“Hey, bros.” To him, everyone’s a bro, regardless of gender. “You two done fighting?”
“We’re not fighting.”
He just laughs, showing off his tooth gap. “Okay. You two somethingsomething.”
“Huh?” I glance at Bowie.
“Fight like a married couple,” they sign to me.
“We do not!” I say aloud. Too loud. Liam’s still watching from the doorway.
“If you say so.” Braden runs a hand through his hair. “You got any more glue sticks?”
Bowie stands to help. I give Liam a last wave goodbye and watch as he finally leaves.
12
Friday morning, Jasmine’s still looking for a parking spot when my phone lights up with a text from Dr. Lochley.
Dr. L almost never texts. She thinks it’s an inappropriate blurring of teacher-student boundaries.
But this text says:
CODE RED
“Stop!” The car lurches to a stop halfway up one aisle. “I’ve gotta go!”
I grab my stuff, leap out of the car and run for the entrance, ignoring Jasmine’s confused shouting.
There are three common Theatre Emergencies that I have to deal with:
TEACHER CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO TURN ONLIGHTS/MICROPHONES
WARDROBE MALFUNCTION (COSTUME OR NORMAL CLOTHES)
FIRE MARSHAL INSPECTIONCODE RED
Since Denise plays in a softball league for queer femmes with an administrative assistant for the fire department, she usually gets a heads-up when Riverstone’s about to be inspected. And Riverstone’s theatres are notanywhere neartechnically up to code.
It’s not for lack of trying: It’s just impossible to comply with the fire code when the prop closet has to double as textbook storage for Language Arts, the spot booth also hosts in-school suspension, and the Little Theatre’s lighting system hasn’t been updated since the late 1900s.
I sprint up to the Theatre Office, taking the stairs two at a time. I dimly register Liam, sitting beneath the Theatre Board, playing on his phone.
Dr. L is furiously stuffing loose papers and old script books onto the shelves in the corner of her office, but her shoulders relax as soon as she sees me. “Jackson. Good.”
“I got your message. Code red?”
