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fbfh · 2 years

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rocks at your window pt. 9 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 9.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, not really fluff but a lot of high highs and a lot of low lows

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: miss jenn is a legend icon queen slay goddess (cited two times), iconic interactions between the cast, jealous ricky being a cutie, ricky and EJ are not bros yet, nini has gone from messy to borderline evil, your mom is a legend, kourtney anxiety foreshadowing, opening night/theatre vibes so strong it made me tear up a little /hj, lynne bowen is a horrible horrible toxic person!!!, todd jumpscare, ricky has a mental breakdown, EJ is trying his best but horribly misreads the situation, ricky is in a crisis, ricky bpd episode, art to cope :'), ricky has a good support system, reader is good in a crisis, nini is REALLY testing your patience, gina gets a well deserved moment to shine, terrible theatre etiquette, ricky gets emotionally ambushed, mike is a good dad, nini gets yelled at by reader (slay), reader yells at lynne (slay), reader gets slapped (in a dramatic way not a violent or sexy way), reader gets called a slut as an insult, ricky defends you, messy necessary screaming match (slay), things are said that cannot be unsaid :/

summary: opening night is just as magical and incredible as ricky hoped it would be, just as wonderful as you made it sound - until the worst case scenario comes to fruition. but the show must go on, right?

song recs: something about this night - finding neverland obc, twenty million people - my favorite year obc, opening up - waitress obc, twinkle in her eye - leann rimes, window seat - amelie obc, this is how I disappear (instrumental) - my chemical romance, un organo suona - ennio morricone, the music and the mirror - a chorus line obc, holding onto you - twenty one pilots, you oughta know - jagged little pill obc

other media: "art is not a luxury, it's sustinance" - ethan hawke ted talk clip, "and the way he sings sends a chill right through me" - lullaby for the taken lyric by kimya dawson, "what a mother does for you out of obligation vs what a mother does for you because she wants to" - text post/poem by tumblr user vympr,

a/n: fangz to cici for reading!!! I felt like my immortal chapter 6 "paragraph" 4 while writing the last part trying not to under or overuse dialog tags lmao. remember when I said it's gonna get messy? it gets worse :)

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

You and Ricky had been planning to get to the El Rey early on opening night since tech week, to make sure you have plenty of extra time to get ready, warm up, and get in character. Plus, you’ve been telling him how much you’ve missed just being in theaters, and near stages. The more time you’re there, the better. When you’re on the way over Ricky couldn’t shake the excitement gripping him. You can’t seem shake the feeling something was going to go wrong.

It was different from nerves, different from anxiety or worries that everyone can get before a big event. It was the same small, nudging feeling you got the night the basement flooded during your run in Matilda. It’s not as bad as it had been that time, but you take in a breath, steadying yourself and knowing you should be ready for anything. When you do, the feeling is quickly overshadowed by your excitement. You haven’t acted in far too long, and you’re ecstatic that you’ll get to perform again soon.

Once you get to the theater, you and Ricky are the first to sign the sign in sheet. You draw a little smiley face next to his name, and when he glances back at you, eyes falling on the paper. He smiles, struck by sudden joy at the little face. He leans back over and grabs a pen, drawing a smiley next to your name on the line below. Miss Jenn glances down when he returns the pen.

“Oh!” she exclaims, seeing the little faces, “How cute. I love this energy we’re creating.” she gestures vaguely before shooing you off to your respective dressing rooms to get ready.

Soon everyone’s there, and you’re once again wrapped up in the familiar hustle and bustle of show nights. You and your castmates are simultaneously getting in costume, warming up, and trying to get ready while helping each other’s hair and makeup. Ashlyn and Nini join you in an impromptu karaoke session, singing your hearts out to Bop to the Top while Nina riffs and harmonizes. The boys, one or two rooms away, start singing Getcha Head in the Game at the same time. In spite of the chaotic cacophony of voices, it's both a good way to warm up, and a good outlet for the nervous energy growing, bouncing from one person to the next, turning electric.

Kourney enters suddenly, grabbing some bobby pins.

"Do you know if you have any safety pins?" She asks.

"Uh," you pause doing your hair, tying it up into a bouncy low half updo, and fumble through your bag, "how many do you need?"

"Two or three?" She says hopefully. No matter how many you buy, bobby pins and safety pins always seem to be in short supply at every theater you've been to. You dig around for a minute before finding them, handing them to Kourtney.

"Thank you!" She declares, "Seb's shirt just completely-"

"Has anyone seen my glasses?" Ashlyn asks, and Kourtney pauses, noticing she's not wearing them.

"Shit," Kourtney mutters, both of you looking around for them.

"Knock knock!" Comes Seb’s voice from behind the door.

"Decent!" You and Ashlyn reply in unison. Seb enters, holding the side of his shirt together with his hands.

"Any luck?" He asks Kourtney.

"Right here," she replies, holding up the safety pins. "Turn around." Nina puts in her headphones and starts doing some vocal exercises and scales to warm up a little more. Seb lifts up his jacket so Kourtney can pin the ripped seam back together.

"Oh," she remembers, "have you seen Ashlyn’s glasses?"

"The really big ones?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Nope." He shrugs. She turns to Ashlyn.

"We'll find them." Kourtney reassures her. Seb heads back to his dressing room he shares with Ricky and EJ, and you move on to the last few steps of your makeup routine.

"Where are they?" Ashlyn huffs rhetorically. Natalie pokes her head in a moment later.

"40 minutes till show time!"

"Thank you 40!" The three of you reply together. A little while later, you’re finally dressed and waiting for the glue on your eyelashes to get tacky, when you hear EJ call your name. You stumble out of your dressing room, zipping up your boot, and you’re greeted with EJ in his Chad costume, clearly in a huff.

“Can you help me with my eyeliner?” he asks, a slightly petulant tone to his voice, handing you a black pencil. You laugh.

“Yeah, hold on.” you go back into your dressing room, passing by Seb telling Kourtney something. You dig through your makeup bag as Seb reenters, Darbus glasses in hand, presenting them to Ashlyn.

"Where were they?" She exclaims.

"The prop table!" He says.

"Why?" Ash asks, stating your thoughts exactly.

"Natalie says they're technically a prop because in the detention scene when you…" you find what you're looking for, missing the tail end of his sentence as you leave a moment later with a stiff angled brush in hand. You grab EJ and lead him to the stairs where he can sit down. He does so, and you rub the bristles against the eyeliner, demonstrating for him.

“This will make the application a lot more precise. Close your eyes…” you instruct, tilting his head back. You smudge the outside of his lash lines, careful not to make it look like too much.

“Okay, now this is the scary part…” you trail off, gently lifting up his eyelid. “I swear I’m not going to stab you, just look down and don’t blink.” you instruct at the worried look on his face. You tight line the middle of his lash line for a defined, natural effect, then repeat the step on the other side.

“Okay,” you say, pulling away to check that it looks even, unaware of Ricky standing a few feet away, watching you hold EJ’s face. You look so focused, and a twinge of jealousy flashes through his stomach, wishing you were holding his face, looking focused at him like that.

“You should be good,” you say, and Ricky approaches, dragging you away as EJ thanks you.

“I just need to borrow her for a second.” he cuts EJ off, smiling tensely at him - one he returns. Ricky takes you a few feet away while EJ goes back into their dressing room.

“What’s up?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh.

“I just… I can’t figure out this whole bronzer thing.” You bite back a smile. You know that it’s bullshit, specifically because you went through his whole stage makeup routine with him twice last night. He could do his makeup and anyone else’s with one hand tied behind his back, so he obviously just wants your attention. You can’t deny that it’s really cute - and it’s working. He’s probably nervous, you figure. You chuckle, taking the brush from him.

“Make a fish face,” you instruct, sucking in your cheeks and puckering your lips. His face mirrors yours, and you blend the product into his foundation. Your hand rests on his jaw, angling it this way and that until you’re satisfied with your work. He glances briefly back at the stairs, where EJ has long since left. Ricky’s about to look for any other excuse to keep you here for a few more minutes, your eyes light up, remembering something.

“Oh!” you exclaim, turning around, “Stay right here.” You’re back a moment later after digging through your bag past bobby pins, safety pins, your water bottle, script, sewing kit, extra makeup, makeup wipes, bandaids, and throat lozenges. You grab a small box, holding it triumphantly before running back out to Ricky in the hall. You stand in front of him, that glimmer in your eye.

“I have a surprise.” Excitement swirls in his chest.

“What is it?” he asks, trying to suppress the anticipatory giggle bubbling up, his energy matching yours. You hand him the small box, and he looks at it, confused. He opens it slowly, pulling out a little charm. It’s a dog tag with the number 14, and a metallic T on a jump ring.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, looking at it closer. You’re beaming, so glad that he likes it.

“You know,” you say softly, “something to remember your first show by. And your heart ring was looking kind of lonely.” You smile, pointing to the plastic ring he still wears around his neck, waiting until the last possible minute to take it off. You barely get the words out before he grabs your arms, pulling you close and kissing you. His lips are warm as they move against yours, and for a split second, you forget where you are, completely losing context for everything around you.

“I love-” he murmurs against your mouth, freezing for an instant. Your hearts skip a beat in tandem, then he cuts himself off to kiss you again. “I love it.” he finishes. You smile against his lips, pulling away very reluctantly. He leans back in, pressing a few more kisses to your lips before you wiggle out of his grasp.

“Ricky!” you laugh, “We’re gonna mess up our makeup. We can kiss after the show.” He runs his fingers up and down your arms, gazing at you as you talk. You have all his attention.

“Okay,” he says in that light hearted, joking tone of his that always makes you laugh, “but I’m gonna hold you to that.” You laugh again, and he takes off his necklace so you can slip on the new charm. After getting it fixed on the chain, you reattach it to his neck.

At the end of the hall where you’re standing, Nina lingers, watching Ricky touch you and kiss you like that. It makes her sick, and she finds herself holding back a gag. Her hours of research had turned into days, and she has your playbill.com page open on her phone at this very moment. She’s torn, reminiscing over how much she loved your performances and how obsessed with you she was as a kid, and simultaneously fuming over it. You’ve done all this professional work, you’ve acted on Broadway, and now you’re here at East High?

She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. She wanted so badly to be you, to have your perfect life, and you threw it all away for what? To come do crappy high school theatre in a town that couldn’t be further from New York? She fights a laugh suddenly, realizing just how much dirt she has on you. There must be a reason you’ve been keeping this secret, lying to everyone, lying to Ricky. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know why yet, but she’s going to find out.

35 minutes before curtain, Miss Jenn gathers everyone for circle time, and a cast meeting to boost morale before the show. Everyone is finally in costume and Kourtney follows Seb, makeup pallet in hand, adjusting the finishing touches to the glitter on his cheeks. You can feel the energy stirring and growing, electric between all of you.

“Most of you know that our dazzling Taylor had to leave under family circumstances. Gina sends her love and support, but has left for the east coast and will not be able to make it to tonight’s performance.” Miss Jenn says. You and Ricky share a look, trying not to be too obvious. You got Gina a plane ticket together, and your mom is at the airport right now to pick her up. The last you heard from her, Gina’s flight was delayed. Now there’s only a slim chance she’ll get here in time. You silently keep your fingers crossed, praying to whatever theatre gods are out there that she’ll make it to the theater before it's too late.

“And so,” Miss Jenn continues, “I have asked… Kourtney to fill in, in her place!”

The room erupts into cheers. Kourtney smiles, eyes on the floor bashfully. She’s praying she doesn’t seem as nervous as she feels. It’s not that she didn’t expect you guys to be supportive of her subbing in as Taylor, but seeing first hand how excited everyone is for her eases some of the worries that have been building up.

“Now,” Miss Jenn continues, “everyone join hands.” After some heartfelt words of encouragement and other usual circle time warm ups, she claps her hands.

“Let’s go, wildcats! 20 minutes to curtain!”

Once again, the room erupts into cheers.

“Now, if I can get my main characters and my ensemble members starting the show with a mic on stage for mic check?” she directs, pointing towards the way to the wings. You walk with everyone else towards the stage, pausing when you pass Miss Jenn.

“Do you want me to help Kourtney get ready?” you ask. Her hair and makeup are done, she just has to get in costume, but you can sense that she needs a pep talk.

“That would be fantastic,” she says with a look that indicates she thinks Kourtney could use a pep talk too, “thank you, Sharpay.” She pulls out her walkie to let Big Red know you and Kourtney are going to be released from mic check early to finish getting ready. After singing We’re All In This Together while Big Red adjusts your volume from the sound booth, Kourtney sings Bop to the Top, voice getting louder and quieter as Red tweaks the settings. Once you’ve both gotten the thumbs up, you scurry backstage to your dressing room, handing her costume pieces while she gets changed.

“Oh, wait,” you say before she pulls on her top. You grab your setting spray you use for shows from your bag. “Close your eyes.” You mist her face with the product, fanning it dry so it doesn’t smudge.

“Thanks,” she says. You take one look at her expression, and can tell she’s nervous.

“You okay?” You ask. She hesitates, then sighs.

“I had two weeks to learn all my lines. I had two weeks to learn all the lines and the songs, I haven’t even gotten to rehearse on stage with you guys, and I’m just so worried I’m going to blow it, or choke in front of everyone…” she trails off. This is clearly the tip of the iceberg, and she fiddles with her bracelets, trying to get out some nervous energy.

“There is no way you’re going to choke.” you say confidently, “You know this show inside and out! Plus, haven’t you been running lines with Nini the whole time?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she replies, listening carefully, trying to grab onto your reassurance.

“Almost all of Taylor’s scenes are with Gabriella.” You state. Her expression changes as she realizes you’re right. She knows this part better than she was giving herself credit for.

“Plus there will be scripts in the wings if you need to refresh between scenes.”

“Yeah,” she says again, more confident this time. “I know my lines, I know the songs, I know the dances - mostly, at least - so it’s all going to be fine! Even if the choreography in Stick to the Status Quo is still totally terrifying, and I have no idea how to dance with a lunch tray or do a death wack, it’s going to be fine!” Her laughter turned from relieved to slightly panicked again.

“You think you’re nervous for Stick to the Status Quo?” you ask rhetorically, a comedic note to your voice, “I have to get caked in the face!” You exclaim with a chuckle. You’ve only practiced with an actual cake once, during the last tech rehearsal, and it was messy, to say the least. Literally and figuratively.

Kourtney laughs, remembering the whipped cream that got everywhere, how loud you were yelling in character before storming off. It took more makeup wipes than you'd expected to get the sticky sugar off your face.

“We’ll get through it together.” You state, holding out your hand. She squeezes it, reassuringly.

“Yeah. We will.”

“Five minutes to places!” Natalie calls, poking her head in.

“Thank you five!” you both reply. You check your phone one last time, the new text from your mom stating that she’s still at the airport, waiting for Gina’s flight. You text Ricky the same thing, letting him know you’re all still waiting for more updates on the delay. The good news is that your mom’s friend from work - who was planning on coming to see the show anyway - is going to stream the show to your mom until she can get there, that way she won’t miss anything.

It doesn’t feel like five minutes has gone by when Natalie is calling for places, ushering everybody into the wings and into their starting places and positions. Hushed whispers of encouragement and break a leg spread through the wings, and everyone falls silent as Miss Jenn begins her curtain speech. It’s unusual for a group of such high energy people to be so still, so quiet, and you soak up every moment of it. This is your favorite part - or one of them, at least; it's those few fleeting minutes when everyone’s backstage in the wings, the opening of the show is seconds away and hurdling closer and closer with every breath, every heartbeat. This is one of those magical, transformative, fleeting times that can only really be described as in between.

You never knew just how much you would miss this, the distinct and irreplaceable energy, the feeling of being in a theater. Tears spring to your eyes as it really hits you that you’re home, back where you’ve always needed to be. You close your eyes, taking deep, measured breaths to focus, to get into that headspace of being in character. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel it around you; the rich wood and cement mixing into different sections of the floor, the heavy curtains, the grid and catwalk and lights, all intangibly high and far away. It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful that you don’t know how your body is supposed to contain it. You know now that you could never leave, not really. Theatre will always be your home, and you know this feeling will only solidify more and more with time. You realize, too, that it’s a home that will always grow and change and evolve with you, because that’s in its eternal, fleeting nature. That’s the most beautiful part, you think.

You squeeze Seb’s hand in excitement and encouragement and every other good thing, a gesture that he returns. In spite of the silence and the stillness, you know that everyone is just as excited as you are. Ricky’s in the opposite wing, or else you’d be squeezing his hand right now too right now. You use this moment, this stillness that's growing and getting more charged with energy every second, to become laser focused on giving this performance everything you've got - on really getting your head in the game.

Nini looks around, then over at Ricky - again. He’s been avoiding her this whole night, and she can’t stand it. She leans closer.

“I need to talk to you. After the show.” someone shushes her, and she lowers her voice, continuing. “She’s been lying to you about everything. You don’t know everything about her, Ricky.”

“Yes, I-” he cuts himself off, not wanting to feed into this. Not now. “I have to get into character.” He says, moving away from her. He tries to focus on the energy the cast is creating around him, on becoming Troy. He takes a breath, centering himself.

“Without further ado, I am proud to present… East High’s High School Musical: the Musical!” Miss Jenn’s voice is drowned out by applause, and the music begins.

The first few songs and scenes go smoothly; everyone is on time and remembering their cues, and the audience couldn’t be more engaged, applauding and laughing right when you want them to. During Jack Scott’s announcements after Darbus reveals what the winter musical is going to be, you leave to get ready for What I’ve Been Looking For. You pass by Ricky, who’s quick changing for Get’cha Head in the Game, and shoot him a big thumbs up.

“Great job!” you whisper enthusiastically, stomping your feet quietly in excitement.

“Thanks,” he smiles, beaming as he pulls on his jersey. He watches you scurry down the hall before getting nudged toward the stage right before his cue. He shakes his head, wondering why he let Nini get him so worked up before. Of course he knows you. He knows everything about you! There’s absolutely nothing on earth you could tell him that would throw him off, or scare him away from you. She’s probably just making something up to get in his head, to drive a wedge between you. That seems like something she would do lately.

“Let’s see some hustle! Move, move, move!” Coach Bolton calls from onstage, and Ricky jogs over to him, as ready as he'll ever be.

“Sorry I’m late, coach.”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he’s trying to stay in character and stay focused on the scene, Nini’s words are still echoing in the back of his mind, throwing him off a little. He catches his dad’s eye in the crowd as the music starts. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this proud, and it steadies Ricky. He takes in a breath, and begins to sing. Part way through the song, he notices a woman in the crowd who looks weirdly like his mom. He doesn’t miss a beat, making sure to look in his dad’s direction instead. That’s weird, he thinks, but it can’t be her. There’s no way she’d come all the way from Chicago for something like this. Just like what Nini said to him before the show, he won’t let that distract him from performing, and tries not to let that throw him off.

During the dance break, he gets hooked up to his harness, and his stomach erupts into excited butterflies as he slowly moves up. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd that turns into cheers as he hovers in front of the hoop, ball in hand. Up here, he’s not blinded by the stage lights, and he looks down at the crowd, able to see his dad’s face even better than before. He’s filled with such euphoria, he knows you’re right - nothing can beat this feeling. He feels more alive, more awake than he ever has, simultaneously enveloped by a deep sense of peace, of rightness that he doesn’t want to let go of.

On the other side of the auditorium, someone moves, catching his eye. Some guy is making his way into his seat, presumably because he showed up late. He leans over to his date, kissing her and touching her leg. Nothing could have prepared Ricky for what he saw when he pulled away. Past the blinding stage lights, his stomach plummets back down to earth as he’s able to make out more faces in the audience - including hers. She’s here. She’s really here, and she brought that douchebag with her. She’s whispering something in that bastard’s ear, barely five rows away from his dad. They’re all over each other, talking close and kissing and smiling.

It’s only when she points up at him that he snaps out of it. He realizes the pit has been waitin for his cue a beat or two longer than usual, and follows up quickly with it. He had dropped his basketball when he was up there, and he’s scrambling to make it through the rest of the number. He tries desperately to get back into character, to focus on the lyrics and choreography, to focus on the music instead of what he just saw in front of him, but he can’t shake what just happened, what he just saw. Even as he’s being pulled backstage to change into the costume for his next scene, it takes all his effort not to let that overwhelm him. He can’t crumble right now, not like this. There’s a whole cast and crew, all his friends, that are counting on him. He gets some water, tries to pull himself together.

EJ looks for Ricky backstage, having a few minutes before their next scene. Even he has to admit he was impressed with Ricky’s performance back there. He looked so conflicted, so torn between basketball and singing. He even managed to make his distracted blocking and choreography look so organic EJ was worried he’d messed up for a second. He’s been giving him a hard time, butting heads on and off stage, but Ricky is really shining tonight. He’s committed, and EJ has to commend him for that.

“Ricky,” he says, just loudly enough to get his attention. Ricky turns around. “I have to hand it to you; you’re doing great out there, man. You deserve all the applause you’re getting.”

Ricky takes a breath, closing his water bottle.

“Thanks.”

He stares into space to the ceiling on EJ’s right, gripping his water bottle until his knuckles have a white cast to them. EJ’s brow furrows. He actually seems a little out of it.

“Are you okay?” he asks carefully. They’re not really close like that, but even EJ can see that he seems a little off.

“I’m fine,” he says a little too fast. “I am totally fine. Because it’s opening night, and nothing’s going to ruin this.”

Suddenly it makes sense. He knows exactly what Ricky’s going through. He sighs.

“Look, everybody gets stage fright. Just take a deep breath, and use the music and your lines to stay grounded.” He claps Ricky on the shoulder supportively.

“Thanks,” he chokes out again. EJ leaves to fix his mic tape, and Ricky is once again exactly where he doesn’t want to be - alone with his thoughts. Even though EJ has no idea of the scope of issues Ricky’s dealing with right now, his advice might still work. Instead of waiting in his dressing room, he hovers in the wings, going over the chemistry class scene as it happens, waiting for the lights to go down so he can talk to you, or at least be near you. He’s so tempted to barge onstage and drag you away with him. Instead he listens closely to your dialog with Gabriella. Just hearing your voice is enough for him to hold on to for now.

The lights go down, and you exit into the wings. You’re surprised to find Ricky there - he usually comes up about half way through Jack Scott’s narration. One look at his face and you know something’s wrong. Before you can ask, he’s pulling you into a less busy area by the prop table.

“She’s here.” He grips your arm, hand shaking. He doesn’t need to say anything else, you already have a full grasp on the gravity of the situation, the effect this is having on him.

“Here?” you ask, needing to clarify, and he nods. “Are you okay?” you ask sincerely.

“I’m…” he struggles for an answer, “trying to be.” You take his hands in yours so gently he doesn’t even notice until your thumbs are stroking his skin reassuringly.

“Okay,” you say calmly, and he can see the gears turning, see you figuring out the perfect solution as you speak. “Why don’t you have some water, stay right here, and I’ll go get Miss Jenn, okay?”

He nods, and you move quickly to Natalie, asking her if she knows where Miss Jenn is. She picks up her walkie talkie, asking Miss Jenn to come to the stage right wing. Jack’s narration scene wraps up and the crew changes the set to Darbus’s detention. You have seconds before you have to get out there, and you turn to Ricky, worried about him.

“Are you going to be okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah.” he says, “I think so.”

You see Miss Jenn walking toward the stage right wing as you’re about to head onstage.

“We’ll talk to her right after.” you tell him in a hushed, reassuring whisper. You give his hand one more squeeze before you find your places in the dark. Moments later, the lights are up, and the scene begins. In all the time you’ve spent acting, you’ve gotten very good at staying in character, compartmentalizing thoughts and worries about your personal life while you’re onstage. You find it a little more difficult to keep the disgust at Lynne Bowen’s blatant lack of basic respect, or even awareness for the consequences of her actions, buried in the back of your mind as the scene plays out.

Sitting on the wooden flooring of the stage, warm under the bright lights, Ricky does exactly what he’s supposed to do - he uses the scene and dialog to stay grounded. He follows the dialog while doing his stage business, listening for his cues just like Miss Jenn thought him to do. If he stays in character, he doesn’t have to think about any offstage drama. As long as he doesn’t look out to that section of seats, as long as he can keep his eyes from being magnetically drawn there, he’s going to be fine. He stays in character, stays right there as Troy, clinging to his character like a life raft. If he can be Troy, he doesn’t have to worry about everything he’s going to have to deal with as Ricky for just a few more minutes. It's desperate and fleeting, but it's the only thing he can do right now.

Soon, the lights are down, and you’re hustling toward the stage right wing, where you know Miss Jenn is waiting. He finds your hand in the dark, the sparkly pink sequins on your outfit unmistakable even in the darkness. He holds onto you desperately, until you’re both standing in front of Miss Jenn. She knows from one look that whatever is going on, it’s bad.

“Um," Ricky starts, swallowing hard, "my mom is here…” he hates that his voice is already trembling so soon. It sounds more like a question than a statement, and his stomach twists at how foreign the word now feels in his mouth. My mom. The last time he called her that had been months ago when he told you and Miss Jenn what had happened. Ever since he’s only referred to her through pronouns and as briefly as possible, trying to disconnect the person she is from who she was supposed to be. Who he thought she was. The closest he’s gotten to addressing her has been vague statements; she didn’t call back, or I think that was her recipe, let’s find a different one. Actually saying it, actually calling her that makes his jaw feel stiff.

“My god.” Miss Jenn says softly, unable to believe that she could have the audacity to show up unannounced after what she put Ricky through. Ricky hesitates, and she knows there’s more. She nods, waiting for him to continue.

“And she, uh,” he swallows thickly, hating his throat for tightening up so much when he has to sing in a few minutes, “she brought her boyfriend…” Your eyes widen and Miss Jenn gasps.

“They’re in the sixth row, they keep talking and kissing, and-” he cuts himself off, unable to continue. His hands are balled up, tight and shaking.

“Okay. Ricky, sweetie, why don’t we talk about this somewhere a little more private.” You both guide him to the boys’ dressing room, and after making sure no one’s in there, she sits down facing him, and takes his hands in hers.

“From the beginning, what happened?”

He was barely able to get it out the first time, but now he can’t stop. Everything he’s been trying so hard to ignore and shove down for the last 20 minutes - and it’s felt way longer than 20 minutes - comes tumbling out. He doesn't think he could stop talking if he tried. He doesn’t even realize how loud he’s getting until Miss Jenn gently shushes him.

“We don’t want the audience to hear us.” he nods, taking a breath for the first time since he started talking. You left a minute ago to check on how much time you have before the next scene, and reenter the dressing room now, looking stressed.

“They’re almost done with Auditions.” you state. You need to go up there now, you and Seb have What I’ve Been Looking For soon, and you don’t want to miss your cue.

“Go,” she says. Ricky nods, so you do, knowing that Miss Jenn has this under control, that she can help Ricky right now. Your footsteps recede, and Ricky turns back to Miss Jenn.

“Ricky,” she starts calmly, “what she did was wildly inappropriate.” He already feels a little better, less crazy, and he waits for her to continue.

“Showing up unannounced with a…" she chooses her words carefully, "date, was… probably the worst thing that could have happened tonight.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs in agreement. She continues.

“You have every right to be as upset as you are. Whatever you need right now, just tell me, okay?” He nods. “I think what we should do is get your dad, and let him know what’s going on. I can try to have one of the ushers escort her out, but I’m sure the last thing you want tonight is even more drama.”

“Got that right,” he breathes, relieved.

“I’m going to talk to EJ and see if he can go on as Troy-”

“What? No.” he protests.

“Ricky-”

“No, Miss Jenn- I have to play Troy. Please, I have to!”

“It might be best for you-”

He stands up suddenly. “What’s best for me is going out there; acting and singing, like we rehearsed - like I’m supposed to! Please, you can’t…”

“Okay,” she says, standing up and trying to calm him down a little. “Okay. If you think you can do it, you can go back out there.”

He relaxes a little.

“Thank you.” his voice breaks as he speaks, and she realizes how badly he needs this right now.

“Why don’t we revisit this at intermission, see how you’re feeling then? Just to check up on you.” she adds quickly.

“Okay.” he agrees. She puts a hand on his arm.

“I’m going to let EJ know to get ready, just in case you change your mind. We’ve got to be ready for anything, right?” She smiles gently, one he tries to return.

“Right,” he says. A stagehand pokes his head into the room.

“Troy, we need you.”

“Be right there,” Miss Jenn says. She claps her hand over Ricky’s one more time. “Okay, Ricky, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go out there and sing a ballad with Gabriella that will make the audience swoon,” he smiles, “and I am going to do my best to get this situation resolved as quickly and discreetly as possible. If anything else happens, or you need anything, come tell me right away.”

“Okay.” he says, this time, with a note of determination in his voice. Miss Jenn pats him on the back, sending him off. He runs through the halls, making it just in time. Once he’s in the wings, she pulls out her phone to text Mike, and fill him in on everything that’s going on. He enters on Gabriella’s cue, and Miss Jenn pauses, watching him deliver his lines. All the distress, all the pain melts away as he steps into character.

It’s giving him a break from everything, she thinks, it has been the whole time. Theatre isn’t just a luxury or a passion for some people, it’s a means of survival. It hits her all at once, that in staying here, in facing the challenges and struggles that came from directing this show, she’s helping Ricky through one of the hardest things he’ll ever go through. She’s become the person she needed when she was his age; with only one parent, feeling completely lost at sea. Her chest squeezes, and she watches them sing, their voices sending a chill through her.

Backstage, in the few dark moments of the set change for Cellular Fusion, Nina somehow manages to corner you.

“What did you do to him?” she demands, and you know she’s referring to Ricky, who exited to the other wing. You stare at her, aghast. You lean in close, lowering your voice, desperately holding on to your professionalism.

“We have to go onstage, literally right now. I am not doing this with you right now.”

“Huh,” she scoffs with a fake smile, “you’re one to talk.” You have approximately two seconds to look at her, baffled by everything she’s saying, before you have to go on. You enter, and hit your mark. At the cue, you and Seb begin to harmonize. Right as you do, your phone - tucked away in the wings - silently begins to buzz. Your phone lights up with a text from your mom, informing you that Gina’s flight has finally landed, and they’ll be at the theater any minute.

You run off stage as Cellular Fusion wraps up, and Miss Jenn and Carlos are trying to figure out what to do about the Taylor dance break coming up. Kourtney has been doing great so far, but she doesn’t think she can handle choreography that complicated with so little time to rehearse.

“I could tell the pit to cut that section…” Carlos offers. You check your phone and your eyes light up, looking at the doorway.

“Uh,” you start with a smile, “I don’t think that will be an issue…”

Miss Jenn, Carlos, and Kourtney look over at Gina, smiling timidly.

“Oh, thank god,” Miss Jenn chokes out. She turns to Kourtney, then Gina. “You, go out there before you miss your cue. And you, quick change into something more 2006 before the dance break.”

They both agree, and a stagehand runs over with something for Gina to change into, guiding her to the dressing rooms.

“Is he doing any better?” you ask Miss Jenn before you go on. You don’t have much time, but you need to know if he’s okay.

“A little,” she says, “I think.” You both know it’s better than nothing, and you’re just hoping whatever he’s doing keeps working.

Stick to the Status Quo couldn’t be going any better. There’s so much happening, so much organized chaos, that he forgets about everything for a few wonderful minutes. There’s no time to think about that when he’s dancing on tables, begging his classmates not to sacrifice their individuality so they can fit in. It only gets better when you and Seb enter toward the end of the number. You look so genuinely pissed off that people are breaking free from the boxes they’ve been put in, and your voices sound perfect harmonizing together, reverberating through the auditorium.

He tries in vain to stop Zeke from giving you a cake, watching with bated breath as it smashes into your face. He turns away, just like he’s supposed to, but his eyes accidentally land on the one place in the audience he shouldn't be looking at. His stomach plummets. Has she been on her phone this whole time? After running from everything this whole night, it finally gets the best of him. He can’t stand it any longer, running into the wings as you let out an ear shattering scream, loud enough to finally make her look up.

“Someone… is going… to pay for this!” you yell furiously, before the lights go down. The curtain draws to a close as applause thunders through the building. The lights in the house go up for intermission, and you hear a slow rise of chatter as people mill about and make conversation as you exit the stage. You grab a makeup wipe a stagehand has ready, thanking them as Natalie calls out that intermission is starting, and you have 20 minutes to places for act two.

“Thank you 20,” you call out distractedly, searching for Ricky. You run to the back, wiping the rest of the whipped cream off your face, and check the boys dressing room to see if he’s in there. He is, sitting in there by himself, seeming worse than before. One look at his face and you know something else happened.

“She was on her fucking phone the whole time!” he states in disbelief, “Like…” The words dry up as he holds a pillow in his lap in a death grip.

“Oh my god…” you say, shaking your head. He’s not doing good, clearly. No one would be in his position. He pulls you in for a hug as soon as you’re close enough, one you reciprocate. He holds onto you tight, feeling just a little more stable as soon as you’re in his arms. Surrounded by your familiar grasp, it’s just a little easier to breathe, to think clearly. Unfortunately, it also means he has a much clearer grasp on everything that’s happened tonight and how it’s affecting him, how he feels about it. His dad is right behind you, and he lets go of you long enough to stand up and greet him. His dad pulls him into a hug, patting his back.

“I’m so sorry, kid. I had no idea she was going to pull something like this.” Mike’s voice wavers, and when Ricky doesn’t answer, you know it’s because he’s choked up. Miss Jenn enters a moment later, walking over to Ricky and Mike.

“The both of them have been removed from the premises.” She states.

“Thank you,” Mike says earnestly.

“Oh, it was nothing a little faked parking violation couldn't take care of," she says, earning a small smile from Mike. She turns to Ricky, continuing. “I filled you dad in on what’s been going on, too.”

“Maybe we should just go home,” Mike offers, knowing he probably won’t want to.

“No,” he protests, “I can do act two, I want to. Plus, if we leave now, she’ll know where we are and she’s going to ambush us again, and-”

“The one place you’re guaranteed not to run into her is here at the theater.” you finish quietly.

“Yeah,” Ricky agrees, motioning to you. Mike considers, weighing his options. Since she’s gone, if Ricky thinks he can handle it, he doesn’t see why he can’t do the second half of the show - especially since he seems to want to so badly. Maybe now isn’t the time to take that away from him, even if he means well.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But if anything happens, if you change your mind at all-”

“You’re the first to know.” Ricky agrees quickly.

“I want you to stay plugged in with me, okay?” Mike says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Text me when you’re not onstage, let me know how you’re doing.” Ricky agrees again. Miss Jenn looks between them.

“Alright. Well, in that case, Ricky, you should get changed for act two.” She says with a tentative smile. He nods.

“Thank you. Thank you guys.” he says sincerely to his dad and Miss Jenn. Before you leave, you catch his eye.

“I’m going to refill my water, then I’ll be back here, okay?”

“Sounds good." He says, "Hurry back,” he adds quickly, giving you that sweet look with those big puppy dog eyes, and it makes your chest squeeze.

“Absolutely.” you agree.

You barely leave the dressing room before you're met with Nina. She barges forward and stands in front of you, arms crossed, and you realize she's waiting for you to move out of the way so she can get into the boys' dressing room. You don't budge.

“I need to talk to Ricky. I heard what happened, and I'm the only one who can convince him to go on for the second act, and I don’t need you-”

“Wow,” you begin, cutting her off, once again amazed at her audacity, “now is really not a good time. Don’t go in there and stir things up.”

She looks you up and down, letting out an indignant scoff.

“Don’t act like you know him like that. I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten, I know him better than anyone.”

You take in a deep breath, trying so hard to stay patient.

“Sure. You know him better than anyone.” you say, in a pacifying tone, “So you should know the last thing he needs is more pressure on him when he’s in the middle of a family crisis, right?” The question is rhetorical, and you continue, patience with her finally starting to run thin. “If you actually care about him, then for the sake of his well being you’ll leave him alone and let him get through this. Now is really not the time, Nina, read the goddamn room!”

The sentence is finished with an aggravated, humorless laugh. Your priorities right now are Ricky, and getting through opening night. You need to help him process some of the shit that's been happening tonight, make sure he’s okay, so he can perform like he wants to. The last thing he needs is Nina barging in there and telling him he’s letting the cast down, or that he’s not serious about theatre, and that he should have quit after auditions - all of which you’ve heard more times than you can count over the duration of rehearsals, even up to a few days ago.

You’ve tried so hard to be patient with her, but dear god, she’s really starting to get on your last nerve - nevermind the fact that you have a special type of hatred for the kind of people like Nina, who shit on people that are still learning about something they have more experience in; like telling someone they’re not serious about theatre because it’s their first show, for example.

“Do not fuck with him right now.” you state, rolling your eyes at her shocked expression.

You push past her, walking over to the water fountain. She watches you walk away, mouth hanging open, and lets out an indignant scoff. You swear to god, if one more thing goes wrong tonight, if one more person tries you, you’re going to absolutely lose it. You take a few deep breaths as you fill up your bottle, trying to calm down and center yourself a little. Once you’re done, you start to walk back to the dressing rooms, but you’re stopped by a woman who is definitely not cast or crew. She sees you and approaches, seeming a little pissy.

“I’m looking for Ricky Bowen?” she states. As she speaks, your stomach drops.

You recognize her voice from when you heard it on the phone, and from the voicemail Ricky showed you over Thanksgiving. This is Lynne Bowen. As in, the Lynne Bowen. The one that left. The same woman who’s made such a tactless and selfish decisions over and over that have ultimately caused her son to be on the verge of a breakdown just down the hall from where you’re standing right now.

“You are not supposed to be back here.” you state, desperately trying to figure out how to handle this. You pull out your phone and text Miss Jenn, ‘code red, really need backup’.

“Can you just tell me where Ricky Bowen is? I’m his mother.” she says it in a way immediately expects sympathy from you, sympathy she doesn’t receive. You stare at her blankly, and she continues, much less kind than she’d been pretending to be. “I need to see my son, okay? Maybe when you’re a mother someday you’ll understand-”

You’re not sure what about her, about the way she’s talking to you specifically is the last straw for you, but your patience is already running so thin it’s practically transparent. Against your better judgment, you cut her off.

“He does not want to see you. He doesn’t want to speak to you - or be anywhere near you right now, for the record - and you need to fucking respect that, okay?” you say decisively, offense written all over her face, “And you are really not allowed to be backstage if you’re not cast or crew, which you’re clearly not-”

“You are way out of line, young lady!” she yells, “I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk. I’ll talk to him if I want to; I’m his mother.” She adjusts her purse, clearly expecting you to fold, to tell her where he is. You know you should keep your mouth shut, you know you should be diplomatic and patient and professional like you always are, you should wait for Miss Jenn to handle this, but you’ve spent the past three months watching Ricky suffer because of this woman and her choices. You can’t stay quiet when the woman who hurt him is right in front of you.

“I think you lost the right to pull that shit when you walked out the door and chose not to be in his life!” you snap, a dangerous smile on your face. The stunned look on her face is better than anything you’ve ever seen. It’s clear no one has ever tried to take her down a peg until now.

“How dare-”

“You gave him a free pass to hate you forever, because you’re not the parent who stayed! You didn’t try-”

Your words lose momentum as you find yourself suddenly looking at the wall to your right, your cheek stinging. The sound of her slapping you across the face echos across the walls for a moment before fading away, and you freeze, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from shock.

“Listen here you little slut,” she says, much more ferocious than before. All facades of a concerned mother have melted away. “You have no right to talk to me like that-”

“What the fuck?!”

You snap out of it, and she turns around at Ricky’s voice at the end of the hall.

“Ricky, my baby,” she starts, walking toward him, but she’s thrown off at how distant he seems toward her. “I’m sorry you had to see that, this girl is so-”

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again.” His voice is stone cold as he brushes past her, analyzing your expression closely to see if you’re alright.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice shaky.

“I’m fine,” you say as calmly as possible, “are you okay?”

He’s decidedly not, but he tries to pull himself together.

“If you are, that’s all that matters.” Behind him, growing impatient, Lynne takes a step forward.

“Ricky,” she demands. He takes a breath, and leans closer to you.

“You should change for act two.” You look between them, wishing there was something else you could do, some way that you could make this better. You agree, stopping before you leave for your dressing room.

“Text me if you need anything.” you say seriously, and he agrees, understanding the subtext of your words. Text you if he needs backup, or if it gets to be too much, because you’re there for him. Lynne moves toward him again.

“Can we talk?” she says with a domineering tone to her voice, and you both know it’s not a question. You want to object, but all he wants is to get her away from you. He nods, indicating you should go, and you do - albeit, very reluctantly. He turns back to her.

“Yeah,” he says seriously, “I think we need to.”

She grabs his arm to lead him down another stretch of hallway, but he shakes her off immediately, walking a few feet in front of her.

“Ricky, are you alright?” she demands, once they’re relatively out of earshot. She crosses her arms. “I was so worried about you when you ran offstage like that.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” he murmurs. She either ignores him or doesn’t hear. Regardless, she continues.

“Why did you leave? Is it stage fright? Because a lot of people are counting on you, honey. You made a commitment to this-”

“You’re one to talk about commitment,” he mutters, voice low, but loud enough to be heard. His impulse control is not at all where it should be, especially with how she just talked to you, what she called you.

“I’m sorry?” Lynne demands. She’s not used to Ricky yelling at her. She’s always had a lot of influence over him. He used to do everything she said, he’s always been such a mama’s boy until now.

“I mean, do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?” he snaps, “Did you even care that you ruined the only thing I’ve been able to count on in my life- I can never get this night back, Lynne. And now…” he trails off, trying so hard to regulate his emotions, even though he knows he’s out of control. He takes a shaky breath, trying with everything he has inside him to reign it back in a little.

“...Why would you bring him to the show?”

Lynne looks stunned at his question.

“Wh-” she starts, “This is about Todd?”

“Why would you bring him here?” He demands, repeating himself.

“I…” she struggles for an answer, “wanted him to meet you.” she infuses as much guilt into her words as she can. He should feel bad for the way he’s speaking to her. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to throw you off.”

It doesn’t work this time, and he refuses to back down, to fawn for her. He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“So you waited until I was suspended, mid air over a basketball hoop, for me to see you all… cozied up together? You didn’t think - not for one second - that might be just a little upsetting to me?!”

“Ricky-”

“And what about dad, huh? How do you think he feels watching you feel each other up right in front of him?” tears brim in the corners of his eyes as everything he’s been suppressing all night, all these weeks and months finally breaks the surface. She lets out an indignant scoff and tries to say something, but he ignores her and keeps going. It’s an avalanche now, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“He didn’t leave the couch for a week after you left!” he roars, remembering how hard it was to see his dad like that, to have to be the one to drag him out of it.

“...I didn’t know that-”

“How could you?!” he laughs bitterly, "You weren't there!" He screams. He doesn't think it's ever felt better to say something than it does now. "You weren't there the whole time I was rehearsing, you weren't the one running lines and going over blocking, and teaching me how to listen for cues and do stage makeup and quick change! You weren't there for any of the work that went into this, and you just waltz in here with the newest guy you're screwing to your fucking son's musical like you've been here the whole time, but you havent!" He's never yelled at her like this, but a part of him thinks after how much she hurt him - and his dad - it's long overdue. "You don't get to enjoy this show, and you don't get to be around me, or dad, or anything we do because you walked out!"

"You are way out of line-" she starts, voice cracking.

"No, you know what’s way out of line?" He demands, all too ready to throw her words back in her face. "Breaking my heart, breaking dad’s heart, then acting like everything is fine when it’s not!"

"You think I wanted to leave you?!" She screams back at him.

"Yeah," he answers quickly, "I do, because you did! And you know what? I'm glad you left." He spits, watching the pain grow in her eyes, his words like venom.

"All you do is hurt us."

She blinks like she was just slapped. He takes a step forward, shaking, angry tears silently spilling from his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and dead serious.

"Don't call me anymore."

Before she can say anything, he starts to walk away. She calls out to him, desperate to get the last word in, to make him know how much pain his words have caused her.

"You are really hurting me, Ricky." She says, voice shaking as she cries, "you're breaking your mother's heart."

The sound of his mother crying like that because of something he said should have wrecked him, but he pushes away any last remaining scraps of guilt his rage hasn't burned away yet. He turns back to her, no love in his eyes, and laughs bitterly.

"Yeah, I guess it runs in the family. You know, the one thing I got from you is the ability to ruin any relationship I have, so thanks for that, mom." He spits, turning to leave. She takes a step forward.

"Don’t you walk away from me-"

"Like mother like son, huh?" He barks. With that, he's gone. He doesn't stick around for any more of her manipulation or guilt tactics. He just really, really needs to see you right now.

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