The Fall Musical (14 page)

“Aren't you supposed to be paying attention?” Dashiell asked.

“I'm a slave to multitasking,” Brianna said. Up onstage, Casey was showing off the work she had done in the hallway with the rest of the cast. She had vowed to help Kyle nail the soft-shoe number.

“Okay, ‘All for the Best,' ” Casey called out.

“One, two, three, four!” Ms. Gunderson said, playing the intro.

Brianna crossed her fingers. Kyle and Harrison were holding their rolled-up umbrellas, bouncing to the beat, singing.

“And . . . kickline!” Reese called out.

Harrison kicked right.

And Kyle whacked him in the face with the umbrella.

“Cut!”
Casey called out.

Brianna winced. Kyle was trying so hard, but he could never get this number right.

She took him in with her eyes. What had he wanted to say to her? It couldn't have been much. Still, the uncertainty stuck in her like an undigested pit. Last night had been hard. Staying awake had been a bitch. She'd snuck some of the caffeine pills her mom had lying around, maybe the equivalent of five cups of coffee, six, she wasn't sure—shouldn't have been that big a deal. But she had done some really stupid things. Like calling Casey. And obsessing over Kyle.

Caffeine gave you jitters. It magnified little things into big deals. Late at night, your left brain was battling with your right brain over the right to sleep. Add caffeine, and your thoughts went haywire. That's what it was. The caffeine.

Casey had been so sweet to her all day, asking how she was feeling, bringing her a cup of coffee at lunch. Like a best friend. Brianna hadn't had a best friend since eighth grade.

“Do you like Monterey jack?” Dashiell asked.

Brianna turned. Dashiell was holding a plastic-wrapped package of cheese in his hand. “Excuse me?”

“I figured since you left your canapé, you didn't like cheddar,” Dashiell said. “It does have that sharpness. Walt, the guy at the cheese store, told me this is milder, without sacrificing flavor. He recommended water crackers with it.”

“Dashiell, are you trying to feed me cheese
now
?” Brianna asked. “In the middle of the rehearsal?”

Dashiell pulled the package down below the level of the seat backs. “No! I was just wondering. You know. Curious. I was going to bring this home and try it myself.”

“Oh. Jack is good. They make it with peppers, too.”

“Aha . . . ” Dashiell furrowed his brow, as if filing the concept in its proper folder for future reference.

Kyle, who had been talking with Mr. Levin, came bounding up the aisle. He was smiling at her now. What? Was he going to ask now? Why did she care so much?

“Hey,” he said, and she noticed his fingers were stained black.

“What happened to your hands?” Brianna asked.

Kyle immediately shoved them behind his back. “I was working on my new car during shop. Vintage '67 Thunderbird. Red.”

“Really?” Courtesy of her uncle Paulie, who collected vintage cars to rent to the movie industry, Brianna had actually traveled in one of those. Or maybe a 1969. But close. “Those are so cool. Does it work?”

“Like new,” Kyle said. “Well, except some of the floor is missing. But it's a V8. Like driving a spaceship. I was going to tell you about it yesterday in study hall. I wanted to know if you'd like to be the first person to have a ride in it with me. I could drive you home after rehearsal tonight.”

A ride in a car—that was it? Not exactly what she'd hoped for, but it might lead to something interesting. “Offer accepted,” Brianna said.

“You, too, Dash,” Kyle added as he sat in the empty seat on Brianna's right.

Not going to lead anywhere at all, Brianna realized.

Dashiell didn't notice. His attention was riveted on the stage. “Casey is extraordinary,” he said.

Brianna took her mind off Kyle and focused. “Don't be fooled by that meek exterior. Casey's a perfect stage manager
and
a natural director.”

“You're not so bad either,” Kyle said.

“Pshaw,” Brianna said.

Dashiell laughed. “That's funny. Pshaw.”

“Seriously, Brianna,” Kyle said. “You were awesome when you helped me on ‘All for the Best.' It made a huge difference.”

“Excuse me?” Reese said, managing to appear from nowhere, as always, at just the right time. “ ‘All for the Best' is a
dance
number, and the choreographer had a hand in it, thank you very much?”

“You're welcome,” Kyle said, allowing Reese to do a slow burn before he reached over and bear-hugged her waist.

“
Auuugggh
, your hands are filthy!” Reese said.

Kyle let go, and Reese stood in the aisle with her hands on hips. “What is this, the Brianna Boy-Toy Brigade? We have work to do. Dashiell, Mr. Levin wants to know if you and Kyle can nail the placement for the spots in the crucifixion scene.” She gave a little giggle. “Nail? Crucifixion? Oops. Forgive me.”

Dashiell rose reluctantly from his seat. “I thought we did that placement already.”

“Keeps us off the street, Dash,” Kyle said. “I'll do it, as long as I don't have to sing the song.”

“Bubbeleh, you can sing the wings off a butterfly,” Reese said.

Kyle pinched her on the butt before jogging toward the stage. Dashiell went in the other direction, toward the projection booth.

“Sexual harassment,” Reese murmured. “Do I have a grease stain on my butt?”

Brianna raised an eyebrow. “Yup. I would press charges.”

Reese grinned and slid into the seat next to her. “So, I take it our friend Dashiell is after you now?”

Brianna stiffened. “What makes you think that?”

“The Old Spice,” Reese said. “Did he offer you chocolate in the projection room?”

“No,” Brianna said, not exactly lying. She did
not
want this to turn into gossip.

“Well, that's next,” Reese said. “Unless he changes to some other food. I told him girls had mixed feelings about chocolate. Maybe he'll graduate to pâté.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Speaking of tips . . . ” Reese leaned in close. “The field is wide open, Brianna. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Field?”

“As in, the touchdown pass is in the air? The wide receiver has side-armed the most savage attacker?” Reese gave Brianna a Look of Great Meaning. “Ugh, Brianna, for a smart-ass, you can be so clueless. I'm talking about Kyle. I was hoping . . . but no, to me he's a total lost cause. He treats me like Li'l Sis—and that, as you know, is so not me. So . . . I didn't want you to hold back because of me. I release him. Kyle is yours. If you can hold on to him.”

Brianna couldn't help laughing. Reese never did lack a sense of drama. And self-importance. “Oh! Reese, that's so, um, considerate. But I wasn't really thinking about that—”

“Mm-hm,” Reese said. “Well, I have a feeling this may be a limited-time opportunity. If you wait, Brianna, you may have to stand in line . . . ”

She was looking at the stage now, where Kyle was standing in a spotlight that was changing from white to blue to red to yellow and back again in rapid succession.

He was not alone. Casey stood next to him, her body turning gently from side to side as she gazed up into his face. He laughed at something she said and then turned toward Dashiell in the booth. “Are we all set, Dash?”

“I think so,” Dashiell replied.

“What's next?” Kyle asked Mr. Levin.

Mr. Levin looked at his watch. “Whoa, we ran over. Where does the time go? Okay, cast, time to go home! See you all tomorrow!”

Reese nudged Brianna in the ribs. They both watched as Kyle put his arm around Casey and headed back into the wings.

Casey
?

Brianna felt her stomach knot and her teeth clench. “Cute,” she said.

“As long as you don't mind,” Reese said with a shrug.

“Why would I mind?”

“None of my business.” Reese turned away, with a sharp toss of hair over her shoulder. “Just wanted to make sure Casey wasn't screwing up a good friendship.”

15

THE FEELING CAME BACK IMMEDIATELY. THE lessons with Mrs. Dunham. Casey's tiny fingers struggling to press the keys.
Here we go / Up a row, / To a birthday party . . .
Casey smiled. There were some things she really did miss.

“Casey?”

She spun around. Kyle was coming through the door with two bottles of water. “Thanks,” she said, her voice parched.

“You sound as bad as I feel,” Kyle said. He untwisted the top of his bottle and held the water high. “Cheers! Let's hydrate.”

“Do you have anything to eat?” Casey asked, suddenly feeling ravenous.

“I'm a football player. I always carry snacks.” He pulled a Baby Ruth and a Fast Break out of his backpack and put them on the piano.

Focus. Energize.
Casey quickly ate the Fast Break. It soothed going down. She had been eating a lot lately. It was stress. But she would cut down, after today. As she took a long swig of water, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the moment.
Focus on now
. Now was now. Everything else was then. “So, what part is giving you trouble?” she asked. “‘All for the Best'?”

Kyle groaned. “The dance number? That is going to suck so bad. I can never get that. But at least that song is easy.” He plopped his musical score on the piano. The sheets were dog-eared and marked up with dynamics and directorial suggestions. Quickly he turned toward the back of the score and pointed. “Here. This little part I sing during the crucifixion. I can never do it right.”

The line was pretty easy—to play, at least. Mostly quarter notes, dotted quarters, and half notes. Casey could handle that. “Um, let me play it through once first. Then you can sing the second time,” she said.

Kyle looked over her shoulder as she played. He smelled good. It wasn't cologne or aftershave, Casey guessed. Probably some kind of soap. A faint scent of the sea. Unconsciously she sat higher on the bench, to be closer to his face, and began playing the intro. “Let's jump right in . . . okay, two, three, four . . .
now
!”

“‘Oh, God, I'm dying . . .' ” Kyle sang.

“Perfect—keep going!” So far, so good. But he had to sing the same line in a couple of different keys. Together they counted through the rests. “And . . .
now
!”

“‘Oh, God, I'm dyiiiing . . .'” Kyle sang.

“Almost,” she said, stopping the music. “Very close. Let's try that again.”

He was even further off the next time.

Casey pounded on the E, F, and F, singing three sentences to the tune: “Dy-ing! A-little-higher! Here-are-the-notes!”

“I
am
dying,” Kyle said, flattening himself against the practice room wall.

She'd been too harsh. She was alienating him. “Sorry!” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” Kyle said with a crooked, goofy grin. “Sorry because the Drama Club cast me. Sorry because you agreed to suffer in this sweaty little box while I mess up the tune. Yo, Stephen Schwartz is spinning in his grave! He's sorry, too.”

Casey couldn't tell if he was joking or not. “He's still alive, Kyle.”

“He won't be if he hears me.” Kyle leaned over the music, staring down the notes. “Come on. Let's do it for Stephen. Time is running out. Fourth down. No punting.”

He wasn't joking. Kyle had a neurotic side? It didn't seem possible. But singing brought out that kind of thing. Casey scoured the music, looking for something that would help him hear the tune.

“Your first note?” she said. “It's in the chord just before. You'll hear
this
. . .” She carefully played the chord, then lifted all her fingers except one. “And you'll sing this note. ‘O . . . ' et cetera. Got it?”

Kyle looked dubious. “Let's try . . . ”

She played—and he came in perfectly. “That's it,” Casey said.

“Whoa, that's
it
?” She felt his arms around her, and she quickly turned—in time for him to sweep her up in a big bear hug. “I got it?
I got it
?”

Casey felt her feet leave the ground. She held him tight as he swung her around the tiny space, and she buried her face in the folds of his shirt and took a deep breath. She realized it wasn't soap. It was just him.

He let her down at the piano bench, and she unwrapped her arms. Over his shoulder she could see a slight movement in the thick window of the practice room door. The window was small, just big enough for a face.

Brianna's.

Casey leaped from the bench and opened the door. “Did you hear Kyle? He was—”

“I don't want to interrupt anything,” Brianna said.

“You're not!” Casey replied.

Brianna smiled tightly. “No. Go ahead, Casey. You just pretend I'm not here.”

“We're just running a song,” Casey said.