"If I was your father, and I knew that a group of boys got you to go to a place like this with them, well —" he sighed. "Let's just say I would be less than happy."

Of course the Lost Boy was right. We were in trouble.

The director asked everyone on stage crew to come in early on Thursday. He read us the riot act. You can probably imagine what he said. We were irresponsible, it was dangerous, it was not a safe space. Of course one of us could get hurt, but since no one knew we were down there, one of us could get trapped, unable to call for help, until someone happened to have a reason to go below stage. Even then, we'd be lucky if they found us.

He tried his best to paint a picture of one of us injured, starving, alone, and cold in the dark under the stage for days, weeks, months, or even years. It was exaggerated and melodramatic, very overdone.

As if that wasn't enough, he pointed out that we could be killed or maimed by the machines themselves, and he dwelt for a long while on my appearance from the trap door. He asked me three times, "Do you realize that you could have lost your hands or arms, or even literally lost your head doing what you did?"

Sometimes it was hard for us not to laugh, but when he started scolding the boys for taking advantage of me, I started getting pretty mad. He said I was gullible, impressionable, and naive, and that I had to be more careful what sort of boys I associated with.

"You have to think about your reputation," he told me, "You don't want people thinking you're some kind of floozy who'll do anything for a thrill." I was about to tell him that I'd heard enough, but luckily he dropped the subject before I opened my mouth.

He had a list of our names, and wanted to make sure it was correct before he called our parents.

"Oh, man!" one of the boys complained. "Do you have to call them? You already chewed us out."

"Yes, I do need to call them," the director replied, "I have a responsibility to call them, and I can't punish you as effectively as I hope your parents will."

A few of the boys groaned.

The director went on, "But I am, unfortunately, going to have to wait until Saturday to call them, because if you're going to be grounded I don't want you grounded until the show is over."

Next, the building manager from the theater talked to us. He repeated a lot of the same things, but he added that the lock had been changed on the door near the lights. "So, wherever you got the key from, it's no good any more," he concluded.

One not-too-bright boy named Paul said, "We never had the key."

"You never had the key?" the man asked in surprise. "Then how did you get in?"

We all looked at each other. I hoped no one would rat me out, but Paul spoke right up and laid it all out. I couldn't believe it.

The man looked at me for a while and said, "You should have thought that if the boys wanted you to be the only girl on stage crew, they must have had something bad in mind."

I didn't answer. I was angry and embarrassed and it seemed like the textbook definition of unfair. Somehow *I* was getting the major flak, and being blamed in a way that the boys weren't. Which was doubly unfair, or super-unfair, when you consider that I didn't even WANT to go under the stage in the first place.

I was in trouble because I did the boys a favor.

The building manager made me show him the way in. I pointed to the shelf high in the wall, then we went back down the stairs near the light board and I showed him where the narrow hallway met the landing.

He whistled. "I've been working in this building for fourteen years, and I didn't even know these hallways were back here!" He let out a breath and said, "Kids! They just get into everything!"

We walked back down the stairs, and as he shut the door he told me, "I'm going to change this lock right now, and this door will stay locked from here on in."

I almost pointed out that (according to the sign) he might end up closing the door so damn tight that no one would be able to open it, but I bit my tongue instead.

When we reached the stairs that led to the light board, he stopped and turned to me. Then he said, "I know this is a little out of line, but I'm going to give you a piece of advice. I have a daughter... she's a good bit older than you, but you know, fathers always worry about their little girls. If I was your father, and I knew that a group of boys got you to go to a place like this with them, well —" he sighed. "Let's just say I would be less than happy."

He put a foot on the first step, then stopped again and said, "In fact, if I was your father and I knew you were the only girl on stage crew, I wouldn't let you do it at all."

I hung my head, wondering exactly how much trouble I'd get into. Mom and Aunt Jane had missed my magical appearance. Aunt Jane had fallen asleep (she worked a night shift two nights before and was still recovering), and Mom happened to be looking away. I found these things out later. Since neither of them had mentioned it, I didn't bring it up.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that Mom was going to be home on Saturday when the director would call. She had already warned me that we had a major cleaning operation this weekend. She wanted to leave the house nice for Aunt Jane, and I had my last appointment with Mr. Marks. Mr. Marks was doing me a special favor by letting me come on Saturday.

I imagined Mom getting the call while I was with Mr. Marks. She'd call Dad, and by the time I got home they'd be ready to flay me or fry me or whatever they were going to do to me. I probably didn't have to worry about school since I was leaving in less than a week...

Of course, there was the inevitable question of whether it would do any good to tell Mom first, before she heard from the director. As much as I hated the idea, I could see the advantages. So, Friday after school, I'd tell her.

On previous nights there had been parents serving as monitors by the dressing rooms and in the areas where the big crowds of students were on hold. Now there was one near the light board, keeping an eye on the stage crew — on ME in particular. The monitor, who was somebody's father, told me so. "It's for your own protection," he said.

Every time I'd go out of his sight, he'd come hurrying after me. So I started telling him, "I'm just going to walk over there and come right back." He'd follow me anyway.

Finally I said, "You know, if you're going to spend all your time watching me, the boys will be free to get into all kinds of mischief."

I really just wanted to get him off my back. It looked like he took the hint, because after that he stayed near the light board.

I saw Eden standing offstage on the other side, and I waved to her. She didn't see me, so I walked across the stage toward her. For some reason, I was sure that the curtains were closed. I thought I'd seen one of the other stage crew pushing some props onstage, but I guess I was mistaken.

So, there I was, walking in a leisurely way across the stage, when Eden finally saw me. Her face registered shock, which puzzled me. Then I realized that the curtain was not only open, but that two actors were talking. The two of them had their backs to me. It was the buildup to "Put On A Happy Face." For a moment, I looked into that dark sea of faces that was the audience, then I ran the rest of the way across.

"Marcie, what in the world were you doing?" Eden asked in a whisper.

"Who knows?" I sighed. Luckily, the director must have missed that appearance of mine, because I never heard anything about it.

Eden gave me a hug. "Oh, Marcie, I'm going to miss you! I'm going to miss all the crazy, scary things you do, but mostly I'm going to miss you!"

"I'm going to miss you, too, Eden. You're my first best friend, do you know that? My first best friend ever."

Tears came to her eyes, and then I realized that I was crying too.

© 2006, 2007 by Kaleigh Way