Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody) (5 page)

After all, he’d asked how to fit it, not what we’d leave behind. 

So, how did we fit it? Tightly.

Of course, we didn’t grab the stuff and lug it away to the school ourselves. In fact, I doubted the importance of our visit, as Hubert—that’s Mr. Nightray’s given name—just showed us the room that should be Lady Windermere’s and informed us that it’d arrive at school on Monday.

What he wanted to give us exceeded the list of Mr. Hedford’s about one to four, but the truth of the matter was that it looked perfect and no one found the heart to break the setting. Which brought us to Monday after school—to a crammed stage and a backstage that started to smell like sweat, stuffed with too many items and too many breakable things for any reasonable high school.

Most of the theater folk were there: Mr. Hedford, of course, directing the proceedings; Anna and Dave, who had roped Ray into volunteering some muscle; Lena and Jack, who had brought two mates of Jack’s. I didn’t even know them by name because they had brains on par with a mollusk. Then there was me. And Keith.

Three hours’ worth of teamwork and the whole set-up refused to move any closer to completion.

“It seemed smaller at the Nightray’s,” Anna grumbled as she heaved and shoved at a lovely settee, trying to angle it enough to face the public without being obvious.

“The room at Nightray’s was about three times the size of this stage,” Dave grunted, pulling from the other end of the settee. “How about it, Alice? Looking good now?”

I tilted my head. No, it wasn’t as perfect as it had been, but we had moved it around so much that I started to get sick.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I dropped a cushion on the settee, my mighty contribution to the move.

In my defense, Lena didn’t do much more than I did.

“Come on, guys! On three, I want that shelf against the wall!” she said.

“It is against the wall,” Jack complained.

“No, it’s one foot from the wall and that’s quality space we need elsewhere! Now, push!”

“And on she goes,” I muttered while watching her. My voice was low enough for no one to hear, but it was as if I had conjured her attention.

“Alice! You’re not helping. Bring the vases! I think we’re not going to move that bureau anymore.”

I sighed and gave her a mock salute. “On it.”

Vases. Hubert had also given us vases and curtains to fake the windows, and we’d refused the chandelier because we couldn’t connect it to the school’s electric cables. And because we weren’t sure the ceiling would hold up the weight.
But everything else? We had it. Rugs and cushions and figurines. I imagined that placing the decorations was better than the grunt work, but still. I didn’t much care for being ordered around by Lena. She acted as if she were Mr. Hedford, reigning supreme. The only one who hadn’t received orders from her was Keith.

He moved in silence, avoiding the looks of the others and trying not to stand in their way. He kept finding discreet niches for the speakers and the lights to go. He might be a musician, but since we needed someone in charge of illumination and both things involved cables, he’d been recruited. When the furniture changed locations, Keith came in again, undid all his work, and replaced his stuff wherever it fit best. Repetitive, but not very tiring.

I went backstage, got the box with the small stuff, and placed the vase on top of the bureau Lena had pointed out. An ornate glass ashtray went upon the low table. A figurine of a nightingale in flight sat right beside the vase. A couple of old-looking books found their way into the shelf that Lena had finished moving around. A table clock that weighed more than I cared to lift took the place of honor on a table against the far wall, along with a silver tray that would hold delicate glasses once we dared to get them out of their safety wrappings.

Someone clapped. Mr. Hedford, of course. He looked to be as excited as a little kid with the promise of Disney World hanging in front of his eyes.

“This is it! Don’t move anything else; this room is as it must be.” Room. Not stage. Notice just how invested he was—we all were, really. “One sound and light test before we call it a day, Mr. Brannagh?”

“Coming.” Keith moved to the small alcove housing the controls and flipped the lights on.

He’s not a pro? He could have fooled us.

I gaped, unabashed. The ambiance was bright, but warm. No harsh light, no direct beams; even the zenithal spotlights were soft and diffused. The whole room stood out, a play of corners and cleverly hidden reflections. Mr. Hedford nodded, pleased, and I reached out and squeezed Anna’s hand. Her smile was wide enough to split her face; like me, she could already see herself in that room, waltzing in the midst of that opulence and waiting for disaster to strike the household.

Then it was time for the sound proof and the music started. It was the melody he’d already shown us but, as he had promised, he had done some intense arrangements. It didn’t even sound like a guitar anymore. He played so fast that it was hard to imagine the notes leaving a single instrument. He’d also added a second voice, a few gravely notes here and there, interwoven with the original line that served to highlight all the emotions the audience would experience… and to remind them that there was more to it than met the eye. It played loud, but no one would mind.

For a moment, I thought that we actors, the play and everything else should be just static noise providing a background for his music.

“Wait,” Lena cried out, interrupting him. Every one of us, professor included, turned to watch her in surprise. “No one will hear our lines like that.”

“They will,” Keith replied. “I did mic the stage, you know.”

“You sure that’ll be enough?”

He motioned for her to move on stage and she did. He started to play again

“I’m really not sure about this ‘micing’ thing,” she sighed.

And we all heard her. She was started at the clarity of her own voice. She looked lost and then she smiled. Like the Cheshire Cat.

“This is perfect, Keith. Great work. But, will it be okay with all the speakers and mics and lights and the hot AC? Remember, now it’s cold, but it’ll get colder before we go live.”

He looked unsure. “The sound and light won’t be a problem. I don’t know about the AC, but I hope the school has hired out more wattage than that.”

Lena turned to Mr. Hedford. “Could you please check it out with administration, Professor? I’d hate it if suddenly the set up were to combust in the middle of the performance.”

“It would not combust, Miss Brighton. It’d merely cease to function, which is an equally undesirable reaction. I shall confirm the… what did you say, Mr. Brannagh? Wattage?”

He nodded and the professor left.

Lena sighed and turned around, waiting. “Keith, where are the mics anyway? I can’t see them.”

I couldn’t, either. He’d done a good job of hiding them, even while I had been surreptitiously watching his every move.

He stood up, left the guitar on the table in the control pit and jumped up onto the stage to show her. Part of me was about to die of unjustified jealousy when I saw him walking toward her. For a split second, I thought I had imagined the nasty twist of Lena’s lips as he approached her. I told myself that it was just my inner, greedy self screaming bloody murder.

But then I saw Jack moving and I knew, with sick certainty, that it wasn’t my imagination.

“Hey!”

Everyone turned to look at me, and then a hideous noise like that of dying kittens exploded and left me with my mouth hanging open in public.

Keith turned back to the pit in a flash and his already pale skin went a shade paler. Jack smirked at him, not looking at the guitar on the floor.

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it at all. “I hadn’t seen it.”

Lena snickered, “Those words are familiar… ah, of course! That’s what you said when your clumsy self dropped a lot of greasy, inedible food on Anna after hitting her head with your tray, isn’t it?”

Keith stood there, his fists clenched so tight that he shook… and said nothing. I turned on Anna, genuine hurt breaking past my uncaring pretense for a moment.

“Anna? This was your idea?” I couldn’t believe it. It had been almost a month ago. It hadn’t even been his fault to begin with!

She shook her head, and while she didn’t look thrilled, she didn’t look apologetic either.

“Alice, cool down. It isn’t your guitar,” Ray said, grinning in a way that made me think he had known from the beginning.

And then I remembered how Lena had stayed back to talk to him that first day, how she had looked so smug afterwards when she had suggested the professor to ask Keith to be part of the project.

The bastard. He hadn’t just known; he had planned it!

Ray smirked at my open-mouthed glare and tucked Anna under his arm, ready to go. She said nothing and I stood there, dumbstruck, as Lena and Jack sauntered away from the stage to join their accomplice.

“Don’t worry,” Lena called over her shoulder. “We’ll get someone else to play your song.”

They left. Dave stayed a moment longer, but he didn’t try to pick up the guitar, nor did he share my mute indignation.

“You coming, Alice?” he asked.

I nodded, but didn’t budge.

“You go ahead first.”

And then it was Keith and me. Professor Hedford never returned, and for a moment, I wondered whether he was in the know, part of the conspiracy, or just had been sidetracked by Lena.

“I’m sorry,” I said when we were alone.

Keith no longer stood immobile, out of place in the Victorian drawing room. He’d jumped back into the pit, unplugged the guitar, and proceeded to examine it without acknowledging my presence.

“Is it broken?” I tried again.

He looked at me then. His eyes, vibrant blue, were empty and hard. “What do you care?”

The calm in his deep voice cut worse than a slap would have. And what could I say to defend myself?

“I don’t think that was right. What they did.”

“I didn’t see you stopping them, either.”

“You’re not being fair. I did call out when I saw what Jack was about to do.”

He shrugged, dismissing me just like that, and turned back to his guitar. “Whatever.” As if his attitude hadn’t conveyed the feeling.

I turned and headed toward the door, but for some reason my step missed its usual spring. I moved with an insecurity that I hadn’t shown—hadn’t felt—since kindergarten.

“It’s just the enamel,” he said when I had almost reached the door. “She still plays.”

I decided to overlook the way he referred to his stupid guitar as if it were a girl with way more tenderness and admiration than he’d ever aim my way, and retraced my steps. I tried not to think of the fact that engaging Keith in conversation in public went against every social survival instinct ever.

“That’s great!” He gave me a dubious look and I added, “Isn’t it?”

“It’d have been great not to hit her in the first place. But since the dumping is done, I guess there could be worse news.”

“If it had broken, it’d have been a good excuse to buy a new one anyway, no?”

Saying that was a mistake. A gross miscalculation. Keith had relaxed marginally, but he tensed again at once and shot me a look that said, in no uncertain terms, that he felt my worth was right up there beside the chewing gum stuck to the sole of his boot.

“Of course. Everything can be fixed by buying a replacement.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It just doesn’t look new. If it had been new, that’d have been worse.”

He stood up and placed the guitar in the bag. “She’s never been new. Second hand.”

“Oh,” I said, in a show of intelligence.

“And new or old, if it had broken, it’d be broken. End of story.”

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to insult you or anything. You don’t have to get like that.”

“Get like what? Like the Bitch Princess of school talking to me in an empty auditorium isn’t exactly the most normal thing ever?” Keith sighed and tried to rein in his frustration. It didn’t work. “Look, just go ahead. We don’t want your reputation tarnished. It’s bad form not to look at me over your shoulder. Haven’t you read the memo?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again.
How dare he talk like that?

He snorted in the silence provided by my gaping. “Of course you have. You wrote it, remember?”

I found my voice and latched into the first thing I could think of. “Bitch Princess?” I screeched.

“Want to be the Queen? Go stage a coup against Lena.” He smirked, just a bit.

And that made me smile, in spite of the joke wrapped around an insult. In the reprieve, I took a deep breath and said the one thing I had really wanted to say.

“You… you’ll still play, right? I’ll talk to them.”

“You must be kidding. It’s clear that I’m not wanted.”

“No, that was Lena. The professor loves the music, and so does everyone else. Anna just went along with Ray, and I’m sure she’ll come around once that all-muscle, no-brain oaf is back to playing football.”