“Really?” Peter said. “We should go over to Hades and celebrate.”
“Okay, enough loitering. It’s a fabulous crown, Drago,” Mr MacDonald said. “Let’s get started otherwise we’ll be here till midnight.”
The musicians took their places on stage, and plugged in or tuned their instruments. Jesus set up his saucepan-lid cymbals and an African drum as well as his shakers. Velvet and Taleb had managed to keep out of each other’s way until this point. Taleb had set up his amplifier as far from the keyboard as possible, but it was a lot harder to avoid eye contact now. He counted to four and the rehearsal finally got underway.
It took a while for everybody to warm up. Velvet’s sleeves kept getting in the way of her playing, and Hailie couldn’t tune her saxophone. But as they worked through it, for the first time they had a sense of the production as a whole. Mr MacDonald took his place as the bedridden king. They went through the coronation scene. It was six o’clock and they were still nowhere near finished. They ordered pizza and everyone rang home to say they’d be late.
“So do you want to hear the girls’ song?” said Taleb, after the pizza. He was going to play it anyway, so he didn’t wait for an answer.
“There’s a verse for each of you and then you all sing the chorus together. Hailie’s is the first verse.
“Once I was a mother.
Once I was a wife.
Once I was a queen.
Until this brother changed my life.
“Then there’s the chorus.
“We’re the queens, the queens of sadness
And all we do is cry
If words could kill, he’d be dead right now
And we could sing bye-bye.”
He had trouble hitting some of the high notes as he’d written it in a key for the girls, but the song had a catchy tune and infectious rhythm, even if it didn’t really fit the lyrics.
“My curses all came true
Like I said they would.
Except he’s still alive.
How I want to spill his blood.
“That was Mei’s. The next one’s Velvet’s.
“The place is full of corpses
But he hasn’t finished yet.
I’m sure to be the next one
If you want to make a bet.
“The last one’s Roula’s.
“I’m his only mother
He wasn’t a nice kid.
Even I don’t like him
Let’s make him hurt just like he did.”
“And while each one’s singing the others sing sha-la, sha-la-la-la and then bye-bye, bye-bye in the background. Get it?”
Everyone loved the song. Velvet felt guilty that she’d been so ready to give up on the play.
The girls started learning their verses and working out a few dance steps. They kept the movements simple, but still found it hard without tripping over their dresses.
“You’ll have to do a lot of work on it to get it right in time,” Taleb said.
Velvet didn’t ask if he was working on a finale. No one else seemed to think it was important.
They practised the songs at lunchtime every day and rehearsed the second act scenes after school. The following Saturday, while Velvet directed Drago and Jesus as they rehearsed the battle scene at the end, Roula supervised as the others painted the castle walls she had sketched. With a cardboard tree in front of it, the backdrop became outdoor scenery; with a couple of bits of furniture, it was indoors. Roula also made a cardboard bloody angel for the dream scene that really impressed everybody.
Jesus was having trouble curbing his natural competitiveness. It only took him a few seconds to beat Drago in the sword fight.
“Jesus, this isn’t a real contest,” Velvet said. “We all know you can beat Drago. You have to act. Make it look like Richard is going to win, but then, at the last minute, you get the better of him.”
“Okay. Like in a footy match when you pretend you’re injured and then come back and tackle your opponent when he’s not expecting it.”
“Yes. Exactly like that.” Velvet hadn’t realised that football involved acting.
They rehearsed the scene again and again. Velvet sat in the front row. Jesus made the fight look convincing, even though they were only using plastic swords.
“It’d be better with some dramatic music,” Drago said.
Velvet glanced at Taleb. Drago was right, but she wouldn’t have dared suggest it. She hadn’t spoken to Taleb since the night he came to her house.
“I can either write something for the battle scene or I can write a finale. I haven’t got time to do both.”
“The battle scene can be the finale,” Jesus said. “I kill Drago. He falls to the ground. I celebrate my victory and the curtain comes down.”
“I guess so,” Velvet said.
“Are we going to do a curtain call?” Peter asked.
“A what?”
“You know, at the end when everyone claps and the performers all hold hands and bow.”
“I’m not holding hands with any guys, okay?” said Drago.
Peter looked worried. “Maybe no one will clap.”
CHAPTER 30
Velvet was on her way to the last lunchtime practice, on the day of the performance. She already had butterflies. Peter came running up to her in the corridor.
“Drago’s done it this time.”
“Done what?”
She followed Peter through a crowd of students to the staff car park, where a late-model BMW sat with a truckload of sand piled up against it, blocking it in. It was the principal’s car.
Mr Kislinski was standing next to his car fuming. “You did this didn’t you, Domitrovic?”
“No, sir, the truck driver did it,” Drago said.
“You’re expelled. Empty your locker. If I see you anywhere in the school grounds, I’ll call the police.”
“Oh, no,” Velvet groaned.
Drago didn’t know how to look apologetic. He smirked at Mr Kislinski and slouched off, shrugging his shoulders as he passed Peter and Velvet.
“Now what do we do?” Peter said.
“I don’t know.”
“But you always think of a way around things, Velvet.”
“You’ll have to play Richard.”
“I can’t. I don’t know the lines. And who’s going to play Buckingham? I can’t be both.”
“Taleb will have to do it. There’s no one else.”
Mr MacDonald was tugging at the ropes that operated the curtains. “It’s no good. The rope’s come off a pulley. I can’t get them to close.”
Velvet was looking out at the hall from the wings, wishing she hadn’t talked Miss Ryan into making her sleeves, which weighed a tonne. The seats at the back of the hall had been cleared away and about fifty people were gathered there, looking at display boards about sporting achievements and school camps. They were admiring the pennants and the cups and chatting to teachers. They were drinking tea and eating scones provided by the Parents’ Committee. No one was sitting in the seats waiting for the performance.
“Where is everyone?”
Mr MacDonald was doing his best to calm their nerves.
“Come on, you lot. All actors get nervous on their first night.”
Peter was sitting in a corner, reading through Richard’s lines.
“It’s not a first night,” Hailie said. “It’s a first afternoon.”
“And we’re only doing the one performance,” Jesus added.
“It’s not nerves,” Roula said. “It’s more like …”
Velvet knew just what she meant. “Dread.”
They all agreed.
Taleb had flatly refused to be Buckingham at first. But there was no other option.
“I wish I was somewhere else,” Velvet said. “In a double Mandarin class, doing detention. Anywhere but here.”
“When are the students coming in?” Hailie asked.
“They’re not,” Mr MacDonald said.
“What do you mean?” Velvet said.
“Slinky rearranged the program. All students that aren’t taking part in the track and field contest have to stay and watch.”
It took a few moments to sink in.
“So this is our audience?” Velvet didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“He did that on purpose,” Peter said bitterly.
Mr MacDonald nodded. “You still have a performance to do.”
The band took up their positions on the stage. Velvet and Peter were the only ones in costume. Taleb wanted to leave it till the last moment to put on his doublet. He was wearing a black Korn T-shirt, Jesus was just wearing the singlet that he wore under his armour, and Roula and Hailie had ordinary clothes on because they didn’t have to come on till after the interval and had plenty of time to change.
The hall was usually dark and dingy, but it was a sunny day and shafts of afternoon sunlight streamed through the high windows. Velvet felt really stupid sitting there in broad daylight in her dyed op-shop dress with the tablecloth sleeves in front of a keyboard balanced on an ironing board. Not that it mattered. No one was looking at the stage anyway. That wasn’t quite true. A Chinese couple was selecting seats in the middle of the front row. Mei was waving to them from the wings on the other side of the stage.
Taleb waited for a minute or two, as if he were hoping an earthquake or a hurricane would come and put them out of their misery. Then he counted them in. They fumbled through the overture and Hailie only made three mistakes. Velvet dropped her clarinet and missed the first three bars of the wind section. It wasn’t their best performance, but it was passable. Mr and Mrs Qian applauded. Everyone else continued to chat and scoff scones.
Peter crept onto the stage. Drago’s doublet was too short and too wide for him. It looked like he was wearing a bolero. He walked back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to look evil for a full minute. Velvet was sure he’d lost his nerve.
“You can do it, Peter,” she whispered.
He took a deep breath, focused on the two members of his audience and said his first lines. Then the band started up again and Taleb played the introduction to the soliloquy song. Peter sang it in a whispery voice that didn’t fit the words or the rap rhythm at all. He paused after the song as they’d rehearsed, but no one applauded. Then he had to do the prophecy scene. Taleb was as nervous as Peter. Mr and Mrs Qian were watching intently as if they understood every word.
Mr Kislinski came into the hall just as Clarence was being arrested. Mr MacDonald was supposed to be directing, but when he saw the principal, he got flustered and mixed up the pages of his script. He told Mei to go on before they’d done Lady Anne’s scene.
Mei launched into her song. She was the only one whose voice drowned out the chatter and the clatter of teacups. Mr Kislinski froze with a scone held a few centimetres from his mouth. Mei didn’t realise that the principal was watching her; she continued to catapult her words to the back of the hall. Mr Kislinski put down his cup of tea, marched towards the front of the hall and strode up the steps onto the stage. He waved his arms at the band to make them stop. Mei sang on defiantly. At the end of the song, the rest of the cast waited for Mr Kislinski to stop the play, but Mr and Mrs Qian were smiling and applauding.
“They think it’s part of the show,” Mr MacDonald said. “Velvet, do your scene.”
“But it’s out of order.”
“Who’s going to know? Quick.”
Velvet rushed onto the stage and sang Lady Anne’s song. She didn’t even falter when there was a PA announcement saying Mr Kislinski was needed out on the oval to judge the track and field finals. The principal left the stage.
In daylight, it didn’t feel like a performance at all and the tackiness of their makeshift props and costumes was revealed for all to see. In the bright sunlight, Roula’s seaweedy streamers of fabric were hardly visible, and Mr MacDonald forgot to lower the bloodstained cardboard angel. The songs were lifeless, the acting dull. There was no spark, no magic. But it didn’t really matter, because hardly anyone was listening.
All Velvet’s lectures about pausing for dramatic effect went out the window, and they rattled through Act I in twenty minutes. The little princes hadn’t turned up, and the scones had run out, so the rest of the prospective parents left to watch the track and field finals.
“There’s no point in going on,” Taleb said.
“Yeah,” Jesus said. “Let’s go home.”
Velvet looked over at Mr MacDonald, who was sitting in the wings with his head in his hands.
“Mei’s parents are still here,” Velvet said. “Remember what Slinky said? If they aren’t happy, and they don’t donate money for the electronic scoreboard, Mr Mac could lose his job.”
“But I don’t know Buckingham’s lines.”
“Okay. Let’s just do the songs.”
Everyone agreed.
“And the battle scene,” Jesus insisted.
Mr MacDonald wouldn’t play his part, and they had to use a bundle of rags with the crown perched on top for the king. The coronation song sounded more like a funeral march, the queens were too nervous to do their dance steps, and the ghosts looked about as spooky as a Grade 3 choir.
The battle scene finally came. Taleb had only played the first two chords of the battle music, when Jesus knocked Peter’s sword out of his hand with his first blow. Mr Kislinski returned in time to see Peter die with a sense of great relief. He lay on the stage and Jesus looked around wondering what he should do next. Taleb cut the battle music short. The curtains wouldn’t close, there were no lights to fade, and no one applauded. Peter got up and the two of them left the stage.
Mr and Mrs Qian realised the play had finished and clapped enthusiastically. They went over to shake Mr Kislinski’s hand. He smiled grimly at them, and went backstage.
“What is the meaning of this, MacDonald? I asked for a Shakespeare play, not a pop concert!” He wasn’t waiting for answers. “How dare you use school funds for this sort of thing? In fact, you couldn’t have used all that money on such a travesty. I want it repaid. Every cent of it.”
Mr Kislinski stormed out. The bell rang and the rest of the school went home. The members of Stagefright sat miserably on the edge of the stage and in the front row of seats. Mr MacDonald plinked discordantly on the Yamaha DX7.
Taleb unbuttoned his doublet. “That’s it then.”
“Yep,” Peter said.
“I can’t believe we spent all year working our guts out for that,” Hailie said. “All that effort for nothing.”
“Less than nothing,” Jesus said. “We owe the school a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“That’s nearly twenty bucks each.”
“I’m not paying twenty bucks,” Roula said. “Drago should pay it all. He lost it.”
“Where’s he going to get that much money?” Velvet said.
“He can earn it,” Taleb snarled. “Get a newspaper round or a night-fill job in a supermarket.”
“Wait till I get my hands on him,” Jesus said.
Jesus was about to storm off and find Drago, when Velvet had another of her ideas.
“I know how we can earn the money.”
“Not another cake stall.”
“No.”
“What then? What brilliant plan have you got this time?”
“We can put on another performance. Only this time, we sell tickets.”
“No one came when it was free,” Hailie said. “Why would anybody pay to see it?”
“The only people in the school were parents who want to send their kids here next year. They didn’t know us. They weren’t interested.”
“My parents like,” Mei said. “They watch the whole show.”
“Yeah, but they’re loopy.”
“They just wanted to see Mei.”
“Corduroy’s right, as usual,” said a voice from the side door.
Everyone turned round.
Mr MacDonald and Taleb managed to rest
rain Jesus from leaping off the stage at Drago.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m not much good at maths,” Drago said, “but even I can work out that if we charge three dollars a head, we only need to sell fifty tickets.”
Hailie wasn’t convinced. “So we get maybe a dozen parents, if we’re lucky.”
“None of the other kids were allowed to come and watch,” Velvet said. “They all had to be out on the oval breaking world records, or in the gym doing double backflips. I reckon a lot of the other kids would come.”
“Dream on, Velvet. You don’t really think anyone would come after school hours.”
“My old soccer team would come,” Jesus said.
“All the girls in our class wanted to see it when I told them Peter would be wearing tights,” Hailie said.
“I’m not wearing tights!”
“I lied.”
“The rest of Toxic Shock will come so they can slag off at me afterwards.”
“You mean you’re going along with this, Taleb?”
“Why not?”
“The play sucked, by the way,” Drago said.
“You saw it?” Velvet said.
“Most of it.”
“We’d have to be a bunch of masochists to want to go through that again,” Peter said.
“There’ll be one big difference in the next show,” Drago said.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll be in it.”
“But you’re not allowed in the school grounds.”
“This performance will be at night.”
“So when will it be?”
“It’ll have to be soon. Half the school breaks up the week after next.”
“But what about Slinky?”
No one had noticed that Miss Ryan had come into the hall. “The principal will be away all next week. He’s coach of the rowing team and there’s a competition in Nagambie. Then he’s got a principals’ conference the following Monday and Tuesday.”
They all stared at Miss Ryan. Was she really suggesting they deceive the principal?
“I’ll be acting deputy principal while he’s away. I can sign off on permission to hold the performance. We can have the concert on the Tuesday night.”
“Okay. We’ll charge five bucks for adults, three for kids,” Peter said.