Look Both Ways(62)

Putting out the fire takes way longer than I expected. Pandora and Natasha cling to each other and wail as they watch firefighters rush in and out of the building, and I wish I could duct tape their mouths shut; everyone’s already upset, and they’re making things worse. Zoe cries silently, and I put my arms around her as a few men climb up onto the roof and cut into it with saws, releasing spirals of smoke into the night air. Everything reeks of charred wood and burning synthetic fabric, and it’s getting harder to breathe, but nobody makes a move to leave.

After about forty-five minutes, the firefighters finally get the flames under control, and we applaud as they emerge from the building, blackened from head to toe. Water streams out of the sooty lobby and soaks into our shoes as they remove their air tanks and start packing up their gear. Bob confers with the fire marshal, and when he finally heads in our direction, everyone starts shouting questions at the same time. Barb lets out an ear-piercing whistle to make us shut up.

“My dear, brave company,” Bob says. “What a tragedy that you had to witness the death of our beautiful theater. But nobody was hurt, and we can all be grateful for that.” I’ve never seen him look defeated before, and it’s heartbreaking.

“What started the fire?” calls one of the non-eqs.

“We’ll know more once we’ve done a thorough investigation, but it looks like the hazer shorted out backstage and ignited the curtains.” Zoe and I exchange a startled look; if we hadn’t used the hazer for our show tonight, would the theater still be standing? Is this all our fault? I wait for Bob to ask to see our group alone in his office, but he doesn’t even glance at us. “I’m sure this goes without saying,” he continues, “but you must not enter the theater again for any reason. It has sustained major structural damage, and you could be seriously injured. A contractor will board up the building tomorrow.”



“But we’re supposed to load in Birdie on Saturday,” Livvy says.

Bob looks pained. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Haydu will be out of commission for the rest of the summer.”

Zoe grips my hand. “Is the show going to be canceled?” she asks.

“Hopefully not,” Bob says. “My esteemed colleagues and I will talk over some possible solutions tonight, and we’ll all reconvene in Legrand for an update at eleven tomorrow morning, okay? In the meantime, be safe and get some sleep. It’s been a long day, and everything’s under control now.”

He tries to smile at us, and we try to smile back. But as we watch him turn away from the charred remnants of Haydu Hall and head toward his office, flanked by Barb and Marcus, it’s impossible not to worry.





I wake up the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing. It’s barely seven, and I don’t recognize the number on the screen, but no one ever calls this early unless it’s an emergency. Maybe something happened to my parents. I’m suddenly wide-awake.

“Make it stop,” Zoe mumbles. She pulls my pillow over her head as I hit talk.

“Hello?” I choke. My throat is scratchy from all the smoke I inhaled last night.

“Good morning,” says a calm, pleasant man’s voice. “Is this Brooklyn?”

“Yes. What’s wrong?”

“This is Bob Sussman, the managing director. I’m so sorry if I woke you, but we’d appreciate it if you could join us in my office as soon as possible.”

I struggle into a sitting position. “What? Why?”



“I’ll explain everything in person,” Bob says. “Can you be here in twenty minutes?”

I throw on some clothes, and my mind starts spinning as I trudge across campus in the early-morning quiet. Have they decided the fire is my fault after all? Am I about to get kicked out of Allerdale? If I am, at least I went out on a high note, plus my parents will never know I wasn’t really cast in Birdie. Maybe this is for the best. Then again, leaving Allerdale three weeks early means leaving Zoe three weeks early, and I’m not sure I can stand that. We’ve barely had any time to be together.

I push into the main office, ready to plead my case, and find Russell sitting outside Bob’s closed office door. “Hey,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. They told me to come in as quickly as I could. What are you doing here?”

“Same.”

I sit down next to him. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”

“What? No. Why would we be?”

“I mean, Bob said the hazer burned down the theater, and we’re the ones who used it last, right? So doesn’t that kind of make it our fault?”

“We didn’t know it was broken,” Russell says. “If we hadn’t used it, they would’ve turned it on for Dreamgirls today, and the same thing would’ve happened. Right?”

“I guess.” I pick at the hem of my shorts. “Tell me something weird to distract me?”

“A group of weasels is called a boogle,” he says. “Everyone has a unique tongue print. The largest recorded snowflake was fifteen inches across. Is this helping?”



“Not really. But I do love the word ‘boogle.’?”

The office door opens, and Bob sticks his head out and beams at us. “You made it! Come in, come in.” He certainly doesn’t seem angy with us, but I can’t imagine why we’d be here unless we’re in trouble. I take a deep breath and follow Russell inside.