Look Both Ways(13)

“The rehearsal rooms are over in Haydu Hall,” the girl says between drags.

“I…um, I know,” I say. “I think I’m supposed to be here, though. Is this the lighting crew?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

The guy next to her flicks his cigarette onto the asphalt and grinds it out with the toe of his boot. “We get actors today, remember?” he says.

“Oh, right.” The girl stubs out her cigarette, too. “You guys are only supposed to be here in the afternoons, though. Don’t you have rehearsal or something?”

“My show’s not rehearsing yet,” I say, hoping they won’t ask which one I’m in. Fortunately, nobody seems interested. “I’m Brooklyn, by the way.”

“Courtney,” the girl says. She doesn’t extend her hand.

Nobody else introduces themselves, so I say, “Did you guys get here yesterday, too?”

“About a week ago. We had to load everything in.”



A tall, lanky guy arrives at the loading dock and slides a box of doughnuts onto the concrete next to Courtney. “Morning, all,” he says. He’s wearing those thick leather wristbands with a bunch of studs, the kind Marisol and Christa refer to as “douchebands.”

“Dude, doughnuts already?” one of the other guys says.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” says Courtney as she flips the box open.

The guy smirks. “Fresh meat,” he says. “Why wait?”

This makes absolutely no sense, but the guy sitting next to Courtney laughs and says, “Respect.” I make a mental note to pick up some doughnuts for everyone later this week. I could use some respect.

“Speaking of fresh meat…” Douchebands turns to me. “Who’s this?”

“Brooklyn,” I say.

“Pretty.” I can’t tell whether he means my name or me, but either way, I’m creeped out.

“Yo,” the guy next to Courtney says. “Gimme another cigarette?”

Before she can dig out her pack, a woman with dark curly hair and a clipboard comes around the corner. I assume she’s the boss, from the way everyone starts gathering their stuff. “Listen up,” she says when she gets close. “We’re going to start hanging the rep plot today. Grab a piece of the plot, check in when you’re done, and I’ll give you another. Remember to pull out your shutters and label your circuits, okay?” She looks up. “Who brought doughnuts?”

Douchebands smiles and gives her a little salute.



“Of course,” she says. She plunks a folder down onto the concrete and takes a doughnut with pink frosting. “Get to work.”

Everyone descends on the folder and extracts little slips of paper while I stand off to the side. Finally, the boss notices me and asks, “Can I help you?”

“Um, I’m one of the acting apprentices?” I say. “I guess I’m assigned to lighting this rotation. I’m Brooklyn.”

“I’m Dana Solomon. You can call me Solomon. Grab a piece of the plot from the folder, and let me know if you have questions, okay?”

I don’t know what a plot is, but I pull out a slip of paper, hoping there’ll be instructions on it or something. But all I see is a bunch of symbols, boxes and circles and slashes and shapes that look like little milk bottles. I can only tell which is the top because of the heading, which says “MID-GAL R” in block letters.

“Um,” I say. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what any of this means.”

“You ever seen a light plot before?”

“Not really, no.”

“No tech requirement for actors at your school, huh?”

“I’m still in high school,” I say. I can practically see Solomon suppressing an eye-roll, but it’s not my fault I don’t know how to do this. I didn’t come to Allerdale to do lighting.

“Do you have tools?”

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was going to be—”

“Zach!” Solomon yells, and the guy who was bumming cigarettes turns around. “Brooklyn’s with you today. Get her a wrench, okay?”



Zach doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation. “Fine,” he says. “Come on.”

He leads me into a small, cluttered room he calls the “LX office,” tells me to leave my bag on the ratty couch, and hands me a wrench. “Tie that off,” he says. “There are tie line spools all over the place.” I have no idea what any of those words mean, but I don’t want to look like an idiot, so I nod. Zach seems to be carrying his wrench in his back pocket, so that’s where I stick mine. I’m not wearing a belt, and my shorts immediately start to fall down on one side.

“Which piece of the plot do you have?” he asks.

“Um…” I look at the piece of paper clutched in my hand, now slightly damp from my nervous sweat. “Mid-gal R?”

“Mid-gallery, stage right. Okay, we’ll do that first.” Zach leads me onto the stage and points to a metal balcony about twenty-five feet in the air. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No,” I say. Finally, a question I have the right answer to.