Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own Phantom. Therefore, this is fanfiction and not authorfiction. It would seem obvious to me, but… We must keep the lawyers happy. As a side note, I don't own The Sound of Music or Mission Impossible.
Chapter Nine
-The Hayfield Times- Volume 21, Website Edition: November 2, 2005
Hayfield's Clocks Go Haywire
by Joe Buquet
Several complaints of malfunctioning clocks have been issued to Hayfield's administration in the last week.
The new school clocks are programmed to display the same exact time as every other clock in the school, according to assistant principal Joe Henfricks. There are still a few glitches in the system, however, and some of the clocks may display an incorrect time.
Students and faculty have reported that the clocks have started running backwards, skipped ahead several minutes or hours, and even stopped completely. Henfricks assured the Times that this is normal. "It's just the system's way of getting all the clocks to catch up with each other. They won't do anything other than that, so please pay attention to your teachers and not the clocks," Henfricks said.
"I could be enjoying a nice, big, greasy burger right now," Meg complained, squinting in the bright sunlight.
"Please." Christine rolled her eyes. "If we were at lunch, you'd only complain about how gross the food is."
"It's better than starving," Meg insisted.
Christine shrugged. She and Meg were walking down the sidewalk in front of the school. Christine had begged and pleaded and bribed until Meg had agreed to come with her to the little theater to get the scoop on the school production. It was during their lunch time, but Christine planned to just suck it up and wait until that afternoon when somebody would go out and buy Starbucks for the newspaper staff.
Meg cut across the grass to get to the door. "It's cold out here," she complained. "If it's this cold, why can't there be snow?"
"It's not that cold." Christine hurried after her. She pulled one of the doors open and walked into the theatre hall.
Shivering as she followed, Meg continued to gripe. "I'm freezing! Can we go the inside way on our way back?"
Christine glared at her. "If you want to get caught by Mrs. Loupas, then sure."
Mrs. Loupas was a longtime security official of Hayfield High. Any student that knew what was good for them didn't mess with her. Christine's press pass only gave her the freedom to roam the halls during first period, and if Mrs. Loupas caught her wandering around when she was supposed to be in lunch… Well, that wouldn't be good.
Meg grumbled under her breath. "I don't know why I came with you in the first place if you were going to be this mean to me."
"Think of it as a positive experience. Who knows, you could find something to write about," Christine said dryly.
At that moment, two freshman girls came running and skidding out of the band hall that intersected the theatre hall, shrieking dreadfully. One was dragging a chair behind her, and both were clutching clarinets.
"It's mine!" the chair-less girl howled, right on the other girl's tail. "I won the challenge fair and square!"
"You'll never take it from me!" the other girl screamed, shoving the door Christine and Meg had just come through open and running outside.
"Oooooh, freshie band geeks," Meg cackled. "Dibs!" She pulled her reporter's notebook out of her hoodie pocket and ran after them.
Christine rolled her eyes and continued on to the theater. The second she pushed the big door open, a loud screech met her ears. Squinting in the darkened auditorium, Christine wondered if they were killing cats in there. But, to her horror, the loud screech was actually someone singing.
"Shut the door!" A student dressed entirely in black slid down from the sound booth and ran towards her, looking rather hacked off. Christine quickly shut the door behind her.
"Sorry, I didn't mean-" she started to say, but was cut off by the other student.
"This is a closed rehearsal," the student snapped. She was wearing a headset with a microphone and had a flashlight sticking out of her pocket. "We can't afford any disturbances at this time."
"I'm from The Hayfield Times," Christine explained. "I was wondering if I could get any information about the production for an article."
"Oh." The student frowned, looking indecisive. "Well… I guess so. As long as you're not interrupting anyone onstage. I'm Erin, the stage manager."
"I'm Christine," Christine introduced herself, "and, as I said earlier, I'm from the Times. Are you available for an interview?"
"I'm not," Erin said distractedly, glancing behind her at the stage, "but I can send my ASM down here. Assistant stage manager, you know. Would that be okay?"
"Sure." Christine put on her successful reporter grin, but it quickly turned to a grimace as the warbling person onstage shrieked even louder. Rolling her eyes, Erin the stage manager turned and strode back to the sound booth. As Christine pulled out her notebook and a pencil, she was joined by two girls and a guy who were all wearing headsets and black outfits like Erin's.
"Howdy," the dorkiest girl said cheerfully. "I'm Lynn, the ASM. This is Rachel, the house manager, and Brandon, the assistant house manager."
"Ace usher," Brandon corrected. "I'm nobody's assistant."
Wonderful… theatre people who take their jobs too seriously. Christine pushed the thought from her mind. "I'm Christine, the reporter who is also nobody's assistant. I was going to publish a little article about the upcoming production. Is it true you guys are putting on The Sound of Music?"
A collection of "Yep," "Uh-huh," and "Sure is," was her answer.
Christine glanced toward the stage. "Okay… That's Carlotta Giudicelli, right?"
The theatre operatives' faces turned slightly sour. "Uh… yeah. That would be her," Lynn muttered.
"Is she supposed to be singing that badly?" Christine inquired.
"What do you think?" Rachel snapped. "It's not supposed to sound like we're torturing people in here."
Christine wrote that down.
"Yeah, she's horrible, but she thinks she's so awesome," Lynn put in irritably. "The world's biggest brat. Such a prima donna."
"She always orders all the techies around," Brandon said peevishly. "She thinks she's so much better than we are."
"I guess you don't really like her," Christine inferred amusedly, jotting down notes.
"Oh, really?" Only an actor could pull off as much sarcasm as Lynn ladled onto her words. "Of course we don't like her. She's ruining everything."
"If Mr. Opperly were here, that cow would have never gotten the part," Brandon stated.
Christine looked up. "He's the drama teacher, right?"
"Yeah, but he's out on leave for surgery for his broken arm," Lynn said ruefully. "Thanks to our wonderful Opera Ghost, he had to leave right before we had auditions. The sub destroyed the entire thing."
"How so?" Christine pressed.
Her question was met with silence. The theatre operatives glanced at each other guiltily. Christine smelled a story.
"Is there something going on that the sub doesn't want to get out?"
Lynn shook her head. "No."
"Well..." Brandon began.
"Shut up, Brandon!" Rachel snapped.
The little voice in Christine's head started cackling. She had to go about this carefully…
"I don't want to make you do anything you feel uncomfortable doing," she said casually. "If you don't want to say anything bad about the theatre program, that's fine."
"It's not the program that's the problem," Brandon blurted out. "It's Mrs. Vander and Carlotta."
"Mrs. Vander is the sub?"
"Yeah," Lynn confirmed, glaring at the ace usher, "and she's not doing a very good job so far, but she's only a sub. We should cut her some slack."
"Cut her some slack?" Brandon echoed incredulously. "You must be joking. What she's done is an insult to the arts!"
"You mean, what you think she's done," Rachel corrected in a hushed whisper. "We don't know anything for certain."
Christine smelled a scandal. "Wow, sounds like a sticky situation. Did the sub do something wrong?"
"I'd say so," Brandon scoffed before he could be shushed again. "She's let the entire production go to the dogs."
"If it's that bad…" Christine looked the other two in the eye. "If it's that bad, then shouldn't you do something about it?"
Lynn huffed in frustration. "The reality is that we can't do anything about it. We're juniors and seniors against an adult. What's done is done, whether it was her fault or not, and there's nothing we can do to change anything."
"Ah…but there is," Christine informed her.
"What?" Lynn snapped.
"The Times." Christine put her cards on the table. "You tell me what I need to know, we go to press this afternoon, and tomorrow, everyone will know what the sub did. Students, faculty, and a lot of parents. If it's as bad as you make it out to be, the principal will investigate it."
Her words were once again met with silence, but this time it was a thoughtful silence. Brandon was nodding approvingly, and Lynn and Rachel were swapping a glance.
"Okay…" Rachel paused to collect her thoughts. "Say we give you some info. Can we keep our names out of it?"
"Well… yes." Christine bit her lip. "The newspaper does allow anonymity, but if I don't provide any names, it would seem like I have no evidence for my allegation."
"You can have my name," Brandon stated bravely. "Brandon McKillian, senior and ace usher."
"Let's go somewhere more private to talk," Lynn suggested, her eyes darting from side to side. "These days you can't tell who's working for the enemy…"
Christine resisted the temptation to roll her eyes and followed the theatre operatives along the audience seating and out a side exit. From there the drama nerds proceeded to act like secret agents, ducking and sliding through the hallway, shooting at imaginary evil henchmen, humming the Mission Impossible theme, and waving Christine hurriedly into the drama classroom. Christine thanked herself for not signing up for theatre.
Lynn slammed the door behind them. "Into the stage manager office!"
"You have your own office?" Christine was getting tired of the drama class antics. "We can't just talk here?"
"Of course not," Rachel scoffed. "Don't you journalists know anything?"
The stage manager office was a little closet with a computer in it. It was extremely hot and Christine was starting to feel claustrophobic… not to mention her lunch period was almost over.
"Okay… spill," Christine demanded.
"Right. We held auditions for the play toward the beginning of the year," Brandon began. "That was… what, two days after Mr. Opperly left?"
"Three," Lynn corrected.
"So the sub's listening to everyone," Brandon continued. "People auditioning presented a monologue, sang a prepared song, and read from the script. Nothing unusual or suspicious."
"Carlotta auditioned?" Christine asked, hurriedly scribbling in her notebook again.
"Yeah, and she stunk," Rachel spat distastefully. "Acted like she owned the stage and expected everyone to kiss her feet. She's a horrible actor (way too campy) and a dreadful singer."
"As the ASM, I was on the casting committee," Lynn said with an air of authority. "It was Mrs. Vander, Erin, and me choosing actors for roles, and I can assure you that we didn't cast Carlotta for anything."
"So you rejected her?"
"Yes."
Christine frowned. "Then how'd she end up getting cast as the star?"
"We're not exactly sure what happened," Lynn admitted. "But when the cast lists went up, Carlotta's name was on the top and she was parading around like a peacock."
"Would you say… triumphantly?" Christine inquired.
"Duh," Brandon grunted.
"So can we assume she had something to do with getting the lead role?" Christine continued.
"That's what we all thought," Rachel told her. "We just didn't know how she could've."
"No, wait. I heard her say something that day," Brandon said, frowning in thought. "She was talking to her little clique about her dad called Mrs. Vander the night before… Oh, and Mrs. Vander has a really nice sports car now."
"Are you accusing Carlotta of bribery?" Christine wished she had loads of money to bribe people with.
"Let's face it," Brandon said flatly. "Subs don't get paid squat. She didn't buy that car by herself."
"This is some really good stuff." Christine glanced back over the notes she had taken. "I'll do my best to write it up well and all… I don't suppose you have any records or anything, like score sheets for the auditions?"
"I wrote my audition notes on my math homework," Lynn admitted sheepishly. "I had to turn them in."
"Are there no records of anyone's performance on the auditions?" Christine asked desperately. "None at all? If there aren't, I really don't have anything to back my story up with."
Lynn shrugged apologetically. "Mrs. Vander keeps the official scores somewhere secretly, probably under lock and key."
"You can guess why," Brandon muttered.
At that moment, Lynn shrieked and fell over. "Okay, okay, okay!" she hollered into her microphone, picking herself off the ground. "Jeebus crispies, Erin, I'm coming!"
"Is she screaming at you again?" Rachel rolled her eyes. "I keep telling you, just turn it off like I do and you won't get so many stress pimples."
"Unlike you lazy slackers, I have a job to do!" Lynn snapped, dramatically throwing the office door open.
"You run errands for Carlotta. That's not a real job," Brandon scoffed.
"Carlotta sounds a lot like my old editor," Christine mused out loud, following Lynn as she hurried back to the auditorium.
"Maybe they're related," Lynn muttered, sneaking into the auditorium through another little side door. "Man, sometimes I wish I'd just tried out for the musical like I wanted to in the first place! Then I wouldn't have to deal with the likes of her."
"Why didn't you audition?" Christine inquired.
Lynn kept her eyes fixed on the blue carpet of the little theater's aisle. "Can't sing." Christine followed her over to the stage. "What do you want, Carlotta?" Lynn snapped crossly.
"It's about time!" Carlotta, an extremely tall girl with red hair, too much makeup, and an expensive pedicure, snapped back. She was standing at center stage, looking down on the stage manager's assistant. "I shouldn't have to wait this long for service!"
Lynn glared right back up at her. "Well, if you'd just tell me what you want, you wouldn't have to wait so long."
Carlotta kicked a pile of papers off the stage with incredibly good aim; it scattered right into Lynn's face. Christine watched in horror, not believing that a student could be allowed to act this way without a teacher getting involved.
A quick glance told Christine that the pile of papers was the musical's score. She felt a pang of pity for Lynn, who was scrambling around on her hands and knees, trying to gather up the music and looking lost now that the Overture was on the bottom of the pile and the Bows were somewhere in the middle, while Act Two had fallen into the empty orchestra pit.
"How many times have I told you to get this key changed?" Carlotta snapped, making Christine madder by the second. "It's an inhuman key! Nobody could sing this!"
Christine watched Lynn climb down into the pit to retrieve the rest of the score. "Mr. Feld's been busy, Carlotta," she called up wearily, referring to the school's choir teacher. "This can't be too bad, can it? Could you at least stick it out for one more week?" She set the music down at the dusty piano and began to plink out a familiar melody. "Is that so bad?"
Carlotta scrunched up her face and attempted to sing. "The hiiiills are aliiiii-" She broke off as her voice cracked. "Yes, it is 'so bad!' Nobody could sing that. And if you knew anything about music, you moron, you'd know that!"
Christine burned with anger as she watched Lynn hastily remove her fingers from the piano keyboard, turning red in embarrassment. And before she could stop herself-
"The hills are alive with the sound of music, with songs they have sung for a thousand years!"
All around the theater, heads turned. Actors and techies alike stared at this person who dared to defy Carlotta and did it with a voice that was easily ten times better than that of their leading lady.
When she realized they were staring, Christine panicked and inwardly cursed herself for getting herself into this mess. But nothing bad had happened yet, so she continued to sing. "The hills fill my heart with the sound of music! My heart wants to sing every song it hears."
Carlotta stared down at her, speechless but outraged.
"Well," Christine started, suddenly aware that her tongue was too dry to function right, "that wasn't too hard. Julie Andrews didn't seem to have a problem with it either." And she turned tail and ran out of the little theater.
Only when she had gotten into the school's main hallway did she slow down and allow herself a guilty grin. It felt good to sing again, and it had actually gone pretty well! Granted, her voice was a bit rough after not using it and having not warmed up, but she had hit all the notes, and hit them decently. Were she not humble, she would have said it sounded pretty. And, oh, the look on that diva's face!
However, she reminded herself, her little singing adventure was just an additional triumph to her larger goal of finding a story. All she had to do now was write an article, which she would have to write hurriedly after school, or perhaps between classes, since she only had a few short minutes of lunch left.
The idea for the story was brilliant. However, Christine knew that she had very little substantial evidence to back up the claims that her sources in the drama department had made. If only she could get her hands on some official records from the auditions…
Musing over her misfortune, Christine made her way to her locker and opened it to grab a binder and textbook for her next class. However, she was met with a surprise on the locker's shelf.
A red rose with a black ribbon tied in a bow around the long, green stem. There was a note attached, written in a old-fashioned script that she found she recognized:
Brava, Christine. Here is your reward.
Christine pulled out the large manila folder on which the rose had been sitting. In it, she found several forms with scores and comments… from the musical's auditions.
Sliding the folder carefully into her binder and the rose into a safe place in the corner of her locker, Christine couldn't hold back a sort of awestruck smile. She glanced timidly around the hallway, seeing no one. "Thank you," she murmured quietly.
A/N: Hi, all. That is, if anyone's still actually reading this. Yes, I know how long it's been since I've updated. Well, I actually don't, but I suppose it's been a number of years. Pathetic, yes, I know. I found this chapter mostly completed, just sitting on my computer, alone and neglected. Thought I'd just finish it up and post it. Of course, the site's changed a bit since I last uploaded something, so… We'll just see how that goes.
Anyway, if you liked it or just want to comment on my long absence, please leave a review. It might inspire me to get back on my Hayfield kick!