Eyes Like Stars Read Online Free PDF Page A

the echoing boom, and turned to see who’d entered.
    The Theater Manager was the fun house mirror reflection of the Stage Manager; tall, where the other was short; cultured and refined, where the Stage Manager was rumpled and red. Today, however, something had disturbed his usually calm expression. “Beatrice Shakespeare Smith?”
    The use of all three of her names sent Bertie running to meet him at the front of the stage. “Sir—”
    The Theater Manager pulled a pocket watch out of his vest pocket and checked it as everything, even time, splintered around Bertie and crashed to the red-carpeted floor. “You were supposed to be in my Office fifteen minutes ago, Beatrice.”
    “I know that, sir, and I’m very sorry—”
    He held up his hand for silence. “This is not something I wished to discuss before the entire Company, but missing our meeting and sneaking in here only confirms your lack of respect for the theater’s procedures.”
    Bertie twisted her fingers together, startled by how cold they were. “If this is about the cannon—”
    “That’s just one instance in a long line of infractions,” he said, his expression stern and unyielding. “The Stage Manager has complained for years, but time and again I let you go with just a reprimand or some minor punishment.”
    “Give me a bigger punishment. I’ll clean the theater from top to bottom, fold the programs, polish the chandeliers,whatever you want. I can behave myself, truly I can. I’ll be quiet as anything! You won’t even know I’m here.”
    The Theater Manager’s voice regained a bit of gentleness, which was somehow worse than his temper. “You’re not the sort of girl who fades into the background. I had hoped you’d find your place with us, your niche, but I see now you must follow your stars elsewhere.”
    “But I belong here!” The last word came out a squeak. Fearing she’d cry in front of everyone, Bertie dug her black-painted fingernails into her palms.
    “That’s just the trouble, Bertie,” he said. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a Player, you’re not part of the crew—”
    “You’re a menace,” the Stage Manager added, glowing with triumph.
    “We’ve tolerated your exuberance,” the Theater Manager continued, “in the expectation that you might contribute something valuable to the Company—”
    Bertie leapt upon that tiny bit of hope. “If I could find a way to . . . to contribute, could I stay?”
    The Theater Manager looked around at the countless shocked faces of the Players: Nate, Ariel, the fairies. Even Ophelia, standing in her puddle, looked vaguely dismayed. “No, my dear, it’s best if you go now without a fuss.”
    “But you said it’s because I’m troublesome, and that I don’t contribute,” Bertie persisted, chasing his logic as thoughit were a golden thread disappearing down a bottomless black hole. She caught it in her hand, wrapped her desperate, silver hopes around the metallic filament, and clung to it like a life-line. “What if I change that?”
    “You’ve had countless chances over the years,” the Theater Manager said.
    Bertie could hear her pulse in her ears, like the slamming of doors. “I can change. I swear it, in front of all these witnesses.”
    The Players murmured variations of “that poor girl” and “he should give her a chance.” Their whispers wrapped around Bertie’s thread of hope and tugged at it.
    They weren’t the only ones on Bertie’s tug-of-war team. Nate stepped forward, every muscle a threat. “If she goes, I go.”
    “Us, too!” Peaseblossom said as the boys chimed in their agreements. The idea, perhaps never before entertained by the majority of the Players, sparked a wildfire.
    “You can’t do that,” the Theater Manager snapped, trying to douse the notion with cold water, but too late. “The Players can’t leave the theater. It’s impossible—”
    Vicious wind rushed around Bertie, carrying with it the thousands of speculative—and