Chapter 13
Rue
Our first few rehearsals don’t involve the sound booth yet.
All I have to do is attend the table read and mark my script for the parts I’ll be cuing in sound while everyone reads the entire script aloud.
I can’t help but notice how bad the dialogue is, or how amateur the lyrics to the musical numbers are.
It isn’t terrible, but when Miss Fern tells everyone she composed the music herself on her computer program, I definitely believe her.
Is anyone going to tell her this isn’t up to par with Fallbrook’s standards?
I doubt anyone would, not to her face. At least the scout from Underwood Academy won’t be watching this production since he already selected his choice students to attend when he watched the last play.
I’d probably die of embarrassment if anyone from Underwood—the most prestigious acting school in Massachusetts—saw what Miss Fern has planned for our show after all the care Mr. Saltzman put into our past productions.
The following rehearsals are also nice because I get to work on painting sets with the design crew.
And as part of the crew, I’ve noticed everyone wears many hats to help with the production.
That’s why theater at Fallbrook is so great.
Because it’s student-led, and the crew does so much more than I ever realized.
Painting is fun. Quiet. Therapeutic. It’s the closest thing I’ve experienced in the drama club to solitude so far.
At least, it would feel like solitude if it weren’t for all the giggling and swooning I keep hearing from the ensemble as Ezra teaches them how to incorporate dribbling into their choreography.
“He’s so cute,” Lola whispers to Frankie. But it’s not a very good whisper, because if I can hear it all the way across the room, I’m sure Ezra can, too. Still, Ezra maintains his helpful attitude despite all the giggles. He hands her the ball and motions how to dribble with his empty hands.
I gather up my backpack, my water bottle, and my script—which is currently organized in plastic sleeves within a thick binder—to head up to the sound booth.
When I pass Ezra, he sees me struggling to hold onto my binder while taking a sip of water and breaks away from the group he’s mentoring to walk with me. “Hey. Let me help.”
“No, I got it.”
But he ignores me, taking my script. I suppress a smile, but the blush on my cheeks is probably giving me away. As he follows me in, I notice Miss Fern scowling at a giant soundboard that got freshly installed this morning.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“It will be. I just can’t figure out how to work this new soundboard. The previous teacher ordered this replacement before he resigned. But I’m not familiar with this model, which isn’t going to be helpful when it comes time to show you how to use it, Rue.”
Ezra takes a step closer, squinting at the system. “Oh, I could help if you want. That’s the same soundboard we have at my church. I worked with it when I volunteered to help with sound over Christmas.”
Her face lights up. “Really? Oh, that would be great. Thank you, Ezra. I’ll actually just have you up in the sound booth with Rue starting next week until she gets the hang of it, then. That’s when we’re doing our first run-through.”
Miss Fern exits the sound booth, and I shoot a playful glare at Ezra. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “What? She needed help. You should be thanking me.”
I roll my eyes, but a smile fights its way onto my face.
Ezra and I, alone in this sound booth together? My stomach swims at the thought. And Little Birdie will definitely have to write about it.
I spend the majority of my free time working on the draft for that next post, and by the time I’m supposed to sit in that booth with him, I have it all ready to go.
Since all the music is digital, I’m needed in here much earlier for rehearsals because there are so many sound cues. All Miss Fern’s homemade music will be played from the sound booth by me.
Dot and I head to the auditorium after school on Wednesday, and my stomach won’t stop twisting the entire way there. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement.
The theater is empty except for a few tech kids running cords along the stage and Miss Fern talking to the costume crew in the wings. In the green room, Meredith, Carlton, and the rest of the cast are running vocal warmups.
Dot smiles at me. “I’m going to join them. Break a leg up there with the sound.”
“Thanks.” I make my way to the booth. The lights are low, but the booth at the back of the auditorium glows softly.
I’m on my phone, posting about working in the sound booth to my social media so it won’t seem suspicious when my scheduled Little Birdie post about this hits.
It’s perfect timing for my Wednesday deadline.
Just as I tap “schedule post,” Ezra opens the door for me like a gentleman and follows me in.
“Welcome to the command center,” he says, dramatically waving his arm like we’re entering a spaceship.
I snort. “That was way too enthusiastic.”
“Just setting the tone. This is where the magic happens, Rue. Try to keep up.”
Inside, the booth is surprisingly cramped, with just enough room for two rolling chairs and the large soundboard made up of sliders, knobs, and switches. The tiny space smells faintly of dust and peppermint gum.
Miss Fern pokes her head in behind us. “Ezra, thanks again for helping with this. As you already know, Rue, you’ll be cueing in the sound from this booth.
You’ll also have access to some lighting, but that’s limited to house lights and some special effect cues.
The spotlight stuff will be up in the rafters, operated by the light crew. ”
I nod. “Got it.” My voice sounds calm, but inside I’m reeling about sitting up here with Ezra, close enough to smell his deodorant all afternoon. Which, by the way, smells unfairly good. Like clean laundry and something vaguely nostalgic I can’t place.
Ezra plops into the chair next to mine. He arches a brow, and a smile tugs at his lips. “Are you ready?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling, too. “Yep. How does this spaceship work?”
He gives me a generic rundown of how it works, and then I try testing everything out. I try not to bump his arm with mine, but it still happens. The space is just too small, and Ezra is too big, and he leans so close to read the cue sheet that our knees keep brushing.
At one point, he reaches into his school uniform jacket and pulls out two granola bars. He tears into one and sets the other on the table in front of me without a word.
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that for me?”
“Of course. Everything is better with snacks.”
I open the wrapper and take a bite. It’s cinnamon raisin. My favorite. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
As we cue in the sound according to the script, Ezra says, “This is kinda like gaming.”
“You’re such a dork.”
He flashes a cute grin. “You say that like it’s new information.”
At some point, I look up and catch our reflections in the booth’s glass. I’m leaning over the board, and Ezra is watching me instead of the lights. And I realize how this must look to anyone in the theater.
Good. They need to believe it.
But through our reflection, I can’t help but watch Meredith and Carlton on the stage.
Even though there’s something off about Miss Fern’s dialogue, their chemistry is clearly there.
It makes sense why she likes him. But for her sake, I can only hope he’s not leading her on the same way he did with me.
My phone buzzes, breaking my stare.
My sweet fledglings,
Rumor has it that Fallbrook’s favorite new couple is running the show from behind the glass in the sound booth.
Is it my imagination, or are things fogging up in there?
Looks like Meredith Evans had nothing to worry about.
For our sweet wallflower, Rue, Carlton Peters is nothing but a thorn of yesterday.
Yours Truly,
Little Birdie
I shove the phone back in my bag.
Ezra glances at me. “That better not be what I think it is.”
“I hate her so much.” But as I say it, my chest feels heavy from the weight of the lie. It’s one thing to post as LB without anyone knowing. It’s another to talk badly about her to people’s faces, like I’m not the one behind the app right now.
I hate this feeling.
Ezra shakes his head. “We can sue, right?”
The corners of my mouth twitch. “We’d have to know who’s behind that keyboard in order to sue.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” He sighs. “It’s someone new. Crazy how the posts sound so similar to the way the old Little Birdie talked.”
I choose my next words carefully. “Yeah. Whoever it is must be a really good writer, or someone observant enough to guess how things would be phrased.”
Ezra shakes his head, blowing out a breath. “That’s impressive.”
“Impressive?” I arch a brow at him. If he knew the truth, he definitely wouldn’t think so.
“Well, yeah. I can’t help but appreciate the dedication.”
“You sound as if you might like Little Birdie now.”
He grins. “Nah. But mysterious stuff like that fascinates me.”
When I glance over, he’s already pulling a small handheld console from his backpack. It’s the same kind he used to bring everywhere in middle school.
My jaw drops a little. “You still play that thing?”
“This is a newer model, but yeah.” He shrugs. “Weird, I know. But I think it would be cool to maybe major in game design or something if I can get a scholarship.”
I snort. “What does someone like you need a scholarship for?”
Ezra winces. I don’t miss the pang of hurt in his eyes. “I guess I don’t need one. But it would be nice to finally know I didn’t land captain or my spot on the team because my dad bought it for me, you know?”
I pause, surprised by how vulnerable that sounded. “What do your parents think of that?”
“They agree that they help me too much. According to them, I’m on my own for college, anyway.” He shakes his head, still pretending to focus on his screen. “But none of my other friends know that. You’re the first person I’ve told besides family, actually.
Something twists in my chest. Did he just tell me something real for the first time in years? Me, and only me? “Well, at least you have the guts to do what you want. I don’t even know what I want.”
He smirks. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I thought I wanted to go for the lead this spring, but as soon as I found out it’s a musical, I signed up for crew instead.”
He shrugs. “But why? You should have just auditioned.”
“I literally cannot sing. So here I am, behind the scenes. I haven’t branched out or grown like I want to because I’m still just sitting, watching idly, and not participating in this horrible musical that completely lacks character development and external resolution.”
A laugh erupts from Ezra. The way he’s looking at me isn’t judgmental at all, but endearing, like I’m the most adorable creature he’s ever seen.
It makes me blush. “You told me once that you’d love to write your own stories someday, so why keep acting in someone else’s anyway?
You’d be a great screenwriter, Rue. You like giving people a voice…
even though you don’t think you have one yourself. At least not for singing.”
My breath catches. “You remember that?”
He smiles faintly. “Of course I do. You said it after we watched that awful student film about pirates. You said you’d fix it if you could.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “That movie was so bad.”
“It was terrible,” he agrees, his grin widening. “But you didn’t just make fun of it—you talked about what you’d do differently. You’ve always seen stories like puzzles you can rebuild. I think that’s pretty amazing.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. His words are too sincere, too careful, and way too sweet.
If we weren’t stuck in this booth together, I would probably leave, just to put some space between us.
Because here in the quiet comfort of this room, where no one else can hear, my resolve is starting to weaken toward him.
I try to pay attention to the sound cues for the rest of the rehearsal. Ezra points out buttons on the soundboard when I need them, occasionally playing his game. The light clicking of the buttons as he plays is somehow comforting, making it feel like old times.
We finish cue testing the first act, and Miss Fern calls it a day. Ezra walks me out of the auditorium and down the steps into the dusky light.
“Want me to drive you home?”
I hesitate. “No, it’s okay.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah…thanks for the granola bar.”
“Anytime.” The grin that lights up his face weakens my knees.
You better keep standing, Rue. Just keep standing.