Previously on DOOL
The studio smelled faintly of hairspray and hot lights. Rafa sat perfectly still on his mark, as if he’d been born for the camera. Russo, on the other hand, wriggled like he’d spotted a squirrel.
“Why do I feel like one of them is going to be famous and the other’s going to be infamous?” Sophie leaned over and muttered to Sawyer, arms crossed, blonde ponytail swishing.
Sawyer grinned. “That’s pretty much their dynamic every day.”
Sophie laughed, that booming athlete’s laugh Sawyer remembered from high school gyms. Back then, Sophie had been the star guard and the cleanup hitter. Sawyer, the steady teammate who never missed practice. It felt good, having that energy beside her again.
On stage, a casting director clapped. “Perfect! Can we get them to do that again? The contrast is fantastic.”
Sawyer’s phone buzzed, and she peeked down. A text from Cheryl: Riggins already made himself at home. He stole my throw pillow. You owe me.
“Cheryl’s dog-sitting?” Sophie asked, catching the look.
“Yep. He would’ve stolen the spotlight if I brought him.”
“Smart move. Diva energy doesn’t play well on set,” Sophie teased, nodding toward Russo, who was now refusing to sit.
Sawyer rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it.”
The director clapped again, calling for another take. Sawyer leaned back against the wall, letting Sophie’s chatter fill the space. For once, she wasn’t the one carrying the conversation.
By the end of the day, it was official: Rafa and Russo landed the gig. The director shook Sawyer’s hand, the casting assistant promised paperwork, and Sophie gave her a playful shove. “You’re officially a stage mom now.”
Sawyer laughed, but she couldn’t shake the flutter in her chest. This was really happening!
The Dig
That evening, Sophie headed back home, and Sawyer drove into the neighborhood where a different kind of stage was set. Cheryl stood in her driveway, Nathan leaned on a shovel, and Lynette swung a flashlight casually at her side.
They didn’t need to say it – everyone knew what came next. Tonight, they were digging until the box was completely out.
The street was unusually alive for a Sunday evening. Porch lights glowed one by one, neighbors watering late summer flowers lingered on sidewalks, pretending not to stare at the small gathering in Cheryl’s yard. Word had spread – not the details, but enough to make people curious.
Cheryl set her hands on her hips. “Well, if we don’t do it now, we’re going to have the whole neighborhood signed up for front-row seats.”
Nathan gave a half-smile, leaning heavier on the shovel. “Better an audience than the Sheriff. At least curious neighbors don’t file reports.”
Lynette flicked her flashlight beam across the ground, tracing the faint outline where the box had already been uncovered. “It’s deeper than I thought,” she said quietly. “No wonder it’s taken us this long.”
Sawyer glanced down the street. A kid on a bike slowed to watch before his mom’s voice called him back inside. That flutter returned to her chest – half excitement, half unease. She looked at Cheryl, then at Nath, then at Lynette, realizing they all felt it too. The ground was giving up something – whether it was of importance or not, none of them could tell yet.
Cheryl clapped her hands once, sharp. “All right. Let’s stop standing around like we’re waiting for the ground to do it itself. Nathan, you dig. Lynette, keep the light steady. Sawyer, you and I will clear the dirt as it comes up.”
A hush fell over the group as the first scoop of soil hit the ground. The street, the houses, even the late cicadas in the trees seemed to hold their breath.
Nathan gripped the rusted handle first, testing the weight. It didn’t budge. “It’s wedged in,” he muttered, planting his boots and pulling harder.
Cheryl crouched beside him, brushing more dirt away with quick, impatient swipes. “Here – get the other side.”
Sawyer slid her fingers under the opposite handle. The cold metal bit into her skin, but she didn’t let go.
“On three,” Nathan said.
The little circle of neighbors counted together, voices low, like they were afraid of being overheard.
“One…two…three.”
The box shifted, just a fraction, but it was enough to send a ripple of excitement through them all.
“Again,” Sawyer said, her voice sharper now, urgency threading through.
They heaved once more. This time, the ground gave way with a groan, the sound of old wood and iron surrendering after decades underground. The box lurched free an inch, then another, until it sat tilted, mud clinging to its sides like it wanted to keep its secrets buried.
They froze, staring at it – dirty, heavy… mysterious.
Next time on DOOL: