The Devil's in the Diva: The Four Dorothys; Everyone's a Critic (Drama!, Band 3) - Softcover

Ruditis, Paul

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1442414448 ISBN 13: 9781442414440

Verlag: Simon Pulse, 2010

Inhaltsangabe

Bryan Stark describes himself as the "Greek Chorus," constantly watching the action and drama unfold around him in the arena with the most high school divas possible--the theater! At his posh private school in Malibu, Orion Academy, the teens are entitled, the boys are cute, and the theatre productions extremely elaborate. Bryan sees it all as he directs his best friend Samantha, the most talented of the Orion divas, through the throng.

This bind-up is filled with friends, theatre, and romance, but underneath it all DRAMA! is a heartfelt comedic series.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Paul Ruditis is the author of many licensed fiction and nonfiction companion books, from Charmed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer to Star Trek and Bones, among others. He lives in Burbank, California.

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The Devil’s in the Diva

The Boy from Oz

I could swear the lighting instrument was falling at seventy-six frames per second. (Aside: That’s movie talk for slow motion.) And yet, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

The speed of the world around me slammed back to normal as the lighting instrument crashed onto the stage only a few small feet from Sam’s small feet.

Then there was silence.

That lasted about three seconds. Then the screeching began. First Heather, then Cindy (I mean, Cynthia), and finally Suze.

I’m proud to say that Sam did not get all screechy. She simply stared down at the twisted metal and glass shards that settled around her red-sequined shoes.

“Is everyone okay?” Mr. Randall asked as he bolted out of his seat.

“I think I found the light,” Sam replied as she pointed down to the shattered glass and twisted metal.

Leave it to Sam to break the dramatic tension.

Almost.

Jimmy raced past me and leaped onto the stage before Mr. Randall could even get out of his row. When properly motivated, that kid can move.

Jimmy is our passive-obsessive stage manager. He can usually be found buzzing around behind the cast and crew, looking over their shoulders to make sure everything meets with his detail-oriented eye. He never quite criticizes anyone directly, but you can always tell when he wants to get in there and do things his way. That’s just on a normal day. During emergencies like these—or on opening night—there’s no metaphor created that can properly describe his frantic behavior.

Me? I was still at my seat. But I wasn’t exactly doing nothing.

Once it was clear that Sam’s wit had survived the accident, I started snapping pictures of the aftermath with my trusty digital camera. Not only would the near disaster make front-page news for the school paper, The Orion Star, but the shots of the Dorothys freaking out would provide hours of entertainment for Sam and me.

“Okay, Bryan. You’ve got more than enough pictures for the lawsuits,” Mr. Randall said as he gently pushed my camera down. (I hadn’t even thought of that!) “Besides, the lighting instrument landed on the other side of the stage.”

I saw that Mr. Randall’s look of concern had been replaced by that same wry smile I so rarely see from other teachers. He must have realized that my camera was aimed at Heather, who was cowering behind the stage-right curtain. She looked like she was afraid the lighting instrument was going to jump up and bite her.

(Aside: We rarely refer to lighting instruments as “lights.” Technically they’re called “lamps.” But I didn’t want you thinking I was talking about some cheap, plastic desk accessory from IKEA. These things have heft.)

Once the dust settled, Mr. Randall joined Jimmy and the Dorothys up onstage to examine the fallen lamp. As there was nothing I could do but add a well-timed quip, I sat back in my seat. Sam already had the quip quotient quite covered. (Say that five times fast, I dare you.)

“I’m guessing the fitting is over?” Sam asked. “I’d say it was a smashing success.”

We both groaned over that one.

“Yes, Sam,” Mr. Randall said. “You can all change out of your costumes and get over to the soccer game.”

“Thanks,” Sam said as she fled the stage, quickly followed by the other Dorothys.

Not that Sam had any intention of going to the soccer game. We aren’t big on hanging out with the masses who flock like sheep to the soccer field. We are very much our own people, with lives full of excitement way more interesting than some high school sporting event.

Even though we didn’t have any other plans for that particular afternoon, we’d come up with something eventually.

With the shrieking Dorothys gone, I decided to hop up onstage myself and check things out. That’s the kind of thing menfolk do, you know. While the girls are off changing outfits, the guys stand around examining the broken equipment, trying to determine what caused the accident.

Maybe we’d even call in the Malibu CSI team.

“So, what do we think happened here, fellas?” I said as I moseyed up to Jimmy and Mr. Randall. I would have spit some tobacco into a spittoon had either been available.

Actually … no, I wouldn’t.

“I think that, maybe, the clamp could’ve rusted through,” Jimmy said, pointing to the metal clamp that usually hooked around the pipe grid up above. “I mean, obviously, it rusted through … see all the rust … and the through.”

Jimmy doesn’t always make the most sense when he speaks. But he was right about the rust. The metal was brown and holey and missing the all-important top part that hooked it to the pipe. (That’s about as technical as my terminology is going to get here.)

“I keep telling the headmaster we need to replace this equipment,” Mr. Randall said, shaking his head. Suddenly, I had a stellar idea. I’d ask my parents to make a contribution. The Bryan Stark Light Grid has a nice ring to it.

Or, maybe not.

“What about the safety line?” I asked. Each lamp is supposed to be clamped tightly to the pipe. But in case something goes wrong, an aircraft cable is looped around the bar to make sure if the clamp goes, something like this doesn’t happen.

Jimmy was silent. This in itself was an amazing feat. Jimmy is never silent. Not even backstage during a performance. Even his whispers are loud and agitated.

“Jimmy?” Mr. Randall asked.

“I can’t … umm … I could’ve …,” Jimmy said. “I mean … I might …”

It was clear to me that Jimmy didn’t want to admit that he could have missed attaching one of the cables. He tends to freak over little mistakes like that. Though, in this case, I guess it wasn’t a little mistake.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Randall,” Jimmy said. “I should have paid more attention. You’re always telling me not to rush so much. And I usually listen. I try to listen. But there’s just—”

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” Mr. Randall interjected, laying a calming hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. I was glad that Mr. Randall stopped him because it looked like Jimmy was on the verge of breaking into tears.

Jimmy is equal parts sweet and intense, with a small dash of scattered in the mix. In spite of that, there’s no one else I’d want to have in charge on show night because when he’s on, he’s on fire. Unfortunately, the flip side is also true: When he screws up, it tends to be noticeable. Still, he’s loyal like a Labrador, doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, and is kind of adorkable in his own way.

While Jimmy and Mr. Randall cleaned up the mess, I grabbed a seat in the front row to wait for Sam. It really wasn’t a three-person job. I’d probably get in the way.

Besides, I’m incredibly lazy.

I just realized I’ve been babbling for quite a few pages now. I never really introduced myself, you know, properly. This is the problem with not being a main character. You tend to get...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Simon Pulse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2010
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1442414448
• ISBN 13: 9781442414440
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 496
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar