Cut the Lights (8 page)

We stay late to work through the rest of the play, pausing for side coaching when the action gets dull. Even Clayton manages to deliver his lines with more emotion than usual, and no one objects when I schedule an extra practice for the next night.

At the end of the rehearsal, Clayton sidles over.

“When I auditioned, I wanted an action part—like maybe a cop. But now…” He pauses. “Playing the Star is cool. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now will you memorize all your lines?”

He moonwalks away from me. “You got it,” he says.

Twelve

The main-floor drama room—again. Friday after school.

I practically live here these days, but it's worth it.

At our extra rehearsal last night, we worked on scene transitions and making eye contact with other actors. Clayton and Mica managed to stay in character, most of the time. And Sonata only tried to take over the rehearsal three times.

Today, my actors are finishing the last few lines of our first full run-through with props. No stopping for director notes. No stopping for Sonata to argue with my decisions. I stare intensely, imagining how the audience will react to each scene and figuring out what tweaks I still need to make.

It helps that I can also watch my first two audience members other than George and me. Ratna and Samuel lean forward in their seats—so far, they've laughed in the right places. I've promised to watch Samuel's show later, as his play will be staged here during Fringe Festival too.

Dust motes float in the beams of light. The stage creaks with Mica's footsteps. It's not a perfect performance of
Wish Upon a Star
, but the entrances and exits are working, Clayton has remembered most of his lines, his cast and sling work onstage, and Sonata and Mica are a believable married couple, complete with emotional baggage.

As my actors perform the curtain call I planned, Ratna leaps to her feet, clapping. Samuel grins at me before he whistles and claps too.

My first applause is sweet. I finally have hope that we can pull off a decent show, earning me a spot in Mr. Ty's directing workshop.

“Awesome work, everyone!” I say as George emerges from backstage, where he's been assisting with props and calling the cues. “We can still make some adjustments at the tech and dress rehearsals next week, but other than that we're good to go.”

Mica and Clayton beam. George fist-pumps the air. Sonata hurries off the stage, rubbing her temples.

“It's incredible to see my words performed!” Ratna's eyes shine.

“You've done a great job.” Samuel gives me a quick hug. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go out with him—after Fringe is over, of course.

“Thanks. I bet your play is great too,” I say.

“You'll find out soon enough.” Samuel hurries to the hall to collect his actors and props.

“You're an excellent Sylvia,” Ratna says to Sonata.

Strangely, Sonata pushes past Ratna, ignoring the compliment. “I have a headache.” She rushes toward the exit. Her eyes are fever-bright, her movements jerky.

“What about my director notes?” I straighten my glasses.

Sonata keeps walking, her back stiff. I frown—she's been a pain during most of our rehearsals, just the way Samuel said she would be.

“Remember, we'll be doing the tech rehearsal on Monday night, the dress rehearsal on Tuesday and then our performances Wednesday to Saturday,” I call as she disappears. “Don't be late!”

And she's gone. I wonder for a moment what's got into her. But she always performs well—even when she's challenging me—so I let it go.

Madame Bouchard's French class. Monday morning. Fifteen minutes until lunch
.

I spent the weekend planning and replanning my tech rehearsal, fussing over the details. Now I'm watching the clock from the back row of desks, too jittery to conjugate verbs, waiting to meet with Joseph and George at lunch to finalize the sound and lighting cues on paper.

I tap my pen against my desk and stare out into the empty hallway. My lighting is simple—the lights fade up at curtain rise, dim during the night scenes, go glittery when the Star appears and fade out at the end of the play. The set and props are in place—I have my original sink-and-counter set with a new eighties-style wooden table and chairs. The props are mostly kitchenware I found in the prop room and at thrift stores. For sound, I'm using an instrumental jazz version of “When You Wish Upon a Star” just before curtain rise, and “Billie Jean” each time the Star appears.

It's a weird thought, but my job is almost done, since the stage manager calls the cues during the shows. Soon I'll be watching the performances from the tech booth, hungry for the audience's applause and worrying about what might go wrong.

“Briar!” Madame Bouchard shouts. “
Avez-vous
entendu l'annonce
?”

I jump and drop my pen. She's halfway up the aisle, staring me down. “
Pardon, Madame
?” I say with a lousy French accent. Most of the class has turned to watch the showdown.

Madame Bouchard gestures at the loudspeaker on the wall. “You have been called down to the guidance office.” She speaks with a thick French accent. “Get your books and go. I will expect your conjugation work on my desk by next class.”

Guidance? What the hell? I can't be late for my meeting.

“
Oui, Madame
.” I pick up my pen, grab my binders and take off.

The guidance office is on the other side of the school from the cafeteria, where Joseph and George expect to meet me. I'm calculating how long it will take to get there as I hurry into the office to find Principal Racier and Mr. Ty standing with Mica, Clayton, George and Ratna.

“What's going on?” I sidle up to Ratna.

“I have no idea.” She fidgets with the sleeves of her sweater.

Principal Racier looks official in her black pin-striped jacket and skirt. Mr. Ty's face is more serious than I've ever seen it. My stomach goes fluttery. Is this about
Wish Upon a Star
? Did George do something crazy again? Where's Sonata?

Principal Racier clears her throat. “Sit down, everyone.” She gestures at the seven chairs already arranged around a low table.

Mr. Ty shuts the door to the hall. Mrs. Maietta, one of the guidance counselors, emerges from her tiny office and leans against the doorframe.

We single-file around the table, trading questioning looks, and take our seats. Mr. Ty sits next to me. Principal Racier crosses her legs.

When she speaks, Principal Racier's voice is solemn. “I'm extremely sorry to tell you that Sonata is currently in the hospital and won't be returning to school for some time.”

I'm floored. “What?”

Ratna goes pale. “She can't be.”

“We know this is hard—” Mr. Ty begins.

“What's wrong with her?” Mica says.

“How are we gonna...” Clayton trails off as Principal Racier raises a hand to silence us.

“The family has given us permission to let you know that she had a breakdown due to stress,” she says. “Her close friends know as well, although we're not spreading the news to the general population. So, please, no Facebook posts, no tweets.”

“Oh my god.” My voice cracks. Sonata was that close to the edge? How did I miss it?

“How could this happen to her?” George asks.

“Sonata's so good at everything.” Ratna squeezes my hand.

“She's perfect.” Mica has tears in his eyes.

The bell rings for lunch. Through the door, I can hear the hall filling with people. They'll be strolling to the cafeteria or rushing out to Bean Me Up like nothing has happened. I blink hard as my vision blurs.

“It's a lot to take in.” Mr. Ty pats Mica on the shoulder.

Principal Racier's face is grim. “That's why Mrs. Maietta will be available to you if you need to talk.”

“I'm here for you any time.” Mrs. Maietta's tone is soothing.

“Is this because of the play?” I turn to Mr. Ty, my hand clutching Ratna's like it will keep me from drowning. Did I push Sonata too far? I should have known. I should have done something.

“It's no one's fault.” Mr. Ty looks each one of us in the eyes. “But we do need to decide what to do about
Wish Upon a Star
.”

A wave of despair washes over me. Sonata's been trouble since I cast her, but as long as she played her role without challenging me too much, I left her alone. What kind of heartless director am I? Why didn't I pay more attention?

The answer is horrifying: Because I was too focused on myself.

“We could withdraw your play from the festival or find a new actor who can learn the lines and blocking in two days,” Mr. Ty continues. “It's a hard decision either way—one we don't want to make for you. Continuing the play may be what you need to do, or it may be too difficult.”

Mica, Clayton, George and Ratna stare at me as if I should have the answer.

My heart thuds in my chest. I have no idea what to do.

Thirteen

An abandoned stage in a darkened drama room. Later that day. One lonely spotlight hits a sink. Another illuminates a wooden kitchen table and chairs.

Clayton slouches against the stage, ignoring his phone even though it's bleeping and blinking.

Mica paces the room, his fleshy arms clamped across his chest.

George lies on the floor in front of the stage, drumming on his leg with his fingers and staring up into the lighting grid.

Ratna shivers beside me, even though she's wearing a thick hoodie and tights.

I sit front row center in a stackable chair, digging my fingernails into my palms. I'm a director without a female lead. Or maybe I'm not a director at all.

Principal Racier excused us from afternoon classes, and somehow we all ended up at our set, bathed in semidarkness. We've each talked with Mrs. Maietta, one by one, and endured the stares and whispers in the hallways. Mrs. Maietta's speech felt rehearsed by the time I spoke with her. “A mental breakdown can occur when a person feels overwhelmed, highly anxious or depressed,” she had said, adjusting her bra strap inside her floral dress. “It can be traumatic for everyone involved.”

No kidding.

My brain and body are cycling through emotions so quickly, I can't keep up. I'm selfishly wishing this hadn't happened right before opening, and I'm horrified that it happened at all. The show must go on, they say, but even when Sonata is in the hospital?

“Maybe Ratna could play Sonata's part?” George drums faster.

I gaze at Ratna. I can't picture her as Sylvia no matter how hard I try.

“I wrote the lines, but I don't have them all memorized.” Ratna rubs her arms as if she's cold. “Besides, I'm already in a play.”

“But it's such a small role. You're only the bank teller.” As George sits up, his face falls into shadow and his ears glow pink, lit from behind.

“Small roles matter too.” Ratna frowns. “And Lorna would still have to fill it.”

“Do you think Lorna knows?” Mica's eyes are hollow pits.

I wish I could comfort him somehow, but I can't even calm myself.

“Lorna wasn't in school today. And she rescheduled her tech rehearsal for tomorrow. She knows.” Ratna nods.

Lorna was right about my play being cursed, I think.

“Everyone knows. There are a hundred posts on Sonata's Facebook page.” Clayton takes off his sling and scratches the skin around his cast.

“What do they say?” George asks.

“Mostly ‘get better soon' and ‘we miss you.' That kind of stuff,” Clayton says.

“Why do you think this happened?” George bangs his feet against the side of the stage.

“I heard she was in the psych ward last summer,” Clayton begins.

“What?” I gape at him. Why didn't I know this?

“I don't want to talk about this.” Mica's voice has a tremor in it.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Clayton picks up his phone and fiddles with it, looking awkward. “It's just a rumor, anyway.”

“Which hospital is she at?” I ask.

“East General. At least, that's what I heard.” Clayton glances up. “Why? Are you going to visit her?”

“I should probably—”

“Can we just decide what to do about the play?” Mica stops in front of me, his face haggard, his bulky shape blocking my view of Clayton.

“Maybe Briar could play Sylvia,” Ratna suggests. “She knows the lines and the blocking.”

My stomach twists. “I'm a director, not an actor.” I can't turn my director frames on myself. “Besides, it's Sonata's role.” I sink further into guilt. Did I play a part in Sonata's breakdown?

“We can't find someone else in such a short time,” George says.

“That's why we should withdraw from the festival.” The words are out before I can stop them.

“What?” Ratna jumps up. “But Briar—”