Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 8

So, how did we fit it? Tightly.

Of course, we didn’t grab the stuff and lug it away to the school ourselves. In fact, I doubted the importance of our visit, as Hubert—that’s Mr. Nightray’s given name—just showed us the room that should be Lady Windermere’s and informed us that it’d arrive at school on Monday.

What he wanted to give us exceeded the list of Mr. Hedford’s about one to four, but the truth of the matter was that it looked perfect and no one found the heart to break the setting. Which brought us to Monday after school—to a crammed stage and a backstage that started to smell like sweat, stuffed with too many items and too many breakable things for any reasonable high school.

Most of the theater folk were there: Mr. Hedford, of course, directing the proceedings; Stella and Alex, who had roped Josh into volunteering some muscle; Ashley and Jacob, who had brought two mates of Jacob’s. I didn’t even know them by name because they had brains on par with a mollusk. Then there was me. And Trevor.

Three hours’ worth of teamwork and the whole set-up refused to move any closer to completion.

“It seemed smaller at the Nightray’s,” Stella grumbled as she heaved and shoved at a lovely settee, trying to angle it enough to face the public without being obvious.

“The room at Nightray’s was about three times the size of this stage,” Alex grunted, pulling from the other end of the settee. “How about it, Alice? Looking good now?”

I tilted my head. No, it wasn’t as perfect as it had been, but we had moved it around so much that I started to get sick.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” I dropped a cushion on the settee, my mighty contribution to the move.

In my defense, Ashley didn’t do much more than I did.

“Come on, guys! On three, I want that shelf against the wall!” she said.

“It is against the wall,” Jacob complained.

“No, it’s one foot from the wall and that’s quality space we need elsewhere! Now, push!”

“And on she goes,” I muttered while watching her. My voice was low enough for no one to hear, but it was as if I had conjured her attention.

“Alice! You’re not helping. Bring the vases! I think we’re not going to move that bureau anymore.”

I sighed and gave her a mock salute. “On it.”

Vases. Hubert had also given us vases and curtains to fake the windows, and we’d refused the chandelier because we couldn’t connect it to the school’s electric cables. And because we weren’t sure the ceiling would hold up the weight. But everything else? We had it. Rugs and cushions and figurines. I imagined that placing the decorations was better than the grunt work, but still. I didn’t much care for being ordered around by Ashley. She acted as if she were Mr. Hedford, reigning supreme. The only one who hadn’t received orders from her was Trevor.

He moved in silence, avoiding the looks of the others and trying not to stand in their way. He kept finding discreet niches for the speakers and the lights to go. He might be a musician, but since we needed someone in charge of illumination and both things involved cables, he’d been recruited. When the furniture changed locations, Trevor came in again, undid all his work, and replaced his stuff wherever it fit best. Repetitive, but not very tiring.

I went backstage, got the box with the small stuff, and placed the vase on top of the bureau Ashley had pointed out. An ornate glass ashtray went upon the low table. A figurine of a nightingale in flight sat right beside the vase. A couple of old-looking books found their way into the shelf that Ashley had finished moving around. A table clock that weighed more than I cared to lift took the place of honor on a table against the far wall, along with a silver tray that would hold delicate glasses once we dared to get them out of their safety wrappings.