If for Any Reason (Nantucket Love Story #1) - Courtney Walsh Page 0,108

you better figure it out fast.”

“I understand,” Jack said.

Hollis gave Jack one last pointed glare, then turned and walked away, wishing like crazy that Emily hadn’t forgotten her script at home.

CHAPTER 39

WITH JUST A FEW MORE REHEARSALS before opening night, Emily had some tightening to do. The show was mostly in good shape, with the music, blocking, and almost all of the choreography taught. But there were a few things that needed tweaking, and today, she would tweak.

As the director, it was her job to not only cast the vision for the whole show (costumes, sets, props, etc.) but also to work with the kids on their interpretation of the scenes.

Before auditions, she was certain she wouldn’t be successful at this. Even today, sitting in a chair as the kids filed into the room, she still felt that way, and she’d been doing it for weeks.

Get it together, Emily.

The show was so close to ready—why were her nerves back?

Maybe because this one scene was giving them trouble, and she knew it was up to her to fix it.

Marisol must’ve sensed her hesitation that morning during their icebreaker game because she walked over to Emily and said, “What’s the matter?”

Emily forced a smile. “Nothing.”

“You look green.”

“I think I’m starting to get nervous,” she said. “We’re opening two days from now.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Marisol said cheerfully. “We’ve got this.”

“And I have to fix that scene today—the Caterpillar one.”

Her assistant groaned. “That scene is not good.”

Emily widened her eyes. “I know.”

“Well, you’ll fix it. You’re like a master magician.”

Emily wasn’t so sure.

“Besides,” Marisol said, “the show is in great shape otherwise.”

It was. And yet, some days, Emily found herself waiting for the whole thing to fall apart, like a supersize game of Jenga. Had she forgotten something important? Something that would make or break this production? What if she let everyone down?

“I still don’t really feel like a director,” she said. “I was always a performer.”

Marisol put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “These are kids, Em. No matter what, you know a lot more than they do. Just talk to them the way you wish your directors would’ve talked to you.”

Emily nodded. Marisol was right. So far, nobody knew she was a fraud.

“Where are we starting, Miss Emily?” Alyssa Daniels asked. The girl had a powerhouse voice, but she’d been struggling with the acting side of her part. Emily saw it with several of the kids, actually. Good voices could carry them to a certain point, but if she wanted the show to be truly excellent, she needed to teach them about becoming the character.

And she felt wholly unqualified. The last time she’d tried to help anyone “become a character,” she’d gotten publicly torn to shreds.

She reminded herself this was different. And like Marisol said, no matter what, she did know more about theatre than the kids did.

Even Bethany Thompkins, whose mother was very clear at auditions that her daughter was a musical prodigy and should be treated as such.

“You’re going to want her as Alice, of course,” Mrs. Thompkins had said. “She was accepted to Boston’s prestigious Little Voices program and has been singing with a private instructor for five years now.” The woman nodded at Emily as if she’d just issued a directive.

Bethany was eleven years old and did, in fact, have a beautiful voice. If they had been casting an opera. Emily spent a good deal of time at the piano with her, trying to find a way to make her sound more current, but five years with a private voice instructor had drilled a very particular sound into the girl.

Mrs. Thompkins had many thoughts about Bethany’s role in the ensemble, and she hadn’t kept them to herself.

“Apparently, Bethany’s mom is telling the other parents you’re unqualified and don’t know what you’re doing.” Marisol had laughed as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world, but the barb cut Emily like a deep wound that had been there for a long time and had never healed.

Now, as she stood in front of a handful of her leads, her confidence level dipped.

I can do hard things.

She never thought that would include directing a group of kids. How had she gotten here?

All right. Enough.

Emily cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s run the scene.”

In front of her, Alyssa and a blonde girl named Madison, who was playing Alice, stood with their scripts in hand.

“Got your pencils?”

They each held up their freshly sharpened number twos—one of Emily’s rules: show up ready to work,