Stagecoach (3 page)

Max folded the list he’d been consulting. “You’ll also have to choose a stable manager to oversee the process of getting the equipment ready,” he said. “That might be a good job for one of the younger riders. Have fun preparing, girls.”

As he turned toward the barn, he took Lisa aside. “Lisa, I’ll bet I know why you look worried,” he said. “And I agree, it’s a difficult choice.”

Lisa looked up at him, surprised. She hadn’t been prepared for Max to be understanding about her conflict between activities. As far as she knew, he didn’t have a great passion for the stage. Maybe he was going to let her
miss some lessons or come late some of the time. “I just don’t know what to do,” Lisa admitted.

“I know,” Max said. “So I’m going to tell you what I think: You should ride Prancer at the rally instead of Barq.”

“But—” Lisa tried to interrupt.

“You’ve come a long way with her,” Max was saying “and that was clear to me today. In the end shell be a better dressage horse than Barq. And if you want to start riding her in Pony Club, there’s no better time than the present.” Max shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed she was the same horse that you took to the show. Besides, I think Betsy would do nicely on Barq. She had a lot of trouble with Comanche today.”

Lisa smiled wanly. It should have been music to her ears to hear that, as a direct result of The Saddle Club’s working with her, Prancer had changed from the flighty, nervous mare who had once kicked a judge at a local show. Instead Lisa felt a sense of dread. It was confirmed by Max’s parting words: “Two weeks of solid practice, and I know you two can really get it together. Just remember, between now and the rally, every minute counts.”

“Right,” Lisa mumbled. Pensively she crumpled up her lunch bag, watching Max walk away.

“What’s up?” Stevie inquired as she and Carole joined Lisa.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really,” Lisa answered. She didn’t feel like getting into the whole thing just then, especially when Carole and Stevie looked so excited.

“So let’s get to it—I want to go talk to Mrs. Reg right away,” Carole said.

“Me, too,” Stevie agreed. “I can’t wait to find out what test I have. How ’bout you, Lisa?”

Lisa looked up, lost in thought. “Me? Well, I—I—” She paused, looking down at her watch. “Oh, my gosh—I have a rehearsal in fourteen minutes! I’ll barely make it if I run all the way!” She took off in the direction of the driveway. “I’ll call you tonight!”

“At nine-twelve?” Stevie yelled after her.

“Yes! I mean, no! I don’t know! I have to rearrange my whole schedule!” Lisa yelled back. As an after-thought she stopped and called, “Hey, if I get out early, I’ll come back and practice!”

Watching her run toward the driveway, Stevie and Carole sighed in unison. For some reason they were getting a bad feeling about the play.

E
VEN THOUGH SHE
ran all the way, practically knocking people over on the sidewalks, and taking a shortcut through the soccer fields, Lisa was nearly ten minutes late to rehearsal. As she ran, she prayed that Mrs. Spitz and the rest of the cast would be singing a big chorus number so that they might not notice her late arrival.

With a final gasp of exhaustion, she banged through the doors of the auditorium at the high school, where the theater staged its productions. Ten heads turned from the stage. Ten pairs of eyes stared at Lisa. Lisa gulped. “I—I—sorry I’m late,” she mumbled finally.

To her dismay Lisa noticed that Mrs. Spitz wasn’t even seated at the practice piano. So much for a loud song masking her entrance. As quietly as she could, Lisa
mounted the stairs to the stage. Mrs. Spitz motioned for her to squeeze her way into the circle of actors. “Hello, Lisa. You’re late, as I’m sure you’re aware, so I’ll fill you in, but please don’t make it a habit. The principals are doing a read-through today. I’ve been reading your part. We’re on page seven.”

Lisa licked her lips. Her throat felt dry. “The principals? Are doing a read-through?” she repeated timidly.

Mrs. Spitz smiled. “That’s right. All the ‘principals’—the actors with lead roles—are ‘reading through’ the script. I forgot that you’re new to WCCT. That’s what we call Willow Creek Community Theater.”

Lisa blushed crimson. Here she was at her first rehearsal—late and making a fool out of herself because she didn’t understand the dramatic lingo.

“Yes, with a voice like that, it’s easy to forget that you haven’t had much experience on the stage, Lisa,” someone said. Lisa looked up gratefully. Mr. Ryan, who was playing Daddy Warbucks and had been in umpteen WCCT productions, was smiling encouragingly at her. Lisa tried to smile back. Inwardly she told herself not to feel bad—to cheer up and make the most of the rehearsal. She looked cautiously around the group, pleased to see a bunch of kids her own age.

Before Lisa could relax any more, though, another pang of embarrassment hit her. She had forgotten her script. She could see it in her mind, lying at the bottom
of her locker at Pine Hollow where she had left it that morning. She had been planning to grab it on her way out. Max’s announcement and having to rush over had completely wiped out any other thought. Against her will hot tears welled up in her eyes. Late, inexperienced, and now this!

Grimly, Lisa gritted her teeth. There was only one way out—she would have to look on with someone. She stole a glance at the girl on her left. To her relief she recognized the girl who had been at the final audition for the role of Annie. She had evidently been cast as an orphan. Telling herself that they at least sort of knew each other, Lisa whispered, “Could I share with you?” The girl shrugged and held her script slightly away from her so that Lisa could see—barely.

Before long Lisa’s mood had changed from embarrassment to annoyance. She had to crane her neck so hard it was starting to hurt, and what was more, every few minutes the girl with the script gave a loud “sniff.” The rest of the time she held her nose conspicuously away from Lisa. Lisa knew the reason for her rude behavior, and she didn’t like it one bit: If there was one thing Lisa and the whole Saddle Club hated, it was people who didn’t like horses. True, Lisa hadn’t had time to shower and change after Horse Wise—if she had, she would have remembered her script and wouldn’t have had to look on, anyway—but
it wasn’t as if she smelled like a wet dog or skunk or something really disgusting.

The girl also kept staring at Lisa’s breeches and boots as if she were wearing a space suit. Lisa decided to stare right back, in between lines. She knew it was rude, but she was so annoyed from running to make it to rehearsal that she was practically past caring.

Orphan, Lisa thought to herself. She’s not an orphan for nothing! Her private joke cheered her up a little, but she wished Stevie and Carole were there to share it. They wouldn’t have liked the orphan either.

At the ten-minute break, while the other cast members talked to one another and got drinks from the water fountain, Lisa stayed onstage. She lay back and closed her eyes. “If anyone thinks I’m weird,” she mumbled, “I just don’t want to hear about it.”

“Did you ask me something?” a cheery voice asked. Lisa opened her eyes. Her other neighbor—the girl who’d been sitting to her right—was smiling down at her. Her dark, flashing eyes and brown curls looked vaguely familiar.

Lisa sat up. “No, I was just thinking how weird I must have looked lying down in the middle of the stage.”

“Are you kidding? Everyone’ll be doing that in a couple of weeks. Close to performance time Mrs. Spitz works us so hard, you can’t wait for break so that you can collapse!” the girl said. “By the way, I’m Hollie. And
you can look on with me after break.
I
don’t mind sharing.”

“I’m Lisa,” Lisa said, feeling herself beginning to cheer up at Hollie’s friendly greeting.

“Oh, I know,” Hollie said.

“You do?” Lisa asked.

“Naturally,” Hollie said. “I always prick up my ears when I hear Mrs. Spitz has found new talent.”

“I’m not sure it’s talent—maybe more like luck,” Lisa said.

Hollie shook her head. “Nope. It’s definitely talent. I heard you sing the duet with Mr. Ryan at tryouts. It was great.”

Lisa smiled modestly. Then it struck her why Hollie looked familiar. “I know where I’ve seen you before,” she said. “We read a couple of scenes together at the first audition, didn’t we?”

Hollie nodded.

“I was really nervous,” Lisa went on, “but you were so sure of yourself that I decided I’d fake it and just pretend I was as confident as you. You’re the one who’s talented.”

Hollie laughed. “Hey, don’t forget, that’s what acting is—‘faking it.’ But how about if we’re
both
talented?”

Lisa agreed. “So you ended up getting the head orphan part,” she commented.

“Yeah, it’s a good character part.” At Lisa’s blank look
Hollie explained. “You know, not the lead, but a part that you can do a lot with—make people remember you for other reasons than your perfect soprano. Like maybe you have a funny walk or a strange accent or just a lot of pizzazz. I get character parts a lot.”

Lisa nodded, her eyes bright with enthusiasm at what Hollie was saying. She sure seemed to know a lot about the theater.

“So, you see,” Hollie was finishing, “not all the orphans are as bad as Miss Sniff-sniff.”

Lisa clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “Is she usually that bad?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. Anna Henchman is a completely spoiled brat. She thought she deserved the part of Annie because of her name! Can you believe that? She does have a good voice, and she’s a good actress, but she makes life miserable for the rest of us. I’m sure she’s jealous that you got the part. And she’s probably jealous that you go riding, too. Those
are
riding clothes, aren’t they?” Lisa nodded. “Well, I’m sure Anna wishes she knew how.”

“Then she’d better get used to it,” Lisa said, “because I go riding most days.”

Hollie looked interested. “Really? That’s neat. I used to ride sometimes, and I liked it,” she said.

“It’s the most fun thing in the world,” Lisa said.

“More fun than
Annie?
” Hollie asked.

Lisa felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t want to sound as though getting the lead in the play meant less to her than riding, especially when Hollie obviously cared so much about acting. “Well, just as fun,” she said. Briefly she told Hollie about riding at Pine Hollow. “Why don’t you come with me sometime?” she suggested.

“I’d love to,” Hollie responded. “After
Annie,
that is. Of course there won’t be any time before the show finishes its run.”

“Um, just when will that be?” Lisa asked, trying to make her voice sound normal. It had suddenly occurred to her that there was a chance that the Pony Club rally and the play could fall on the same weekend.

Hollie seemed a bit surprised that Lisa didn’t know already, but she happily filled her in on the performance dates. Dress rehearsal would be in two weeks, on a Saturday night, followed by four performances the next weekend—Friday and Saturday evenings, and Saturday and Sunday matinees.

Lisa sighed in relief. Dress rehearsal on the night of the rally would be tough, but at least it wasn’t opening night. Her relief didn’t last long, though. Before continuing the read-through, Mrs. Spitz handed out photocopies of the finalized rehearsal schedules. Lisa grimaced when she saw hers. As Annie, she had to be present at almost every rehearsal. There were even two rehearsals just for her alone. But that wasn’t the worst part. The
day of the rally she was booked from nine to eleven in the morning and seven to nine at night. What was she going to do? Ask someone else to wrap Prancer’s legs, load her into the van, and get her ready for inspection in the morning, then take her home and take care of her at night? Max would never let her participate in such a halfhearted way. And she wouldn’t want to. But how could she miss the rally?

“Is everything all right, Lisa?” Mrs. Spitz asked.

Lisa forced herself to nod. “Oh, yes, it’s fine,” she said.

Mrs. Spitz smiled sympathetically. “I know it’s hard to keep up your grades when you devote yourself to a production, but I’m not worried about you, Lisa. You’re a smart girl.”

Lisa bit her lip. If only grades were the only thing she had to think about!

A
FTER THE READ-THROUGH
was over, Mrs. Spitz critiqued everyone’s “performance.” “Yes, it’s the first rehearsal,” she explained, “but when I run a show, every minute counts.”

Lisa recalled hearing those words earlier that day—from Max, telling her she could get Prancer ready for the rally in time. Her head began to swim as she thought about all she had to do in the next three weeks. She hardly heard Mrs. Spitz’s announcement to go downstairs to the costume room.

“I love this part so much!” Hollie cried, bringing Lisa back to earth.

“What part?” Lisa asked, silently reprimanding herself for not paying attention.

“You know—trying on our costumes. As soon as I see mine, I start picturing myself onstage on opening night. It makes me shiver!” Hollie hugged herself with anticipation.

Lisa followed her down the stairs and into a tiny room beneath the stage. It was crammed full of every kind of costume for every kind of show. There were racks of dresses in gingham and velvet, suit pants and jackets, farmer’s overalls, lace veils, silk kimonos, and even a feather boa or two. There were rows of boots and high heels, there were piles of felt and straw hats, there were baskets of hair ribbons and sashes. In the midst of it all sat a gray-haired woman with three pins in her mouth.

“Come in, come in,” she said. “I’ve just finished pinning up Mr. Ryan’s trousers, so you can be next, Hollie.”

Hollie ran and threw her arms around the woman and then introduced her to Lisa. She was Mrs. Roberts, the costume designer for more WCCT shows than anyone could remember.

While Hollie got fitted for her orphan costume, Lisa tried on the things Mrs. Roberts had given her. A little
shyly, she examined herself in the full-length mirror. Her jaw dropped at the sight of herself in the red Annie dress, white tights, black patent-leather shoes, and curly red wig. With one glance all worries fled her mind.

“I’m Annie!” Lisa cried.