The Executioners Three

Chapter Nine: Stage Lights

The one woman show was back on the marquis—which meant Freddie was now going to perform as Traveler Number One and Traveler Number Two.

Agreeing to this had been a very huge, very terrible mistake. Even wearing her favorite peasant top wasn't helping.

"You're a such good sport," Mr. Binder called. "I'll get Greg to come next practice, but for now, why don't you go ahead and get..." He trailed off. "Wait, Patricia—do you hear that? I think people are—"

The doors to the auditorium crashed wide. Voices thundered in. Voices carried by actual human throats from actual humans who had come to volunteer.

At first, Freddie was like, OH MY GOD, THANK YOU, JESUS. There were at least thirty people walking this way, a mob of shadowy figures she couldn't identify through the stage lights.

But then the people got close enough for her to notice, Huh, they all sound like teenagers. And, Huh, I don't know any of those faces.

Then one figure—a lanky, sauntering person at the fore—came close enough for Freddie to recognize.

"Oh shit," she said at the same time her Mom squealed with delight and pushed to her feet.

Freddie darted for the stage steps. "No, no, no, no, no." She leaped down two at a time, and suddenly she understood exactly how Tybalt had felt when he'd learned Romeo had crashed his party.

She also realized Luis had not overreacted on Friday night in the least, and by golly, these Roberta Hughes shits were going down.

Freddie flew over the mustard floor and reached the first row right as Theo Porter did. He grinned at Freddie in much the same way she imagined the Big Bad Wolf would: hungry and very pleased with himself.

"What," Freddie spat, marching right up to him, "are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" He bobbed his shoulders innocently. "We're volunteering."

"No you're not—"

"Freddie!" Mom cried. "Stop that!" She shoved in close and thrust out a hand. Her eyes glowed with excitement. "I'm Patricia Gellar. Thank you so much for coming. And so many of you, too!"

Theo—curse him—bared a smile that oozed Romeo charm. What with his perfectly combed hair, his perfectly fitted gray sweater, and his exceptionally clean Vans.

Boys didn't dress that nicely outside of catalogs. And oh how Freddie wanted to destroy him.

"You must be Freddie's mom." Theo shook her hand. "I'm Theo Porter, ma'am. And can I just say how much we love your daughter over at Roberta Hughes?"

"You do?" Mom's eyebrows popped high. "I mean, of course you do!" She giggled before twisting to Freddie and whispering, "You are officially the best daughter ever. What a surprise!"

Freddie held her tongue. Because of course, what else could she do? She was not the best daughter ever, and Theo was obviously up to no good.

Well, over her dead body would he ruin this pageant.

"Oh, Freddie, his means you won't have to play all the roles!" Mom's elated gaze swept over the auditorium—which now had three rows filled with students.

"Yay," Freddie said, her gaze never leaving Theo. To think that only yesterday she thought he might not be so bad.

"And now Greg won't have to perform!"

"Yay," Freddie said again. Theo was staring right back at her, but instead of murder in his eyes, there was only mischief.

"Well, get back up on stage, Traveler Number One!" Mom poked Freddie's shoulder. "You're up first, remember? And," she lifted her voice, waving a script high, "we need a Traveler Number Two to join her on—"