Page 46

Chapter Eleven

Eliza

“When you feel like you’ve only got a bit part in your own life, write the script yourself.”

—Benny Bellamacina

Outside of a damn golf swing, Chad probably never worked with his hands a day in his life. He wouldn’t know hard work if it hit him in the teeth.

Yet here was Reed, on his day off, helping one of this theater’s oldest supporters. Grandma always said Thatcher Newcomb was a “good egg,” giving a lot of time and his own money to different projects at the Lyric and never wanting any credit for it.

She used to say Reed was a “good egg” too.

I never told him that.

I should have told him that.

“Ms. Crowley?” Roy, one of the lighting technicians tapped my shoulder. “You were saying?”

Oh, right.

“Sorry. What I was going to say was that I double-checked the board this morning, and it looks like I have a couple ERS bulbs out. I was told this theater always used them, but I’d like to see a quote for a Fresnel instead.”

Roy and the other technician, who happened to be his brother, gawked at me. I beamed, feeling taller than the Yankees’ best outfielder, Aaron Judge.

That’s right, boys. All rise.

I may not have read the brochures from all the business programs Dad had dropped on my desk over the last year, but I did listen to Girlboss Radio.

Carl tugged on the belt of his jeans. “But the Fresnel won’t be nearly as strong of a light—”

“I don’t need it.” Hold eye contact. “Everything else was updated last year and works great. We’ll save money by going with a Fresnel too.”

Roy harrumphed. “Maybe Ms. Sparrow has different thoughts about it though?”

“It’s like I already said on the phone, gentlemen.” Ms. Sparrow propped her glasses on top of her head. “Eliza’s opinions regarding lighting choices are my opinions.”

“So go ahead and draw it up,” I added.

Roy tapped his clipboard with a pencil that had a chewed top—gross. “We’ll get a quote to you soon.” He and Carl hurried away as Ms. Sparrow fist-bumped me.

“Men,” she muttered. “And my mother still wonders why I’ve never been attracted to them.”

I snorted and thanked her before turning around to where I had left Reed. The frame now stood alone, fastened to the floor. Reed was gone, and my heart sank a little.

I bet he would’ve liked seeing me put those two jerks in their place.

“So everything still on schedule with your cues?” Ms. Sparrow now faced upstage, taking notes.

On schedule? Um… “Yes.” Total lie. “Yes, the cues are going well.”

Truth: The board had frozen twice in the last few days.

I had lost dozens of cues and had to nearly start over each time. Now I saved my progress every two to three cues in case it happened again. It was painstakingly slow, and I was scared shitless it would happen during one of our live performances.

Ms. Sparrow bought my fake smile, though, and patted my shoulder before leaving the stage.

Later that afternoon, I pulled into the driveway to find Dad leaning on his truck with his arms crossed, staring at me.