Read Online Dark Secrets 2: No Time to Die; The Deep End of Fear by Elizabeth Chandler - Free Book Online
Book: Dark Secrets 2: No Time to Die; The Deep End of Fear by Elizabeth Chandler
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Authors: Elizabeth Chandler
Tags: Fiction, Death, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Interpersonal relations, Actors, Murder, Ghosts, Horror Tales; American, Mystery and detective stories, Sisters, Actors and actresses, Problem families, Dysfunctional families, Horror stories, Camps, Family Problems, Teenagers and Death, Tutors and Tutoring, Young Adult Fiction; American
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you listed no specific skills in set design, costume, makeup, lighting, or sound. What on earth did you plan to do here?"
I felt caught. "I, uh, I guess I thought I could overcome my stage fright, but when I saw how good everyone was, I figured this wasn't the place to do it. I don't want to sink the production."
"But you're not going to. You're going to pull this off."
"You're taking a big risk," I warned him.
"I've always been a director who takes risks. That's why I didn't make it in New York, where bottom-line mentality rules."
It was the usual artistic gripe, but I was surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
"You will discover, Jenny, that my shows, cast with a bunch of kids and produced in the boonies, are better theater, more imaginative and compelling fare than Broadway shows in which people pay to see Lee Montgomery play himself over and over again."
"Really."
"You're not a fan of his, I hope."
I wondered if my face had given me away. "I've seen him perform," I replied, "in Hamlet."
"Ah, yes, he played that role a good fifteen years longer than he should have. I began to think it was a play about a man in midlife crisis."
tell that to the people who flocked to see him, I thought, but I couldn't defend my father aloud.
"So, Puck, we understand each other," Walker said, his eyes dropping down again to the notes in front of him.
Hardly, I mused, and left.
We spent Wednesday morning reading the play aloud as a cast. A few kids sulked about not getting the parts they wanted, but most were pretty excited. Brian worked with Tomas and two other tech directors—heads of lighting and sound—putting down colored tape on the stage, mapping the set we would soon be building. In the afternoon we began blocking the play.
My part was blocked sketchily. It was decided that I'd be given certain parameters—where I had to be, by when—and that over the next few days Maggie and I would work on the gymnastic details. She had also volunteered to help with my stage fright, teaching me relaxation exercises and pacing me through extra rehearsals in which she'd expose me to increments of stage lighting in a gradually darkened theater.
Rehearsal ran late that day and was followed quickly by dinner, then a showing of The Tempest. Each Wednesday evening was Movie Night during which we'd watch and discuss a film of a Shakespearean production.
After the movie I hung out with Shawna and two other new girls in her cozy room beneath the eaves. Everything was fine until ten o'clock, when I returned to my room.
For the first time since early in the day I was alone and had the opportunity to think about the strange visions I'd had the last two nights. I found myself glancing around anxiously and turning on lights, not just the bedside one, but the overhead and the desk lamp as well. I didn't want any blue shadows tonight.
I pulled down the shades, then drew the curtains over them. It made the room stuffy, but I felt less vulnerable with the windows covered, as if I could seal the opening through which thoughts of Liza entered my mind. It was eerie the way the visions occurred when I sat in the window where she would have sat and stood on the stage where she would have stood.
I walked restlessly about my room, then tried to read. At ten-twenty I knocked on Maggie's door.
"Jenny. Hello," Maggie said, quickly checking me over the way my own mother would have, making sure there was no physical emergency. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, but I'm feeling kind of jumpy. May I go out for a walk? I know it's past curfew, but I'll stay close."
"Come in a moment," Maggie said, stepping aside.
I was reluctant. Come on.
I entered the room. It was extremely neat, her bedspread turned down just so, the curtains pulled back the exact same width at each window, all the pencils on her desk sharpened and lined up. But Maggie's pink robe was a bit ratty, the way my mother's always was, making me feel more comfortable with her. She gestured to a desk
I felt caught. "I, uh, I guess I thought I could overcome my stage fright, but when I saw how good everyone was, I figured this wasn't the place to do it. I don't want to sink the production."
"But you're not going to. You're going to pull this off."
"You're taking a big risk," I warned him.
"I've always been a director who takes risks. That's why I didn't make it in New York, where bottom-line mentality rules."
It was the usual artistic gripe, but I was surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
"You will discover, Jenny, that my shows, cast with a bunch of kids and produced in the boonies, are better theater, more imaginative and compelling fare than Broadway shows in which people pay to see Lee Montgomery play himself over and over again."
"Really."
"You're not a fan of his, I hope."
I wondered if my face had given me away. "I've seen him perform," I replied, "in Hamlet."
"Ah, yes, he played that role a good fifteen years longer than he should have. I began to think it was a play about a man in midlife crisis."
tell that to the people who flocked to see him, I thought, but I couldn't defend my father aloud.
"So, Puck, we understand each other," Walker said, his eyes dropping down again to the notes in front of him.
Hardly, I mused, and left.
We spent Wednesday morning reading the play aloud as a cast. A few kids sulked about not getting the parts they wanted, but most were pretty excited. Brian worked with Tomas and two other tech directors—heads of lighting and sound—putting down colored tape on the stage, mapping the set we would soon be building. In the afternoon we began blocking the play.
My part was blocked sketchily. It was decided that I'd be given certain parameters—where I had to be, by when—and that over the next few days Maggie and I would work on the gymnastic details. She had also volunteered to help with my stage fright, teaching me relaxation exercises and pacing me through extra rehearsals in which she'd expose me to increments of stage lighting in a gradually darkened theater.
Rehearsal ran late that day and was followed quickly by dinner, then a showing of The Tempest. Each Wednesday evening was Movie Night during which we'd watch and discuss a film of a Shakespearean production.
After the movie I hung out with Shawna and two other new girls in her cozy room beneath the eaves. Everything was fine until ten o'clock, when I returned to my room.
For the first time since early in the day I was alone and had the opportunity to think about the strange visions I'd had the last two nights. I found myself glancing around anxiously and turning on lights, not just the bedside one, but the overhead and the desk lamp as well. I didn't want any blue shadows tonight.
I pulled down the shades, then drew the curtains over them. It made the room stuffy, but I felt less vulnerable with the windows covered, as if I could seal the opening through which thoughts of Liza entered my mind. It was eerie the way the visions occurred when I sat in the window where she would have sat and stood on the stage where she would have stood.
I walked restlessly about my room, then tried to read. At ten-twenty I knocked on Maggie's door.
"Jenny. Hello," Maggie said, quickly checking me over the way my own mother would have, making sure there was no physical emergency. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, but I'm feeling kind of jumpy. May I go out for a walk? I know it's past curfew, but I'll stay close."
"Come in a moment," Maggie said, stepping aside.
I was reluctant. Come on.
I entered the room. It was extremely neat, her bedspread turned down just so, the curtains pulled back the exact same width at each window, all the pencils on her desk sharpened and lined up. But Maggie's pink robe was a bit ratty, the way my mother's always was, making me feel more comfortable with her. She gestured to a desk
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