Chapter Five
Eliza
“The theater is so endlessly fascinating because it’s so accidental.”
—Arthur Miller
But nothing helped.
As the auditorium continued to fill with the production crew, my stomach squirmed, feeling hollower by the minute.
I studied each face that passed me, recognizing only a handful of them.
The ones I did know were by reputation. The regulars, whose drama club pictures and trophies still dominated the bookshelves in the theater classroom at Fairfield High, were famous not only in our town but also in the tri-county area.
Shows were picked every summer based off which of them would be returning home.
I wanted this opportunity so badly, I almost cried in front of Ms. Sparrow when she offered it to me last spring—my first “job” with the prestigious summer troupe. But did I really belong with this elite group of thespians?
“Hey.” Lauryn squeezed my hand. “You’ve got this.”
I smiled and immediately my jitters calmed.
Thank God for Lauryn.
Sometimes I swore she had a sixth sense about me, knowing exactly what to say and how to say it the moment I needed it the most. While I loved that my best friend and I got to do this show together this summer, I loved the fact that she got the lead over a handful of hungry, crazy-talented college girls even more.
Lauryn was a total badass.
The murmurs around me hushed when Ms. Sparrow, our director, flitted across the empty stage, weaving around as if crowds of people were in her way.
She wore square red-rimmed glasses and fiery lipstick to match.
Around her neck lay one of her infamous scarves—black with white polka dots.
Her white flowy blouse billowed behind her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
Once she hit center stage where the light burned brightest (thanks to me), she stopped and clapped twice.
“Welcome, tech and set crew, costuming and makeup, to this season’s production of the classic Shakespearean tragedy Romeo and Juliet,” her voice trilled. “I am Ms. Sparrow, your director, and the cast and I are thrilled that you chose to spend your summer vacation with us here in the theater.”
In the three years I’ve worked with her at the high school, she always said “theater” with a slight British accent.
She was a piece of work. But her shows always sold out weeks ahead of opening night, and even though she was known for working a cast till they collapsed, everyone still respected the heck out of her.
I know I did.
“Do you really think she’s related to Kristin Chenoweth?” Lauryn whispered.
I leaned back, propping my knees on the back of the seat in front of me. “Who knows.”
Ms. Sparrow walked around the stage, motioning to empty spots while sharing her vision of what the sets would look like once they were completed.
Lauryn kept her voice low. “Did you hear what happened to Tracey?”
“No. What?” I asked.
“After the party got busted by the cops, she was sentenced to community service. At the library. Can you imagine Tracey McInnis working at the library?”
I snickered. “Ms. Jackson is going to eat her alive.”
Lauryn snorted loudly, and Ms. Sparrow gave a sharp clap. “And there you have it. Now, where is Eliza Crowley?”
Crap. Was that center spot too bright?
Lauryn pushed and poked me before she pointed at my head. “She’s right here.”
Gee, thanks. I tugged my Crowley Cardinals ball cap lower.
“For those of you who don’t know her, this is Eliza Crowley, granddaughter to Fairfield’s Lady of the Stage, Marguerite Crowley.” Ms. Sparrow waved her hand toward me, smiling.
Dozens of heads whipped around and sized me up like I was an invader.
An outsider.
Not one of them.
Thespians were in a league of their own when it came to loyalty. Sure, I did great lighting shows at the high school, but most of those students and my peers weren’t sitting in this auditorium.
“But today,” Ms. Sparrow continued, “I’d like you to think of Eliza as our very own Lighting Goddess Extraordinaire.”
Oh, dear God.
“I’m tweeting that,” Lauryn mumbled.
I smacked her. “Don’t you dare.”
“Too late.” She smiled at her phone. “Ah, already three retweets. You’ll be trending in no time, Goddess.”
“I hate you—”
“Welcome aboard, Rookie,” a smooth voice spoke from behind us.
“Rookie”?
Lauryn kicked my ankle as I turned around and came face-to-face with none other than Raul Ramirez, aka Romeo.
Raul starred in every play and musical at Fairfield High.
He graduated last year, and his subsequent year at Duke definitely hadn’t hurt him.
His dark curly hair still framed his sun-kissed copper skin, and his blue eyes reminded me of a deep ocean.
Truth: I had a mad crush on him two years ago when he played Curly in Oklahoma.
Dreaminess aside though—“Rookie”?
I may have been new to this group, but not to the theater.
“E’s going to blow the lighting design out of the water this summer, Raul. Just you wait,” Lauryn said before mumbling another “Just you wait” under her breath. If there was an opportunity to quote Hamilton, she seized it.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning.
Raul fell into his seat as Lauryn and I turned back around.
Lauryn leaned close to my ear. “Can you believe I get to kiss him?” She fanned herself with her script. “He’s so pretty, it’s almost not fair.”
I laughed into my shirt.
Lauryn sighed. “He reminds me of that one guy from the newer Star Wars movies…The pilot…”
“Poe?” I asked.
“Yes. A younger Poe. I’d let him take me in the cockpit of his plane—”
“Actually, it’s called an X-wing.” Raul’s face appeared again between both of our heads, making us jump and burst into giggles.
I missed the laughter of that moment a few minutes later, when we were dismissed and told to get to work.
The work, I was ready for.
The hissing and whispering of my last name, I was not.
It apparently didn’t matter that a plaque with Grandma Marguerite’s name decorated the lobby of this theater, surrounded by dozens of other pictures of her charity work for the arts, or that it was her work that saved this theater from bankruptcy more than once.
The name Crowley didn’t hold weight here like it did the other parts of town. Not anymore.
After spending some time backstage with the tech and set design crew, I did a once-over of the tormentor spotlights in the alcoves and moved up to the catwalk, which was, hands down, the scariest place to be in an auditorium.
Dropping out of the ceiling, the old grille floor angled downward.
What wires weren’t haphazardly tied to the railings were crossed over the walkway like tree roots.
One wrong step and I could find myself falling over a can to a certain death below.
Too bad I couldn’t start setting cues until I cleaned up this mess and angled the lights correctly.
I slowly climbed along from stage left toward stage right with my laminated map tucked under my arm, adjusting the lights that had been moved during the last performance here.
If I moved too quickly or bumped into one of the daisy chains, I’d knock a can out of place, or worse, knock a bulb loose and have it shatter below.
I was almost done with everything when the ladder creaked behind me. “Don’t come up! There’s only enough room for one of us up here.”
The ladder kept creaking.
I whirled around. “I’m almost done—”
“Eliza?” A head popped up out of the floor like one of those moles in a carnival game—a mole I’d very much like to hit with a hammer right now.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. Then again, was I really that surprised?
Reed Fulton would come to the place that had one escape route and block that route with his big head.
“You left your mask at the party.” He held it out and took another step up, making the suspended floor wobble.
“Stop!” I grabbed the railing. “It’s really tight up here. One of us could fall.”
Wait. Was that part of his plan?
He paused and sat on the edge of the hole, his long legs dangling against the ladder. “This is cool. I always wondered what the catwalk looked like.”
“Well, now you’ve seen it. So just leave the mask by the ladder on your way out.” I put a new gel into the second to last PAR can.
“I recognize those.” He pointed to the can then clicked his tongue a few times.
Ugh. Why wouldn’t he leave?
Was this the contingency part of his plan? If Eliza doesn’t fall off the catwalk when I come up, annoy her until she thinks about jumping off of it?
“I learned about gels in a film-appreciation class last year,” he said.
“Fascinating,” I said. “Bye, now.”
Loud hammering came from the stage. Some of the set guys finished another piece while small groups of the cast did team-building exercises around the auditorium.
Reed drummed on the ladder. “Busy around here, huh?”
I wedged my clipboard under my arm. “So this has been super fun, but remind me again: Why are you here?”
Other than to make me mess up bad enough on day one that Ms. Sparrow fires me.
Crap. Could she fire me?
“I told you. To bring you your mask.”
I jumped, startled by another loud thwack of a hammer. “You could’ve left it down below.”
“I like climbing things.”
“I remember.” Trees, barns, old railcars. We used to climb a lot of those together. But that was a long time ago.
He rubbed the back of his neck, revealing the long tendons of muscles in his arm.
Oh.
Those are new.
I snapped my head down and made notes about the new positions.
“Didn’t think you wore ball caps, Crowley.” He cocked his head to the side. “Won’t it mess up your perfect hair?”
Ha. Perfect hair doesn’t exist on a catwalk, where it’s a million degrees. “I’ve been wearing this ball cap for years, Fulton.” I scowled at him.
“Crowley Cardinals,” he mumbled. “Saw the new statues all around town too. Bet they threw a parade for it.”
They did. Dad made me ride in a convertible with him and Mom. I hated those damn statues—not that I’d admit it to him. “Jealous?” I asked.
He pulled up his legs and stood.
Geez, he was a lot taller.
“Ha. No. Just surprised your dad couldn’t come up with a better mascot. Weren’t you the Robins before that?” He laughed.
“The Blue Jays,” I hissed. “And what’s the Fulton mascot? A gnat?”
His jaw twitched. “The Hawks.”
Crud. That’s actually pretty good.
Lauryn yelled from below. “Hey, E! You about done up there? Sparrow has some questions and said you forgot to wear your radio.”
Dammit. Not the way I wanted to start. “Be right there!”
Reed peered over the edge. “Is Lauryn in the play?”
“She’s the lead.”
Reed nodded, looking impressed. “Badass.”
Well, that’s one thing we agree on.
“I really need to get going now.” I moved to pass him, but he turned around too quickly and bumped into me. My clipboard dropped and clattered down the ladder, and I stumbled forward. For the longest second, I was weightless.
I opened my mouth to scream, but Reed grabbed both my arms and pulled me against him, knocking us into R1.
My ear pressed against his hard chest, the hammering of his heart reminding me of the bass drums warming up outside of a stadium before a football game. His strong shoulders and heavy arms radiated heat.
This is…new.
I had stumbled into Reed once before, many years ago, when we raced down Main Street.
The winner had to buy the other a milkshake at Scoops.
Reed had tripped on his shoelaces, and both of us crashed into the mulch pile outside of Mrs. Brown’s Thrift Store.
A mess of gangly limbs and scratched from neck to knee, we hurried away to our separate parts of town before we were forced to clean up the mess.
One malted milkshake sat on my front porch an hour later.
But this?
This felt…different.
That’s because you almost just died, genius. “Tha…thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” His breath warmed my forehead. He smelled like sun-warmed metal and the oil of a glove. Not that I smelled him or anything.
I pulled away, still feeling as dizzy as—if not more so than—when I stumbled. He held out my mask, and my hand shook as I took it.
“Oh, I get it.” His thumb brushed over the writing on the back of my hand. “Those letters and numbers are the order of lights, right?”
Right.
Lauryn yelled from below. “Eliza! You okay?”
I quickly pulled my hand away. “I’m fine! Heading down now.”
Reed shoved his hand into a pocket. “Well…this was fun.”
I snorted and started climbing down the ladder. “Highlight of my day.”
“So does your family own this theater now too? I saw your grandmother’s pictures all over the lobby.” He climbed down after me.
“No. The hardware store and the stadium. That’s it.” I flipped my hat around after I stepped off the last rung.
“And soon, it’ll only be the hardware store.” Reed reached the floor with a loud thump.
Psh. “Whatever.”
He took a couple of steps closer to me and patted the top of my hat. “You’ve shrunk a bit, Crowley.”
“And you’re stealing too much of my air, Fulton.” I rammed my heel into his left foot before spinning around and hurrying away, smiling as he swore under his breath.
Point: me.