The Cutting Room Floor (24 page)

“Ya know, you look more like the chick who should be
on
stage.”

“No, no way.” Stella looks around. “I like it back here. In the shadows. Working on the film was great, but I like being in the theater. This place has so many hidden mysteries, know what I mean? All the ghosts. And you never know what you’ll find in the rafters.”

“I get it. That’s actually the part I like most about acting. You think you know a person, a character, but you never do. You have to pull them back, layer by layer—like an onion—to uncover the mystery. To really find out what’s going on.”

“Exactly.”

“So, I never really said thanks yesterday for the hangover remedy.”

“My pleasure. Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?”

“Yeah, I think my drinking days are over for a while.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And you’ve figured things out with Dez?”

“You know, I think I finally have,” I tell her, still feeling the heat from his kiss.

DEZ

On Wednesday morning, I walk Riley to her locker. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the sight. Red, white, and blue streamers hang from her locker door, along with a huge picture of Mayor Devlin.

Looks like Tori is rubbing it in.

Of course we’re not surprised Devlin won the election. With Michelson pulling out, the only other competition was some no-name twenty-five-year-old.

Still, it hurts.

“Well, there goes the town,” Riley says, trying to be up-beat.

This is the last thing she needs. With the festival coming up in just a few days, she’s been on edge and I can tell she hasn’t been sleeping. Her eyes are puffy and dull.

Doesn’t matter. She’s still beautiful.

“Think of it this way,” I say. “It’s not like the Heights can get any worse.”

I help Rye pull off the streamers and then pull her in for a kiss.

She doesn’t pull back.

“Another switcheroo, huh, Riley?” Tori stops by to admire her handiwork. “Back to boys again?”

Rye and I flip Tori off in unison and resume our kiss.

I don’t even care if I have to suffer Tori’s wrath later. I’ve come too close now to let anything get in my way with Rye.

I won’t.

When the day of the festival finally arrives, I can’t do anything but pace around my bedroom. Every muscle in my body aches. I’m wound so tight, and I’m afraid the smallest thing might cause me to unravel.
Just one more time
, I keep telling myself. I just have to interfere one more time. Otherwise we’ll never stand a chance. After tonight, though, that’s it. Then Riley and I will make it on our own. No more lies or games or tricks.

Riley has made her decision. That much was clear on Monday. I’ve been replaying the kiss all week.
How’s that for a fresh start
, she said. My hormones kick into overdrive thinking about her voice. Her body. The kiss.

I don’t want to do this, but I see no other way. I slip on my sweatshirt and look out my window. It looks like Riley’s bedroom light is on.

It’s safe to leave.

I gather my supplies, throw my camera bag around my back, and sneak out the back door. As far as Riley knows, I’m home preparing for the festival. I bring my camera with me as an alibi, just in case.

Once I’m out on the street, I see a car moving really slowly—like someone is looking for a street address. I jump behind some bushes and wait for it to pass. As the car reaches the light, I can see the driver.

My heart starts pounding.

It’s Marcus.

He didn’t see me. He didn’t see me.

I try to settle my breathing but can’t. That’s it, I’m calling it off. I can’t do this. Yet my body doesn’t stop. It’s like I’m watching myself from behind the camera lens as I work up to a jog.

I make it to the school and go to the side door. I flip my hood up and walk through the empty hallway to the theater on the west side.

Once I make it into the auditorium, I set my camera down. I have forty minutes before anyone is expected. I checked the crew’s schedule.

The place is dark, so I grab my flashlight and scissors and head straight to the dressing rooms. I shine the light on the floor and weave around the props and equipment. I enter the door that says
Ladies
.

It smells like perfume and baby powder inside. I hold the knob and shut the door, trying not to make a sound.

I use my flashlight to get my bearings in the room, finding a bunch of garment bags hanging in the corner. I flip through them until I come to one labeled
Riley.

I take it down from the rack and lay it on the floor, inching the zipper open. It releases a sweet cherry smell.
Riley.
I reach in and slowly pull each item out.

I run my hands over her clothes and ache, thinking about how she modeled this outfit for me. She always wants my opinion.

How have things gotten so far out of my control?

How could I possibly do this to Rye?

If only there was another way.

Scissors in hand, I gently cut and tear the stitching on the fabric, trying not to make it too obvious.

My heart races and all I can hear in my head is Chris Isaak’s twangy guitar and his low voice singing “Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing.”

Like I said, it’s the soundtrack for the B-movie that’s become my life.

After all the ripping and tearing is complete, I wipe my forehead and tuck everything back inside the bag.

I hang the bag back into its original spot and find the cubby holding all the shoes.

I take Riley’s boots out and reach in my pack for a hammer. I use it to pry out a nail from the heel of the shoe. I stuff the nail into my pocket and work on the second one.

That’s when I hear it.

Voices.

I flick off the switch on my flashlight, blinded in the darkness.

The voices get closer.

I feel around for the cubby and shove the boots back in.

Then I wiggle toward the dressing table, tucking my body into a ball underneath.

I close my eyes and hold my breath.

RILEY

In my room, I hear a honk outside. Stella is waiting in her car. We don’t have a lot of time, so I run out to meet her.

I asked her to take me to the auditorium this afternoon. I don’t want Dez, or anyone else, to know how nervous I am. So I plan to just do one more run-through before everyone starts arriving for the festival.

Plus, Stella’s into visualization and positive energy and all that, and she has some exercises to help me prepare for tonight.

The auditorium is empty. Each step we take echoes through-out the room. It’s a little eerie.

Stella goes behind the curtain and flips the lights on low.

I walk out to center stage and begin marking my positions and saying the words in my head.

I’m sweating with nerves.

After I mark it a few more times, I feel ready.

I stand on stage and look off to the side where Stella sits. “Now what?” I ask.

She gets up and struts over in her happy walk, settling behind me. “There’s no right or wrong way, Riley. Just look out into the audience. Imagine success, imagine joy, imagine that you are entertaining them—making them happy, sharing your gift.”

I look back at her. “Really?”

“I’m serious, it works.”

Stella leaves me to it and for the next several minutes, I visualize and meditate and send all my good and karmic energy onto the stage.

I do feel a little better.

As I get ready to start Mrs. Allonby’s funny monologue from
A Woman of No Importance
, my mind flashes to Ms. Dunn. She loved Oscar Wilde, and loved this play for its feminism.

I channel her strength as I begin.

“
The Ideal Man
.” I bellow the first line, strutting downstage. “
Oh, the Ideal Man should talk to us as if we were goddesses, and treat us as if we were children. He should refuse all our serious requests, and gratify every one of our whims. He should encourage us to have caprices, and forbid us to have missions.”

I continue on, getting through the entire thing without stumbling. I deadpan and exaggerate in all the right places.

When Stella returns, I’m pretty happy with my performance.

She points to her phone. “Time to go. People will be here soon and you need to get home.”

“Yeah, I’m good now,” I tell her. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime,” she says, leading me off the stage.

DEZ

INT. HIGH SCHOOL AUDITORIUM DRESSING ROOM—AFTERNOON

The camera moves in on a bead of sweat flowing down DESMOND’S face. He’s crouched under a table in the dressing room. He looks at his watch. We hear the ticking of time. Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen.

I crawl out from under the dressing table and plan my getaway. I sneak out of the room and watch as the light goes out and the backstage door closes.

I stretch out the kink in my neck and take a deep breath.

That was so close.

When I’m done messing with Riley’s audition clothes, I hide the evidence in my pack and sling my camera bag over my shoulder.

But then I’m paralyzed by a flood of white light. I can’t see a thing. I cover my eyes until they adjust. There’s a glow on stage and multiple spotlights, making small circles appear across the floor.

A pair of black sneakers steps into one of them.

“What are you doing, Dez?”

My mouth goes dry.

It’s Stella.

I slow my breathing and try to relax. I’ve had so much practice that it’s not that hard to do.

“Riley lost her charm necklace,” I say. “I needed to grab some stuff anyway, so I told her I’d look for it.” I wave my flashlight as proof.

“Oh, she didn’t mention that.” Stella pulls her brows to-
gether.

Why would she mention it to you?

“Yeah, she’s pretty stressed about tonight,” I add, to cover my tracks.

“Do you want some help?” Stella asks.

“No, that’s okay. It’s a long shot. I’ve retraced all her steps and can’t find it. I’m going to go over them one more time.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the wings if you need me. I’ll keep my eyes out for it,” Stella says. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, see ya,” I say.

I pretend to search for the mystery necklace a little longer before running out the back.

I have just minutes to get home.

I sprint the whole way.

RILEY

Dez is running late, so Mom drives me to the school. She’s quiet, keeps the radio on low, and taps on the steering wheel. She might be more nervous than I am.

“I’ll be cheering you on in spirit, sweetie,” she says when she stops at the front door. She brings me in for a tight hug and kiss on the head. “I wish we didn’t have this thing for Dad tonight, but we can’t miss it. If I’d known about Guthrie coming … ”

“Mom.” I gently pull away. “It’s okay. I might do better without a crowd.” I smile. “Plus, I have Dez. It’ll be just fine.”

In the halls, I try to shake off my nerves. I hear footsteps behind me. Thinking it’s one of the crew, I turn around, wanting the distraction.

Instead, I almost slam into Will. His eyes are just as icy as they were that day in the garden. My hands go cold, and I quickly turn back around and pick up my pace.

“Wait, Riley,” he calls out.

I keep moving.

“Hey, I want to talk to you about that video.”

Oh no.

I turn the corner.

“Libby told me what you saw,” he yells.

It’s him. He did it. He wants to shut me up.

I get closer to the auditorium and there are people everywhere. I blend into the crowd and keep moving.

Once I make it to the auditorium, I’m shaking. I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t know what to think about Will or Tori or Devlin or even Libby. I feel like I can’t trust my instincts anymore.

I try to push it all away for now. Thankfully, I fit right into the chaos. You can actually
feel
the tension in the air. It’s much worse than it was at our screening. Homer is so frazzled that he makes me look calm. People from eight Midwest schools are preparing for auditions and interviews with local community colleges, tech schools, and a few universities. The Guthrie program gets to use the main auditorium before the film screenings begin. The staff tries to keep the auditions private but people are sneaking in, in clusters.