24. Micah
24
MICAH
I panic when the student flags Ms. Hart over to us.
“No, you don’t have to—” I take a step back, but John is behind me, and his chest feels like a column of solid piling from the underside of a dock.
The moment she recognizes me, her face splits into a grin. “Micah Malone? Is that you?”
I dip my head as all the students in the vicinity turn to stare. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s so good to see you.” Her legs eat up the distance, and she pulls me into a firm hug. Her vanilla scent stirs up so many warm memories—the late practices, her unwavering support, John’s love inspiring me to be better, the flowers Mrs. McCoy presented me with after performances, even as it felt silly to want them so much.
“You too,” I croak out because I admit seeing my old drama teacher is one of the highlights of this visit.
When we draw away, she glances over my shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise to see the both of you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” John replies, stepping forward.
She eyes the two of us, seemingly with a different question on her lips than the one she asks. “So, what brings you to town?”
“My grandfather passed away.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a good man.”
“He was, thanks.” I shift awkwardly. “So I’m only tying up loose ends.”
She pats my shoulder. “Must feel overwhelming. Does this mean I might see you around?”
“I don’t have an exact departure date. It depends on?—”
“Will your visit extend to the spring festival?” she asks in a high-pitched tone.
I’m momentarily confused as to why she’s asking me, but then I remember the drama department is traditionally part of the entertainment. “Are they still putting that on?”
“Of course,” John says with a smirk. “It’s one of Aqua Vista’s highlights.”
I smile at the memory of starring in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . Whereas other schools might’ve performed it around Halloween, the town’s tradition is the spring. My grandfather would say welcome to the quirkiness of Aqua Vista. “I might still be haunted by the headless horseman. It was too realistic.”
Ms. Hart grins. “All our props are a bit worse for wear, but they still do the trick.”
I mock-shiver. “I have no doubt.”
“It’s really all about the acting.” She winks. “And you are probably the best Ichabod Crane we’ve ever had.”
My cheeks feel hot. “I don’t know about that.”
John nudges me, and I think about his words— believe in yourself . “But thanks. Those were some of the best years of my life.”
I’d been part of a small theater production in LA, and though I enjoyed it, I never pursued another role because it didn’t quite quench my soul like it had in high school. I thought for sure Hollywood would provide that for me, but I’d been wrong on that front too.
“I might be around for the festival. It depends on how fast my grandfather’s house sells.” Not that I have to be around for the actual sale because of Chuck’s involvement, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. “If so, I’ll be sure to catch the show.”
“Feel like helping pre-production?” Her pleading eyes meet mine. “I mean, if you’re not too busy.”
“Help with what?”
She glances toward the high school. “Our cast this year is quite chaotic. My assistant went on maternity leave, and, well, you were once my star student who went off to Hollywood, so maybe you could offer some pointers?”
My heart balloons, but my gut churns, making me feel disoriented—and a bit petrified. I don’t need anything else anchoring me to this place. Besides, what could I actually offer her or those kids? I’m still trying to get my own act together, so to speak.
“With everything I have going on, I…I’m not sure if I’ll have the time. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure about that?” John asks, and I throw him a pointed look.
“Yes, of course,” Ms. Hart says. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. Guess I was feeling a little stressed and a lot nostalgic.” Her face flushes with regret. “But if you ever want to visit your old stomping grounds, we rehearse most days after school.”
I think of the stage and the costume closet, which all felt so magical years ago. “I appreciate that.”
“Good luck with everything, Micah. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Break a leg,” I call out as she heads back toward the school, and she waves to us.
I can feel John’s hot stare as we return to the dock. “You sure you don’t want to help out?”
“Work with high school kids, some of whom are probably as horrible as I was?”
“Payback and all that.” John snickers. “Plus, you said those were some of the best years. Unless you only meant being with me.”
“That’s a given.” My stomach warms. “Sure, it was great to see her. She inspired me, helped me find something meaningful after I wrecked everything else.”
John stays silent as he helps me unmoor the boat, and once I steer us into the channel leading toward Sleepy Slip, he blurts, “I still think you should consider helping. Your whole face lit up when Ms. Hart mentioned it.”
I scoff. “Did not.”
“Sure did,” he lobs back. “I’ve only ever seen that expression when you’re fishing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I tease. “I light up for you too.”
His cheeks tinge pink. “Nice one.”
“I meant my heart, you dork.”
“Sure you did,” he deadpans.
By the time we’re back in my grandfather’s driveway, I’ve focused on Ms. Hart’s offer a little too much.
After we say our goodbyes and I head inside, I’m restless. Aaron is either finished for the day or out on a supply run, and it makes the house feel too empty. Though I’m glad he’s not here to see how out of sorts I am.
Once I’ve finished my lunch, I head to my car with the idea of driving to the bar and asking John if he needs help. Instead, my car steers toward the high school as if it has a mind of its own.
After the dismissal bell, I wait in the parking lot as the school empties of students and staff. Listening to the chatter outside my window, it’s evident things haven’t changed all that much since my graduation. Students still group together to gossip and share details about their lives. I can also spot the loners and outcasts like me, backpacks slung over their shoulders, relief in their expressions that another school day has ended.
Before I can question my motives even more, I’m out of the car and heading toward the building. I stop in the office and ask where to find Ms. Hart.
“Is she expecting you?” the school secretary asks.
“Yes.” I log my name in the visitor book, and then she hands me a name tag to adhere to my chest. I turn toward the hall, thankful she’s not someone who recognizes me.
But the principal does, which doesn’t surprise me since I spent so much time in that man’s office. “Micah Malone?”
I hold up my hands in case he thinks I’m up to some trouble. It’s an old habit that’s hard to break. “Principal Matthews.”
“Well, look at you. Our very own Hollywood star.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Not exactly.”
“Regardless, I’m proud of you.” His smile seems genuine. “So, what brings you here?”
“Ms. Hart invited me to her practice for the spring festival.” My stomach sours under his scrutiny, and I lob the first excuse that comes to mind. “I happen to be in town because my grandfather passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make my way to the auditorium now.”
I breathe out as I traverse the long hallway, memories flooding me: kids side-eyeing me as I leave the principal’s office yet again. Meeting John’s bright gaze as he waits for me outside the office door. He never lectured me, only offered his support and care, sometimes in the form of notes in my locker. Wish I’d saved those in my shoebox too. We might’ve gotten a kick out of reading them.
Pushing open the auditorium door, I suck in a breath upon seeing the space that used to represent independence, safety, creativity, and conviction but now seems stuffy and cramped in comparison to my lofty ideals. The students are onstage, Ms. Hart guiding them from down below, so I make my way to a row behind her.
The seat creaks as I sit, causing Ms. Hart to glance back at me. Her harried expression changes to one of surprise. She smiles, waves, then quiets the students.
“I’m impressed you’ve learned most of your lines,” she tells them, “so today we’re going to run through stage blocking. By the time dress rehearsal comes around, we need to know backward and forward not only our lines but our positions onstage.”
Most students look around warily, while a few seem confident.
“Let’s take it from the top.”
I smirk as most of them seem flustered and some downright confused about where to stand. A couple exit stage left, no doubt to reenter on cue, which is all part of making a play run smoothly. Without key movements during recited lines, it would all seem like chaos.
A guy with floppy brown hair and a tall stature clears his throat. “We have murders in New York without the benefit of ghouls and goblins.”
As the lead, he recites his lines in a strong voice, even if I don’t hear the heart in it. The other characters, however, stand awkwardly around him, seemingly unsure about what to do with their limbs.
My feet take me closer to Ms. Hart as I watch the messy scene play out.
“See what I mean?” she mutters.
“I do.”
“So you’ll help?”
“Not sure what I can do that you haven’t tried already.”
“Extra hands and ideas are always welcome, Mr. Hollywood Actor.”
“Obviously, live theater is different, but I don’t have to tell you that.”
“The baseline is the same. You still have to learn your lines and be on cue.”
“As well as in character,” I add. Though I’ll admit, live theater has always made my heart pump harder because any mistakes are immediately visible to the audience.
Ms. Hart claps loudly. “Attention, students. Let’s welcome Micah Malone to our rehearsal. He’s a former student who lives in LA and has gotten small roles in commercials and film. He’s here to assist me.”
Some look impressed, others bored.
“I’ve been right where you are, so if it’s okay, I’d like to give you some pointers.”
Most of the students move closer to the edge of the stage to listen. “It’s true what Ms. Hart said about memorizing your lines being vital, but setting up the scene for the audience is just as important.”
“What do you mean?” asks the girl who plays Ichabod’s love interest, Katrina Van Tassel.
“What I mean is, you need to envision every scene. Not only where your character stands, but how they react to each line. You must get inside their head, understand their motive and how they might feel in that moment. It’ll help you connect with the story you’re telling and the audience.”
“And each other?” the kid playing Ichabod asks.
“Exactly. Ichabod is a flawed character. In the scene I just watched, he thinks he’s better than the townspeople. That he’s intellectually superior and above their old-fashioned ideas and customs. Including their belief in the supernatural.”
“Micah is absolutely right,” Ms. Hart says. “So how would Katrina, Brom, and the other townsfolk respond to his superiority complex? Feel it in your gut. Show it in your features and words.”
When Ms. Hart instructs them to take the scene from the top, I can’t help feeling energized. And as the students attempt to work off our advice, I’m thrumming with energy. The sort of energy I haven’t felt in a long while.