Jack & Louisa: Act 1 by Andrew Keenan-bolger, Kate Wetherhead Page B

commitment.
    Even when we weren’t physically in the same room (which was rare), we were connected, texting or tweeting each other lyrics from the show:
    “The carriage is waiting, we must be gone!”
    “You can’t just sit here dreaming pretty dreams!”
    “Go to the
wood
!”
    With our phones we’d take abstract photos of things from rehearsal that were nearly impossible to identify, then post them on Instagram—a secret guessing game of sorts. My favorite picture was a close-up of our prop cow’s nostril that Jack took. I must have stared at it for at least twenty minutes before I figured out what it was.
    And we’d leave voice-mail messages for each other in which we’d pretend to be Renee and give each other ridiculous notes, like when Jack left me this message:
    “
Hi
,
Louisa, it’s
Renee
.
Listen, great stuff today, but I want to give you a couple things to think about for tomorrow’s rehearsal. This might sound crazy, but why don’t you try wearing some
fake teeth
?
And maybe use a Russian
accent
?”
    To which I responded:
    “
Hi
,
Jack, it’s
Renee
. Listen, you are doing some
terrific
work in the room, but may I suggest eating a lot of
beans
before our next rehearsal? It might connect you more to the
magic
beans in the story, and the gas you’ll get will only give you more
layers
to work with.”
    • • •
    At school, Jack skillfully maintained his low profile, and I continued to play along. That is, until the day Jenny got annoyed.
    “Why didn’t you text me back last night?” she demanded one Friday before history. We were nearing the end of our third week of rehearsals, and I had not spent any time with her.
    “I was in rehearsal until really late, Jenny, I’m sorry—” I began.
    “This is like the fourth time it’s happened this week,” she said, accusingly.
    “I’ve been so busy—”
    “Whatever, Lou—I texted you at, like, eighty thirty, and then I saw you were tweeting at nine during your rehearsal to someone whose handle is @GetRichJack, so I know you had your phone on you.”
    Oops.
    “I’m really sorry—”
    “Is @GetRichJack
Jack
?” Jenny asked, sliding into her desk behind me.
    I took a deep breath, turned around in my seat, and leaned in close across her desk so only she could hear me.
    “Yes,” I whispered.
    Her eyes widened.
    “Why are you tweeting Jack about
Into the Woods
? I thought he gave up theater.”
    Jenny waited for a response, her lips pursed tight. She was clearly in no mood for apologies, and a lie would only make the situation worse, so I opted for the truth.
    “He’s in the show with me.” I was speaking as quietly as I could. “He’s playing the role of Jack.”
    Jenny scowled, piecing together recent events.
    “Is that why he’s not on the soccer team?” she asked, getting louder. “It wasn’t because he ‘hurt his knee’?”
    “Shh,” I said, looking around me, nervously. “His knee is fine. He just doesn’t want anyone to know about the show yet.”
    Jenny squinted at me with suspicion. She did not like having secrets kept from her. Especially if they were mine.
    “So, what’s the deal?” she asked, after a moment. “Is he, like, your boyfriend now?”
    “No!” I hissed. “We’re just friends, I swear.”
    “Well, lucky him,” Jenny said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Does he know that the only reason you like him is because you’re obsessed with all things Broadway?” She was getting louder as my heart beat faster.
    “That’s not true—”
    “This is sort of perfect for you, right?” Jenny said, the anger rising in her voice. “If
you
can’t be on Broadway, then you’ll just kiss up to someone who has been
.”
    “Who’s been on Broadway?” Tanner Falzone’s gruff voice knocked the wind out of me like a blow to the chest. I turned to face him, my thoughts racing, and I heard Jenny’s barely audible, “Oh
no . . .”
An already unpleasant situation had just become much worse, as the very