Evil Librarian (31 page)

I try to really think about how she described her life. The future that seems unalterably laid before her, the good-girl persona she has worn for so long that she doesn’t know how to be anything else. Or didn’t, until now. Could this really be her one chance to let go, to stop being who everyone else wants her to be and instead to be the person she dreams herself, inside? To be wanted in that fierce and powerful way by someone, to reject the life she’d resigned herself to — to have that dark fairy tale that she has secretly longed for, that she had buried in despair of ever having anything close to what she wanted? Maybe there is a part of Annie, the real Annie, a big part even, who truly wants this.

I try to imagine accepting that. And I can’t.

“No,” I say out loud. “Even if she thinks she really wants this — even if she
does
really want it — that doesn’t make it okay. Mr. Gabriel is a monster. He’s told us straight out that he’s planning to destroy her, to take away who she is and make her something else. That’s not love, and that can’t be okay. It just can’t. Sometimes people are wrong. Sometimes they want bad things. Sometimes, if you care about them, you have to try to save them from themselves.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment.

“If that’s true,” he says finally, “maybe I should be saving you. Maybe I should be stopping you from risking your life to save hers. Even if that’s what you really want.” He meets my eyes then, and he’s more serious than I have ever seen him before. “I don’t want you to die, Cyn. Annie wouldn’t want you to die, either. Although, honestly, I’m a little tired of thinking about what Annie wants. Maybe it’s time you let Annie take responsibility for herself and think about what’s best for you for a change. Doesn’t your life matter? Don’t you have things to live for? Why does Annie’s life get to be more important than your own?”

I’m staring at him, angry and shocked, and . . . confused. Because part of me is wondering if he’s not at least a little bit right. Where does my responsibility truly lie? Even if I’m sure that I’m doing the right thing, do I have the right to stop Annie from doing what she thinks she wants? What she thinks is right?

If everyone thinks they are right, and they can’t really all be right, then how do we decide who’s wrong?

I shake my head. No. I can’t go down that road. All I can do is what I think is best. And deep down, under the confusion and the fear and the wanting to still be alive for my own future, I can’t really believe for one full second that letting my best friend be stolen away by a murderous evil demon is in any possible sense the right move here.

Ryan can tell what I’m thinking; it’s clear in the hardening of his expression.

“Cyn —”

“Ryan, please. Just stop. I don’t want to fight about this. I don’t want to fight at all. I made my choice.”

“What about my choice? What if my choice is to not let you just go off and get yourself killed?”

I close my eyes, trying to get my bearings. He is confusing me in more ways than one. Under any other circumstances, I would be really, really happy that he cares about me enough to be saying things like this. I would be thinking about what it might mean. But right now, the last thing I need is a reason to doubt what I’m doing.

“Ryan, I have to. I can’t choose my happiness over Annie’s life.”

“What about your
life
over Annie’s life? Could you choose that?”

I shake my head again. I’m crying a little, I realize, which makes sense, because even though I’ve been trying really hard not to think about it straight out like this, the whole thing sucks so bad, and it’s totally not fair, and I wish — I wish so much that it weren’t happening. “I’m the only one who can save her, Ryan. Do you really think I could live with myself if I just gave up on her? If you really care about me, you won’t fight me on this. You’ll do everything you can to help me, so that I can save Annie and survive and come back alive. Believe me, I don’t want to die. But I have to save her first. I
have
to, Ryan. She’s my best friend. I can’t just let her go.”

And suddenly I’m crying full force, dissolving in tears and racking sobs and wretchedness in exactly the way I have not allowed myself to do since this whole stupid-ass thing began.

Ryan reaches over and takes my hand. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds my hand, which I grip tightly back, and lets me cry.

Finally, much later, when I seem to have cried myself out, he pulls back, just a little. He looks at me, which I’m sure can’t be very pleasant given what a snively mascara-running mess I must be right now. He brushes his thumb gently under one of my eyes, then the other, wiping away the last of the tears.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. I won’t try to stop you, and I’ll do everything that I can to help.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, still sniffling.

Then he moves his hands to the sides of my head and holds it firmly, staring into my eyes.

“But you’d better damn well make it through this alive, Cyn. Do you hear me? Get in there and get Annie and get the hell back out. Promise?”

I nod as much as his grip on my head will allow.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it.”

“I promise. I’ll come back. I promise.”

“Okay, then.” He nods back. “It’s a deal.”

I awaken to the sound of my text alert.

I reach over and pull my phone groggily toward me from my bedside table. It is a text from Ryan. It says,
IT’S THE DAY OF THE SHOW, Y’ALL.

The combination of him not only quoting
Waiting for Guffman
to me but also trusting that I will get and appreciate the reference is almost too much delightfulness for me to handle first thing in the morning.

But I manage.

I am not awake enough to manage much else, though, including coming up with a clever and appropriate response, so I just text him a smiley face in return.

For a few minutes I just lie there in bed feeling happy.
Again.
It
is
the day of the show, y’all, and Ryan thought of me as soon as he woke up and wanted to share his excitement with me in exactly the perfect way, and I am smiling at the ceiling like an idiot and it is all really, really good.

Then I think about what has to happen after the show, and all of the happy goes away.

No, no, no.

I don’t want to feel like this yet. I still have time, dammit. I take a deep breath, and then I begin to talk myself through this. First, I am going to enjoy the day and the growing anticipation as the hours pass and the show gets closer and everyone looks forward to it together. The very fact that it might be my last day ever is going to make it all the more precious and important, and I am not going to waste said possible last day ever feeling sad and scared.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

I am going to live this day to the fullest in every cliché way imaginable. So yes, all-day anticipation, and yes, pregame excitement, and then the actual show will happen, and it will be amazing. And it will. Because no matter how much it rocks during rehearsal, no matter how awesome it is the night before, when it’s for real — when the audience is there and reacting and you can feel them feeling the magic of everything and the funny parts are getting laughs and the sad parts are getting sadness and it is one hundred percent clear that they are right there, right with us, loving it — there is nothing on earth that is better than that.

The show is going to be incredible.

Especially every scene involving the chair.

And after . . .

After I will finally get to save Annie from the evil librarian and put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

And so I make sure my magic protractor and textbook are in my backpack and I get myself to school.

None of the teachers even try to have real class today. There are countless games of hangman and lots of “independent reading and discussion.” The teachers, in fact, seem almost as excited as the students. Over the past several days, suspicious numbers of them seemed to be randomly working late, just happening to wander into the auditorium on their way to the parking lot, and then not leaving until rehearsal was over. And those who came and saw have clearly been talking to the rest, telling tales of wonder and excellence. The students, too, have heard the buzz, and additionally they are the friends and the boyfriends and girlfriends and siblings and secret and not-so-secret admirers of the cast and crew, and so they are probably still more excited than the teachers, who maybe want to support Mr. Henry and the students that they know in the show but mostly just want to
see
the show and possibly, as a bonus, feel superior to the teachers they know at other schools that have lame musicals that no one cares about at all.

The day goes by in a blur of nonclasses and texting Ryan and receiving encouraging words and good-luck hugs from Leticia and Diane (both Ryan related and show related). When the final bell rings at last, I take my minions out for an early preshow dinner to celebrate and fortify ourselves with ceremonial burgers and shakes and to pass the time until call, which is at 5:30 p.m. There is lots of nervous chatter and many self-congratulatory statements, but mostly we are just waiting for the clock.

And then, eventually, 5:30 p.m. arrives.

And so we all assemble back in the auditorium.

And now it’s starting, for real.

The auditorium is the same auditorium it has always been, but it is also different — better, special, alive and suddenly seeming almost self-aware with its own power, thrumming with potential energy and promise. The orchestra chairs and stands are set up and waiting for their designated occupants. Mr. Henry is running around with happy frantic purpose. Busy silhouettes flit about in the lighting booth and backstage in the wings, and I am so excited and glad that I am here and still alive and a part of this.

Usually we all drop our stuff off in the band-wing classroom set aside for that purpose, but tonight I tuck my backpack quickly and quietly under the prop table. No one will touch it — everyone has learned exactly how serious I am about not touching things on the prop table that are not your own personal assigned props — and the aura of
don’t you dare
that blankets the top of the table extends, I am certain, to the area underneath it as well. Maybe there will be plenty of time after the curtain calls for me to go and get my special demon-fighting loot from the other room, but maybe not. It seems best to keep it close at hand.

Preparation continues in various forms and speeds and styles until around 7:00 p.m. Then Mr. Henry calls us all together on the stage. Everyone is either in full costume and makeup or dressed in black for backstage ninja action.

“I am so proud of each and every one of you,” Mr. Henry says, looking from one face to another, around the circle we have automatically and unconsciously arranged ourselves into. “I always knew we’d have a wonderful show, but I have to admit that over the last couple of weeks you have completely surpassed my already high expectations. Thank you, so much, for all of your hard work and long nights and dedication. You are all so talented, all of you, cast and crew, and”— he shouts this next line over his shoulder down to the orchestra pit and Mr. Iverson, who has arrived in a tuxedo to complete his metamorphosis from musical director / rehearsal pianist to conductor —“persons of the orchestra.” Mr. Iverson smiles and makes a little bow, and the orchestra kids cheer. Mr. Henry continues, “We have something truly special here, thanks to you guys.”

“Thanks to you, too, Mr. H.!” someone shouts. I think it is Jeff Cohen, who is playing Judge Turpin. There is a chorus of support from the rest of us regarding this sentiment, and Mr. Henry grins and blushes and finally has to raise his hands in surrender to get us to shut up again. “Okay, okay, I did my part, too,” he allows. “But I want you all to know that you are the ones who are really making this happen, and as of now my part is done. I turn
Sweeney
over to you, and I can do this without hesitation because I have such complete and justified faith in my amazing cast and crew.”

“And orchestra!” Mr. Iverson shouts out, and we all laugh, in part to counteract the fact that Mr. Henry is starting to get us all a little choked up, himself included. He raises his hands once more and we subside. “This show means a lot to me,” he concludes in his now-serious voice, “and I know it means a lot to you, too. Let’s run through curtain calls, then we’ll do warm-ups, and then we’ll open the house. I can’t wait for the audience to experience what you’ve created here. You’re going to blow them away.”

There is enthusiastic cheering at this, and then the crew goes back to finishing up whatever last things we have to do while Mr. Henry does a few quick curtain-call run-throughs and then turns the cast over to Mr. Iverson for warm-ups. Watching my minions reinforcing tape marks on the floor and reading over tech cues while perfectly synced voices run up and down the scales along with the piano gives me chills, and I give myself one more moment to just appreciate the joy of this whole crazy thing and take in a good full dose of the energy and the excitement and the, yes, I’m saying it again, awesomeness. God, I love this so much. And as I think those words, I am suddenly overwhelmed by them, and I have to fight back the tears that suddenly want to spill from my eyes.
It’s not the last time you’ll ever get to feel this,
I swear to myself.
It’s not. I promise.