The Fall Musical Read Online Free Page B

, Mr. President?” Charles asked.
    Harrison stewed. It was a good question. The fall show had been his idea, but it was already September, and neither he nor Brianna had had the time to look for a good SM. Last year’s SM, Rachel Kolodzny, had done the job for four years with style, but she was now at Yale, and no one else had been trained. And Harrison’s younger cousin Stavros, who was dying to do the job, had moved to Brooklyn over the summer and was a freshman at a city high school. “We just can’t leave everything a mess, Charles. We have to do some of the work ourselves.”
    â€œYou don’t mean the officers?” Reese asked, sounding alarmed.
    â€œCertainly not,” Charles assured her. “The president, VP, designer, tech guru, and choreographer—we are creative royalty. We do not clean up.”
    â€œCharles . . . ” Harrison said warningly.
    â€œWell, okay, maybe a tiny bit.”
    â€œLet’s begin the launch meeting,” Harrison said. “Where’s Dashiell?”
    Harrison stepped back, pulled aside the curtain, and looked out into the house. Students were still clustered near the sign-up desk, talking to Mr. Levin. Beyond them, way in the back, a large black-metal box with legs wobbled down the aisle.
    It was Dashiell, carrying a huge soundboard that covered him from waist to head. He picked up speed as he approached the side doors.
    The doors were in an alcove. One of them flew open, and a harried-looking Asian girl rushed in. Her face was furrowed with worry, her eyes fixed on the crowd of auditioners. From her vantage point, she could not see Dashiell barreling toward her.
    â€œHey, you at the door!” Harrison shouted, waving his hands frantically. “Heads up!”
    The girl looked at him.
    And Dashiell, oblivious to it all, plowed right into her.
    With a sickening crash, the machine, Dashiell, and the new girl collapsed to the floor.

3
    CASEY GASPED FOR BREATH. ABOVE HER, THE faces blurred in and out—and voices, a thrum of sound. Beyond them she saw the fractured edges of a metallic shape that was once intact. The scene began to fade, and in her mind she was somewhere else . . .
    A quiet spring day, rising from the sidewalk, floating through a sea of people, catching a glimpse of another metallic shape . . .
    No!
    She sat up quickly with a gasp, forcing herself to focus.
    The faces coalesced. These were Ridgeport High School students. It was audition night, in the Murray Klein Memorial Auditorium.
    A very tall, very skinny guy with chocolate skin and narrow glasses stood bent in shock, his hands flat to the side in a classic Macaulay Culkin pose . “You were in my trajectory . . . I—I created this blind spot . . . It wasn’t intentional . . . oh my God . . . ”
    He had hit her. A few feet away, a large black electronic unit with lots of dials lay diagonally against the aisle seats. It was huge and expensive-looking, not crushed but definitely broken. “Ouch. Sorry. Did I break your computer?” Casey asked.
    â€œIt’s . . . a console. Analog. Technically not a computer. As for its brokenness, well, that’s complicated. We were about to examine it for defects . . . ”
    A smaller group led by a bearded, dark-eyed teacher and fretful-looking blond-haired woman, barged through the circle of students that surrounded Casey. The man spoke first. “I’m Greg Levin, the faculty adviser. Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks,” Casey replied.
    â€œDashiell, you nearly killed her,” Harrison said.
    â€œ You instructed me in no uncertain terms to bring the console down!” Dashiell protested.
    â€œI meant —”
    â€œGuys, let’s give some help to . . . ?” Mr. Levin offered Casey his arm.
    â€œCasey,” she replied.
    All three guys reached down to help her, and Mr. Levin began making introductions. “This is Harrison, president of the