ciancio prodded, checking his watch impatiently.

“Oh, uh . . . well . . .” I stood up a little straighter. “We were wondering if we might get your permission to use it.”

Dr. Ciancio frowned. “Let me guess. Another Sunday afternoon ice cream social?”

I shook my head. “No, sir. In fact, we'd like to have it for the next three weeks, if we could.”

“What in the world for?” asked Dr. Ciancio. “As I'm sure you know, the place hasn't been used in six years. We don't
rent it out anymore.”

“Which is why it's perfect for us,” said Susan. “We don't have rent money.”

“We were hoping we could barter our landscaping services in exchange for using the clubhouse,” I said. “This way, Mr. Healy would be able to devote his energy to tending to other more popular public areas in the neighborhood.”

“I still don't understand,” said Dr. Ciancio, opening the driver's-side door. “What do you kids want with the clubhouse?”

Suddenly Sophia stopped twirling her tennis racquet and gasped. “I know what this is about! They want to use the clubhouse for their little theater.”

“It's not going to be a ‘little' theater,” I said, scowling at Sophia. “We've gotten a ton of responses already.” I turned back to Dr. Ciancio. “But she's half right. We want the clubhouse so my new theater can put on an original musical revue.”

“That's fascinating!” said Ms. Bradley, looking every inch the newswoman she was. “A theater run by young people. What a wonderful project.”

I really liked that she was calling us young people instead of children.

“Maybe it'll make a good story for the paper,” I said boldly.

Ms. Bradley grinned. “Maybe it will.”

Sophia was looking at me with a strange gleam in her eyes. I had the sense she was plotting something.

“We'll do all the outside work,” said Austin. “And we'll clean up the inside, too. Mr. Healy said he'll check to be sure the plumbing and the electricity are still in good working order. We promise we'll take good care of the place, sir.”

Dr. Ciancio sighed. “Sounds risky. What if one of you kids twists an ankle or falls off the stage? The neighborhood will be liable.”

I was about to remind him about the insurance policy, but to my shock, someone else spoke up first.

Sophia!

“You should totally let them use the clubhouse, Daddy.”

We all looked at her—the little tennis princess in her perfect white dress—who was smiling up at her father with the biggest puppy dog eyes I'd ever seen.

I had a sick feeling I knew where this was going.

“Of course,” Sophia continued, batting her eyes and twirling her racquet, “there would just have to be one teeny tiny condition.”

“What's that, sweetheart?” Dr. Ciancio asked.

“
I
get to be a member of their little theater,” she said. “I get a part in the show.” Susan's eyes flashed. Austin let out a
groan. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing that tennis racquet out of her hands and smashing it into a million pieces on the driveway.

But I didn't do it.

Instead I turned my brightest theater producer's smile to Sophia and extended my hand professionally, just like Austin had done to Ms. Bradley. “Welcome to the theater,” I said. “We'll be having our first meeting on Sunday morning. Eleven o'clock at the clubhouse.”

Sophia hesitated only a second before accepting my handshake.

“Great, wonderful, okay then,” said Dr. Ciancio, sliding into the driver's seat. “You've got the clubhouse. I'll fill out the paperwork. Your parents will have to sign it. Healy has the keys, so he'll see to the details. Princess, please, get in the car. You know how I loathe being late for a tennis match!”

Sophia gave me a triumphant little grin, while Ms. Bradley waved good-bye and slipped into the passenger seat.

“See you at rehearsal,” Sophia said.

“Can't wait,” Susan grumbled.

After Sophia got into the car, Austin, Susan, and I watched as Dr. Ciancio backed out of the driveway.

There was a full minute of utter silence before they both whirled to gape at me, speaking—no, make that shouting—into my ears at the same time.

“Are you crazy?”

“You've lost your mind!”

“She'll ruin everything!”

“The girl is a diva!”

“I know,” I said calmly. “But there was no way Dr. Ciancio was going to say yes until she piped up. Don't you see? Sophia did us a favor.”

Susan reached over to place her palm on my forehead. “You lied to Mom. You aren't fine at all.”

I swiped her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

“You must be deathly ill if you're sticking up for Sophia.”

“I'm not sticking up for her. I'm merely stating the facts.
The girl can sing and act and dance. In theater that's called a triple threat. We can use someone like that.”

Austin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “That's true.”

“But she's so
obnoxious
!” said Susan in a whiny voice. “And conceited. And pushy.”

“I know that,” I said. “But I'm thinking like a producer now. Sometimes you have to see the bigger picture. For the good of the show.”

Susan shook her head sadly. “If Sophia's part of the bigger picture, I say let's crop her out.”

Austin laughed. “Anya's right, Susan.”

“Fine, whatever.” Susan sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, so now that we have the clubhouse, what do we do next?”

“We announce that starting Sunday, Random Farms is open for business.” I nodded to my sister. “Susan, you'll be in charge of the media blitz, tweeting and posting about the Random Farms Kids' Theater. Start by saying we've found a home in the clubhouse.”

Susan took out her phone and tapped the screen until she'd opened the theater text thread. Then she typed exactly what I'd just said and invited any and all prospective thespians (Austin's word . . . and I
loved
it!) to join us there on
Sunday morning for our first informational meeting. Then she posted the same message to Twitter.

“Done,” said Susan, hitting send with a flourish.

“Now what?” asked Austin.

“Now we go home and enjoy our first afternoon of summer vacation,” I explained, “because beginning tomorrow, we've got work to do!”

We agreed to meet the next day for more planning. Then Austin left to go home and write, and Susan and I ambled back to our house. I felt a little shiver of excitement, thinking of how incredibly different this summer was going to be from all those that had come before.

Because this was going to be The Summer of the Random Farms Kids' Theater.

And I couldn't wait to get started.

The first thing I did when I woke up on Saturday was text Becky. She'd texted me the night before (long after I'd fallen asleep to visions of the shady Billy Flynn character from
Chicago
singing “Razzle Dazzle”) to tell me her coach had put her in the one-hundred-meter butterfly event for Sunday's swim meet. It would be her first time swimming that race,
and she couldn't sleep because she was nervous about it.