Page 117 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

I feel like the guy in Hades who has to push the rock up the hill, because when I return after emptying the bucket, the puddles have all filled back up again. The water will surely ruin the stage floor, and we’ve already had to haul the main drape out to the dumpster.

Connie rushes in through the scene shop door with a man who is carrying a big fan.

When she looks around at all the water, her face falls. “Oh no. Rosie, what are we going to do?”

The man doesn’t wait to be told where to plug the fan in. He moves it to the front of the stage and turns it on, then walks over to Booker, who points him toward a stack of mops and several Shop-Vacs. The maintenance crew collected every mop they had and dropped them off about twenty minutes ago.

Connie walks over to stand by my side. “That’s Danny, my husband. Sorry, I should’ve introduced you,” she says absently, obviously overwhelmed by the scene in front of her.

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Did you happen to put out a call for fans or towels or... help?”

She nods. “We sent out a text blast, so hopefully we get a good response. Most people around aren’t... well, let’s just say they aren’t in the best physical condition to help with this kind of cleanup.”

She places a hand on my arm. “But, Rosie, what about the show?” Her gaze snags on something behind me, and she gasps. “Is that my dress?” The words come out in a wail as she makes her way over to the rack of costumes. Ginny is laying pieces out flat on a square of dry floor, trying to dry them with a hair dryer she must’ve gotten from home.

Connie picks up the pink fairy godmother gown, which looks anything but sparkly in its current state. Everything is not only wet, it’s dingy. Brown. Gross.

Connie spins around and looks at me. “We’re going to have to cancel, aren’t we?” The question is laced with meaning. She was counting on the show to buy the theatre program more time. Without it...

Grace, Dylan, and Veronica have all come in through the back door and now stand a few feet away, eyes full of worry.Another small group has gathered at the front of the stage. Everyone is looking at me for guidance, and while I feel every bit as hopeless as the rest of them, I also know I’m the one they’re looking to for answers.

I’m not quitting. I’ve already made that decision. I’m about to tell them all we will make it through, we’ll figure it out, we’ll band together...

... when Belinda strolls back in.

The smug look on her face and the small group trailing behind her make me think of the mob song inBeauty and the Beast. They may as well be wielding pitchforks and torches.

I think about Arthur’s advice—“You need to deal with your Belinda problem”—and I draw in a deep breath.

Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.

I don’t feel compelled to say anything to put her in her place, though. Better to show her. She assumes I’ll fold under the weight of this. Heck, I assumed I would too.

But I won’t. I can’t. My cast is depending on me.

“The show is not canceled,” I say firmly. “The showwillgo on.”

Belinda scoffs. “Out on the front lawn?”

“If need be,” I counter.

I can feel others starting to gather around us, like a fistfight in a schoolyard.

I pause, gathering myself. “You know what I love best about theatre?” I say, loudly enough that the whole group can hear me. “It’s a community. It’s a group of people coming together for a common goal.” I draw in a breath. “Before I got here, this theatre was struggling, but it was well loved. Here at Sunset Hills and in the community. People care.Icare.”

Belinda laughs. “Youcare?”

I take a step toward her. “Yeah. I do.”

I look at their faces—these people who’ve come to mean a whole lot to me in a very short time.

“I care about this place even more now than I did when I got here, and I’m not about to throw in the dingy, wet towel just because of a setback.”

Belinda scoffs again, looking around to make sure she’s not the only one who isn’t buying this.

“All that matters is how we respond to it. You have all worked so hard and come too far to quit because of a little water.”

“Um, it’s more than a little water,” Edgar says, just as a perfectly timed drop hits him in the head. He wipes it away.

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