Fade to Us Page 10

  We reached the lawn. Most of the groups were already standing in noisy circles, playing games that were incomprehensible to me but enormously funny to them.

  “Why are the campers outside?”

  “That’s what the counselors want. While the weather’s mild enough in the mornings, we’ll use the outdoors as much as possible.” He traded his glasses for shades. “What’re you going to do?”

  “Observe.”

  “Would you mind switching on your headset and monitoring what’s happening inside? It should be quiet, and I’d like to turn mine off and get involved with the activity.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  I found a bench and watched Natalie’s group. She stood next to her counselor, aloof from the other teens, not participating but interested. Shifting my attention to the others in her group, I searched for signs of irritation but didn’t see any. It was surprising to think that they’d accepted her so easily, but maybe what Lisa had told Jeff was right. Differences were okay here.

  Thirty minutes later, Micah ended the break, and campers drifted toward the building. I stayed where I was, avoiding Natalie, knowing she wouldn’t want to make a big deal about my presence. But I shouldn’t have worried. She didn’t even look my way. Instead, she ran over to Micah and hovered behind him as he finished listening, arms crossed, to two giggling, hair-flipping girls. When they left and Natalie stepped up for her turn, Micah’s lips curved into a genuine smile of welcome. They walked inside together as she spoke in a firehose of words and he laughed. It was wonderful that she’d found someone she felt so comfortable with.

  By the time I caught up with Micah in the lobby, Natalie was gone. “Hey,” I said. “Where next?”

  “The auditorium. Mom will continue with the same scene.”

  “I’d like to take the lead on writing down the blocking.”

  He halted. “Already?”

  “Yeah.”

  He eyed me curiously. “Sure, let’s see how you do. You stay at the director’s table. I’ll watch from the booth. We can compare notes at the next break.” He grinned. “Good luck with Mom.”

  Lisa was onstage with the actors playing Laurey and Curly, speaking softly. Remaining at the director’s table wouldn’t work. I grabbed my binder and pencil, then climbed onto the stage and concentrated on what she was saying. Phrase after phrase appeared on my script.

  “I need Aunt Eller.”

  After scribbling the sentence down, I read it again and looked up. Lisa and the two leads were watching me. I glanced over at the booth. Micah gave me a go ahead gesture.

  “Be right back.” I hurried into the wings and paused to check the schedule to see who was where. And … music room.

  Five minutes later, Aunt Eller joined the other two actors and Lisa.

  A small victory, yet I felt childishly pleased.

  Someone slid onto the makeshift bench beside me. “Hey,” Micah said, speaking in a near-whisper. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “May I?” He reached over and skimmed my notes. “Not too bad. You can compare them to mine later. Do you have a watch?”

  “I have a phone.”

  “It’s best to have a cheap watch.” He stood. “We’ll be breaking for lunch soon. If you want, you can go on. I’ll take over here.”

  “Thanks.”

  I left through the wings. But instead of heading straight to the staff lounge, I paused for a moment and closed my eyes. The energy of this place swirled around me. It was thrilling and unique and … absorbing. I was loving this job.

  * * *

  The day ended. Finally. I worked dismissal, making sure each camper had been signed out. Once I’d seen that Natalie was safely occupied, I joined the team meeting, the last one in.

  Micah crossed to me and said, for my ears only, “You look worn out.”

  “A little.”

  “Go on. You can miss this.”

  “I’d rather stick around. I need this meeting if I want to learn.”

  His smile was wide with approval. “Awesome job today.”

  “Thanks.”

  He spun around and said at a normal volume, “Okay, everyone. Let’s get this over with. Who has notes?”

  As I made my way to an empty chair, Chip, the technical director, described a potential problem. I didn’t understand everything he said, but I understood more than I would have last Friday. The thought made me relax. I could do this.

  * * *

  After supper, Jeff and I drafted our official agreement. He gave me a checklist of tasks to complete, and I estimated ten hours at minimum wage. Once he’d gone, I drew up a plan, enough to pencil in deadlines and determine priorities. Then I set the checklist aside. It could wait until tomorrow, because I had other homework tonight. I was volunteering on a musical I didn’t know. It was time to change that. I went to pbs.org and clicked on the Hugh Jackman version of Oklahoma!

  Natalie appeared in my doorway after I’d been streaming the show for a half hour.

  I paused the movie. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been texting with Micah.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to know what he thought about you today.”

  “And?”

  “He says you don’t suck.”

  Was that actually what he’d said, or had she paraphrased? “Did he think there was a chance that I would?”

  “Not really. You have a dream job.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. There are people in the chorus who are jealous. They would’ve given anything to be Lisa and Micah’s assistant, but they didn’t know the job was even available until you got it.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  I opened my mouth to say yes, then closed it again. Today had been fun. Tomorrow, after I’d actually watched the musical, should be even more fun. So, yeah, I was lucky. It was too bad that some cast members were upset, but I wasn’t sorry. Nope. “I’m not being sarcastic.”

  “I thought so.” Natalie pointed at my laptop screen. “Can I watch with you?”

  I coughed against the surprise tickling my throat. She’d never asked to do anything with me requiring physical closeness. “That’s fine.” Somehow, this moment made an amazing day even better. I scooted over.

  She climbed gingerly into the bed beside me, not quite touching. Once she’d squirmed into a comfortable position, she asked, “Do you know anything about Oklahoma!?”

  “Only a little.”

  “It takes place in 1906. In Oklahoma. Duh. The people have split into two groups—the farmers and the ranchers. And even though they’re annoyed with each other, they do a lot of singing and dancing together. Then a farm girl falls in love with a cowboy, her stalker tries to mess things up, he dies, everything turns out fine, and it ends.” Natalie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “Okay, then. Thanks for the synopsis.” I clicked play. It didn’t take long to become engrossed by the movie.

  Natalie kept a running commentary throughout, which helped a lot. We watched the whole movie, staying up later than we should have, but it was completely worth it.

  14

  Guilt-Free Fun

  By my second afternoon as a volunteer, I’d realized three things.

  Realization number one: Lisa was a brilliant director.

  Everybody—the counselors, cast, and crew—worshiped her, which was surprising on the surface since she wasn’t particularly nice. Not that she was mean either. Her voice was gruff. Her words clipped and careful. But she had this look that came over her face when she was pleased. Once I’d had it directed at me—I got the devotion.

  Realization number two: Being a director’s assistant was a major amount of work.

  Lisa tossed so many chores my way that I couldn’t imagine how she’d functioned without a full-time assistant before me. Either that or Micah was a magician.

  He was sitting next to her tod
ay, binder open, pencil scratching, his attention on a dozen things at the same time. Camp staff would show up, whisper to him, and take off again. Those visits often resulted in another errand for me.

  I’d never been so stretched by a job. Most of the time, I lounged behind Lisa and Micah, writing, writing, writing. But then, one of them would send me off to research questions on the internet, deliver messages to Elena, or sort through junk in the prop room.

  Maybe this was typical for a drama camp, but everything just seemed to flow. The production team did their stuff with little direction. The counselors maximized the fun, whether it was chatting in their small groups about serious issues, playing games, or giving lessons. The campers seemed really happy.

  And so was I.

  On this afternoon’s schedule, the lead actors were rehearsing a scene from Act One. While Laurey was awkwardly flirting with Curly, Lisa was squirming in front of me. I’d already figured out that a squirmy Lisa was waiting for an opportunity to—

  She erupted from her chair. “Let’s do the lead-up to ‘People Will Say We’re in Love’ again.”

  The two actors nodded and shifted to a different spot on the stage.

  She clutched her son’s wrist and whispered, “Delay at will. Break is imminent.”

  He stood, offered me a hand, and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go.” He grabbed his binder and headed backstage.

  Once we were clear of the wings, I asked him something that I was dying to know. “How long have you been doing theater with your mother?”

  “Since I was seven.”

  “Is that why you understand the strange things she says?”

  “Like what?”

  “‘Delay at will’?”

  He grinned. “Delay Ado and Will. They’re the other couple in the musical. Ado Annie and Will Parker should be rehearsing next, but Mom’s decided to continue with this scene. Curly and Laurey must have hit a snag she wants to fix immediately.”

  “Micah!”

  We looked toward the rear hallway where two counselors stood. One of them called, “There’s a problem.”

  He faced me, walking backward a couple of steps as he talked. “Tell Mom we’ll break in ten minutes, after I’ve checked on this.”

  Micah huddled with the counselors, listening as one of them spoke and gestured with choppy hands. I headed back to the stage.

  And there came realization number three: Micah in action fascinated me.

  Although he was the youngest person on the production team, they treated him with respect. He made backstage decisions without hesitation. He managed people, things, and his mother—and did it with scary efficiency.

  Natalie hadn’t exaggerated about him being epically awesome. He didn’t make mistakes. It was no wonder that some of the girls in the cast had a crush on Micah Dalton. Competence was sexy.

  * * *

  I attended Tuesday’s staff meeting feeling tired but satisfied. Every seat in the staff lounge was taken except a spot on the couch next to Micah. I hesitated. He kept these meetings so short, it wouldn’t be a problem to stand the whole time.

  He caught my eye and pointed at the empty spot. It was sit or be rude. I sat.

  Micah called on each counselor and listened as they shared any concerns while I jotted down notes. Finally, there was no one left to speak except Lisa.

  “Brooke?” Micah said.

  I looked up. Everyone was staring at me. “Yes?”

  “Do you have anything to report?”

  My cheeks heated at the unexpected attention. Was I supposed to do that? “About what?”

  “Whatever you want,” Micah said. “Status. Impressions. You came a week late, so you might have seen things the rest of us missed.”

  His expression encouraged me. Good, then. I had noticed something that might be worth sharing. “I think the principals are trying too hard to be perfect.”

  Lisa narrowed her eyes at me. “Explain.”

  “Audra and Channing and the other leads are my classmates. In high school productions, they seem more natural. It could be because I’m used to seeing the final production, but I wonder if they’re holding back because of you. Your reputation could be intimidating them. No one’s willing to be the first person to try something bold and fail.”

  “Interesting thought. I’ll observe tomorrow and see if I agree. Thanks.”

  Micah wrapped up the meeting, but I hardly heard a word he said, too focused on that “thanks.” She’d warned me she didn’t use it often, and she’d been right. This was my first one, and it felt amazing.

  * * *

  Natalie hardly waited for the Honda to stop in our driveway before flinging herself from the car and running for the backyard. My mother and I got out more slowly and went inside.

  “She seems to be doing well,” Mom said.

  “Agreed.” If I hadn’t been so impulsive about pointing out the camp to Natalie, I might have remembered her intense need for solitude. Maybe it was good, though, that I’d messed up in this instance because Natalie was really enjoying the show. She didn’t fully participate with the other kids, she sat by herself in the auditorium, but she had loosened up with her group.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Great. There is so much to do, and I like working with Micah and Lisa.”

  “I’m glad.” Mom nodded absently. “I’ll leave soon for the game. Can you make sandwiches for dinner?”

  “Sure, but Natalie won’t like that.”

  “She’ll get over it.” Mom started for the doorway and paused, shooting me a meaningful look over her shoulder. “She has to eat what you make or prepare her own.”

  “Go on. I’ll take care of it.” As Mom blended into the gloom of the hallway, I asked, “Where’s Jeff?”

  “Working until dark.”

  Swallowing a sigh, I arranged a buffet of sandwich fixings on the counter. After a tiring day, I wasn’t in the mood for taking any crap from Natalie either. Better give her a warning. I raised the window over the sink and paused. She was pacing in the shade, singing a chorus from the musical. She really did have a good voice. I hated to interrupt but she needed to know about dinner. “Natalie?”

  She stopped. “What?”

  “We’re having sandwiches.”

  She ran inside. “Already had that today.”

  “And it’s what we’ll have again tonight.” I gestured at the buffet.

  “Is this one of those things where Jill will get mad if I resist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, but no bread.” Natalie grabbed a plate and laid a slice of ham on one side and a slice of cheese on the other.

  “Any veggies?”

  “No.” She reached into the fruit bowl for a banana before crossing to the table. “Move, Tigger.”

  My cat jumped disdainfully off Natalie’s chair, swished his tail to emphasize that moving had been his choice, and strutted into the den.

  Natalie dropped onto her chair. “I prefer dogs.”

  “As you’ve mentioned before.”

  “But Tigger is tolerable for a cat.”

  I hid my grin.

  When Mom returned to the kitchen, wearing her uniform minus padding, I had her sandwich done. “Do you want yours to go?”

  “Please.”

  Natalie set her empty plate in the sink, then raced up the stairs. Seconds later, the door to her bedroom banged shut.

  I wrapped three roast beef sandwiches in plastic, handed the first to Mom, and stuck the other two in the fridge. After leaving a note for Jeff about his dinner, I went upstairs to my room.

  It didn’t take long before I heard singing. I crossed to my closet and pressed my ear to the wall. Natalie was practicing her solo over and over—the same ten words—even though she already had them flawless. Then she started speaking. This time, though, she was reciting all of the lines for the members of the girls’ ensemble, changing to use different voices for the different parts. Natalie already had the entire scene memorized.r />
  I picked up my laptop and carried it downstairs and out to the veranda. There had been a storm earlier this afternoon, but the skies were clear now. The world had that wonderful, rain-fresh scent.

  Okay, time to make progress for Jeff.

  My first task required the internet. Fortunately, the State of North Carolina had a decent checklist on their website. There were so many reports and forms to file that it was a wonder anyone ever bothered with setting up a legal business. Not that I’d ever say that to my stepfather. He was ethical to the point of absurdity.

  Two hours later, I’d finished handling insurance, taxes, reports, and ID numbers. I’d downloaded the government posters that would have to be displayed in Jeff’s workshop. I was caught up with nearly everything he’d asked for except setting up direct deposit for his new employee, but I wouldn’t have any trouble with that. I’d managed Mom’s banking before she married.

  As a bonus task, I’d studied his website. It was … not good. Fortunately, he’d created it in WordPress. I would make a list of recommended updates and send him a proposal.

  Before I shut down for the night, I checked my email. There was spam, an awkwardly done newsletter from Elena to parents, cast, and crew, and one email from Sylvie. Apparently, the guy she’d been crushing on for months had finally asked her out for Sunday. No spa this weekend for us.

  She and Kaylynn had tried, though, which made it my turn to ask. The weird thing was—now that Natalie had the musical to fixate on and didn’t need to hang out with my friends, I could have guilt-free fun. So why was I reluctant to tell them?

  The front door creaked, and Natalie joined me on the veranda. She was yawning.

  “What have you been doing tonight?” I asked.

  “Talking to people.”

  “Such as?”

  “Dad when he got home. I texted Micah earlier.”

  “How often do you text with him?”

  “Whenever I have a question.”

  That was curious. How much longer before it got too annoying for him? Maybe I should I say something. “What do you talk about?”

  “Mostly the theater. It’s an unending source of topics. Problems, especially. Actors forgetting to turn off their mics when they go to the bathroom. Thunderstorms knocking out the power. Wardrobe malfunctions. Since I’ve seen two of Elon’s productions, we can even talk about the same performances.”