“Hives,” Freddie said hollowly. He shook his head. “This is…a lot.”
I nodded, suddenly wishing I hadn’t eaten all my french fries. He looked like someone who could have used some carbs right around now. “I know it is. And I’m sorry—I just wanted you to know.”
“No?, of course,” he said, then gave a short, unhappy laugh. “So—it’s going to be a disaster. And there’s nothing we can do.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “But I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to fix things.”
Freddie sat up straighter. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning across the table. “I think I have a plan.”
“Have we tried this plan before? Does everything work out perfectly?” he asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid not. This would be the first time.”
“Well? then.” Freddie gave me a smile and leaned forward. “It sounds like you better tell me what we’re doing.”
Freddie gave me a nod, then pulled open the door that would lead backstage. We started to walk down the hall, and I paused at the stagehand poker game that looked like it was on its last hand.
“He’s bluffing, Violet,” I said,? as we passed. “Not a single face card.”
“Who asked you?” Van said, his face turning slowly red.
“Wait, what?” Violet called after me. But I just gave her a quick smile as Freddie pulled the green?room door open for me and I stepped inside.
Doug and Alfie were already dressed in their Eton Mess outfits, and both had clearly done something to their hair. Alfie’s was styled in a swoop across his forehead, whereas Doug had gelled his up into tiny spikes. Alfie sipped a Dr Pepper, and he smiled cheerfully when Freddie came in the room. ?I still couldn’t help but wince, thinking about what was going to befall him, and in pretty short order, too.
“Hi, guys, this is Cass,” Freddie said, gesturing to me.
“I know,” Doug said in his real accent. He grinned at me. “How’s it going?”
“You know Doug?” Freddie asked, sounding surprised. “I mean, Tristram?”
“We met on the Ferris wheel,” I said, giving Doug a nod.
“She knew I was from Chicago,” Doug said, grabbing a small bag of chips from the craft services table. “It was really impressive.”
Alfie shot him a look. “Was this when you were wearing your shirt that literally said Chicago on it? Think that might have tipped her off?” he said this in a British accent, then turned to me, his face brightening. “Wait, if you know Doug is really American, does that mean I can go back to being Australian?”
I smiled at him. “Go for it.”
“Oh thank goodness,” he said, relaxing into his accent, his vowels immediately getting more stretched out and relaxed. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“So,” I said, glancing at the wall clock, realizing just how much we had to figure out before showtime. “Alfie.”
He gave me a smile. “Yeah?”
“You can’t play tonight.”
“I—What?” he looked from me to Freddie. “Naur. Are you having a laugh?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re going to get food poisoning onstage. It’s the prawns.”
“But I feel fine.”
“You’re not going to be fine, mate,” Freddie said grimly. “We’re trying to save you from being turned into a meme.”
“Am I going to get food poisoning, too?” Doug asked, looking panicked.
