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GROSSET & DUNLAP
Penguin Young Readers Group
An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Text copyright © 2016 by Andrew Keenan-Bolger and Kate Wetherhead. Illustrations copyright © 2016 by Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC. Printed in the USA.
Cover illustrations by Avner Geller and Kyle Webster.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-0-399-54279-4
Version_1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About Guys and Dolls
Acknowledgments
IN MEMORY OF ROGER REES,
A MOST EXQUISITE THEATER NERD.
-LOUISA-
Everything was smaller than I had expected. More compact. The hallways were narrow, the ceilings low, the rooms tiny and warm from the mirror lights. But the sweet, musty smell was the same as any theater’s backstage, and I couldn’t decide what was more exciting—the things that surprised me or the things that were so familiar.
If I’d been told four and a half months ago that I’d be getting a guided tour of a Broadway theater from a former Broadway star who also happened to be my new best friend, I never would have believed it. And now here I stood, as close to my dreams as I’d ever been, still not quite believing it.
“You okay, Lou?”
I turned to see Jack looking at me, amused. He must have known I was overwhelmed.
“Yeah,” I replied, thinking how interesting my life had become since Jack Goodrich moved in down the street from me.
In November, Jack and I had finished our run of Into the Woods with the Shaker Heights Community Players. The critic for the Sun Press had given it a glowing review: “Utterly enchanting,” he’d gushed. “Poignant . . . Beautifully acted and sung by a stellar cast.”
“I guess you’re used to getting reviewed by, like, the New York Times,” I’d said to Jack after reading the review to him over the phone.
“Are you kidding?” Jack had replied, incredulous. “A rave is a rave. Who cares who’s writing it?” I loved that he felt as proud of our show as I did.
Speaking of proud—not only did our entire seventh-grade homeroom come to see our show, but they all stood during the curtain call when Jack and I took our bows! Even Tanner Falzone, who had made Jack a target of his ridicule early in the school year, whistled through his teeth like he was at a football game.
For the week following our run, it seemed like all of Shaker Heights was talking about our production of Into the Woods. I felt like a mini celebrity, like when the manager at Yours Truly Restaurant recognized me.
“Oh my god, you were so good as Little Red Riding Hood!” she exclaimed as she helped the hostess seat me and my parents. “So feisty.” When our entrees were cleared about an hour later, a complimentary brownie sundae was sent over.
“Woo-hoo, star treatment,” my dad said, grabbing one of the three forks provided and digging into the whipped cream. “I could get used to having a famous kid.”
At the dentist, the dry cleaner’s, the drugstore, people would come up to me to tell me how much they loved the show.
The same thing was happening to Jack, and I asked him if that’s what it was like for working actors in New York.
“Not really,” he said. “There’s, like, eight million people there, and most of them don’t go to Broadway shows—tourists do. So it’s pretty easy to be anonymous.” We laughed at how much more famous he felt in Shaker Heights, Ohio, than he ever had in New York City.
Soon enough, though, our celebrity status faded away, brownie sundaes came with a price tag, and we went back to being regular seventh-graders. Our next shot at the spotlight wouldn’t be until second semester, when Mrs. Wagner, our music teacher, would be directing a production of Guys and Dolls. I was looking forward to it, of course, especially since the part of Adelaide was on my list of dream roles, but as far as Mrs. Wagner was concerned . . . Well, let’s just say that she wasn’t the greatest director. Her only objective was making sure that everyone could be seen and heard on stage at all times, which usually meant scene after scene of kids standing in a straight line, delivering their dialogue very loudly to the audience instead of to each other. She was certainly no Renee Florkowski, our Into the Woods director.
So sure, we had a show on the horizon, but it wasn’t going to be anything like what we’d just experienced with the Shaker Heights Community Players. And it didn’t really matter, anyway. By early December, everyone had other things demanding their attention, like getting ready for the holidays.
“My parents and I are going to New York for New Year’s,” Jack announced one night while we were at his house doing our English homework. We were supposed to be answering questions about S. E. Hinton’s The Outsiders, a book title that was suddenly hitting a little too close to home.
“Wow,” I said, trying to conceal that jealousy, “how long are you going for?”
“Five days. We’re staying with my parents’ friends on the Upper West Side,” Jack replied casually. After all this time, it still bugged me how easy it was for him to talk about New York—like he was talking about a corner store or a gas station.
“Are you going to see any shows?” I asked, staring at a page from my book but not reading a word.
“Probably,” Jack said. “I have some friends working right now who I should go support.”
Friends to support! On Broadway! I mean, I always went with Jenny’s parents to her yearly ballet recital in Cleveland, but—no offense to Jenny—that just didn’t sound as cool.
“What are you doing for the break?” Jack asked, looking up from his homework. I hesitated, mortified to tell him.
“Um, not much. My uncle Dan and his girlfriend, Tina, are driving up from Missouri to visit for a couple days. She, um . . . really wants to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.” Jack wasn’t a good enough actor to mask his pity. And I wasn’t a good enough actor to mask my gloom.
I spent the next couple of weeks trying not to think about how different our winter vacations were going to be, choosing instead to concentrate on schoolwork and reminding myself that Uncle Dan made really good French toast. I’d never met Tina, but Dan had told me on the phone that she’d really liked the movie Chicago, so we’d “have lots to talk about” when they got to town. I wasn’t convinced.
For the most part, Jack did a good job of not talking too much about his upcoming trip, probably sensing that it was a painful subject for me.
That is, until one day when we were riding the bus home from school and his cell phone ch
imed with a new text message. As he read the message, he let out a slight gasp and said, “I can’t believe it—my mom just got me a ticket to see Let’s Make a Toast!”
My heart sank. Jack and I had been obsessing over that show since we’d found bootleg clips of it on YouTube. It had recently opened on Broadway and starred the amazing Madeleine Zimmer, who Jack knew personally. I didn’t want to ruin Jack’s excitement, so I mustered a “That’s amazing!” and tried not to burst into tears.
As the bus pulled up to our stop, he said, “Hey, do you mind if I come over to your house for a little while? Both my parents are out.”
“Sure,” I said, slightly dreading the thought of having to spend the afternoon with Jack pretending I wasn’t sad.
But confusion replaced my dread as we entered my house to find both of our moms drinking tea in the kitchen.
“Hey, superstars,” my mom said as we approached, “how was school?”
“Good,” Jack said breezily, like he hadn’t just totally lied to me.
“Jack?” I said suspiciously. “I thought you said your parents were out.”
“They are. My dad’s at work and my mom’s . . . here.” He raised his eyebrows at his mom, who coyly sipped her tea.
“Did you ask Mrs. Benning?” Jack asked her.
“I did.”
“So I can tell Lou?”
“Go ahead,” she replied, winking at my mom.
I looked from Mom to Mrs. Goodrich to Jack—all three of them now grinning at me like idiots.
“Tell me what?” I demanded, my heart beating fast.
Jack kept grinning as he spoke.
“So . . . remember that text message I got on the bus?”
“About getting a ticket to Let’s Make a Toast!?”
“Well, that was only half-true. My mom actually got two tickets.” I felt a lump rise in my throat as I realized what he was saying.
“Do you mean . . . ?” I asked, trying not to get weepy.
Jack beamed at me, proud of his trick.
“Yeah—the other ticket is yours. Wanna come to New York with us?”
“Hey, Earth to Lou.”
Jack’s hand waved in front of my face, snapping me back to reality—if you could call this reality. A heavily tattooed man carrying a wavy auburn wig on a Styrofoam head whisked by as I turned to Jack.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
Jack laughed.
“I said, ‘Is this what you pictured a Broadway backstage would look like?’”
“Oh,” I said, looking around in wonder for the eight millionth time. “Sort of? I mean, not really, but maybe? I don’t know,” I stammered, nervously gripping my winter coat, “but it’s amazing.”
“The St. James Theatre actually has a larger backstage than most,” Jack explained to my astonishment. There were places that were even smaller than this?
I watched in fascination as the actors nimbly maneuvered past us through the narrow corridor, loosening neckties and pulling bobby pins from their wigs. Only minutes ago these same people had been onstage, singing and dancing in front of an ecstatic crowd. The show had been better than I’d hoped, with songs that would be stuck in my head for months. Jack and I had screamed ourselves hoarse during the curtain call. Now all of the people that we’d been cheering for from afar were checking their cell phones and debating which subway lines would get them home fastest. I was feeling awestruck by every single one of them when a newly familiar voice rang out:
“All right, who let these kids in here?”
I turned to see Madeleine Zimmer, the star of the show, her eyes twinkling mischievously under her false eyelashes and her Crest-commercial-white teeth lined up in a perfect smile. She wore a long pink-and-red silk kimono, and when Jack jumped into her arms, he disappeared behind its floor-length sleeves.
“Maddie!” His exclamation was muffled by the fabric. “You were incredible!”
“Well, once I knew that Jack Goodrich was going to be in the audience, I upped my game,” she said, releasing him. “Oh my goodness, let me look at you. You got so big!”
Jack looked down at his feet like he’d failed to notice his recent growth spurt.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said with a chuckle.
“And who’s this great beauty?” Madeleine asked, gesturing toward me.
Great beauty? She’s got to be kidding, I thought. This woman looks like a supermodel, and I look like . . . well, like a starstruck twelve-year-old theater nerd with hat hair holding a huge parka.
“This is my best friend from Ohio—Louisa Benning,” answered Jack. Normally I would have offered up my nickname; here I was too shy. Jack, however, was not: “But everyone calls her Lou.”
“Then Lou is what I will call you, too!” declared Madeleine, and the next thing I knew I was enveloped by those silk kimono sleeves. I almost fainted.
“Come on, I’ll show you my dressing room,” said Madeleine, and as she turned to lead us up a flight of stairs I started to feel like Alice in Wonderland. Except unlike Alice I felt big and small at the same time: big because the stairs kept getting narrower and narrower as we went up, and small because I was still just some nobody kid from Shaker Heights, Ohio. But I wasn’t just some nobody, was I? I was Jack Goodrich’s best friend. He had just said it out loud to a real Broadway star, and that alone made me feel one step closer to belonging to this magical world. I felt light-headed. As we reached the top of the stairs, I grabbed the hem of Jack’s coat and whispered in his ear, “I know this kind of thing is normal for you, but I am sort of freaking out right now.”
“Are you okay?” he whispered back.
“Oh, yeah, it’s a good kind of freak-out,” I said, peering into Madeleine’s dressing room. It was filled with framed photographs, colorful throw pillows, and little potted plants. I smiled, imagining what my own Broadway dressing room would look like someday.
“This might be the coolest night of my life.”
-JACK-
“Come in, make yourselves comfortable,” Maddie said, gesturing to a pink velvet couch wedged between a costume rack and giant humidifier. “You don’t mind if I take off my wig prep, do you?”
“Nope,” I said, hopping onto the embroidered cushions. Lou’s eyes widened as she crept past the rack of sparkling costumes that just minutes before had twirled across the stage.
“You can touch ’em if you want, hon,” Maddie said, taking a seat. She dug her painted nails into the panty-hose cap on her head, removing bobby pins like garden weeds. I watched as Lou delicately ran her fingers across the intricate beading on one of the dresses.
“Can you believe how many costume changes I have?” Maddie asked us.
“Seriously! There was one that seemed to take less than fifteen seconds,” I said. “How did you do that?”
“Oh yeah, the purple into the burgundy?” Maddie asked. “You can see, everything’s rigged.”
I watched as Lou gently pushed aside the dresses on the rack until she came to the purple one. Up close, the glass buttons were revealed to be snaps, the lace corset hiding a zipper.
“There are two dressers waiting offstage who literally rip the purple one off me,” Maddie explained, “then there’s a third dresser who has the burgundy dress open on the floor. I step into it and she pulls it up around me, I stick my arms through the sleeves, she zips up the back, then practically pushes me back onstage. We call it the grape to raisin change, because of the colors.”
Maddie began undoing her pin curls, spirals of tightly wound hair held in place with bobby pins.
“So what brings you back into town?” Maddie asked, letting a blond ringlet bounce in front of her face. “Here for an audition?”
“No,” I said. “Just for the holidays. Although we did Into the Woods last month in Shaker Heights, and when we get back we’re auditioning for Guys
and Dolls.”
“No kidding?” Maddie smiled. “At what theater? The Cleveland Playhouse?”
“Oh . . . no.” I laughed kind of awkwardly. “It’s just at our school.”
“Right, of course.” Maddie smiled. “So you’re an actress, too?” she said, nodding to Lou.
“Erm, yes,” Lou croaked, stepping from the costume rack and into the golden light of Maddie’s dressing station. “But nothing professional like you guys.”
“Well, no need to hurry,” Maddie said, running her fingers through her curly blond hair. “Enjoy being a kid while you still can.”
“Lou’s such a good actress,” I said proudly. “She was awesome as Little Red. Her comic timing was ridiculous.”
Lou blushed as Maddie turned to her. “Well, sheesh! Stay in Shaker Heights as long as you’d like, honey! I don’t need to start running into you at auditions, stealing my roles!” she said with a wink.
This trip to New York felt entirely different, seeing everything through Lou’s eyes. After four months of feeling like an exchange student in Ohio, I finally got to be the tour guide. Even the most ordinary tasks, like riding the subway or walking through midtown, became adventures. Places like TKTS (a giant red booth selling discount theater tickets) or Shubert Alley (a walkway displaying Broadway show posters) became photo ops. Our favorite game was trying to re-create iconic show logos next to their life-size counterparts. For Book of Mormon I jumped in the air holding a stack of Playbills. Wicked had Lou whispering a secret in my ear a la Glinda and Elphaba. Kinky Boots was a stretch, but when viewed through squinted eyes, our contorted bodies did sort of look like a pair of sparkly red heels. Lou would shriek and squeeze my arm as she identified Broadway chorus girls walking down Ninth Avenue (the fake eyelashes and baseball hats hiding their wig caps were always the giveaway). As her tour guide, I made sure to point out not only landmarks but character traits that separated tourists from the real New Yorkers. Lesson number one: Tourists always look up at the buildings, while real New Yorkers keep their eyes on the sidewalk, making sure they don’t step in dog poop.