The Fall Musical Read online

  “I can’t do anything right, Charles,” she said between sobs. “I can’t stop eating, I can’t leave the auditorium without something going wrong, and everybody’s mad at me!”

  “I’m not mad at you,” Charles said, handing her a tissue.

  “Yet. You wait. I’ll do something to piss you off, too. I can’t help it.” Casey wiped her eyes and looked away. “I never should have said yes to this job. I’m not cut out for it. You guys picked the wrong person.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, Casey, if you quit, this whole clambake will fall apart. Come to your senses, girl. Something’s bothering you. Something deeper than this. Talk to Father Charles, my child.”

  Casey blew her nose. “Father Charles? Am I supposed to confess something?”

  “Confess, confide, whatever. I’ll take it juicy or dry. Talk to me.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Before anyone could respond to the knock, the door swung open and Dashiell poked his head in. “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. You two just go ahead. I didn’t see anything—”

  “Come in, Dashiell,” Charles said. “What’s up?”

  “I was going to ask about the blue gels . . . ” He gave Casey a curious look. “Are you all right, Case?”

  Casey composed herself to answer, but his confused expression just made her cry again.

  “Guys, can we please—”

  Now Mr. Levin was in the room. He stopped in the middle of his sentence when he saw Casey. The three deep frown lines vanished from his brow, his shoulders loosened, and he let out a sigh. “Um, I think we’ve all had a long day,” he said softly. “I’m calling rehearsal. We could use a break.”

  “But we have so much to do!” Brianna protested, striding in from the hallway.

  “We’re in pretty good shape,” Mr. Levin said. “And I’m giving you all an assignment. Go home, relax, and do not think about Godspell. Then dig in tomorrow, and expect a shortish rehearsal on Friday so everyone can rest up for Brianna’s party. We are nearly four weeks into rehearsals, but we have a long way to go, and I will not have the disciples hating one another.”

  “Home, an excellent idea,” Charles said. The others began to file out of the auditorium. Charles turned back to Casey. “Take a hot bath, drink some hot cocoa, and call me in the morning.”

  “You’ve changed from priest to doctor, I see,” Casey answered.

  “I’m very versatile, not to mention resilient,” he told her. “And so are you. So you’ll take my advice?”

  Casey gave a last sniffle then smiled. “Yes, Doc. See you tomorrow.”

  17

  “I’LL GET IT!” BRIANNA SAID. FRESHLY SHOWERED and dressed, she ran out of her bedroom. She hoped it wasn’t Casey. She couldn’t deal with being alone with Casey, first thing on the night of her big Friday party. Okay, at some point she would have to deal with Casey. She was furious at herself for not having the guts to be totally open with Casey, to confront her. If there was one thing Brianna hated more than hypocrites, it was being a hypocrite.

  Of course, she wasn’t sure if Casey would show. It depended which Casey she was tonight. The shy one would be too scared to come, under the circumstances. The devious, assertive one might just be here to score some more Kyle time.

  Brianna swept through the living room toward the front door to answer the bell. One does not run through the Baronial Suite, her dad always said, one sweeps. It was true. You couldn’t help it, in a room with a curving staircase and grand piano, complex Persian rugs, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stocked with hardcovers that were actually read, a hearth that roared on special occasions like tonight, and her mother’s one concession to her dad’s strange sense of humor, a fang-toothed collared peccary named George mounted on the mantel. It was an animal something like a boar whose presence made everyone think Brianna’s dad was a mighty hunter instead of a business school professor who bought it for seventeen dollars at a run-down antiques shop in Vermont.

  Through the window she could see Kyle’s T-Bird parked out front, and another car that wasn’t familiar. She pulled open the door to see Kyle and Jamil standing there, all washed up and fresh-looking. “Hey, Brianna!” Kyle said, stepping inside.

  Nothing in his eyes, in the set of his jaw, his body language, let on that anything was wrong.

  Which didn’t surprise her. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. And Brianna wanted to kick herself for it. For not making it clear to him how she felt.

  “Make yourself at home,” Brianna said, trying not to sound cold.

  Her mom came sweeping down the curved staircase, a diaphanous black cape flowing out behind her. Brianna could never master that move without falling on her butt. But it was no problem for Evangeline Rogere-Glaser, senior manager of the famous Krok Fund (“Because We Serve and Return”) and owner of the perfect sexy figure and high-cheekbone model’s face, both of which had been recently enhanced—er, rejuvenated—with utmost surgical taste. “Well, hello, I’m Angie, Brianna’s mom!” she called out, her arm extended weightlessly with a line so graceful it seemed like a sin to touch it.

  Which Kyle immediately did, grabbing her hand and pumping it like a slot machine. “Kyle Taggart.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Glaser,” said Jamil.

  She nodded to Jamil, but her eyes were focused on guess who. “Yes . . . Brianna has told me all about you, Kyle.”

  “I hope it’s all lies!” bellowed Professor Glaser as he rumbled down the stairs in his usual tweed jacket, just a bit small for his expanding belly, and a tie that lay too low on his shirt like one of those helpless hanging squirrels in the Museum of Natural History.

  “Me, too,” Kyle said with a grin.

  “Siobhan is getting Colter ready for bed, so he won’t be any trouble,” Mrs. Glaser said. “Wish we could stay, but we’ve got the ballet, and then the board hosts the ballerinas in the Rose Room—all those big fat board members on diets and the tiny dancers eating like hogs. Great fun.”

  “I match ’em, cheese puff for cheese puff,” Mr. Glaser said, behind a theatrically cupped hand.

  They swept through the foyer, swept out the door, swept into the car, and swept away down the street. As everyone waved good-bye to them, two more cars pulled up. Casey was in one of them, driven by her mom, who was dressed in what looked like medical scrubs. Brianna locked her face into a smile and waved.

  “Time to party!” Kyle shouted.

  From the top of the stairs, the wet, freshly combed head of Brianna’s five-year-old brother, Colter, popped down between the railing supports. “Time to poopy!”

  “Pay no attention to the boy behind that banister,” Brianna said, picking up a remote on a table just outside the living room and pointing it menacingly toward Colter, who raced upstairs with a squeal of laughter.

  Then she pointed the remote at the sound system. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart politely stopped, and a Jay-Z track made the lampshades vibrate.

  “Praying!” Reese blurted out.

  Dashiell stopped praying and shook his head. He pointed to his ear.

  “Sounds like . . . ” Charles said.

  Licking his lips with glee, Dashiell pantomimed spooning something out of a tall container.

  “Eating!” said Becky.

  “Ice cream!” said Jamil.

  Dashiell nodded, waved his arms, and continued the mime. Keep going . . . guess again . . .

  Casey racked her brain. The game was Charades and the topic was Broadway—anything to do with Broadway shows. The music had been turned down, the polished living room surfaces were covered with cartons of mostly eaten take-out Chinese food, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, and empty bottles that would all have to be cleaned out before the Glasers came back. George the collared peccary was wearing a bowler hat and sunglasses, and the antique grandfather clock was about to strike midnight.

  She almost hadn’t come. But that would have made matters worse. She would have looked guilty, and there was no reason for that. Casey hadn’t done anything wrong. At some point she
would have to talk to Brianna. If not tonight, then soon. She had to keep the channels open. It was all a misunderstanding anyway, and true friendships withstood that.

  In the meantime, Casey had put on a good face. It hadn’t been easy for an hour or so, and Brianna had barely looked at her. Still, Casey had actually managed to enjoy herself.

  What show involved ice cream?

  “Ben! Jerry!” shouted Lori.

  “Yum! Or . . . yummy?” guessed Aisha.

  “Scoop!” shouted Ethan.

  “Dessert!” Corbin piped up.

  “Sundae!” Kyle said.

  Dashiell clapped his hands and pointed at Kyle.

  “That’s it!” Brianna said. “Sundae. Sundae what?”

  Dashiell looked around, thinking. Suddenly he pointed to the stuffed animal on the mantel.

  “Pig!” said Charles. “When Pigs Fly . . . on Sunday!”

  “When Pigs Fly was Off-Broadway,” Harrison said.

  “That’s no pig,” Brianna said indignantly. “George is a collared peccary.”

  “Sunday in the Park with George!” Casey blurted out.

  “YES!” Dashiell shouted.

  “Go, Casey!” Becky shouted.

  Casey stood up to take her turn, and Kyle pretended to pass out. “I give up,” he said.

  Casey felt herself blushing. She had already gone twice, and maybe her choices—The Lieutenant of Inishmore and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum—had been a little too hard.

  “Well, it is kind of late . . . ” Casey suggested diplomatically.

  “How about a different game?” Corbin said.

  “Spin the Bottle?” Kyle suggested.

  “Now you’re talking,” Reese piped up.

  “How about Truth or Dare?” Brianna blurted out.

  Everyone fell silent, mulling it over. Casey felt Brianna’s eyes on her. Casey turned to meet her glance, but Brianna looked away. “Let’s do that,” Brianna said decisively.

  “I know a theatrical version,” Dashiell said. “All the questions and the dares have to be related to the theater. For example, I say, ‘Aisha, what is your deepest fear about doing Godspell?’ And you either tell the truth or you have to do whatever I dare you to do. Like put a piece of ice down Ethan’s back, or kiss George.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Aisha said.

  “Hostess goes first?” Brianna said sweetly.

  “Sure,” Dashiell replied. “Now let’s form a circle . . . ”

  They all shimmied backward on the living room carpet as Brianna looked slowly around the circle. Her eyes stopped at Casey. “Casey Chang . . . ”

  Casey began to sweat. It was a cool fall night, the fire in the hearth was nearly out, but she felt as if the temperature had risen twenty degrees. She didn’t like the look on Brianna’s face at all. The truth part of this game was not exactly a place she wanted to go. And her reasons had nothing to do with Brianna or Kyle.

  Seal it off. Don’t let them come close.

  “Not me,” Casey said quietly. “Pick someone else.”

  “No, I want to pick you,” Brianna said playfully. “Doesn’t everybody want to hear Casey’s deepest truth?”

  A few voices shouted in agreement, but Casey didn’t really hear them. She felt trapped. Fight or flight. She gathered her legs under her. “I—I just don’t like talking about myself, that’s all.”

  “Everyone opens up to you, Casey,” Brianna pressed. “Loosen up. Unless you have some big dirty secret—”

  “Leave her, Brianna,” Kyle chimed in. “It’s okay to pass on a turn.”

  “Then what’s the fun?” Brianna said.

  She was digging. Why? Why was she doing this?

  “Darling, not everyone wears their feelings on their sleeves like you and me,” Charles said.

  “Everyone has secrets,” Dashiell added softly. “Stuff that no one is allowed to know.”

  Secrets.

  Mr. Hammond ran the local Catholic charity foundation and enjoyed sailing on the Sound with his two children . . . . Casey shook away the memories. If you didn’t think about the memories, they couldn’t hurt you.

  Everyone was staring now. The party had changed. The air was different.

  Why? What were they all staring at?

  Why did Dashiell say that? Everyone has secrets. Did they know? Did everyone know? How? It wasn’t on the public record, she remembered the report exactly.

  Brianna—she knew Alex Duboff. That was it. She must have called him.

  Would she do a thing like that? What kind of friend was she? What kind of friends were any of them?

  Casey stood up, holding herself steady on the edge of an armchair.

  “Casey? Are you all right?” Kyle asked. “You look kinda green.”

  “I’ll bet it was the shrimp,” Charles said. “Someone smell the shrimp.”

  “Or the beer,” Corbin said.

  “Casey?” Brianna was up now, walking closer to her. “Do you want to lie down in my room?”

  No. Get out. Now!

  “I—I have to go,” was all Casey could manage before running for the door and tearing off, blindly into the night.

  18

  SHE RAN. HER FEET DID THE THINKING, taking her around sharp corners and down placid nighttime streets. Houses blinked and dogs barked and the weary faces of a late-night card game stared at her from a screened-in porch as she passed. She didn’t stop until she reached the small park on the corner of Bayview and Merrick.

  Unable to think, she slowed her pace and headed toward the duck pond. The park was empty, except for a mass of clothing on a distant bench that was either a sleeping homeless person or two people hooking up. She caught her breath, walking along the edge of the pond and feeling the mist as it blew lightly across the surface of the water. On the opposite side, she could hear a band playing “Oh What a Night” from inside the Olympia Catering House. The place was outlined in Christmas-type lights that reflected in the water, making it look as if there were a happy little duck village under the surface. She wondered how deep the water was. You never could tell. In the dark it was inky black. Under the duck village there could be a population of silent octopi and sharks and a forgotten shipwreck. If she jumped, how far would she go? Would she pass out before hitting bottom, or stand there in ankle-deep water feeling like a lunatic?

  The path plunged into darkness just before the hill. Someone had broken three streetlamps, and Casey found the darkness comforting.

  She needed to forget the party. Forget what had happened last spring. That’s why she and Mom had moved here. The doctors said the adjustment process would take at least a year. Things had been going so well.

  Who found out? Maybe Brianna, through Alex Duboff. And maybe Dashiell. He was a Google maniac. But he didn’t seem like the type who would go hunting for information on her, and then tell about it.

  Unless someone put him up to it.

  But why? Why would anyone want to make her miserable? Casey reached into her pack and felt around for something to eat. That was another thing. She was eating all the time. Instead of losing weight, she was getting fat. Again.

  Then she heard the footsteps.

  Tup-tup-tup-tup-tup.

  Heavy. Thick. Male.

  In a hurry.

  From this angle, she could still see the lump of clothing on the bench, now directly across the pond. If she screamed, they might hear her. But what good would it do?

  Cell phone. Where was her cell phone?

  She stumbled forward, faster, her pack in front of her. Her hands shook as she reached inside, pushing the mess around—too many things—

  Clunk. The phone dropped onto the ground. The footsteps were closer now . . . running.

  “Aaaaaaghhhhhhh!” she screamed, turning as a broad silhouette lunged toward her.

  “Whoa! Easy!”

  She dropped her backpack. The voice was unmistakable. “Kyle?”

  He held up his hands. “I come in peace,” he said.<
br />
  “Kyle, you scared the crap out of me.”

  “I know. Sometimes I scare the crap out of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said, turning away. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” he asked. “Hey, are you okay? Want to sit?”

  Why was he here? What on earth did he want from her? Had the others followed him?

  She pulled back. She didn’t want to sit. Or touch. She wanted to move and not stop. “I have to go.”

  “Me, too. I’m supposed to meet someone in a few minutes, but I can take you home before that if you want. I have my T-Bird.” He pointed to the curb.

  Casey kept her eyes from his. The last thing she needed was a pitying glance. “You all must think I’m a nutcase.”

  “Nah. Everyone’s mad at Brianna. They think she pushed you too hard. She feels bad, too. She started crying after you left.”

  An ambulance whizzed by, siren blaring even though the street was empty. Casey flinched. She hated that sound, even now.

  “Want to talk?” Kyle asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Casey replied. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Cool.” Kyle heaved his big shoulders in a friendly way. “Well. Okay then. See you.”

  Casey watched him walk slowly away, into the halo of the streetlamp. He glanced back over his shoulder, giving her a look that was definitely not pitying but something else . . . what? Protective? Worried? Curious?

  That fact that Kyle was here began to settle on Casey. He’d followed her. Found her. He could have been with Brianna or his pals or any number of people he hung with on Friday nights. But he was here at the pond, with her, in the mist and muffled din of someone else’s celebration.

  “Kyle?” she said, her voice brittle in the cooling air. “Why did you really come here?”

  He turned to her and shrugged. “No one could figure out why you left. They were all talking about it, but no one was doing anything.”

  “You were worried—about me?”

  He walked toward her. In the reflection of the distant lights his features were shadowed, gray on gray in the fog, but his smile broke through like a crescent moon. “Are we talking? ’Cause you said you didn’t want to. Yo, either way is okay. We can hang and not talk.”