Page 108 of King of the Crease

Brody gives him a firm nod. “Nope. I’m ready to go.”

A man in a tight polo shirt and warm-up pants blows his whistle, startling all of us. “Rush! Get your butt into the locker room.”

Mr. Calloway puts a delicate hand on the man’s chest. “Backstage, sweetie.”

“Right.” He blows his whistle again. Brody and I jump. “Rush! Backstage!”

“You know, we don’t need you blowing the whistle. These kids are nervous enough,” Mr. Calloway says, in a softer tone that I swear sounds flirtatious.

“I’m trying to mentally prepare them, Ev. This is live mothereffing theater. Anything could happen. Someone in the audience could sneeze. A fan could rush the stage. One of the actors could literally break a leg. Heck, Brody’s voice might crack in the middle of a song. He’s still going through puberty.”

“Oh my God.” Brody turns red, bows his head in primordial embarrassment.

“You need catlike reflexes to be up on that stage,” the guy with the whistle says.

“I don’t think any of those things will be happening,” Mr. Calloway assures him. “But I love the enthusiasm.”

“Yeah you do.” The guy winks at Mr. Calloway, who despite himself, blushes.

“Who’s that?” I whisper to Brody.

“Mr. Marshall. He’s my gym teacher, but he’s also dating Mr. Calloway. He helps out on show nights.”

They make an odd couple, but a cute one. A flicker of jealousy arises in me. I’d like to think Nick and I were this adorable.

“Hey, you’re the guy who hooked up with the prince, right?” Mr. Marshall asks me.

“Guilty.” I still haven’t gotten used to people bringing up Nick. I mean, Prince Nicholas. I can’t think about it without feeling a hole growing in my heart.

“He seemed cool.” Mr. Marshall shrugs.

“I have to ask, did you get to meet Meghan Markle?” Mr. Calloway leans in.

“Wrong royal,” Brody says.

“I know that, but I figure they all know each other. And…she knows Oprah,” Mr. Calloway whispers to us. “Oprah!” He says louder when we don’t give him the reaction he expects.

“Ev, get your head in the game. Showtime is in twenty minutes,” Mr. Marshall says. He threatens to blow his whistle again. Brody zooms to the backstage door in two seconds flat.

“Love you!” I call out to Brody. “Good lu…leg! Break a good leg! And kick some ass!”

I take a seat in the fifth row, center section. Prime viewing of the stage. Des and Tanner and their brood of kids join me, followed by Jack, Griffin, and Griffin’s two young daughters. Our row, and my heart, are equally full.

“You all came?”

“Of course!” Tanner says. “We wouldn’t miss Brody’s theatrical debut. We watched the movie in preparation.”

“I like when the plant eats people!” says Tanner’s rambunctious son Dean.

“I love the movie! I’m excited for the show,” Jack says.

“You are?” Griffin cocks an eyebrow. Jack turns to his boyfriend and wiggles both eyebrows at him.

“Yes! I like watching movies and going to plays as much as I like going to concerts and bar crawls. I contain multitudes, ya poopyhead.”

“That’s right, poopyhead!” says June, Griffin’s daughter who’s three feet of pure attitude.

Griffin cocks a stern eyebrow at his daughter.