The Sisters Club by Megan McDonald
“Just leave it outside the door.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s breakfast IN BED. It’s no fair if you have to get out of bed.”
“And who do you think’s going to open the door? Sock Monkey?”
“C’mon, Alex. Let me in.”
“But I’m not talking to you.”
“You just did.”
“That was a fluke.”
Miracle of miracles, the door opened. Alex stuck Sock Monkey through the crack and made him say, “You can bring Alex the breakfast, but that’s all.”
I pushed open the door.
“Alex, you can’t stay mad at me forever, you know.”
“Yes, she can,” said Sock Monkey.
“But I can’t stand it if you’re mad at me for like the rest of my life. I can’t stand it if you don’t want to be my sister. C’mon, Alex. I said I’m sorry like a million times.”
“Alex said to tell you a million and one times is not enough for what you did,” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, then, how can I make it up to you? I mean her. I mean . . . I made you breakfast. And I did the dishes for you, and I didn’t tell Dad it was you who flooded the bathroom.”
“Alex said to tell you she so did not flood the bathroom!” said Sock Monkey.
“Well, there was a lake on the floor, and Dad was mad, and Alex was the last one in there.”
“Stop changing the subject,” said Sock Monkey. “Alex is the one mad at you, remember?”
“How can I forget? You won’t talk to us, and it’s making Joey cry. Just tell me what to do. Anything. I’ll kiss Sock Monkey. See? Mww.” I kissed that worn old bag of stuffing right on his ruby-red sock lips. “I’ll kiss paper towels if you want me to!”
Even Alex could not hold back a smile.
“OK. I’ll speak to you and Joey again,” said Alex the Person. “But that’s all. This doesn’t mean I’m your friend. This doesn’t mean I’m back in the Sisters Club. It’s not over, you know. You owe me. And you better make it up to me.”
“How?”
“You’ll think of something.”
Opening night. That’s the biggest night of the play.
Everybody was backstage, buzzing around like bees, rushing around half-dressed, pacing back and forth, and holding scripts and mouthing lines to themselves. Mr. Cannon, the director, was racing around with a clipboard, shouting orders at people. Actors kept coming up to him, saying stuff like “I can’t find the rose for the rosebush” or “Am I supposed to come onstage before or after the word ‘night’?” or “My hair won’t stay on right.”
Even I couldn’t help catching a little of the excitement.
Joey was trying to make up for the Frog Lips Incident, so she yelled, “Hi, Scott Towel!” to Scott (a.k.a. Beast), who was only half-hairy so far (from the neck down) and kept putting breath-mint strips in his mouth.
Alex was talking a mile a minute. Every few seconds she’d stop and blow into her hand, taking a bunch of deep breaths. She sounded like a hyperventilating hyena. She looked like she was going to throw up on Dad’s shoes.
Dad said, “Alex, honey. Try to stay calm. Turn your nervousness into excitement. Remember your deep breathing? Now’s the time. Breathe. Don’t forget, if you blank on a line or say the wrong words, just keep going.”
“I know, I know, Dad. The show must go on.”
“That’s my girl. I’ll be backstage checking on my props and scene changes, if you need me.”
“You look beautiful, honey,” Mom said, and she gave Alex a non–Frog Lips kiss.
“Mom! I don’t even have the rest of my costume on yet. And you’re messing up my stage makeup.”
“OK, well, you still look beautiful.”
“Dad, did you remember the moat around the castle?” Joey asked.
“It’s all there, honey.”
“And are you sure you got the volcano in the right place? Facing the right way and everything?” It was just a hunk of cardboard and wire and paste, but you’d think Joey had helped build the Golden Gate Bridge or something.
“Five minutes!” Mr. Cannon called.
“Thank you — five!” a bunch of cast members called back.
Five minutes till showtime. Time to find our seats.
“Good luck!” I called to Alex.
Alex turned around with a mean glare. “Stevie! Don’t say that. Good luck is like bad luck in acting!”
“Whatever.”
“Take it back!”
“OK, OK! I take it back.”
“Break a leg!” Joey called.
The best part about plays is sitting in the dark. You have hundreds of people around you, but the dark makes it seem like it’s just you. Alone. You and the play. You get to laugh and cry and feel stuff and forget everything else, like homework, and fondue fiascoes, and sisters being mad at you.
Being in the audience is the best. You’re inside the story, only you don’t have to be up there acting.
Nervous. Shaky. Sweating.
Feeling like you’re about to throw up.
If only Joey would stop whispering all the lines. I had to keep elbowing her, fondue-style. Once I even made her drop her Junior Mints.
Alex didn’t seem one bit nervous. She didn’t sound like a hyena anymore. Of course, you can’t see the somersaults going on inside a person’s stomach. But she didn’t mess up one time in all of Act One.
Not even when I hunched down, crept down to the pit in front, and snapped a bunch of pictures of her.
Not even when the curtain got stuck.
Not even when Beast’s nose fell off one time!
She did all the stuff Dad was always telling her — like when to look at the audience and how to speak loud enough and all that junk. I don’t know how she keeps it all in her head.
And she looked just like Beauty in the fairy tale. Not like someone who slams doors, throws herself facedown on her bed, and talks to a sock monkey. Not like someone who swears in Shakespeare or gives you the Silent Treatment or puts marshmallows between her toes.
I tried to think of myself in that dress. To imagine what it would be like. Picture it. It was a big step up from Human Piñata, that’s for sure. I wondered if the dress and the makeup help transform you, I mean, make you feel like you’re somebody besides yourself.
I got so caught up in the story and costumes and characters, the first act went by in a flash. Before I knew it, the curtain fell with a hush, and we could hear the patter of feet as the scenery changed.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, ACT TWO
Starring Alex
SETTING: THE HOUSE OF BEAUTY’S FATHER.
Beauty: (Bursts into tears.) (Real tears! This is good!)
Beauty’s sister: Beauty? Whatever is wrong that causes you to weep so?
Beauty: I’ve had a most frightful dream this night. I was in the palace garden, and a lady appeared to me. She showed me Beast, lying on the grass, nearly dead. My poor, dear Beast! I fear I’ve made a most dreadful mistake. (I haven’t forgotten one line so far!)
Sister: Nonsense. You belong here with us, with Father.
Beauty: I fear I am indeed very wicked to cause my poor, dear Beast so much grief. He has shown me nothing but kindness. Why did I not wish to marry him? (Act Two is almost over — they love me!)
Sister: Marry him! Have you lost your senses?
Beauty: Is it his fault that he is so ugly and has so few wits? (Yes! I didn’t say “zits!”)
Sister: Perhaps not . . .
Beauty: Why did I not wish to marry him? It is neither good looks nor brains in a husband that make a woman happy. It is beauty of character, goodness, and kindness. (This is the best play ever! I’m a star!)
Sister: Certainly you would not be so foolish as to think yourself in love with the Beast?
Beauty: Yes, and to prove my love, I shall remove this ring. (I hope I can get it off!) Soon I shall find myself back at the palace of my beloved, where
Sister: NO!
Beauty: Alas! ’Tis too late, my dear sister. Good-bye! (I wish this scene wasn’t over! Maybe if I ad-lib. Add just a line . . .)
Beauty: (Holding hand to head.) Beast, O my dear, sweet Beast. Where art thou? (Runs around stage, looking here and there. Exits by the volcano.) Oops! (Tripping.)
CRASH! (Audience gasps.)
Beauty: “Curtain! Curtain!”
Curtain falls on Act Two.
Just when I was starting to think that maybe acting wasn’t so bad after all.
When the house lights came up at intermission, Mom and Joey and I ran backstage to check on Alex. The girl who played one of Beauty’s sisters in the play came rushing up to us.
“Mrs. Reel — you gotta come — now,” she said, all out of breath. “Alex! Her foot — it’s bad — all swelled up like a baseball.”
Mom pushed through the crowd and ran up the stage steps, with Joey and me right behind her.
Alex was propped up against a wall, her leg sticking out. Dad was holding an ice pack to her ankle. Mr. Cannon and a bunch of the cast were swarming around her. Her makeup was all runny, and her dress looked like a deflated birthday-party balloon.
Everybody was talking at once. In the blur, I heard words like “sprain” and “twisted” and “broken.”
I heard Alex say she couldn’t get up or stand or put any weight on her foot.
“What happened?” I asked, squeezing through the crowd.
“Didn’t you see? Everybody else in the whole world did.”
“I know. But how?”
“Somebody painted A. R. LOVES S. H. in a big red heart on Dad’s volcano. I saw it right before the show, so I got some of the stage crew to help me turn it around a little. But I forgot that the corner was sticking out, and I fell.”
I knew she was going to say the play was ruined. I knew she was going to say it was all my fault.
“I didn’t do it!” I said.
“We know, honey.” Dad pulled Joey over close to him. He must have known she painted those initials on the volcano.
Alex didn’t get mad. She didn’t say it was all my fault or Joey’s. She started to cry. “I worked so hard for this, and now —”
“Maybe you can still go out there,” I said.
“Yeah, right! I can’t even stand up.”
Alex looked so pathetic. I wished there was something I could do.
Mr. Cannon was pacing back and forth with his clipboard. “Think, people. We have to think. What are we going to do? We still have Act Three to go. It’s short, but it’s the most important act. The grand finale.”
“Alex, are you sure you can’t go out there?” somebody asked.
“I don’t know . . .”
“You have to tell us now if you really can’t go out there, honey,” said Dad. “We’ve only got a few minutes.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” said Mom, “but the hospital. We’ve got to get that foot checked.”
“Mom, please. I’ll be OK. Just till after the play. It’s almost over. C’mon, you guys. It’s opening night.” She said it like it was her wedding or something.
“Couldn’t we just wrap her foot up or something, so she can walk?” I asked.
“There might be a fracture,” said Mom. “It’s already swollen. We can’t let her put any pressure on it. She has to prop up her foot and keep that thing iced.”
“OK, Alex,” said Mr. Cannon. “If you can’t, you can’t. I don’t want you to hurt yourself more than you already have. We’ll think of something.”
I was trying my best to think of a way to be helpful. “Don’t you have an understudy?” I asked. “Somebody who knows all the lines and could take Alex’s place? Act Three’s really short. There are hardly any words!”
“Nina. She’s the understudy,” said Mr. Cannon. “But she’s sick tonight. Maybe we can just go out and explain to folks what happened.”
“It’s opening night!” said Alex. “You can’t just tell everybody to go home. People will be mad. And want their money back or something. If I know anything about acting, it’s that you don’t quit. You keep going, no matter what!”
“But nobody knows the lines,” said Mr. Cannon.
“‘I see before me a prince, more beautiful than Love itself,’” I couldn’t help quoting, even though my voice was shaking. “‘But where is my Beast? What has become of him?’”
“Stevie!” said Alex. “That’s it! It’s perfect. Hey, Mr. Cannon, my sister Stevie knows all the lines. We practiced this scene at home like a million gazillion times.” She turned to me. “You mean? Really? You would do this? For me?”
I must have been crazy. Loony. Loco. I don’t know what got into me. Me! The only Reel without an acting gene! As much as I wanted to help Alex, I suddenly didn’t think I could go through with it.
I thought of telling Alex I’d gone nuts. Temporary insanity. I thought of saying I didn’t know the lines. I thought of running out the back door.
But then I looked at my sister. She looked like a raccoon, with her stage makeup all smeary. I looked at Mom. She nodded yes. I looked at Dad. “You know what I always say. The show must go on!” Dad said.
“Where’s the dressing room?” I asked.
“Act Three cast members,” called Mr. Cannon, “four minutes and counting.”
“Thank you — four!” everybody called back.
Including me — Beauty.
On my way to get dressed, Alex and Joey hooked pinkies with me and we did our secret handshake, “Sisters, Blisters, and Tongue Twisters.”
Alex pressed a tiny gold star on a chain into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s from my baby bracelet. I always wear it. Put it on.”
Since good luck was bad luck in acting, I asked, “For bad luck?”
“Yes! Now go!” Alex whispered. Joey added a little push, and before I knew it, I was on the dark stage, behind the curtain.
Guess what, everybody? The dress didn’t help. The makeup didn’t help. Not even the Sisters Handshake and the bad-luck charm seemed to help.
I did not feel like Beauty one bit. I felt more like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.
“Curtain time!”
My knees went all wobbly. I had not walked in high heels since I was four. My eyes kept sticking together from all the makeup, and my dress crackled as loud as a potato-chip bag when I walked onstage.
Return of the Human Piñata.
In my head, I could hear Alex saying, “Try not to blink so much,” and Dad saying, “Remember to say your t’s at the ends of words” and “Walk like you have a book on your head,” and Mom saying, “You’ll be fine,” and Joey saying, “Go kiss a Paper Towel,” but I really wasn’t hearing any of them.
Then the curtain went up. The room got spooky-quiet. It was so dark, I couldn’t see any faces out there.
I pretended it was King Lear.
At home.
In my own living room.
I took three deep breaths (Dad would be proud) and walked right out onto that stage.
A single stage light shone on Beast like a moonbeam. He was lying down in the garden. I was supposed to come up to him from behind the volcano and think he was dead.
The light was so spooky and everything was so quiet, I almost believed it myself.
I stepped into the story.
“Where, oh, where, is Beast? Why hasn’t he come?” I said, looking around. Then when I saw him there, like he was really dead, I threw myself down, landing on my knees, and bent over him.
He smelled funny, like Tic Tacs and old attics.
I almost lost it. I could hardly keep from cracking up. I bent down to pretend I was listening to his heartbeat.
“My dear Beet! Your heart still beasts!” I said. Oh, no! I was getting all tongue-twisty. Why did we have to say “Tongue Twisters” right before I came onstage?
I said the line again. I think I sprayed him with spit that
Scott Towel, from inside his hairy costume, whispered, “Water,” without moving his lips, and I remembered this was the part where Beauty was supposed to go and get water from the canal.
When I came back, I threw the water in his face.
That part was fun! Way better than spit.
“Beauty! Is it indeed you? You forgot your promise! The grief I felt at losing you made me wish to die of hunger. Now I must die, but not without the pleasure of seeing you once more.”
He sat up. I kept trying really hard not to think of paper towels.
“Dear Beast, you shall not die,” I said. “You shall live and become my husband. Here and now I offer you my hand and swear that I shall marry none but you.”
The stage went pitch-black. Scott threw off his Beast head. He unzipped his hairy costume to reveal the Prince costume underneath. Lights blinked and flashed all around us. Music blared. A trumpet sounded.
I gasped. “I see before me a prince, more beautiful than Love itself. But where is my Beast? What has become of him?”
Scott Towel explained about the wicked fairy and how she had put a spell on him, turning him into a Beast until someone agreed to love and marry him.
All of a sudden, while Scott was giving his speech, I remembered.
Help! It was coming.
The moment Alex had waited for.
The kiss!
I had forgotten all about it. I’d been so busy thinking of Alex and the one thing I could do to make her want to be my sister again.
I couldn’t look at Scott Towel. I stared at the floor.
I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. Alex would kill me if I kissed him. But she’d also kill me if I didn’t.
Just pretend he’s a roll of paper towels, I told myself. Paper towels, paper towels . . .
And before I knew it, Beast kissed me — my cheek, anyway. I turned my head to the side in the nick of time.
The audience went wild. I guess it was OK. Alex wasn’t going to kill me after all.
Once I got through the kiss, the rest of the play was a blur. I was standing here, standing there, stage left, stage right, saying this, saying that. It was like I was floating. All the words came out, and I didn’t throw up once. For ten minutes, I felt like a princess. And here was Beast, telling me I was to become his queen.