She blushes. “Stop.”
“No, seriously.” I follow her inside. “You don’t just want to be in the story. You want to fix it.”
She goes quiet, which for Rue usually means I’m right. By the time we reach the sound booth, Mabel and Dot are already onstage doing vocal warm-ups. Meredith and Carlton are running lines from opposite ends of the set like they’ve been ordered not to stand too close to each other, when they really just aren’t speaking. Zayne is helping someone pin a costume hem in the wings, and Miss Fern is pacing with a pencil tucked behind one ear and the expression of a woman one moment away from having a mental breakdown.
Rue drops into her chair with a sigh. “This production is going to be a flop.” She holds her phone between us so I can see what she’s been typing.
On her screen is a list. As I scan it, I realize it’s full of her notes about the musical. She’s outlined all her complaints, as well as the fixes and rewrites she’d like to see.
I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, that’s a lot.”
She shrugs. “Even if she didn’t change everything, and she just had Carlton’s character uplift Meredith’s in the end instead of arguing with her, there would be a much better payoff between the two characters. Don’t you think?”
I glance from her phone to the stage. “Actually, yeah, I do. Why don’t you just tell Miss Fern?”
Rue snorts. “Because then I’d also have to tell her the problem I have with her lyrics in Meredith’s solo. And the reason Carlton’s lines in act one don’t work with the rest of the story. And she won’t listen to me. No one does.”
I lean back in the chair and study her for a second. Rue notices everything.Everything. Not just people, but also structure and what makes things work or not work. She gets why one choice onstage changes the emotional dynamic ten minutes later. But somehow she still thinks no one listens to her.
“That’s not true,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Ezra.”
“No, seriously.” I nod at the phone in her hand. “You’re basically rescuing this whole thing from one folding chair.”
Rue’s mouth twitches. “I wish that’s what would come of me saying something. It would be nice to be proud of this production, at least a little.”
“Okay, well, what’s the worst thing that will happen? She says no, and then her play sucks? Or she tells you yes, and then everything is better for it.”
“Hm.” Rue glances down at the list again. “Maybe.”
She reaches for the house light dimmers. The cast starts the first scene, and for a while we settle into silence as she works.
At one point, while Meredith is belting a painfully earnest solo about believing in herself through teamwork, I glance sideways at Rue.
She’s staring down at her phone, but her shoulders are too tight, and her mouth is set in a line.
A thought slips into my head before I can stop it.No. It’s not possible.But it still slips out before I can stop it. “Can I ask you something?”
Rue doesn’t look up. “Hm?”
“Are you Little Birdie?”
Her head snaps toward me so fast I almost laugh from sheer surprise. “What? Why would you ask me that?”
I shrug one shoulder, trying to act looser than I feel. “Because you’re observant. Because you always know more than you say. And because the person writing those posts sounds like someone who watches everything.”
Rue lets out one sharp, disbelieving laugh. “No. I’m not Little Birdie.”
I search her face. “Okay.”
Rue narrows her eyes. “Do you believe me?”
I hold her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah, I do.” Which is true. Mostly.
Miss Fern claps from the stage. “Pause! Pause, everybody. Carlton, less bitterness. Meredith, more yearning.”
Rue mutters, “That would require entirely new dialogue.”
