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  There was even a musical called The Princess and the Peanut, designed to help boost awareness about the seriousness of food allergies. It included the song “I Want to Come Out of My Shell” and the dance number “My Kingdom for an EpiPen.”

  “Upbeat and educational,” I observed.

  “There’s one based on Ivanhoe,” said Austin hopefully.

  “Ivan-who?” I asked.

  “It’s one of my favorite stories,” Austin explained. “A classic by Sir Walter Scott about twelfth-century English knights. Do you think Maxie could get her hands on some suits of armor?”

  “I doubt it,” I said, quickly scanning the Ivanhoe blurb on the website. “And even if she could, it wouldn’t work for us. It’s a holiday show. See? Ivan-ho-ho-ho: A Medieval Merry Christmas. One of the songs is ‘Silent Knight.’ ”

  “Oh.” Austin frowned. “I didn’t read the whole description.”

  “No worries,” I assured him. “There are plenty more.”

  I noticed a title based on another of my all-time favorite books, The Secret Garden, which the Drama-o-Rama dramatists had cleverly dubbed The Garden Nobody Knew About.

  “Kind of girly,” said Austin.

  I knew what he meant. Frances Hodgson Burnett’s novel is centered around a female character. I shrugged. “To be honest, I thought the same thing when you suggested Ivanhoe. I know there’s plenty of romance in the story, but the main character is still a boy. Our goal is to find something that appeals to the broadest audience. It would be great if we found a play our cast members could be excited about, whatever their genders, with an equal number of girls’ and boys’ roles.”

  Of course, the gender breakdown of a show wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker. We could easily have girls play boys or boys play girls if we had to. We’d tried that at our first audition, and it had worked out surprisingly well.

  “Hey, what about The Odyssey?” Austin suggested.

  I laughed, looking at the list. “I think you mean The Odd-yssey. Two Ds.”

  “The original material is the epic Greek poem by Homer,” Austin explained. “It takes place in ancient times, and this solider—”

  “Odysseus!”

  “Right!”

  “I know because we studied the poem a little in English class,” I said. “It’s perfect. The subject matter is more appealing because the Greek goddesses are a lot more powerful than Ivanhoe’s damsels in distress. There are plenty of roles that could be played by either boys or girls … like, monsters and mythical figures and animals …”

  “So maybe we can cast Sophia as a horse’s backside after all!”

  I laughed. “Personally, I’d rather see her as one of Homer’s classic monsters. The Cyclops, maybe, although knowing Sophia, she’d pitch a fit about only getting to wear half a pair of false eyelashes.”

  Austin was reading the information on The Odd-yssey. “This actually sounds perfect,” he said. “It’s got everything: adventure, suspense, romance, comedy.” He looked at a sample of the sheet music. “The score is pretty simple. We won’t have any trouble learning the songs.”

  I cleared my throat. “Speaking of songs … do you think we’ll have our theme song in time for the show?”

  Austin gave me a knowing look and we both blushed. The Great Theme Song Battle, as I’d come to call it in my head, hadn’t been one of our shining moments. We’d moved past it, and I was pretty sure one day we’d both look back on the argument and laugh. But right now the embarrassment was still a little fresh … for both of us.

  “I’ll work on it,” he said in a reasonable tone. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  “And I’m not making any demands.”

  So we officially agreed that Random Farms’ second show was going to be The Odd-yssey: An Epically Funny Musical.

  “The website says to allow three days for delivery,” I said. “I’d better contact Drama-o-Rama right now if we want the material delivered in time for auditions next week.”

  “Sounds good,” said Austin.

  I logged off Skype and went downstairs to borrow a credit card.

  CHAPTER

  3

  The next two days were all about preparing for the big trip and for Nana and Papa’s extended stay.

  On Tuesday Susan and I ran errands for Mom while she hunkered down in her office to wrap up current business and notify clients of her unexpected travel plans.

  On Wednesday we got things ready for our grandparents’ visit. Susan stayed home to tidy up the guest bedroom and bath, while I headed off to the market for groceries. My best friend, Becky, had a rare day off from her crazy sports schedule, so when she called that morning and asked if I could hang out, I invited her to come along.

  Mom had given me a very specific grocery list and enough cash to stock the pantry until the next millennium. Becky pushed the cart while I scanned the shelves in search of the items on Mom’s list.

  “How’s tennis going?” I asked, placing a box of oatmeal in the cart.

  “Great,” said Becky. “I’m ranked number one in my age division. I’ve got a tournament on Sunday afternoon. If I win, I go to the league championships.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said.

  “Thanks.” Becky was quiet for a moment. “So … how’s Austin’s original musical coming along?”

  I shrugged, reaching for a jar of instant freeze-dried decaffeinated coffee. “I’m not sure. He hasn’t mentioned it. I’m guessing he’s still working on it, though.”

  As we wandered the aisles, we caught up on each other’s lives: Becky told me about her new state-of-the-art tennis sneakers and her older brother’s torn ACL, and I told her all about The Odd-yssey.

  “I know Sophia is going to want to be Penelope,” I predicted. “It’s the female lead. I just can’t picture her pulling it off. After all, Penelope is famous throughout history for being loyal and unselfish. And Sophia … isn’t!”

  Becky laughed.

  I added low-sodium tomato juice, sugar-free butterscotch hard candies, diet ginger ale, and all the ingredients for Nana’s famous chicken potpie to the grocery cart.

  Then I filled Becky in on our plan to move the rehearsals to our house.

  “Your parents are okay with that?” asked Becky.

  “Well, they’re not not okay with it,” I said vaguely. “And it will only be for two weeks. Mr. Healy is pretty sure we’ll be back in the clubhouse before tech week.”

  “When are auditions?”

  “Saturday, bright and early,” I said. “Swing by if you want.”

  Becky shook her head. “Can’t. Tennis practice. But the match on Sunday is at the public courts in town. Maybe you and Austin can come watch.”

  I smiled. “Consider it done,” I said.

  We finished the shopping by picking out some frozen waffles, the makings for a Caesar salad, and baking ingredients, including chocolate chips and brown sugar (homemade cookies were a major perk of having doting grandparents visit). After we checked out, Becky gave me a huge hug and headed off to the pool for her diving lesson.

  I collected my reusable shopping bags and hurried home.

  It wasn’t until I was dropping them on the kitchen counter and telling Susan, “I shopped. You put the groceries away,” that I realized what Becky had said:

  Maybe you and Austin can come watch.

  Weird.

  She’d invited me and Austin. What did that mean? That she thought he and I were automatically doing that kind of thing together now, just because we were jointly running a theater program? Or did it mean she wanted Austin Weatherly to see how amazing she and her new cool sneakers were at tennis? It was hard to say for sure.

  But I decided not to read too much into it.

  I had a couple of grandparents and an epic play to prepare for, and both were going to require every bit of my attention.

  Drama-o-Rama promised “speedy and reliable shipping,” and they didn’t disappoint. On Thursday morning, the materials for
The Odd-yssey arrived! A deliveryman in brown shorts hauled a hefty cardboard box up the front steps, and I actually got to sign for it. That felt pretty important. I’d never signed for anything before.

  Susan helped me carry the box down to the basement, where we tore into it as if it were a treasure chest. The contents were as follows:

  SCRIPTS (TWENTY TOTAL)

  DIRECTOR’S GUIDE

  PIANO VOCAL SCORE

  SET/COSTUME/MAKEUP GUIDES

  COSTUME/MAKEUP TUTORIAL CD

  SOUND TRACK/SOUND EFFECTS CD

  PERFORMANCE CD

  It was basically a kit—Drama-o-Rama had provided the script and the music, as well as suggestions for things we’d need to gather on our own.

  On the very bottom of the box was a large manila envelope containing a legal-looking document—the performance license.

  “Wow,” said Susan. “That’s so official. We’re big-time, now!”

  I examined the CD cases and sighed. “Too bad we won’t be able to use the sound track. I bet it sounds like a whole orchestra. Austin would love that.”

  “Maybe one of these days we’ll be able to invest in a sound system for the clubhouse theater,” said Susan.

  “That would be awesome,” I said. “But for now let’s focus on getting this play in motion.”

  I picked up the script, flipping directly to the cast list, which I read from aloud: “Odysseus, Penelope, Telemachus, Poseidon …”

  “Poseidon? Isn’t he related to Ariel’s dad in The Little Mermaid?”

  “Yes,” I said with a chuckle. “But way before that he was a pretty major figure in Greek mythology.” I kept reading. “The Sirens, Athena, the Cyclops.”

  “The Cycle Ops? Who’s he? The Greek god of training wheels?”

  “Cyclops. Monster with one eye.”

  “Oh. Well, good luck to Maxie costuming that!”

  I put down the script and glanced around the basement, realizing Maxie wasn’t the only one who had her work cut out for her. This place was a disaster! My original plan for the theater (before we struck our deal with Dr. Ciancio to use the neighborhood clubhouse) was to clean up the cellar and use it as our meeting headquarters and rehearsal space. Looking around now, it was clear I’d underestimated just how much cleaning up it needed.

  The whole place was dusty, musty, and cluttered. This was because none of us Wallachs ever came down here much, except to do laundry. The upside to this was that the ever-present springtime scent of fabric softener and dryer sheets helped mask the smell of mothballs and mildew.

  “If we’re going to hold rehearsals down here,” I said, “we’re going to have to spruce it up a bit. It totally needs to be organized, swept, and dusted.”

  Susan’s response was a big sneeze. I took that to mean she agreed with me.

  “I’ll go upstairs and get the broom and some rags. You can start moving those bins and boxes.” I took the set list and the wardrobe suggestions out of the Drama-o-Rama box and handed them to my sister. “Go through these first to see if there’s anything we can use for props and costumes.”

  Then I ran up to the kitchen and gathered the cleaning supplies. I was glad my mom was too busy packing to notice; she’d definitely get suspicious if Susan and I suddenly took it upon ourselves to clean the basement without being asked.

  With a roll of paper towels tucked under my arm and a broom and dustpan in my hand, I clambered back down the stairs.

  “Look!” said Susan, holding up a plastic pitchfork left over from the time Dad had dressed as a devil for Halloween. “All we have to do is spray-paint it. A little metallic gold, and Poseidon’s got his trident.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “Put it aside and we’ll give it to Maxie on Saturday.”

  I dropped the cleaning stuff and helped Susan with the boxes. We found some fuzzy old bathroom throw rugs in various colors, which Susan thought Maxie might be able to turn into a Cyclops costume. Since the costume list called for a fair amount of togas, I was excited to find a whole pile of mismatched sheets.

  “Wasn’t there a pair of silver sandals mixed in with all the stuff Mrs. Quandt donated?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Susan. “But I don’t think Odysseus is exactly the sling-back type. I mean, Penelope, maybe, but only with her best Lilly Pulitzer toga.”

  “Stretch your imagination.”

  “I just imagined morphing some old bath mats into a mythological beast! How can I stretch my imagination any further than that?”

  We had a big laugh when we found Dad’s high-school yearbook (a mullet? Seriously, Dad?), and an even bigger one when we discovered Mom’s prom dress.

  “Taffeta?” quipped Susan. “More like ‘laff-at-ya.’ ”

  Where does she come up with this stuff? I thought.

  “Let’s hold off on the costume search for the moment,” I suggested, grabbing the broom. “Maxie can hunt through these boxes over the weekend.”

  By the end of the day we’d managed to clear out a good-size space and eradicate most of the spiderwebs and dust bunnies. We’d also located an old portable CD player. Susan plugged it in while I removed the sound effects CD from its case.

  “ ‘Track one,’ ” I read from the liner notes. “ ‘Wind.’ ”

  Susan hit play, and the basement filled with the whooshing sound of 150-mile-per-hour gusts.

  “Whoa,” said Susan. “These Drama-o-Rama guys don’t mess around, do they?”

  Track two was “Rain.” It began with a gentle pitter-patter sound but quickly upgraded to monsoon.

  “I’m beginning to feel sorry for Odysseus,” I said. “Vicious monsters and catastrophic weather conditions. Not exactly my idea of a fun trip.”

  Next we listened to “Groaning,” which was followed by “Moaning,” which was followed by “Howling,” which was followed by “Goats.”

  “Goats?” said Susan.

  “That’s how Odysseus escapes from the Cyclops’s cave,” I explained. “By clinging to the underside of a goat.”

  “Clever,” said Susan. Her face lit up. “Can we cast Sophia as the goat?”

  When I frowned at her, she gave me an innocent look.

  “Okay, so it was a b-aaaaaah-d idea.”

  I tried not to crack up. “Let’s listen to the sound track.”

  I popped out the sound effects CD just as the “Battle Noises” track was about to start, and inserted the performance CD. Most of the songs had a strong Greek motif, featuring that plinky string sound I remembered from listening to my dad’s original cast recording of Zorba the Greek. But there were other genres represented as well. When the goddess Athena, for example, appears to Penelope in a dream, she sings a disco number called “You Will Survive.” And Penelope’s rugged, toga-clad suitors perform a big Broadway-style dance number entitled “Everyone Goes!” And Telemachus, son to Penelope and Odysseus, sings a soulful country-western ballad called “My Young Greek Heart’s in Ruins.”

  “Check out this one,” said Susan, handing me a lyric sheet. “It’s the Sirens’ song.”

  I took the page and scanned the words to the song as Susan skipped to the next track on the CD. This selection was in the style of a 1960s Motown girl group, and the lyrics were hilarious:

  Hey there, sailor boy in your big old ship,

  Heading back to Ithaca on your homeward trip.

  So you think you’re gonna make it, gonna sail on past

  ’Cause you told your loyal crew to tie you up to the mast.

  You made ’em plug their ears, yes, you flat-out insisted,

  Because you know our Siren song no man has ever resisted.

  We lure sailors to their doom, and we make no apology,

  But that’s the way it goes in Greek mythology!

  I could already picture Madeline, Elle, and Jane singing this song, wearing sixties dresses and sporting matching bouffant hairdos, sky-blue eye shadow, and shimmering pale-pink lipstick. I described my vision to Susan.

  “Perfect!” she cr
ied. “Anya, this show is worth every penny we paid for it.”

  I was in total agreement.

  CHAPTER

  4

  On Friday afternoon Nana and Papa arrived. And a few hours later Mom and Dad left for the airport. There were a few teary moments as we said bon voyage. It made me think of how Odysseus must have felt saying his farewells to Penelope and Telemachus as he set off to war. Of course, Mom and Dad were going to Paris, not Troy, and they weren’t likely to encounter any mythical beasts or battles along the way. And I was pretty sure old Odysseus didn’t have a set of matching luggage, like Mom did.

  Still, she hugged Susan and me tighter than we’d ever been hugged before, and gave us all a final recap of the house rules, including a few I was sure would be obvious to a seasoned grandmother like Nana Adele: no chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, no staying up past midnight, no going outdoors without sufficient amounts of sunscreen. No purposely ingesting poison, no jumping off the roof with umbrellas, no running off to join the circus.

  Okay, so maybe she didn’t mention the last three, but that was kind of how it felt.

  “Mom,” Susan said with a huff, “we’re going to be fine.”

  “I know, I know.” Mom sniffled and hugged us again. “But remember … no cutting your own hair. And no tattoos.”

  We all laughed because we knew that last one was just a joke.

  Luckily, Mom didn’t say anything along the lines of “no play rehearsals at the house.” I was still operating on the right side of the law—technically, at least.

  When Mom and Dad were finally out the door, Susan and I enjoyed a terrific Caesar salad, courtesy of Nana, and Papa shared his butterscotch candies with us.

  “This might turn out to be one of the best weeks of our lives,” Susan observed, popping a third candy into her mouth.

  “Let’s hope so,” I said.

  I was so excited to get started on The Odd-yssey, I barely slept at all. Knowing what I knew now about producing and directing and handling diva-size egos and guiding reluctant performers, I was sure this show would be as big a hit as our first one had been, if not bigger.

  I just wished we had a home.