D Is for Drama (15 page)

“Problem solved,” I said.

She smiled back, but there was a worried look in her eyes. “Good. Now handle
that
one.”

She stopped at the entrance to our neighborhood and pointed at the big oak tree.

Chase was sitting beneath it with his arms wrapped around his legs, head hanging as low as it would go.

“He should be at rehearsal,” I said, frowning.

I hugged Grandma and jumped out of the car. Chase didn't look up as I sprinted toward the tree. Not even when I sat down beside him.

“Chase?” I said softly.

He finally glanced over at me, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he'd been crying. He didn't speak; he just stared.

I touched his arm. “Did something happen with the show?”

Chase's nostrils flared and his eyes watered, but he still wouldn't say anything. I placed a hand on his shoulder and felt his muscles tense up.

“He promised I could have this year,” said Chase. “Before he ‘turned me into a man.'” He puffed himself up and swaggered his upper body.

“He
did
promise,” I agreed.

“But then,” Chase's voice came out in a squeak, “I told him I'd have to skip a ballgame next week, and he freaked out.” He clamped his mouth shut and pounded the back of his head against the tree. I heard bits of bark crackle and fall.

“I'm sorry” was all I could think to say.

He pounded against the tree again, harder this time, and my hands flew up to protect his head.

“Stop! A concussion won't help,” I said.

“It might not hurt either.” He clenched his teeth and threw his head back.

Of course, this time, my fingers were in the way.

“Ow!” I shrieked as he crushed them against the tree. “It
does
hurt, dummy!” I pushed him forward and clutched my hand to me.

Instantly, the old Chase was back. “Sorry! Are you okay?” He gingerly took my hand and drew it forward where we could both inspect it.

There were a few light scratches and puncture marks but no blood.

“You're lucky,” I told him. “You almost broke my autographing hand. Thousands of adoring fans would have been devastated.”

He smiled ruefully. “At least
you
still have a chance at adoring fans.”

“So do you,” I said, flexing my fingers. “People like baseball a
lot
 . . . for some reason.”

“You'd know if you ever watched one of my games,” he said.

“I'll be at the next one,” I promised. “Sitting right at midcourt.”

“That's basketball,” he said.

“Midfield.”

“Football,” he said.

“Center ice?” I suggested.

We smiled at each other, and I leaned forward to hug him. When I pulled away, his arms held me an extra second so that our faces were inches apart. Chase's eyes studied mine, and I suddenly felt self-conscious.

“I'm sorry about
Mary Pops In
,” I said, scooting back a few feet. “I wish your dad could see how much work goes into theater,” I said. “Maybe if we asked Ms. Elliott . . . ”

Chase wiped the moisture from his eyes. “It won't matter. My dad's never going to change.”

He got to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. I wanted to say more but nothing came to mind. I always figured I'd have it made once my name was at the top of the casting sheet.

But I was starting to realize that not even the Chosen Ones had it easy.

FOURTEEN

A
COUPLE MINUTES BEFORE NOON THE
next day, the Melodramatics were gathered in Blakely Auditorium. I'd told them earlier what I was aiming for, and they came dressed to dance . . . among other things.

“
What
are you wearing?” I asked Suresh.

He bounded onstage in tights and a shirt with huge, billowy sleeves.

“What do you think?” he asked, striking a pose. “These are my dance clothes.”

“You look like you're going for Olympic gold in men's figure skating,” said Derek.

Suresh glared at him. “At least I'm dressed appropriately.”

Derek glanced down at his own outfit, cuffed jeans and a flannel shirt. “What's wrong with this?”

“Nothing. I'm sure you'll make the other lumberjacks proud,” said Suresh. “Enjoy the chafing that comes with those pants.”

I laughed and Derek glanced at me.

“What about
you
? Are you here to dance or jog on the beach?” asked Derek.

I was wearing a one-piece bathing suit under a pair of shorts. “I haven't danced in a while, okay?” I wrapped my arms around myself. “It doesn't matter anyway. We're all going to look stupid next to—”

The theater doors opened, and Stefan marched in. He pushed sunglasses into his spiky hair and straightened the pinstripe vest he'd worn over a plain white T-shirt. His pants had the same pinstripe but were cuffed at the ankle to reveal sharp black lace-ups.

“Everyone onstage!” he called.

“You're right,” said Derek, looking from Stefan's outfit to ours. “We do look stupid.”

At Stefan's entry, everyone had paused, but as he leapt deftly onto the stage, we all scrambled to follow his command.

He surveyed all of us, stopping occasionally to study a particular outfit and raise his eyebrows. Then he started counting us off into pairs, except for Anne Marie and Bree, whose characters wouldn't be dancing.

Since I'd be with Suresh, Stefan paired me off with him and placed us toward the front of the stage. The others he arranged at equal distances around us. When he was satisfied, he took a piece of chalk out of his vest pocket and drew squares around our feet on the stage floor.

“Every couple has a square,” he said. “The waltz is done in a box step.”

He pointed at Bree and gestured her over.

“I need a dance partner,” he said.

Bree hurried forward, looking thrilled.

“Gentlemen,” said Stefan, “your left arm goes up to shoulder height. Ladies, your right arm goes up to shoulder height. Aaand, join those hands,” he said.

It took a few moments since some couples were hesitant.

“I'm not asking you to marry the person you're dancing with,” said Stefan. “And I'm fairly certain none of you have cooties. Hold hands, please!”

They all begrudgingly did so.

“Now, gentlemen, your right hand holds your partner
slightly above her waist. Ladies, your
left
hand goes to your partner's shoulder.”

There was a lot of mumbling and switching around of hands. At one point, Janice had both hands on Max's shoulders while his were around her waist.

“No, no, no,” said Stefan, repositioning their arms. “You aren't trying to lift her into the air. This isn't
Wicked on Ice
.”

“If it was, Suresh would be better dressed for it,” said Derek.

I had to tighten my grip to keep Suresh from going after him.

Once everyone was in proper form, Stefan moved over to join Bree.

“All right, let's go into the waltz step,” Stefan said. “Just watch me and Bree do the first three beats.”

After demonstrating with Bree, Stefan gestured to the rest of us. “Let's see what you can do.”

That
was easier said than done. Stefan snapped the beat, and Suresh moved toward me with his left leg at the same time I moved toward him with my right. Our knees knocked together hard.

“Ow! Sunny,
I'm
the guy!
I
lead!” he said, rubbing his knee.

“Sorry!” I said. “Your shirt distracted me.”

Derek wasn't doing any better with Wendy, who kept diving to the side with their joined hands.

“Stop dipping!” he said. “I'm getting seasick!”

The only couple who seemed to be doing well were Cole and Holly, who were dancing in precise, tight squares. I had to give Stefan credit for his infinite patience as he walked from couple to couple, pointing out mistakes. Especially when Suresh smacked him in the face with a billowy sleeve.

“You're not wearing that for the actual performance, are you?” asked Stefan, batting the sleeve away.

“Sunny's in charge of costumes,” said Suresh. “Ask her.”

I gave Stefan a nervous smile. Truthfully, I hadn't given a thought to what everyone would wear yet.

Well . . . that wasn't entirely true. I'd given plenty of thought to what
I
was going to wear.

“I'm working on it,” I said.

“I'd order soon,” said Stefan. “It'll take a few weeks for everything to come in, and if it doesn't fit right, you'll have to have it tailored.”

“Of course,” I said with a nod. Inside, though, my stomach clenched.

Tailoring? Ms. Elliott had said we had a limited budget, and I was pretty sure it didn't include custom fitting for fifteen people.

Stefan moved on to the second three beats, which were a little easier to pick up, and soon we were doing all six beats together.

“One-two-three, one-two-three,” he said, moving among the couples and watching us dance. “Girl with the wild arms, your partner looks like he's in pain. Ease up on the movements.”

“It's not her dancing,” said Derek with a wince. “It's my jeans chafing.”

Suresh smirked. “Told you.”

Stefan had us dance in our squares for ten minutes before he decided we were ready to go outside our boxes.

“It's time to start moving your partners around the dance floor,” he said, taking Bree's arm.

He demonstrated with Bree again, and I had to admit, it looked pretty elegant as they swooped across the stage.

“Your turn,” he said to all of us.

Chaos ensued.

Some of the guys were taking gigantic steps and dragging their partners with them. Those who were sticking to
small changes soon found themselves being overtaken by the more aggressive dancers.

“Hey, back off!” Suresh yelled at Max and Janice who nearly collided with us.

“Move faster!” shouted Max.

“It's a
timed
beat,” said Suresh. “If we move faster, it's not a waltz, it's jogging.”

Nevertheless, Suresh took a bigger step and almost knocked Derek and Wendy off the stage.

“Dude!” said Derek with a scowl. “I know those huge sleeves let you fly, but some of us can't!”

“Sorry,” I said. “We're trying to avoid the other dancers.” I nodded to Max and Janice, who were fast approaching.

Derek's face relaxed. “It's cool. Just . . . be careful.”

“Watch your spacing!” Stefan shouted. “If you're close enough to spit on another couple, you're too close.”

“Janice is close enough to spit on someone across the room!” one of the other girls said snidely.

“Shut up, Stacey!” said Janice, sprinkling Max on the face.

“Guys,” I warned. “We don't need Ms. Elliott to know we can't even
dance
without fighting. Focus on your footwork.”

Everyone quieted down, and Stefan made the bold
move to add the music we'd be dancing to in the scene. People started to stumble a bit, but he snapped his fingers to get them back on track.

“Now,” he said. “Look at the dancers around you.”

We did. And we smiled.

“You guys look awesome,” said Anne Marie from the sideline.

I had to agree.

At the end of the hour, everyone thanked Stefan and dashed off to eat lunch before next class. Except me. I hung back to ask him a favor.

“Another one?” he asked, jumping down from the stage. “You realize even genies only grant so many wishes.”

“Yes, but I can pay this time!” I said. I fished through my backpack and pulled out an envelope. “Here. Two hundred dollars.”

I'd cleared out almost all of my personal savings for this favor. The only thing left in my bank was three quarters and some lint.

Stefan sighed and crossed his arms. “Before I take anything, let me decide if I can even
grant
this favor.”

“It's about Chase,” I said. “His dad pulled him from
Mary Pops In
because he thinks theater is silly and pointless.”

I could almost see the spikes in Stefan's hair stand on end. “I see,” he said in an even voice.

“So I was hoping you'd help me show him the power a little performing can have.”

One corner of Stefan's mouth curled up in a smile. “Go on.”

I told him my plan, and the more I explained, the broader his smile got.

“What do you think?” I asked when I was finished.

Stefan scratched his chin. “Just so you know, what you're asking will take a couple weeks. It won't be done in time to get him back into
Mary Pops In
,” he said.

I shook my head. “It doesn't matter. This isn't about one moment in his life. This is about his entire future.”

Stefan threw an arm around me and pulled me close for a hug. “That is the most mature thing I've ever heard you say. All right, I'm in.”

“For free?” I asked hopefully.

“Uh . . . no,” said Stefan, sliding the envelope out of my hand. “In fact, I should be charging you way more.”

He had a point. My plan required eight people besides Chase.

“Okay,” I agreed and hugged him back. “Thank you so much for everything,” I said.

“Good luck with Ms. Elliott,” he told me. “And come by the shop Friday to let me know how it goes.”

I nodded and watched him leave, hoping what he'd taught us would be enough.

CM WAS BETTER
than his word, getting me the disc of recorded songs the very next morning.

“Oooh, thank you so much!” I told him.

“No problem,” he said. “And good luck. I hope you guys sell a lot of tickets for your show.”