Showstopper (17 page)

The actors mimed their actions in perfect sync with the sound effects of clanking swords and whooshing spears. They were becoming so proficient, I could almost see their weapons slicing through the air. When Odysseus and Antinous struggled with swords locked in battle, I could have sworn I was seeing the motion of the steel. The invisible weapons gave the fight scene a ghostly, magical quality.

Then Sophia blew us away with her Cyclops solo. The girl was really getting in touch with her inner monster! She stomped around the stage and growled out her song so believably, I was beginning to fear she'd have trouble getting into the more ethereal and feminine Circe character.

But she nailed that, too. Joey (who was really getting the hang of the lyre) accompanied her as she belted out the sultry witch's song, which was a sassy little number called “Men Are Pigs!” It was a riot!

“I hate to say this,” I whispered to Austin, “but I'm starting to develop some serious professional respect for Sophia.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said Austin. “You can't ignore that kind of talent.”

Unfortunately, my “professional respect” took a serious hit when I heard Sophia attempting to bait Nora into an
argument over whether Odysseus should have stayed with Circe or gone home to Penelope.

“Circe is a goddess,” Sophia huffed. “Penelope is a housewife. It's a no-brainer.”

“Penelope's royalty,” Nora pointed out calmly.

“Circe is gorgeous!”

“So is Penelope. She's also faithful and resourceful and doesn't turn people into farm animals.”

Sophia's eyes flashed, and she leaned in so her nose was almost touching Nora's. “Fine,” she said. “But just remember this. Circe is immortal, which means she was around long before Penelope, and she'll be around long after.” Then she planted her hands on her hips and added, “Plus, Circe is a way better singer!”

As Sophia stomped off, I realized the heated debate I'd just witnessed had nothing to do with Circe or Penelope at all. This was about Sophia reminding Nora that she'd been a Random Farms member first and she was not about to take a backseat to a new girl.

Rivalry. I supposed it was unavoidable. I told myself Sophia would get over it before the show and turned my attention back to rehearsal.

Brady's turn. He was outstanding when he delivered his Poseidon monologue.

Somehow he'd found the perfect balance between angry god and swaggering beach bum, and managed to make it believable.

As Austin and I watched Brady's scene from the third row, Deon came and slipped into a seat behind us.

“I've got a really cool idea,” he said.

“Let's hear it,” said Austin.

“I want to light Poseidon—I mean Brady—entirely in blue and green. Whenever he's on the stage, it'll be lit with aquamarine sea tones.”

“Go for it!” I told D, then called out to Brady onstage, “Hold up a second.”

“Something wrong?”

“Not at all. Just give Deon a minute to get to the lighting board.”

Brady shrugged and lazily twirled his freshly painted trident. A moment later the entire stage was bathed in a pale bluish-green glow.

“It looks like he's underwater!” cried Elle.

“That's awesome,” said Joey. “Hey, wasn't there a ‘Waves' track on the sound effects CD?” He put down the lyre and joined D in the booth to fiddle with the sound board. Suddenly the theater was filled with the sounds of a crashing surf.

“I love it!” I said. “Okay, Brady. Again. From the top.”

As Poseidon launched into his monologue, Susan came and plopped down onto the seat beside me. She had a strange look on her face, as though she were disgusted with something. Or someone.

“The show's really coming along great,” I said. “Isn't it?”

“Yep.”

“Look at that lighting! Makes it kind of hard to believe we aren't actually adrift in the middle of the Aegean, huh?”

“Yep.”

I turned to frown at her. “What's the matter?”

“You're turning into a lotus-eater. That's what's the matter!”

“I'm
what?
”

“Act two, scene four!” she snapped. “Odysseus tells the Greek chorus all about this island where his men were fed these weird, magical lotus flowers that made them all dreamy and kind of stupid.”

I gasped. “Are you calling me stupid?”

In response, she opened her script and showed me the scene. “Read it and weep, sister!”

Odysseus: The lotus flowers were so delicious, the men stopped caring about getting home. They were delirious and content. All they wanted was to stay and gobble up the blossoms forever, without even thinking about their return.

I handed back the script and raised an eyebrow at her. “So?”

“Don't you get it?” Susan shook her head in exasperation. “Anya, this theater is the island, and the lights and the sound system are the lotus flowers.
You're
the lotus-eater! All you can see is how great the stage and the curtains and the equipment are, and you're forgetting all about home.
Our
home! The clubhouse! With the Christmas lights stapled to the stage and the curtain made of Mrs. Quandt's old bed linens and no microphones. Remember, Anya?”

This time I
did
feel as though I'd been hit with a Zeusian lightning bolt. In one blinding flash my sister had brought me back to reality.

I
was
a lotus-eater! I'd grown so distracted by this fully functioning theater that I'd allowed myself to put everything else out of my mind. Sure, the lights were cool, and the sound was amazing, but as Susan had just pointed out—as Odysseus surely would have known from the start—the community center wasn't home. It was a port in a storm, a pleasant diversion, an island on the way from Troy to Ithaca.

But it wasn't where we truly belonged.

The clubhouse theater was ours. We'd found it, fixed it up, and made it an awesome place. But even more important than all of that was that at the clubhouse, we called the shots.
We didn't have to answer to anyone. The grown-ups at the CCC had been helpful and pleasant, but the whole point of Random Farms was to create a theater run entirely by kids. That wasn't the case here. Here we were at the mercy of someone else's schedule and rules.

How could I have forgotten that?

“Okay, people,” I said loudly, “change of plans. Deon, the lights look incredible and the sound is fantastic. But we have to figure out if any of it can be re-created at the clubhouse. Because that's where we want to be! That's what we're still hoping for. So anything that can't be done back at Random Farms will have to be out.”

Brady looked confused. “So no more blue lights?”

“Only if Deon can figure out a way to achieve the same effect in
our
theater. He's a technical genius, so I'm sure he'll come up with some alternative—if not something exactly the same, at least something close.”

“You're willing to settle for close?” asked Gracie. “That's what you want?”

“No,” I said simply. “What I want is to go back to the clubhouse theater where we can do what we want to do, how and when we want to do it. What I want is to go home.”

“That's an excellent idea,” said a familiar voice from the back of the theater.

I turned to see Mom and Dad in the doorway, home from Paris and ready to discuss my punishment.

“Anya,” said Mom, crooking her finger, “it's time for you to come home.”

Talk about getting back to reality.

All things considered, I would have preferred the lightning bolt.

I left Austin in charge and made my way slowly up the center aisle.

Susan had already run ahead to welcome our parents back with a big hug. Then she met me halfway and whispered, “What's going on?”

“I told them everything,” I whispered back. “The basement rehearsal, the washing machine . . . all of it. They've had three days to decide what to do with me. That's why I'm going home. To find out what my punishment's going to be.”

Susan's face went pale. “Do you think they'd—”

“They might.” I gave her a stern look. “But don't tell anyone. Not yet. I don't want to worry them if I don't have to. It might still be okay. And they've all worked so hard.”

Susan surprised me with a grin. “You really are like
Odysseus,” she said. “You want to protect your men. Well, boys. And girls. But you get the point. It's heroic.”

That made me feel a little better. But only a little.

“Make sure Austin helps Spencer with his speech to the suitors,” I reminded her. “He needs to sound angrier. And Nora needs to come off a little sneakier in her scene with Antinous. Have her work on that.”

“Will do. And, Anya . . . good luck.”

I gave my sister the best smile I could muster and continued up the aisle, feeling a little envious of old Odysseus. All he had to do was outsmart the gods and navigate the dangerous straits between the vicious and formidable pair of sea monsters, Scylla and Charybdis.

What I had to deal with was more frightening and unpredictable: a pair of disappointed parents.

And you didn't have to be a student of Greek tragedy to know there was nothing more nerve-wracking than that!

We rode home in silence.

I probably should have asked them how their trip was, but I couldn't get the words out. I was a nervous wreck. I feared that if I opened my mouth, the only thing I'd be able to
say would be,
Are you going to let me do the play?

So I sat in the backseat with my hands folded and didn't say a word.

Just as we turned into the driveway, my phone gave a little chirp. It was a text message from Ms. Napolitano, the special events coordinator at the CCC, confirming that I had paid in full to reserve the theater for the following week. She also asked if I still wanted to keep it on hold for the week after that.

I texted back:

Yes, please, keep the theater on hold.

She wrote back that she would do so, but reminded me that payment would be due before the end of business next Friday, in order for us to be allowed into the theater on Monday morning.

I was about to put a reminder alert in my iCalendar when Dad cut the engine.

Tucking the phone into my tote bag, I got out of the car and followed my parents inside.

We went straight to the family room. They (the jury) sat down on the couch, and I (the defendant) placed myself on the love seat.

For a few moments no one said a word.

When I couldn't stand the silence any longer, I aimed a tentative smile at my mother. “Did you enjoy Paris?” I asked.

“Very much. It was lovely.”

“Oh, good. I'm glad you had fun.”

It got quiet again and I fidgeted in my seat, wishing they'd just get to the closing argument already. I was aching to hear the verdict.

“Anya,” said Dad at last, “we've been thinking an awful lot about what you told us.”