ᴛᴏᴏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ » ᴢᴀᴄʜ ʜᴇʀʀᴏɴ

Chapter One

October 13, 2017

The one person that annoyed Maeve Orland more than an audience member who talked throughout the entire duration of a show at the Wintergrove Stage was Randy Klinglesmith, the twenty-seven year old who worked after her shift a couple evenings a week and managed to switch everything on the soundboard to a different position than she had set it by the time he left.

Randy still lived with his parents, consumed a concerning amount of Cheetos daily (Maeve would often find orange dust coating the swivel chair and floor of the sound booth when she arrived the next day), and made it very clear to everyone, including his boss, that he hated working at the theater.

John Wintergrove, the owner of the stage in Fairfax, always shook his head and tried not to laugh when Maeve brought up her grievances of Randy's tendencies to mess with the soundboard she organized. She was without a doubt the best tech worker the theater had ever had, but the reality was that she couldn't cover every evening shift, even if she wanted to.

Maeve climbed three stairs to the sound booth and flipped on the overhead lights as she let her backpack slide off her right shoulder. She dropped the bag in a nearby chair and walked over to the soundboard, eyes surveying the damage of Randy's shift the night before. After years of experience, she could immediately recognize the knobs dialed to the wrong degree, the mic levels he had moved at his own accord.

Suppressing a sigh, she sat in the swivel chair to reorganize before rehearsal began—the high school students milling around in the space beyond the booth were to perform The Wizard of Oz in less than two weeks time, and though she would never say it aloud, they were struggling to pull it together.

As she scooted the chair forward, she heard a crunch, and leaning over, she let out a humorless laugh at the empty Cheetos bag stuck beneath the wheel of the chair.

***

It was dark outside when Maeve pushed the door open, quickly enveloped by chilly October air. Virginia always had cold weather that time of year, and it didn't help that rehearsal ended long after the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Maeve, however, didn't mind the numbness, hoping it would wake her up a bit, a lengthy night of homework still ahead of her.

After locking the entrance doors with the key John had given her for the nights she was the last to leave, she stepped off the curb, making her way across the empty parking lot. She always parked farther away from the building than necessary, as a courtesy to the students and their parents, but since all cars had cleared out, a large space of asphalt and shadows stretched out in front of her.

She had applied to work at the Wintergrove Stage in the summer before her seventh grade year. The stage was a local part of Fairfax, a theater that hosted several plays and musicals a year. Schools that didn't have a large enough stage in their own building, theater camps for kids, and even random groups of adult actors and actresses used the building to perform, Maeve running mics, sound, and lights from the booth in the back of the auditorium for all.

John was wary at first of allowing a person that was so young begin to work at the theater that had belonged to his family for years, but he took heart to her gentle spirit and motivated work ethic. She started learning from him, and since that summer, she had learned everything that he had taught her and more. He used to work alongside her, but by the time she was thirteen, he knew she was entirely capable of running it alone, though he hired Randy some time later as a second employee to cover the shifts that she wasn't able to.

Vibrations against her leg pulled her from her thoughts of the paper she needed to finish for American History. She smiled a little when she pulled her phone out of her pocket and read the name on the front screen.

"Corbyn, hi," she greeted.

"Hey, Wendy."

Most wouldn't have pinned Corbyn as an actor, but in eighth grade, that he was. He and Maeve were cast as siblings Wendy and John in the junior version of Peter Pan the Musical, and he had been calling her by her character name in greeting ever since. Though he was two years older than her, they became close friends over the course of the three months of practices before the performance. Both never returned to the stage in the acting sense, Corbyn moving forward to pursue singing and Maeve working behind the scenes, but it had brought them together all those years before.

"So, I heard that David called you," he said lightly, the conversation he'd had days before with one of his two managers, David Loeffler, coming to mind.

He had casually mentioned to David that he knew someone from back home that would exceed every expectation for the tech job they were working to fill for the Invitation Tour coming up in a few months. A few crew members from the Something Different Tour that had ended in August would not be continuing on, and David was already looking to hire people with experience to take their places.

Understandably, the manager was concerned about hiring a seventeen year old as a tech worker to go on tour across the United States, Europe, and eventually Asia, but was convinced by Corbyn's high praise of her running Wintergrove tech since she was thirteen.

Maeve switched her phone to the other ear, digging around in her backpack for her car keys.

"I've had to refrain from squealing like a child many times these past couple days," she said.

Corbyn's laugh rang through the line.

"I'm glad you're excited. I told him he wouldn't be disappointed."

"And thank you for that, a million times over, Corbs. I... well, I can't thank you enough, really. He called yesterday," she said, unlocking the car and sliding into the front seat. She didn't have to duck under the roof to get in, something her older sister had always teased her about. "It was mostly just information about the tour and what I'd be doing if I was added to the crew. The actual interview is tomorrow. I mean, I was already expecting it after you told me you'd talked to him, but it was still a shock."

"Hey, it makes sense. But don't worry about tomorrow, okay?"

"Too late, I already am. I'm really nervous because this is a big deal, you know? All of my lofty hopes and dreams of working tech for the rest of my life could all depend on this tour."

By the weight of her voice, Corbyn could sense how serious she was. Everything about her job was her passion, her life, just as singing was for him.

"Maeve," he said, "just go in confidently. You've got more talent than any techie I've ever met. I know you're nervous, but you don't need to be because David will see that you know what you're doing, and that you're experienced and a hard worker. And everything else after that."

She smiled to herself, turning the keys in the ignition.

"Always words of encouragement from you, Corbs. Thank you."

"I try," he said. He heard her starting up her car, knowing she'd probably just locked up at the theater and was headed home. "Alright, I just wanted to check in, but tell me how tomorrow goes, okay?"

After a few more exchanges, the conversation ended. Maeve tossed her phone in the passenger seat and pulled out of the lot, prepared to return home to blank stares and comments dripping with disappointment.