Look Both Ways(55)

I scroll through her photos: trees, a lake, Carlos with a makeshift walking stick, Zoe eating a granola bar, about fifteen selfies with their faces pressed together, a few shots of them kissing. Then come the photos of Zoe setting up their tent and Carlos roasting marshmallows over a campfire. When I get to one of Carlos shirtless in a red sleeping bag, I hand the phone back. “Looks really nice,” I say.

“What’d you do while we were gone?”

Before I can answer, Bob Sussman jogs onto the stage. “Good evening, warriors for art!” he shouts. “Is everyone having a good summer?”

The whole company cheers, and Bob smiles so hard, I think his face might split down the middle. “Wonderful,” he says. “I am so pleased to hear that.”

“How’s your summer, Bob?” someone shouts from the front row, and everyone laughs. If someone asked Marcus Spooner a question like that, he’d probably give us a lecture about how happiness is detrimental to acting, then throw a few cream pies at us for good measure.

“My summer has been spectacular!” Bob answers. “Thank you for asking! It’s such a delight to see all of you. The work you’ve done over the past six weeks has been phenomenal. Some of our long-time donors have told me they think this might be the very best season Allerdale has ever had, and that’s all down to you. Thank you for making it so special.”



Everyone applauds, and I find myself smiling. I know I’ve had nothing to do with making this season special, but it’s impossible not to feel included when Bob is talking.

“I have a very exciting announcement for you tonight,” he continues. “This coming Monday, right here in Haydu Hall, Allerdale will hold its first twenty-four-hour play festival!”

Everyone breaks into enthusiastic murmurs and whispers, and Bob beams like a benevolent dad. “I’m so glad you’re excited as well! The goal of a twenty-four-hour play festival is, of course, to write, rehearse, and perform original short plays within the span of a single day. You will form groups of eight or fewer, and starting at 12:01 AM on Monday, you will gather to create your own fantastic original work. At eight PM that same day, you will perform those ingenious creations right here for an audience of donors and subscribers. The only rules are that you may not begin work on your play until the clock starts, and the work you perform must be memorized and completely original. Your whole group is not required to perform, as long as you all contribute to the creative process. Do something you’ve never done before! Experiment! Be bold!” Bob is bouncing on his toes now, so buoyed by his excitement that I think he may achieve liftoff.

My phone vibrates with a text from Russell:

Want to try one of our mash-up musicals? Midsummer night’s dreamgirls, maybe?



OMG YES, I text back, and my brain floods with adrenaline at the prospect of creating a whole parody musical with him. Writing, rehearsing, and performing a play in less than a day sounds insane, but I know the two of us can make it happen. In a weird way, it feels like the most doable thing I’ve been asked to accomplish since I got here.

“You’re free to start forming your groups now,” Bob says. “Please write your names down on this sign-up sheet, and have fun, you brilliant people! I can’t wait to see what you come up with!”

Everyone starts talking at once, and Zoe grabs my hand. “Should we work alone, or should we ask Jessa and Livvy and those guys to work with us? It might be easier to get ideas if we have more people. Then again, if it were just us, we could—”

I cut her off before she can say anything about being alone with me in a rehearsal room. “Russell and I already have an idea for something we want to write, actually,” I say. “But I’d love it if you’d work with us. All of you, actually—we’re going to need a bunch of people.”

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. “Wait, how do you guys already have an idea? Did you know about this in advance?”

“No, it’s something we’ve been kicking around. He texted a minute ago to ask if I wanted to work on it for this. See?” I hold up my phone, as if I’m required to prove it.

“Oh,” Zoe says. It’s like she had no idea until this moment that I had a life separate from her. “What’s the idea?”

“It’s a Shakespeare-Broadway musical mash-up, like a parody. We were thinking of maybe doing A Midsummer Night’s Dreamgirls, since everyone knows both shows. We’d keep the general story from Midsummer, and we’d rewrite the lyrics from a bunch of Dreamgirls songs to be about the Midsummer characters.” Russell and I haven’t actually discussed the logistics of the mash-up, but it’s very clear to me that this is how it should work, and I know he’ll agree.



For a second, I’m afraid Zoe’s going to say that’s a dumb idea, that she’d rather do something else. If she’s not into it, I’m afraid I’ll back down and let her take the lead, like always, and being in charge for once is suddenly really important to me. Fortunately, she starts laughing. “That’s really funny. I’m definitely in. Want me to round up everyone else?”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect,” I say. I can write a twenty-four-hour play with no problem, but there’s no way I could find a cast without Zoe. None of the other apprentices take me seriously anymore. Maybe this play festival is exactly the opportunity I need to show Jessa and Livvy and Kenji and Todd that I’m worth something.