Read Online The Sisters Club by Megan McDonald - Free Book Online

mean I’m your friend. This doesn’t mean I’m back in the Sisters Club. It’s not over, you know. You owe me. And you better make it up to me.”
    “How?”
    “You’ll think of something.”

 
    Opening night. That’s the biggest night of the play.
    Everybody was backstage, buzzing around like bees, rushing around half-dressed, pacing back and forth, and holding scripts and mouthing lines to themselves. Mr. Cannon, the director, was racing around with a clipboard, shouting orders at people. Actors kept coming up to him, saying stuff like “I can’t find the rose for the rosebush” or “Am I supposed to come onstage before or after the word ‘night’?” or “My hair won’t stay on right.”
    Even I couldn’t help catching a little of the excitement.
    Joey was trying to make up for the Frog Lips Incident, so she yelled, “Hi, Scott Towel!” to Scott (a.k.a. Beast), who was only half-hairy so far (from the neck down) and kept putting breath-mint strips in his mouth.
    Alex was talking a mile a minute. Every few seconds she’d stop and blow into her hand, taking a bunch of deep breaths. She sounded like a hyperventilating hyena. She looked like she was going to throw up on Dad’s shoes.
    Dad said, “Alex, honey. Try to stay calm. Turn your nervousness into excitement. Remember your deep breathing? Now’s the time. Breathe. Don’t forget, if you blank on a line or say the wrong words, just keep going.”
    “I know, I know, Dad. The show must go on.”
    “That’s my girl. I’ll be backstage checking on my props and scene changes, if you need me.”
    “You look beautiful, honey,” Mom said, and she gave Alex a non–Frog Lips kiss.
    “Mom! I don’t even have the rest of my costume on yet. And you’re messing up my stage makeup.”
    “OK, well, you still look beautiful.”
    “Dad, did you remember the moat around the castle?” Joey asked.
    “It’s all there, honey.”
    “And are you sure you got the volcano in the right place? Facing the right way and everything?” It was just a hunk of cardboard and wire and paste, but you’d think Joey had helped build the Golden Gate Bridge or something.
    “Five minutes!” Mr. Cannon called.
    “Thank you — five!” a bunch of cast members called back.
    Five minutes till showtime. Time to find our seats.
    “Good luck!” I called to Alex.
    Alex turned around with a mean glare. “Stevie! Don’t say that. Good luck is like bad luck in acting!”
    “Whatever.”
    “Take it back!”
    “OK, OK! I take it back.”
    “Break a leg!” Joey called.
    The best part about plays is sitting in the dark. You have hundreds of people around you, but the dark makes it seem like it’s just you. Alone. You and the play. You get to laugh and cry and feel stuff and forget everything else, like homework, and fondue fiascoes, and sisters being mad at you.
    Being in the audience is the best. You’re inside the story, only you don’t have to be up there acting.
    Nervous. Shaky. Sweating.
    Feeling like you’re about to throw up.
    If only Joey would stop whispering all the lines. I had to keep elbowing her, fondue-style. Once I even made her drop her Junior Mints.
    Alex didn’t seem one bit nervous. She didn’t sound like a hyena anymore. Of course, you can’t see the somersaults going on inside a person’s stomach. But she didn’t mess up one time in all of Act One.
    Not even when I hunched down, crept down to the pit in front, and snapped a bunch of pictures of her.
    Not even when the curtain got stuck.
    Not even when Beast’s nose fell off one time!
    She did all the stuff Dad was always telling her — like when to look at the audience and how to speak loud enough and all that junk. I don’t know how she keeps it all in her head.
    And she looked just like Beauty in the fairy tale. Not like someone who slams doors, throws herself facedown on her bed, and talks to a sock monkey. Not like someone who swears in Shakespeare or gives you the Silent Treatment or