So this isn’t just some ordinary middle school production. It’s very
Hollywood.
That makes me even more determined to be a part of it.
“Excuse us, Mr. Harker,” Sasha says softly, and the director looks up from his notepad, his glasses askew. I bite my lip, intimidated, but then he smiles.
“Ah, Ashlee!” he says. “Excellent. Let’s go backstage so I can show you what we’re working with for the costumes. Sasha,” he adds, “will you please let the cast members know that we’ll be starting rehearsal in about ten minutes?”
Sasha nods, putting her headset back on. I realize that, in spite of her baggy hot-pink tunic, zebra-print leggings, and giant gold hoop earrings, Mr. Harker sees Sasha as very competent and responsible. I’m sort of impressed.
I follow Mr. Harker behind the velvet curtain to the dark backstage area. It smells musty and ancient. A crooked hallway leads to what look like dressing rooms and supply closets. There’s a ladder, a long rope, and a bag overflowing with painted masks. In the shadows, these items seem menacing, and I step carefully to keep from stumbling. The thought popsinto my head that, as a bat, I’d be able to get around here fine.
I hear a rustle, sort of like wings, behind me. I shudder. What if there
is
a bat back here —
the
bat that attacked Mr. Bernal?
“Look out, Ashlee!” a voice calls out from above, and I skitter to a stop, my breath catching. I glance up and see a glass booth perched high above Mr. Harker and me. Marc is inside it, sitting in front of a panel of knobs and switches. Gordon is beside him, wearing a big pair of headphones and, as usual, typing on his laptop.
“You almost bumped into that mannequin,” Marc tells me.
“What
mannequin?” I ask. I face forward again — and stare right at a headless figure. I cover my mouth to keep from crying out.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Marc snorts, then bursts out laughing. What a jerk!
Mr. Harker frowns up at Marc, then turns to me. “This is a dressmaker’s dummy you can use for sizing costumes,” Mr. Harker explains.
“What’s this about costumes?” Paige demands, stepping out of the shadows with Wendy at her side.
Paige, in a cute plaid romper, is holding a bound script, and Wendy, in a short black dress and UGGs, is carrying a bag full of creepily real-looking bat puppets.
Paige takes in my own outfit, clearly surprised by how fashionable I look. I feel a small swell of triumph. Then her eyes land on my feet and she smirks, nudging Wendy.
“Wow, real original choice in footwear, Rash,” Paige sneers. “I guess imitation
is
the sincerest form of flattery, though.”
A searing heat races through me, and I clench my fists. She’s not going to make this easy, is she?
“Paige, Wendy, I was hoping to find you,” Mr. Harker says. “Ashlee would like to be the new wardrobe master, and we should all hear what she has in mind.” To me, he adds, “Paige is playing Vera, and Wendy is our prop master. They had the strongest opinions about Ellen, our former wardrobe master.”
Wendy nods imperiously, and Paige continues to smirk at me, her eyes glinting.
Dread settles like a stone in my stomach. So this is some kind of …
audition?
“Here’s our costume supply room,” Wendy says in a brisk voice, opening a door next to the mannequin. “What do you think?”
Inside are endless racks of clothing, along with shoes, scarves, feather boas, and hats. There are satin ball gowns, tuxedos, soldiers’ uniforms, tutus, regular jeans and tees … the works. I gulp, overwhelmed. But I need to keep calm. Otherwise, I could bat-shift.
“This should be interesting,” I hear Paige murmur, and that gives me all the resolve I need to step inside.
“O-okay,” I stammer, reaching into my satchel and taking out my notebook. I flip through the pages, scanning the ideas I wrote down. “In the movie, Vera wears a lot of lace,” I begin, “so that could be cool to incorporate into the play.
Hollywood.
That makes me even more determined to be a part of it.
“Excuse us, Mr. Harker,” Sasha says softly, and the director looks up from his notepad, his glasses askew. I bite my lip, intimidated, but then he smiles.
“Ah, Ashlee!” he says. “Excellent. Let’s go backstage so I can show you what we’re working with for the costumes. Sasha,” he adds, “will you please let the cast members know that we’ll be starting rehearsal in about ten minutes?”
Sasha nods, putting her headset back on. I realize that, in spite of her baggy hot-pink tunic, zebra-print leggings, and giant gold hoop earrings, Mr. Harker sees Sasha as very competent and responsible. I’m sort of impressed.
I follow Mr. Harker behind the velvet curtain to the dark backstage area. It smells musty and ancient. A crooked hallway leads to what look like dressing rooms and supply closets. There’s a ladder, a long rope, and a bag overflowing with painted masks. In the shadows, these items seem menacing, and I step carefully to keep from stumbling. The thought popsinto my head that, as a bat, I’d be able to get around here fine.
I hear a rustle, sort of like wings, behind me. I shudder. What if there
is
a bat back here —
the
bat that attacked Mr. Bernal?
“Look out, Ashlee!” a voice calls out from above, and I skitter to a stop, my breath catching. I glance up and see a glass booth perched high above Mr. Harker and me. Marc is inside it, sitting in front of a panel of knobs and switches. Gordon is beside him, wearing a big pair of headphones and, as usual, typing on his laptop.
“You almost bumped into that mannequin,” Marc tells me.
“What
mannequin?” I ask. I face forward again — and stare right at a headless figure. I cover my mouth to keep from crying out.
“Yep, that’s the one,” Marc snorts, then bursts out laughing. What a jerk!
Mr. Harker frowns up at Marc, then turns to me. “This is a dressmaker’s dummy you can use for sizing costumes,” Mr. Harker explains.
“What’s this about costumes?” Paige demands, stepping out of the shadows with Wendy at her side.
Paige, in a cute plaid romper, is holding a bound script, and Wendy, in a short black dress and UGGs, is carrying a bag full of creepily real-looking bat puppets.
Paige takes in my own outfit, clearly surprised by how fashionable I look. I feel a small swell of triumph. Then her eyes land on my feet and she smirks, nudging Wendy.
“Wow, real original choice in footwear, Rash,” Paige sneers. “I guess imitation
is
the sincerest form of flattery, though.”
A searing heat races through me, and I clench my fists. She’s not going to make this easy, is she?
“Paige, Wendy, I was hoping to find you,” Mr. Harker says. “Ashlee would like to be the new wardrobe master, and we should all hear what she has in mind.” To me, he adds, “Paige is playing Vera, and Wendy is our prop master. They had the strongest opinions about Ellen, our former wardrobe master.”
Wendy nods imperiously, and Paige continues to smirk at me, her eyes glinting.
Dread settles like a stone in my stomach. So this is some kind of …
audition?
“Here’s our costume supply room,” Wendy says in a brisk voice, opening a door next to the mannequin. “What do you think?”
Inside are endless racks of clothing, along with shoes, scarves, feather boas, and hats. There are satin ball gowns, tuxedos, soldiers’ uniforms, tutus, regular jeans and tees … the works. I gulp, overwhelmed. But I need to keep calm. Otherwise, I could bat-shift.
“This should be interesting,” I hear Paige murmur, and that gives me all the resolve I need to step inside.
“O-okay,” I stammer, reaching into my satchel and taking out my notebook. I flip through the pages, scanning the ideas I wrote down. “In the movie, Vera wears a lot of lace,” I begin, “so that could be cool to incorporate into the play.
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