Showstopper Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2015 Lisa Fiedler

  Copyright © 2015 Anya Wallach

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Fiedler, Lisa, author.

  Showstopper / written by Lisa Fiedler and Anya Wallach.

  pages cm. — (Stagestruck; book 2)

  Summary: “After the successful first performance by the Random Farm Kids’ Theater troupe, founder and director twelve-year-old Anya Wallach turns her attention to their second show. But trouble rears its head when their barn venue is jeopardized. Is the second show doomed before they even start rehearsal?”—Provided by the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-58536-925-6 (hard cover) — ISBN 978-1-58536-926-3 (paperback)

  [1. Theater—Fiction. 2. Musicals—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction. 4. Community life—Fiction.] I. Wallach, Anya, author. II. Title.

  PZ7.F457Sh 2015

  [Fic]—dc23

  2015007342

  ISBN 978-1-58536-925-6 (case)

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  ISBN 978-1-58536-926-3

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Cover design by Jeanine Henderson

  Printed in the United States.

  Sleeping Bear Press™

  2395 South Huron Parkway, Suite 200

  Ann Arbor, MI 48104

  © 2015 Sleeping Bear Press

  Visit us at sleepingbearpress.com

  To Dolores Fiedler, who always listens

  LISA

  For my sister, Susan

  ANYA

  Hello again!

  Doing something for the first time is in many ways easier than being able to follow up a success with a second act. When you accomplish something you’ve never done before—whether it’s composing a song, learning a gymnastics pass, or making your school’s basketball team—that first attempt you have trying to make it happen comes with the exhilaration of doing something new, and is filled with novelty and anticipation.

  But then you want to continue the momentum. And that can be frustrating—and scary. Suddenly there are all these expectations. Can I do it again? How can I make it better? Will I have the stamina and patience to overcome obstacles?

  In real life, the second Random Farms musical almost didn’t happen (but I won’t go into any more detail so as not to spoil the book!). Figuring out how to make modifications and adapt when there are complications are skills I developed quickly during my adventures running Random Farms. In live theater, you never know what will happen when the curtain goes up! I’ve had mics go out before an actor’s big song, a costume piece (Belle’s hoopskirt during Beauty and the Beast, to be exact!) fall off during a waltz, and a six-year-old Snow White who refused to go onstage right before the opening number.

  Looking back, I think I learned more from the crash-and-burns than when everything went according to plan. I suppose it’s those bumps in the road that make life interesting, right?

  Now—on with the show …

  Anya

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  CHAPTER

  1

  The day after the first Random Farms production was one of the most amazing days of my life.

  Austin, Susan, and I had decided to give ourselves a much-needed day of relaxation, so we packed up our towels and sunglasses and went to the town pool, where we met up with Becky and Kenzie and a handful of other kids from the cast.

  I was in heaven. All afternoon people kept congratulating us and asking about joining Random Farms. That wasn’t even close to the reason I’d started the theater, of course, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of a cool perk.

  I was proud of my cast and proud of myself. But a producer’s work is never done, which meant it was time to start preparing for our second show. So after our lazy, relaxing Sunday, Austin and I arranged to meet up late Monday afternoon at the coffee shop to plan.

  I got there first, toting my laptop. I bought lemonade and a swirly iced cupcake, and picked a table. Three minutes later the bell on the door jangled, and Austin walked in. Thanks to our day at the pool, his nose and cheeks were a little bit sunburned.

  I was surprised at how good Austin looked with that sunny glow. For some reason my heart sped up a bit.

  He waved and went to the counter for an iced tea and a giant macadamia nut cookie. When he sat down, we got right to work.

  “First things first,” I said. “Finances.”

  Austin bit into the cookie and nodded. I opened my laptop and showed him the document my sister had titled RF Financial.

  “So, according to Susan, we made a pretty decent profit.” I pointed to the number at the bottom of the screen. “Not bad, right? We’ll be able to cover our piano-tuning debt and still have plenty left over.”

  “Excellent,” said Austin. “Add that to the next session’s dues and potential ticket sales revenue following the second show, and we’re definitely in good shape.”

  “Yes, we are,” I said. “Moving on … Membership.” I clicked a few times and showed him the two e-mails I’d received that morning. “Unfortunately, Sam isn’t going to be able to be in the second show. He’s got a lot of baseball stuff going on for the next few weeks. His team is heading for the pennant race or something like that.”

  Austin frowned. “That’s kind of a bummer. Sam’s a great kid. And a good actor.”

  “I know. I was pretty sad when I got the e-mail. But I understand baseball means a lot to him too.” Then I indicated the last line of the e-mail.

  “ ‘I’ll def be back for the third show,’ ” Austin read aloud.

  This resulted in a shiver of excitement along my spine. “Third show!” I repeated. “Sam’s counting on there being a third show. That’s encouraging.”

  Austin beamed. “Yeah, it is.”

  My excitement subsided as I clicked on the second e-mail. “Unfortunately, Sam’s not the only one who’s bowing out.”

  “Please say Sophia’s decided to quit.”

  “We should be so lucky!” I rolled my eyes. “But no, as far as I know, Sophia the Diva will be back for the second show. It’s Mia and Eddie who won’t be able to do it. Family vacation. They’ll be gone for two weeks.”

  “That’s a serious bummer,” grumbled Austin. “A double whammy! What are we gonna do without Mia’s vocal talent and Eddie’s comedic timing?”

  “We’ll just have to work around it,” I said with more confidence than I actually felt. “And remember, a lot of our cast has improved a ton since we started.”

  “That’s very true.”

  “And don’t forget the new recruits. Those three kids we met at the pool yesterday—Nora, Brady, and Joey—they’ve got great potential. And Susan’s been fielding tweets and texts all morning from kids wanting to sign up.”


  “So … you’re saying our cast might actually increase?” Austin looked thoughtful. “That’s going to be a huge factor in deciding on the next show. We’re going to need something with lots of roles.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he thought he might be able to finish his big musical (the work in progress that had given me the idea to start the theater in the first place) in time to start rehearsing it a week from now. But after the theme song disaster, I’d learned my lesson about messing with a writer’s creative flow. So instead I said: “Annie!”

  Austin sipped his iced tea. “Annie who?”

  “Not Annie who,” I said, and laughed. “Annie the musical. Wouldn’t it be awesome to do a full-length musical this time?”

  Austin mulled it over. “Could be cool.”

  “Extremely cool!” I took a bite of my cupcake, being careful to avoid getting icing up my nose. “Ya see, I was thinking we could use my script from—”

  I was interrupted by the jangling of the bell on the coffee shop door. Looking up, I saw a frantic Susan come skidding in.

  “Anya! You have to come to the theater. Now!”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not really sure.” Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and her tone was positively freaked. “All I know is that Mr. Healy’s pickup is parked on the lawn. There are orange cones blocking off half the street, and the whole clubhouse is surrounded by fire trucks and police cruisers!”

  Police cruisers? Fire trucks?

  I looked at Austin. He looked at me.

  We dropped our snacks and sprung up from our chairs.

  And we ran!

  The sprint from the coffee shop back to Random Farms Circle felt like a million miles. All I could think was that one of us had left something plugged in we shouldn’t have, and the clubhouse had gone up in smoke.

  Austin, Susan, and I were breathless when we barreled around the corner of our street. Red-and-blue lights flashed, and I could hear the crackling of walkie-talkie radios as the first responders communicated with one another.

  What these first responders were actually responding to, I couldn’t tell.

  I gaped at the scene, feeling helpless. As I tried to make sense of what the policemen and firefighters were saying, I noticed a strange sound … a kind of squishing noise interspersed with muddy splats. Looking down, I saw that the clubhouse lawn, which had been so lush and pristine just the day before, was now a mucky swamp. The firefighters were having trouble walking across it; their heavy boots were being sucked into the wet grass.

  “Why is the lawn so muddy?” Susan asked.

  “Maybe from the fire hoses?” I guessed. But I didn’t smell smoke, and there were no flames shooting out of the windows. That was an indescribable relief, but it didn’t explain why the grass was so soggy.

  We weren’t the only people who’d come to find out what was going on. Several neighbors had turned out to watch the emergency personnel in action. A policeman was posted by the curb, making announcements over his cruiser’s loudspeaker, cautioning the spectators to keep a safe distance.

  When I saw Spencer, Maddie, and Jane watching from the other side of the street, I grabbed Susan’s hand and ran to them.

  “What happened?” I asked. “Was it a fire?”

  “No,” said Spencer. “I heard one of the policemen saying an underground water main burst a couple of hours ago.”

  It was only then I noticed the steady stream of muddy water rushing along the curb. Because I had headed out in the opposite direction on Random Farms Circle when I’d left for the coffee shop, I’d completely missed the commotion.

  I let out a long grateful breath and smiled. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I mean, how hard can it be to fix one little busted pipe?”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” came a gruff voice from behind me.

  I turned to see Mr. Healy, our neighborhood’s groundskeeper, approaching, a glum expression on his face. His denim work coveralls were soaked all the way up to his chest, and he was holding a heavy-duty flashlight.

  “Just came from the clubhouse basement,” Mr. Healy explained. “Flooded … Water’s as high as the electrical panel, I’m afraid. Even deeper in some places.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Austin. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  I had to agree. I didn’t know much about building maintenance, but I did know under any circumstances, water and electricity were never a good combination.

  “Luckily, there wasn’t much of anything stored down there except for some old lumber the developer left behind back when he remodeled the barn.”

  I looked beyond Mr. Healy to where a group of workmen were lugging large sheets of plywood and a whole collection of two-by-fours out of the basement, dropping them for the time being in the empty field behind the clubhouse.

  “Is there anything we can do about the flood?” I asked. I had a sudden crazy image of myself and my whole cast using giant pails to bail out the basement, like sailors on a sinking ship. I would absolutely do that if it would help. Something told me it wouldn’t.

  Now a police officer joined us. “Just got word from the chief,” he informed Mr. Healy. “Department of public works says water service won’t be functional for a while, and they’ve also asked for the power to be shut down for the foreseeable future.”

  Healy motioned with his flashlight to the houses closest to the clubhouse. “So these folks will be without running water and electricity for the rest of the day, maybe longer.”

  “And what about us?” asked Susan. “What about our theater?”

  Mr. Healy shook his head. “In the clubhouse itself, you’re lookin’ at three weeks without power … at least.”

  “Three weeks?” Austin and I gasped in unison. That was completely unacceptable. We would need access to the clubhouse this weekend in order to hold auditions.

  “What if we promise not to turn on the lights?” I asked, desperate.

  “The electricity is only part of the problem,” Mr. Healy explained. “The basement is completely underwater. Could lead to mold issues. And remember, this is a very old barn. The building commissioner’s worried about the stability of the foundation. Who knows what all that water’ll do to those ancient support beams?”

  Susan let out a snort. “Well, that would certainly give new meaning to a show ‘bringing down the house,’ wouldn’t it?”

  Austin shot her a heated look.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “Our props … ,” I said, my heart plummeting to my feet, “and our costumes … they’re all stored backstage. Are they going to get ruined?”

  Mr. Healy shook his head. “Not likely. The water doesn’t seem to be rising higher than the basement. Your stuff should be okay.”

  That, at least, was good news. Sort of.

  One of the other policemen was motioning to the officer to return to the lawn. “You kids, promise me you won’t go anywhere near that building,” he said sternly. “If you need something from inside, we’ll send a fireman in for it. No prop is more important than your safety. Understood?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” said Mr. Healy. “Because until we get the go-ahead from the city officials, the clubhouse theater is off-limits.”

  “We understand,” said Austin in a grim voice. “Thank you, Mr. Healy.”

  I knew I should have thanked him too, but I just couldn’t seem to get the words out. As I watched the groundskeeper head back to the theater through the line of police cars and fire trucks, I felt myself go numb.

  Off-limits. Had a more disheartening word ever been spoken?

  My cast members and I stood around a while longer, watching the fuss. Then Maddie and Jane hopped on their bikes, waving as they sped off to the Chappaqua Community Center to take a free origami workshop. Spencer left too; he was headed to Travis’s house to shoot hoops in the driveway.

  Must be nice to be carefree, I thou
ght.

  As Austin, Susan, and I made our way back to our house, the single bite of frosted cupcake I had eaten at the coffee shop sat like lead in my stomach.

  We trudged into the family room and dropped ourselves into chairs. Through the big window overlooking the backyard, I could see the sun casting long shadows on the grass. When I was little, I always knew this particular shift in the light meant Dad would be home from work soon.

  When I was little. Before I was an entrepreneur with big dreams and a flooded basement. I wondered if anything like this had ever happened to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

  For a while we just sat there, sulking in silence. Austin was frowning and Susan looked heartsick. Personally, I was on the verge of tears! It was just so unfair. If we couldn’t get back into that clubhouse, there wouldn’t be a second show.

  Finally Susan asked the question that was on all of our minds.

  “Now what?”

  “We find another venue,” said Austin feebly.

  Hah! As if that would be an easy thing to do. Finding the first one had been a challenge, to put it mildly. And then we’d done all that work, cleaning like mad and sprucing the place up, making it our own.

  “Do you think if we explained to Mom and Dad about the flood, they’d let us have the rehearsals here?” Susan broached. “I mean, there’s still a chance we’ll be back in the theater by opening night. So it would only be two weeks of rehearsal.”

  “I suppose we could ask,” I said. “But I doubt it.” I felt a sudden irrational flash of anger toward my mother for being smart and industrious enough to run her own business out of our house. After all, that was the main reason we couldn’t have the theater here at home—because it would interrupt Mom’s work.

  Then again I couldn’t be too mad at her… . After all, I had wanted to do the exact same thing.

  Susan’s phone gave a little chirp, indicating a text message. She checked the screen.