Chapter 40 – Everyday People (2)

Six days to G-day.
Sunday.

Zara found her in the dark, her petite body stretched out on the wooden floor, doing imaginary starfishes.

“Trouble with theatre? Or William? Did he harass you again?” her friend asked, unslinging the guitars, then joined her on the floor. “Want a sandwich? I got spares.”

“Not theatre. Yeah William. And I would indeed like a sandwich,” Eppie accepted her friend’s kindness.

They ate.
They practised.
Eppie tried freestyle to no avail, while Zara’s bars rolled off the fret like a warm wind from the Santa Ana, sending goosebumps up and down her forearm. Hers sound like Costco’s inter-aisle broadcasts.

“What’s that one called?” Eppie asked. “I am all shivers.”

“The Devil,” Zara replied.

For some reason, Eppie almost heard “William”, which was impossible, because she had [Perfect Pitch].

Eppie sat. The tune Zara played in the style of Paco’s solitude had touched something inside her, something tender and agitated, something that did not appreciate being prodded. “Is it finished?”

Zara shook her head. “I am not sure how it should end. Let’s do another round. Add in some more free-style segments. You never know if the audience will demand an encore.”

“Alright,” Eppie picked up her guitar. “Let’s take it from the top.”

The room filled once more with sweet music, easing the tyranny of time.

Five days to G-day.

Min-jun ran the entire 3-scene sequence perfectly for the first time, not just on Eppie, but on the other students as well, garnering applause from Eppie and co and approving nods from Costello.

Under his improved mastery, the black box was convincingly transformed into an isolated dramatic space: that of a government briefing room, a conference space, and an officious office. James’ Creon looked three inches taller, thanks to the converging light and his crisp new costume. The press corps, in their suits, jackets, shirts, and ties, and with borrowed camera rigs, found their bodies adjusting without Seyrova’s instruction. Everything was coming together; the illusion was complete.

On the stage, Ismene trembled at the unyielding figure of her shorter sister, who in this moment looked a full foot taller.

“You are free to be what you want to be. Emmi, but I will bury him.”

Her delivery was just so.
Her delivery had wings.

Eppie stood in the light, steady and present, embodying the role, becoming Antigone, knowing that she was right, that she was the minister of God’s will.

“There it is,” Cooper sighed from the third row.
“Yes indeed.” Tyker ticked off the box from the fourth. “Now about that costume, I found the perfect thing...”

Four days until G-Day.
The crew rested, recouped, took notes, and practised in groups or alone while the Playhouse was booked for personal showcase practices.

Cameron made a final update to the Bible and shared it with everyone, personally highlighting all the key points and handwriting last-minute annotations. Lighting cues, sound balance, Eppie’s position, and the Xs on the stage: all were adjusted.

In the evening, they were visited by a group of seniors who were filming the whole thing for the post-Gala review and future media releases. Eppie, their current celebrity, was an obvious choice to include.

It was during such a visit that Eppie noticed a tall, lanky figure among the boys holding their handycams, standing like a crane above a flock of chickens.

William Chen had joined the documentary team.

He waved at her, as a big brother might upon seeing a little sister in a play, then brought his subordinates closer.

“Here is our Songbird,” he said, smiling so sincerely that Eppie’s classmates were instantly wooed. He was a charming man. That was William’s greatest trait. He was tall and handsome, but not in an intimidating way. His long-slitted eyes, which reminded Eppie of a fox, were full of genuine curiosity and interest, delivering a pseudo-sense of authentic interest in Eppie’s life.

He was also far too direct.

With a familiarity that made her skin crawl, William walked around her like a salesman at a car showroom, then placed his hands very gingerly, with the tiniest, most subtle hint of a touch, on her exposed shoulders.

She fought the sensation of her own body recoiling.

“Eppie here will make history for LAPA. No one here can begin to imagine what she might achieve by her Senior year. Will you write a song for one of our own, Eppie? I hear you and Zara are working on something incredible.”

The bile in her belly threatened to spill, but Eppie persevered.

“You must come to the Whitman’s during the Gala, William,” she said sweetly, forcing the bile down her throat with supernatural body control via her [Physicality].

She must not have been a very good actor, because William gave her the strangest look, like he was almost seeing past—

“Please?” She turned to the oldest trick in the book. Puss in Boots. Her enormous eyes fluttered. Her face was red, though not a hint of its scarlet was from being flustered. “For me?”

For a moment, the mixed signals seemed to send William into a tailspin, then the man smiled like Iago being begged to find a handkerchief.

“For you, Songbird,” he said to the camera, his lips close enough to kiss a cheek. “Anything.”

G-day minus 3.

Wednesday arrived.

New costumes.
Full lights.
Full Prompt Book operations.
Cameron ran in circles, calling out the cues.
Min-jun, Sage, Kimberly and Harrison ran themselves ragged in the control box, wishing they could each sprout two more heads and an extra pair of arms.

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After all the drama, their three sets were The Sisters, Antigone’s Protest, and The Bride of Death. Eppie’s part, by consensus, took centre stage.

James Jules now played well with invisible cameras as a man who believed that law was civilisation and could not understand why the girl in front of him refused to cave. The young actor had finally come to believe that his Creon isn’t a villain, merely a man who believed in himself a little too much.

Chloe, freed from Val’s presence for about three weeks now, played an unconfident Isemene with great confidence. Her movements were heartbreaking, her expressions sincere as she interacted with Eppie. She was becoming an actress; she was no longer so intimidated by Eppie’s superior Antigone.

Eppie arrived at the stage with her character fully inhabited. She stood in the cool hue of the coloured lighting, delivering lines that grew with conviction with every reading.

After the final light faded, the black box was illuminated.

Tyker stood with Cooper and Costello. Costello and Cooper clapped. Tyker took no more notes.

The show, as far as the young actors could know, was complete.

Evening.

LAPA had two Galas a year, and though the Fall Gala was the lesser, it was no less all-consuming of the school’s resources and the students’ and staff’s time. This meant that a particular atmosphere had taken over the whole of LAPA, creating the likeness of a conglomerate beehive with competing queens.