Curtain Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

was just a ‘for instance,’ Anya,” she said, handing my dad her cell to get him up to speed via Susan’s tweet. “And it doesn’t matter what size turnout you get. The point is, you simply can’t have a children’s theater in my place of business.”
    â€œSo, you’re saying even though Austin and Susan and I have spent the entire afternoon making plans, we can’t have a theater?”
    â€œShe’s not saying you can’t have a theater,” Dad clarified. “She’s saying you can’t have a theater here .”
    Same thing. I needed a place to have rehearsals and perform the show. If my own house was off-limits, that meant I was pretty much out of venue options. I turned a hopeful look to Austin.
    â€œSorry,” he said. “My little sisters are two and four. They take naps. My parents would never agree to having a theater in our house.”
    â€œHow about we take a look at the parks and rec summer program brochure,” Dad suggested. “Maybe they’re offeringa theater camp you can join.”
    â€œNo!” I sprung up from the porch step, feeling a lump forming in the back of my throat. “You don’t understand. I want to do this. . . . I need to do this! No kid in our town has ever done anything like this before. Maybe no kid in any town has ever done it! I want to put on this play more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life!”
    Mom and Dad did that parent-telepathy thing where they only had to exchange one glance and each knew what the other was thinking.
    Unfortunately, so did I. They were thinking no.

    Suddenly I needed to get out of there.
    â€œCome on, Austin,” I said, going down the steps. “I’ll walk you home.”
    But I wasn’t actually walking; it was more like a very furious stomp.
    We were all the way to the end of Random Farms Circle when Susan caught up to us.
    â€œAnya, wait!”
    I slowed from a stomp to a heated walk. But I was too upset to stop moving entirely.
    â€œI asked Mom if we could have rehearsals in the backyard,” she said, panting to catch her breath. “She said it might work as long as we stay outside and as far from her office window as possible.”
    â€œThat might not be so bad,” said Austin.
    â€œAnd what if it rains?” I grumbled. “And what happens when someone needs to use the bathroom?”
    â€œMaybe no one will,” said Susan, trying to be helpful.
    I rolled my eyes. “Susan, sooner or later someone’s going to have to use the bathroom.”
    We walked on in grim silence until we reached the next block, where the old neighborhood association clubhouse stood behind a tangle of overgrown rhododendron and climbing vines. The grumpy groundskeeper, Mr. Healy, was there, pulling up dandelions.
    â€œDon’t know why I have to bother keeping up a place nobody uses,” he muttered, yanking a weed and tossing it over his shoulder. “Waste of time, if you ask me.”
    â€œWho’s that?” Austin whispered.
    â€œMr. Healy,” Susan whispered back. “He takes care of all the common spaces in the neighborhood. He’s kind of grouchy.”
    We watched Mr. Healy jerk another dandelion out of the earth and fling it into the growing pile behind him.
    â€œDoesn’t seem to enjoy his job very much,” Austin noted.
    â€œCan’t blame him,” I allowed. “Nobody’s used the clubhouse in years. It seems silly to bother keeping it tidy.”
    â€œThe older ladies in the neighborhood are always complaining that it’s an eyesore,” said Susan. “That’s why the president of the Neighborhood Association insists that Mr. Healy keep the place neat.”
    I gave my sister a sideways look. “How do you know this?”
    â€œDon’t you ever listen when Mom talks to Mrs. Quandt next door?”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” I said. “Because I’m