CHAPTER 17
Keisha’s attention was locked on two actors who were perched atop a pair of ladders, a moon glowing eerily behind them.
Matthew, a freshman, was gripping a window frame that rested on his knees, knuckles white with fear.
Across from him, Whitney managed to lean against her frame, trapping part of it beneath her, as if she was comfortably sitting in a window while contemplating the night sky.
“Did you get the answer to the third problem?” Matthew asked, sounding like he was doing a poor imitation of John Wayne.
“Yeah, of course!” Whitney replied. “That one was super easy.”
“Well can you give me a hint?”
“Sure!” Whitney replied. “The answer is in yards.”
“Yards?”
“Yup. The other day, I was wondering why they’re called that. Like, the yard at my house obviously isn’t three feet wide. I started asking myself how many yards our yard really is. So I measured it.”
“Er…” Matthew replied. “In square yards?”
“Three thousand,” Whitney replied.
“Huh?”
“That’s how many square yards our backyard is.”
Matthew glanced toward the auditorium seats for help. “Line!”
“Whitney!” Keisha shouted, her patience stretched thin. “You need to stick to the script.”
“Since when?” she retorted.
“Since you began working with an understudy,” Ms. Deville chimed in. “The other actors might be used to your improvisational style, but they’ve had the benefit of rehearsing with you for weeks. Matthew has not.”
“We don’t have any chemistry!” Whitney complained before shooting him an apologetic wince. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Matthew said. “Um… Can I get down now?”
“Let’s take ten,” Keisha called.
The stagehands grumbled while helping the actors down. The vibe had been like this ever since Diego had stopped showing up to rehearsals a week ago.
“Opening night is three days away,” Ms. Deville said warningly. “We really need to get Whitney in line before then, at least when it comes to Emily’s scenes with George. Which there aren’t many of, thank goodness.”
Keisha feared the problem went deeper than that. Matthew was a nice kid, but he wasn’t ready for such a prominent role. He certainly wasn’t the same caliber of actor as the person he was replacing. “I’m sure Diego will be back before then,” she replied, sounding desperate even to her own ears.
Ms. Deville’s mouth became a flat line. “We can’t count on that. The front office doesn’t seem to know where he is or where he’s been. I’ve asked, believe me.”
Mindy had told her that Diego was sick, but then, adults weren’t always well informed about the lives of teenagers. “I’ll look into it. For now, let’s move on to a different scene.”
“Agreed.”
Matthew did better when the other actors stuck to the script, but even then, his performance was weak.
And that would reflect poorly on her. This was Keisha’s first full production as stage manager.
Everyone she cared about would be in the audience.
Not just her family, but Hope as well. At the end of rehearsals, Keisha marched backstage, determined to get to the bottom of the situation.
Mindy was straightening up the wardrobe area, hanging and folding costumes.
“Where the hell is Diego?” she demanded. “Have you heard from him at all?”
Mindy shook her head. “Not since last week.”
“Have you tried paging him?”
Mindy nodded. “Tons of times. I’ve been so worried! He never calls me back.”
“Me neither,” Keisha grumbled. “Are we sure he’s really sick? This doesn’t have something to do with his dad?”
Mindy grimaced. “I wondered the same thing. Like maybe he was only skipping while he figured everything out. But I asked Ricky. We’ve been walking to school together, and he said that Diego wasn’t feeling well.”
Keisha peered across the auditorium. Cameron was pantomiming like he had a sword. Ricky was making circular gestures with his hands. She would have to go directly to the source.
“After I cast Cone of Cold,” Ricky was saying as she approached, “you hit them with your flaming sword. We’ll call it our freezer burn combo!”
“Sorry to interrupt… whatever this is,” Keisha said, “but have either of you heard from Diego recently?”
Cameron shook his head.
Ricky squirmed.
“Well?” she demanded.
“He’s not feeling well,” Ricky replied, the line sounding practiced.
“Meaning what, exactly. That he’s sick?”
“Um…” Ricky squirmed. “Sort of. Yeah.”
“Well do you know how I can reach him? He hasn’t been returning anyone’s calls.”
“I can take a message,” Ricky offered.
Cameron snorted. “Just wait for him to beep first.”
“Beeeep,” Ricky said.
Keisha was not amused. “Never mind. I’ll swing by his place.”
“He isn’t home!” Ricky said hurriedly.
“I thought he was sick.”
“He is.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then I’ll stop by the hospital or wherever he’s recovering.”
“How serious is it?” Cameron asked in concern. “I thought he just had the flu or something.”
Ricky slumped. “He’s been staying at my place. Sort of.”
“Perfect.” Keisha pulled out her car keys. “I’ll give you a ride home. Let’s go.”
“See you later,” Ricky murmured.
Cameron’s forehead remained crinkled. “I might stop by myself.”
Ricky went rigid. “No! At least… Give me until tomorrow. He’s been in a mood.”
“I’m in a mood,” Keisha interjected. “Let’s go.”
Ricky was tightlipped during the drive. She responded with icy silence. He broke first.
“Diego is sort of a mess right now,” he said apologetically.
“That’s fine. He can be a mess on stage.”
“You don’t understand.”
“We’re all going through something,” Keisha shot back. “That’s life.”
“Yeah, but his is a lot harder than most people’s.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “You’re right. I’ll be gentle. Is this the right street?”
“Yeah! How did you know?”
Keisha pulled over. “Because that’s his car.”
“And his home,” Ricky said hoarsely.
She looked over in surprise. “What?”
“He’s been living in his car for the past week.”
That gave her pause. She knew that Diego had found his father’s suicide note recently, which had surely brought his grief to the forefront again, but she hadn’t expected this.
She walked with Ricky to the driver-side window. The seat was leaned all the way back. Diego seemed to be sleeping.
“Maybe you should come back later,” Ricky whispered.
“Huh-uh.” She rapped on the window.
Diego shot upright. Then he saw her, a slow smile unfurling as he rolled down the window, the smell of weed wafting out. “Hey, it’s that girl from school that I never associate with,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Real subtle,” Keisha shot back. She glanced at Ricky. “Give us some privacy, please.”
“I’ll be inside the house if you need anything,” Ricky said to his boyfriend.
“Thanks, little buddy.”
Once they were alone, Keisha walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. She had to wait until a blanket and pillow had been shoved into the back before she could sit. The interior of the car stunk like fast food and stale smoke. She rolled down the window on her side.
“There’s no longer any need to pretend we don’t know each other,” she said. “We’re in the same theater group. You know, the one you haven’t been showing up to recently?”
“Oh right.” Diego dug around behind her seat and produced a bottle of vodka. “Want something to drink?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” Diego took a swig before returning the bottle to its hiding place. “Don’t tell Ricky. He gets emotional.”
She eyed him for a moment. He looked rough. So did the car. The ashtray was overflowing. “I see you’ve been busy smoking all of our profits.”
“I’m good for it,” Diego said, patting his pockets. “You here for your money?”
“No! I’m here because of the play. Your understudy is terrible. We need you.”
Diego shook his head. “I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”
“School or acting?”
“All of it!” he snarled. “I’m done pretending any of it matters. Nothing does.”
“So stop getting high and drunk then. If you really believe what you’re saying, you shouldn’t care either way. If nothing matters, show up and do the damn play, because at least then you’ll be making other people happy, no matter how miserable you’ve decided to be.”
He rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”
“I probably don’t. We’ve never been close. We’re business partners, and that lets me see things a lot clearer than your boyfriend can, because I’m not blinded by sympathy. I don’t know what’s going on, but this is pathetic.”
“Hey, fuck you!”
“Go fuck yourself! What are you doing, Diego? Is this your plan? Are you going to be pushing a shopping cart full of broken dreams down the street for the rest of your life? Because that’s an option.
Those people exist. I never expected you to be one of them.
If we have anything in common, it’s that we’re both fighters. ”
His face twisted up. Then it relaxed again and he started laughing. “You almost got me. The old motivate them with anger trick. What are you planning to do with the rest of your life? Become the school counselor?”
“Being jaded doesn’t make you right,” she retorted. “You act like you’re the only person who sees the big picture, which is ironic, considering you conveniently ignore anything that doesn’t justify wallowing in self-pity.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes! Life being unfair is no revelation. That’s how it’s been since the dawn of civilization.
So what? Play the damn game! Get the most out of it instead of feeling sorry for yourself.
Nobody is going to hand you a prize for self-destructing.
The only thing that’ll accomplish is hurting everyone around you. ”
“You think I don’t know that?” Diego demanded.
“I know you do! That’s what makes this so disappointing. Whatever your problem is, get over it. You’ve got people who are depending on you.”
“You make it sound so easy!” he snarled. “How exactly am I supposed to move on when life keeps fucking me over?”
“You can find somewhere to put the pain. Start by getting up there on stage again.”