10. June
JUNE
Do You Hear the People Sing? - Les Misérables
Monday afternoon, I open the door to Zimmerman, one of the buildings farther out on Kinney Run’s campus.
Chaotic sounds of rehearsal echo from the basement.
The DPAC stage is large enough for dance recitals, orchestra concerts, and the annual cabaret, but there’s no way we’d fit a barricade on that stage with forty high school kids shooting fake muskets at each other.
So Kinney Run rents out Sadler University’s main stage for the performance, but the kids practice here, with the real stage’s dimensions taped out in electrical tape on the floor.
My sandals slap against the stairs as I jog down. The low hum and buzz of activity intensifies, though I’ve sensed it all day. Week two of camp means everyone’s found their cliques, summer friendships are solidifying, and summer crushes are crushing hard.
Like Marius and Eponine, aka Drew and Kaelyn, teasing and goofing off in the far corner. But I’m not in the mood to watch teenagers flirt, so I search for the rehearsal piano and the man seated in front of it.
Nick’s deep in conversation with Chelsea, flipping through the score. Chelsea’s the music director and will conduct the orchestra during the show, but Nick plays rehearsal piano. She shakes her head at whatever he says, brushing a short strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and he nods.
My stomach flips over, the blood in my veins practically singing at the sight of him. I missed him this afternoon. It’s only been a few hours but it feels longer. I don’t want to interrupt, so I scan the rest of the rehearsal room.
Natalia’s with Trayce and Santi off to the side, talking through a scene.
Nick plays a few chords for Chelsea. Ah, they’re running “The Confrontation”.
I’m not surprised Natalia cast Santi as Javert, though Trayce wasn’t my first pick for Valjean.
He’s the strongest tenor, but he doesn’t quite have that world-weary gravitas.
The other cast members are scattered around the basement and just outside, snacking and scrolling their phones. Chantal sits in the hall by herself, staring at her script.
I sit next to her, this is as good a time as any. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
I almost roll my eyes at her sullen tone, but this is serious to Chantal. She went out for Fantine, but didn’t get it. Frankly, Chantal has the best part in the whole damn show—Madame Thénardier. But she doesn’t see it that way. Yet. I clear my throat. “Listen?—”
“If you’re going to console me or lecture me about being cranky for getting Thénardier, save your breath.” Her thunderous mood has been the hot goss this past week. Even dance track kids are talking about it.
My mouth snaps shut. Time for a different tactic. “No, I’m not. You’re gonna feel how you’re gonna feel, nothing I say will change that. I have a different idea in mind.” I pause, waiting for Chantal to look at me. “Revenge.”
“Oh. My. God. Are you nuts?” She casts furtive glances around the hallway. “You’re a teacher, you’re not supposed to say shi—stuff like that.”
“But do you want to hear my idea?”
Chantal shuts her script and gives me her full attention. “Obviously.”
“You know why you got Madame Thénardier, right?”
“Yeah, because I’m fat.”
“Wait—what?”
“Look at me. I thought I had a shot at Fantine because she’s a mom. Fat girls are always the mom. Or the best friend, if I’m lucky.”
“It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”
“100 percent,” she concurs. “I really wanted éponine, but no one would ever seriously consider I’d have a chance with Drew.” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. Chantal said Drew , not Marius . “So now I’m the big, fat, loud, gross?—”
“That is quite enough adjectives, thank you.” I lay a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not why you were cast as Thénardier.”
“Why, then?” The sullen tone is back. Hell, thy name is teenage hormones.
“ Les Mis is one depressing thing after another. Except for you . You bring the laughter. Which brings me back to my revenge plan.” I steeple my fingers, tapping them together. “Be the best damn Madame Thénardier anyone has ever seen.”
“That’s it?” She clicks her tongue against her teeth.
“The Thénardiers are the show stealers. Steal. The. Show. Be so good that every audience member walks out gushing about those Thénardiers and how funny they were.”
Her face brightens, eyes going distant.
I have her. “Theatre, hell, life is one shitty thing after another.”
“You seriously need to work on your pep talks.”
“Would you rather me coddle you and tell you that you’ll get the part next time?”
“No.”
“Smart girl. When shitty things happen, you can turn inward and be bitter about it. But is that how you want to spend your summer? Your life? Take that fire and turn it outwards. Leave it on the stage.” My words turn fierce, a reminder for myself.
No, I haven’t been on an audition in forever, but I’m here, working, and net working, for a chance to audition for Natalia’s show in the fall.
Chantal turns her face to the rehearsal, the cast. One member in particular.
So I add, “That kind of passion is very sexy.”
“Ew, I’m a minor!” Her horrified expression has me barking out a laugh.
“And pray tell, is there another minor who might think passion is sexy?” I stare pointedly at Drew.
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Girl code. I would never.” I press a hand over my heart. Girl code is sacred. “You are the show stealer, Chantal. Steal the show and make sure everyone’s eyes are on you.”
She smiles. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but that hard, bitter edge is gone.
This teaching thing is easy peasy.
With another pat on her shoulder, I unfold my legs and stand, wincing as my knees crack. Thirty is coming up fast. I startle when I catch Nick’s eyes on mine.
He’s been watching me. His gaze feels like a caress, a hand on my back, and I shiver. He blinks, maybe remembering we’re in a room full of people, and with a smile, he slides down the piano bench in invitation.
I approach and ask, “Need a page turner?”
There’s not much room for two people on a piano bench, but enough that I don’t have to pin my whole right side to him. I do it anyway. We’re close enough that the swirls of gold and brown in his hazel eyes mesmerize me.
“Only a good one. Page turning is a science.” He smirks. Oh my god, he’s flirting. Heat washes over me, but Natalia and Chelsea are in earshot, so maybe it’s for their benefit?
He was touchy-feely on Friday night, too. But again, in front of his friends. We promised to be honest with each other, and if I’m being honest with myself … I want to flirt back. What does it mean? Who knows. I’m in a hit-on-Nick-now-and-ask-questions-later mood.
I don’t have a pithy comeback. I’m staring at him, probably with hearts in my eyes. Damn it, words are hard.
Natalia steps to the middle of the floor, Santi and Trayce following, and the moment breaks between Nick and I.
“Let’s run it from the top. And boys, remember the beats where you need to hit your mark as you circle each other. Perfectly. In. Sync.” Natalia claps on each word. “I’m talking ‘Bye Bye Bye’ levels of *NSYNC.”
“What’s ‘Bye Bye Bye’?” Santi asks so very, very innocently that it makes me want to puke.
Trayce replies, “It’s a song by that band with the guy who’s the ‘It’s Gonna Be May’ meme.”
Natalia grips the straps of her denim overalls, tugging hard as she turns to her wife. “You said teaching children would be fulfilling.”
“It is. You’re full of shock and disgust right now,” Chelsea laughs.
“From the top!” Natalia spins her finger in the air and stomps off to the side. “And next time, respect your elders and pretend you understand my pop culture references.”
Chelsea signals Nick to start playing. He grabs a pair of glasses from on top of the piano and slides them on. The heat that rushed through me earlier is back in full force, concentrating low in my belly.
Nick Harper is a reverse Superman. He puts on the Clark Kent glasses and gets hotter.
He catches me staring and smiles, sheepish. “Another perk of turning thirty.”
“How come you didn’t wear them this morning?”
“I only need them when I’m playing for longer periods of time.” He shrugs, but there’s a pink flush over his cheekbones.
“You didn’t want me to see you wearing them, did you?”
“Not really.”
“But they suit you.” Who said that ? Sure wasn’t me. My voice is so low and husky, I sound like an alto.
Chelsea clears her throat and Nick, still staring at me, immediately starts playing. Doesn’t even look at the sheet music for the first few bars. I don’t want to get him in trouble, so rather than stare at his unfairly hot face, I watch his hands.
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
I’ve never really seen him play. It was always in an ensemble in high school. And when he’s playing for me in class, I’m focused on my students. He’s so sure, so confident. The way his hands move across the keys, fingers curving, tendons flexing …
I bite my lip to stop myself from barking. I’m practically gnawing on the bars of my cage.
Nick was hot before, but this is downright sexy. His elbow bumps mine and I squeak before remembering I’m supposed to turn the page, so I flip it fast. “Sorry, got distracted.”
A smile curls one side of his mouth, not even a moment’s pause in his playing as he replies, “You’ll have to do better than that if you want to keep turning my pages.”
I scoff. It is so on.
With determination, I rip my gaze from his expert playing and focus on the sheet music.
The bottom corner is pinched between my fingers while I wait for Nick to nod so I can flip the page.
After a few more flips, I get a feel for where he needs me to turn: halfway through the first bar of the last line.
The first page I turn without waiting for his nod, I let out a satisfied hmph and wiggle my butt.
He flicks his eyes to mine. “‘Atta girl.”