I GONNA MAKE THIS REAL QUICK
HI ALL. Yes it's annoying me. Again.
August 29 IS MY FANFICTIONAVERSARY. WHOO-HOO. EAT CAKE.
It's been TWO YEARS. TWO YEARS. I can tell you exactly where I was sitting and what I was doing when I signed up. Wow. And since then things have been cray-cray. But I wouldn't rather have it any other way.
I think three big things happened.
1.) I met friends. I don't care what anyone says: there ARE real people behind this screen and I just wanna share my creations and nutella with them. Yes, I have friends in real life that I would never let go, and I do socialize, but YOU GUYS are people I wanna meet and wanna write with. You are all beautiful.
2.) I got better. I can see worlds between WNTET chapter one and ISWSTTS chapter one. TAOAT and Daylight. Heck, Dare or Truth and NYKK. IMYATG and its rewrite. Arabian Nights and this rewrite…
These are stories that have taken over my life, and I still think about them, months and months after publishing, and I also can tell you where I wrote their first words. So they're pretty special to me. I hope to you too.
3.) I found what I wanna do for the rest of my life. For this one, I can't tell you the exact moment I figured that out. I think it may have been on my Disney trip in May 2012, sitting near Great Movie Ride, planning out this one original story…I didn't have any revelation, I didn't have any BOOM moments, I just know I thought…wow, there's a whole world in there. And there is. I've seen it now, and it's beautiful. We write to live several times. And that's the gospel truth.
I HAVE ALSO OTHER REASONS WHY I'M DOING THIS NOW that im not gonna say bc I'll hit word limit. Yeah.
I'm gonna stick kinda true to the story. Haha not. I'm adding like a whole 'nother plot. Here's the thing: I rewrote ANOTHER version of AN in October and never published. And I reread it and it's like throwing up while reading NYKK. So it's crap. But I'm kinda following it as a guideline so I have some type of format for now. Oh yeah and scratch having five other girl narrators. I'm bringing in two boys. Heh. Heheheh. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH
This is probably after 3. So she's like 14. I will write about Theater-nerd Willa until it becomes canon.
So. This is probably gonna suck. But I say that for everything. I mean, the fact of adding in a whole new aspect of the new narrator's stories is probably gonna hurt me real bad. But it's an experiment!
DISCLAIMER: Karonheights and the five teens are my own creations. So yeah. Mine. I don't own no theaters in Florida. I don't own no theaters in anywhere.
Thanks, to whoever controls all this. You…amazing.
Arabian Nights
Eyeliner?
Check.
Earrings that are gonna tear a hole in my ear?
Unfortunately, check.
Supermegafoxyawesomehot red harem get-up?
Oh, check.
She snaps close the pink caboodle, grinning at the click sound. She glances back at her one last time, and blows a kiss at Glitter. (Yes. The caboodle has a name.) That's pretty normal, anyway. Everyone's on the brink of madness at Karonheights. Besides, Cheyenne has named her hair spray bottle. So Willa's pretty normal in comparison.
The green room is deserted. The name, this time, is true to the paint—it's actually a mellow bottle green. Just repainted two years ago. The windows make it look funny. Willa still hasn't gotten used to it like the other five have, so it's kinda spooky, the way the flyers from shows all the way back to the 80's are staring her down. Evita is graying at the corners. Biloxi Blues is peeling from the wall. Jesus Christ Superstar's logo is fading. But these are Karonheights gems, shows people still talk about. Willa wishes she could have been part of the original ongoing conversation, but it's not fault she was born in Orlando.
It was just last August when her mother was browsing for theater camps for Willa when she came across this every-Saturday program. And Willa shrugged and said sure. Can't be that bad, it's just a kids camp from 9 til 3 with 8-18 year olds with a show at the end. Nothing she can't tackle, a fairly-seasoned performer. She's done Thanksgiving plays and all.
And she came on the first day, squinting because of the dramatic lighting change form out to in, and came out of it wide-eyed. Now it's November and she's concluded: this place is crazy. Crazy brilliant.
Karonheights Performances is a theater that's a decent drive away from Orlando. Tinier than usual, darker than usual. Older. Oldest theater in that part of Florida, actually. It could be another planet. Willa's never heard of this place outside of the road signs. The two places, her home and the theater, couldn't be more different: Orlando's hang out is that blue and white castle, Karonheights' is Kassandra's Frozen Flavors; Orlando's Saturday nights are spent watching Wishes, Karonheights' is watching the teenager's weekly performance of some definitely-not-mainstream song; Orlando's idols are the five holograms…Karonheights' idols are, some would say, the five hooligans.
So Willa's pretty syked that she landed the role of Narrator 6, a part added in to the usual five narrators. It wasn't like she was shooting for Razoul or Genie or, heck, Jamine. But her audition went well, and the Aladdin Junior cast list came out, and she's a Narrator with Cheyenne and Jaron and Daizee and Kira and Ambrose. Otherwise known as those five kids. Those hooligans.
Those are the ones who put on a one-song performance every Saturday. It's something like a tradition to Karonheights now. She doesn't know the beginning of it or how it all comes together, but that'll come with time, she guesses. Willa's only been to one, and she's never been that completely-but-pleasantly-surprised before. The lights, the sound—it's live, all of it, and it's high school age kids—and the talent. Voices aren't supposed to be that good. What she sees every Saturday, even merely just at camp, even with the 10 year olds, is nothing one can teach: it's natural, born-with-it talent, that's just mind-blowing and awing.
And the fact that she's working with them? Performing with them? Kinda cool.
She exits the green room, trying not to step on any hangers. Stepping out of the oasis and, through the almost transparent black curtain that separates the two rooms, into the wild—the back room is a cage for the kids. The brown carpet is worn. The pale walls have holes for nails taken out by the staff, due to the curiosity of the little ones. Props from other shows litter the corners—beds, buckets, broomsticks. The teens and tweens and I'm-a-teenager-what-are-you-talking-about hide in the back, in their cute little unbreakable circles. Children fly around, a flurry of sequins, dropping their already-pretty-much-ripped turbans, forcing Willa to hop to one side or back out of the room completely. June, still wearing her panda hat, plops in front of Willa.
"Hi."
"Hi. Junie, you can't go on stage with Cutiepie."
The hat has a name. The panda on the hat, technically, but all the same.
Junie kinda latched herself onto Willa the minute she walked into the theater and sat down. ("Hi! I like your bracelet. Can we be friends?"). She's cute, and Willa loves her dearly, and she's just like the whole lot of the camp and everyone in a twenty mile radius: raving mad.
"I know, I'm taking it off before curtain." Which is funny, because there are no curtains on the stage except for the wings.
"Probably gonna mess up your bun, Panda Girl," Willa taps the little bump protruding from the hat. June flashes a smile and bounces away as soon as Baharti and Yu-Lin and Eryka poke her shoulder.
Karonheights comes alive every Opening Night, they say. It's a sight to see, they say. Well, all Willa knows is that it's curtain in a few, and she's a bit uneasy about going on. She knows, all beginnings are a bit more difficult than endings (if Cheyenne is lying: she says that closing rips your heart in two) so Willa should survive. It's complicated. Just some jitters, is all.
A little boy, drowning in his royal guard costume, peers out the back door's window, crying out, "House s'open!" A collective squeal from the kiddies.
Willa sighs, wondering just how she's gonna spend the next 15 before places.
Then, the noise begins, leaking from behind the curtain: "WIIILLLLLLAAA!"
"You don't need to shout everything, Chey."
"Shut up, Jare!" Willa can hear a smile through these words and a playful slap.
She can't stifle her laughter. Jaron and Cheyenne are always in each other's faces. Always. But it's never rip-each-other's-throats-out. Willa turns to find a silhouette of the five through the black curtain. Sure enough, she pulls it away, and steps through, and it's truth. They're lounged out in the (now periwinkle due to the dim light) corridor that connects the green room, back room, and kitchen/entrance to lobby/house. Willa wonders why they're in here; they're usually in the thick of action, (Cheyenne would definitely be "it" in that tag game) but Kira must have wanted a less colorful space. And they travel in a pack.
Cheyenne, a wonderfully curvy brunette with a chronic smile and permanent eye twinkle, leans against the wall. "Hey pretty lady."
"Come sit here, Wills," Ambrose, slim and buzz-cut, stretches his legs straight out, popping pop'ems like they're going out of stock.
"Those are probably stale, Brose," Daizee throws, sitting slumped over on Aunt Birte's coffin from Number the Stars near the costume rack, arms over her chest. Her usually messy-side-bun dirty blonde hair is down and flat and her fake pink nerd glasses are off—just for tonight. And the night after and the night after. But as soon as Finale dies, it's back up and they're back on. Willa thinks she looks nicer without all that, but Daizee seems to hide behind it most of the time.
"I don't care, I love it," he sings, receiving a snort from Chey and an eye roll from Zee.
"What's the face for?" Jaron asks. He sits on a tower of suitcases. Kira sits on his lap, her legs dangling on the side, fingering his turban, biting her bottom lip. He plays with her hair. In the weeks Willa's been here, sitting silent in the ever-growing lunch "friendship circle", one thing she's learned is that Kira and Jaron are a kinda-sorta-maybe, like her and Philby. Jaron and Kira (but he calls her Ellie…reason unknown to Willa) have been best friends since the beginning of time, so Willa just considers it done already.
Jaron's brown-haired and dark-eyed. Kira's the prettiest girl Willa's probably ever seen, an almost angelic look—practically purple eyes and black straight shiny hair that's now in a ponytail with a shackle as a hair-tie. She's pale, but not unhealthily. Kira doesn't talk much. Willa doesn't know why, but she doesn't pry. That's probably what she and Jaron are going on about when Kira pulls him into sporadic five-minute hugs. They're somehow glued to each other most of the time.
The five are all in harem costumes, and each a different one, Chey's lavender skirt and top that connects to an arm band and flows and flourishes couldn't flatter her more. Brose's green get-up is the quietest of them all—lying much about his personality. Daizee's pink one hangs loosely and awkwardly on her bony shoulders. She plays with the straps a bit too much. Jare's black and gold-outlined outfit takes special delight in catching the stage lights. Kira's royal blue belly top and harem bottoms are what Willa would have wanted if she didn't get her own. A veil connected to Kira's beaded forehead-band loops under her chin.
And Willa could not be happier with her outfit—it's what she had her eyes on, before she even got casted as this part—it's a hot scarlet red top, cutting off at her hips and swaying. Gold harem pants. A burgundy head band crowns her head and a sandy veil drapes down her back, and the loudest scarf skirt veil, in the history of scarf skirts, ever, the only part that annoys Willa. The gold coins that are partially attached to the ruby back jingles every time she makes a move or reaches or breathes. Which sometimes makes backstage fun and sometimes doesn't. There's twenty videos on Cheyenne's phone of Willa "shaking-it".
The costumes and set are phenomenal. Outside the kitchen door and through the lobby down 20 levels of chairs is the brightly colored and labyrinth-like bazaar of Agrabah, with options to change it into a casbah or palace or desert or cave. And the whole new world they're singing about. Painted by that trusty stage crew, Willa never wants to see it go. She snapped maybe eighty pictures when it first went up.
But hands down, out of question, of-course-oh-yeah part about this show that's Willa's favorite is the music. The original Disney movie has always been a special one to Willa, but this musical just takes it to another impossible level. Sure, the songs are lowered a key and slowed down a bit, but the harmonies fly her away—not that she wants to leave—to a magic carpet ride during the forbidden hours of Agrabah, the wind whipping her around, the moon shining like that spotlight on fire in all their eyes. It's something extraordinary.
But it's the way they do the show that gets her all riled up and wanting to never let go. These kids get it. They perform with all they can give. They sing on something like runner's high, when it all falls down in flames and all you can hear before you are the sounds of passion. With every clap there's a smile. With every reach there's a spark of magic flickering, lighting up the stage.
Willa has trouble performing sometimes, when she sees the five beside her. Ambrose is the dancer. He choreographs all those Saturday night performances, and it's hard to believe he's only a sophmore. Cheyenne does everything. She's the one who takes each performance to a whole new height. She belts and moves she was born on the stage. (Probably was, with the way she acts on it, Willa scoffs.) She's got an intensity unknown to most. Daizee's the critical ear, who sees the things no one sees. She's got a nice voice, if only she would let it out sometimes. Jaron's the musical one, who puts together all the arrangements for the teen shows. He can play a harmony after just hearing the way it makes you feel.
And Kira. Kira's the voice. She's the voice that sets everything right. And after hearing her sing no one cares if they live or die after that night because they've heard the voice, and seen her lose all submissiveness once she steps into the light and just live and that's even more beautiful than her in the darkness.
All friendships have a beginning, but for these five, it seems like there wasn't one. It's like Daizee and Brose are the children, even though they're at 15 and 16, and Kira and Jaron, 16 and 17, are the teens, and Chey's the mama hen, the oldest, even though there's a rocker/black-eyeliner/crazy mix of Skillet and Journey personality only revealing itself some of the time. Willa's the baby of the group.
And Willa's in the middle of all this wonderful-performing, raising her hands and trying to smile. The five have been extremely welcoming to interrupter-Orlando-citizen-Isabella-Angelo. It's almost like they wanna make it a six. But Willa doesn't think she'll ever get to that level. She's soaked up all she can from each of them, but she hasn't reached it yet.
"Nothing…just kinda anxious, that's all," she answers.
It's all this that makes Willa question sometimes…how could they have casted this correctly?
"What?" "How?" "Nuh-uh," "What, did Panda Girl tell you the tale of Opening the 13th?" rings out from the group. Willa finds herself warming.
"Well, it is normal," Daizee offers. "I mean, Opening is scary."
"Sure, but it doesn't need to be scary for Six-ee," Cheyenne waddles over, straightening Willa's scarf skirt. A jingle. Narrator 1 grins blazingly. "She's gonna rock it."
"Are you so sure?" Willa inquires.
"I am SO SURE I'm gonna BURST!" So it seems like she's sound with the whole thing. Willa envies that poise. Cheyenne pivots around, trying to get Brose up. "Get up, Amy, and tell Six-ee how fabulous she is!"
"You're awesome, don't stress about it. What are you worrying about?" he says while eying Chey. She glows.
Willa wants to say "Um, you guys" but she thinks that's not the best way to answer. "Just the solos and lines and dances and cues…" she trails off.
More protest. Willa is able to read people, and all that's coming through is sincerity.
"See? We all agree." Chey concludes. Her work is finished, because she returns to her position.
"I think you'll do great," Kira says, her voice a quiet song, the only words she's heard from her since call time. If Kira's taking the trouble to speak, Willa guesses she's business.
She looks around at the five, and still isn't completely alright. "…I better go put on some more lipstick." She lifts her leg up and spins to her left to head toward the green room.
That conversation wasn't supposed to heighten the suspense. Sure, they all said nice things. But it's not enough to convince Willa to go on stage smiling. Opening Night jitters are expected. But everyone else seems fine. What's up with that?
Is she still worthy to perform with these kids?
She needs to shake this off. Reentering the still deserted green room, she bends down to the caboodle, a frown on her face.
"What do I do, Glitter?" she hopelessly whispers.
When there's no response, she opens her up and spots the Wet N' Wild tube. Bright red lipstick saves lives, she thinks. After applying, and mashing her lips together several times, and checking herself in the mirror, she rubs the top with her thumb.
Then, she stops.
She got this lipstick last week. After the last day of camp before tech week began. At the end of class, Miss Jenny, the director, a curly ball of "super smiles", reminded them all that they need make-up starting Tuesday for the full dress runs. So, ok, Willa thought, I'll borrow all the other stuff from Charlene, but I'll need my own lipstick. So she visited Walgreens and picked out the nicest one she could find for her allowance: all of five bucks.
Then the tech week, or, as some of the campers call it, lose-ten-pounds week, is a flurry of running from school to home to Karonheights to home. Constant movement. Doing homework in the car. Eating your dinner in between cues. Counting down the seconds till that overture begins. It's complete madness, and the show is always just coming together during those rehearsals, and it's the best week of Willa's life.
But when the 9 year olds start whimpering and the 11 year olds start getting dewy-eyed, creating scenarios in their heads on every possible way the show can go wrong, the staff will remind them that it's just a matter of getting on the stage and doing it. They'll tell them that they'll remember, for the rest of their lives, that first moment the lights hit their eyes and they hear their costume rub against them and the first note plays and when the first lyrics are sung. Because that's when they're not in Karonheights anymore, they're in Agrabah, and they're about to live the story of the diamond in the rough who comes out of it all shining.
And the Karonheights vets know the feeling, and depend on it, like it's their life source. But Willa, who's only performed with dinky, tiny, community companies doesn't know that rush. All her performances before were wooden. It was on and off the stage. Sing song. Say line. Do dance move. Leave.
"Just think about the first time you walked in," Miss Jenny said, as her last words before last tech concluded and the show was officially running. "Just think about the world that was opened up that never existed before. We did that. You guys all did that. So remember why you're here, and just rock it while you can."
"Remember why you're here," Willa whispers to the lipstick, looking away from the fiery harem girl in the mirror. "Remember why you're here."
And it's like a whole new show is lying before her.
"Five minutes till curtain! Places!" she hears the stage director's voice say from the kitchen door, and another squeal from the whole ensemble.
"Thanks, Sparkles," she says to the lipstick, and she swears it brightens in return.
Tossing it into the open Glitter and flying out of the room, not daring to suppress her smile now, she exits the hanger-ridden room. The performers are lining up, through the periwinkle corridor and into the kitchen to the door, all the way from Aladdin to Abu. Willa can hear Cheyenne's costume all the way in the front and she excuse me's through the horde.
"Lose a shoe!" Junie shouts to Willa, sure enough, her bun all frizzy and falling out. She receives gigging shh's from her friends.
"You too," Willa says to her.
"THIS IS IT!" Ambrose jumps up and down, exorcising the nerves. "We can do this."
"Prayer circle?" Daizee asks, seeming accepting her appearance now. This makes Willa even happier.
"Uh, yeah!" Jaron says. Kira seems to illuminate.
They all gather in a ring and hold hands. Cheyenne looks over to the glowing Willa, releasing a laugh. "Well, come on then!"
Willa smiles and joins hands, coming between Kira and Ambrose. The girl leans over and whispers to Willa.
"Cool, isn't it…Opening Night…"
Willa nods. She couldn't have said it better.
"Let us shake it like there's no tomorrow and sing it like the mic's are broken," Cheyenne prays. Laughter all around. "And make Willa's costume silent, please. Hugging her the whole time backstage to stifle the noise isn't helping." Willa snickers. "And please please please please please let Six-ee have the best time EVER during her first show at Karonheights performances. Welcome to the family, hun."
Willla would have never though this is what it's like. To be breathless, wide-eyed, sweating through the layers and layers of cover-up, feeling every itch from your costume and hearing every audience member out the door. To be super aware, ready to pounce. To be ready to shine.
"I'm already having a great time," Willa responds.
"BIG NABOB!" Cheyenne concludes. I guess that was the Amen.
"BIG NABOB!" they all answer. And the door is opened.
A whole new world has entered her life, like Miss Jenny promised. With the way she's feeling, nothing can mess up this night. She knows, in this moment, now, this is what she wants to do for the rest of time. Perform. Aladdin Junior has given her something beyond words, something only the stage can give.
She doesn't need any fiery spotlights or microphones. The wings are there, waiting for her. All she has to do is get there.
The performers tip-toe through the cloaking blackness, out of the lobby and into the two entrances behind the chairs that lead to the wings. The six split up, three on each side. Down the stairs and into the dark curtains. Ambrose and Kira are brother- and sister-like, hand in hand, next to her. Junie peers out the hole in the hangings. "Full house," she softly says.
Willa readjusts her focus to the larger opening, the one she'll go through to enter. She can see Cheyenne mouth "Six-ee" and Daizee nodding her head to herself over and over again, and Jaron with a thrilled smile on his face.
Ambrose squeezes her shoulder. Willa can feel Kira's confidence in her.
All this support, overflowing. But the one thing she keeps running in her head over and over again is the fact that the show hasn't even begun, and she's already feeling like she could fly. She's proud to be Karonheights-mad.
They step into the light. All of this…and the overture has only just ended, and Arabian Nights has just begun.
BLAHAHAH. OH GOD. WOW.
I'm kinda dying here. Just 'cause of how much bigger that was compared to the original.
Like the IMYATG rewrite I'm publishing tomorrow, (:D) I think I've reached my peak with these stories. I mean, I haven't reach the peak of writing, but I've reached the peak of how much I can work with it. Like, if I expand this particular one anymore, it'd burst. But that doesn't mean I'll miss it and that I love it ;)
Review? Concrit me up.