The spring musical was in two weeks, and we were headed to warmer weather, which guaranteed we’d have eight people in attendance, tops. Not that anyone came to see the stage crew anyway.

I parked and locked my bike.

On the way in, a group of people walked out of the building and knocked straight into me like I was starring in my own High School Ghost Kid movie.

“Didn’t see you there, TNG.” One of the guys walked backward toward the parking lot.

I cringed. If only it were anything different than the norm. Maybe it would be better if I were invisible.

I walked into the auditorium. The room had a comforting smell to it. Paint, musty costumes, electrical tape, plywood and the blood, sweat, and tears of a squadron of dedicated high schoolers. Only now the tears were a bit more prominent.

Up on stage, under a spotlight no less, someone was sitting on the plywood cruise ship deck sobbing. I found Piper running cables down from the sound booth to the mixing board in the center of the auditorium.

“What’s up with Faye?” I pressed down the last length of tape.

The small crowd around her hugged her and rubbed her back. She projected her sobs like only a theater kid could.

Piper handed the roll of black electrical tape to me and nudged her glasses up her nose. Their weight always seemed to keep her constantly adjusting and readjusting them. “Her parents told her they’re going to Chicago with her brother for some football drill thing instead of her performance.”

“Her brother’s a football player?”

“Yup.”

“He’s a senior too?”

“No, he’s a sophomore and he’s ridden the bench all season, but they’re going to watch him instead of coming to her one performance.” Our drama teacher allowed senior understudies to perform in one show since it was their last opportunity.

“Did you say drill thing? Not even a game?”

Piper nodded, arms folded over her chest.

Whelp, talk about a slap in the face. Not only wasn’t he playing in the games, at this point it didn’t even matter. But, of course, the football team found a way to continue to subject everyone to their madness and wring out every last drop of adoration before the school year ended.

“Poor, Faye.”

“Tell me about it. This place is football crazy.”

We worked on setting up all the wiring and equipment with the rest of the crew. I took my spot in front of the massive mixing console.

“You’re the only one who knows what they’re doing with all this, right?” Jon, a fellow stage crew senior, sat beside me staring at the levelers and buttons like he might accidentally launch a nuke if he pushed the wrong one. He’d joined the stage crew around the same time Piper had at the beginning of my first year here. Quiet, unassuming, but nice. We didn’t share many classes together, but he always offered to carry heavy boxes.