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Zusatztext “The Nate series by Tim Federle is a wonderful evocation of what it’s like to be a theater kid. Highly recommended.” Informationen zum Autor Tim Federle is the showrunner and executive producer of High School Musical: the Musical: the Series , which he created for Disney+. His novels include the New York Times Notable Book Better Nate Than Ever and its Lambda Literature Award–winning sequel—which Lin-Manuel Miranda called "a wonderful evocation of what it’s like to be a theater kid" ( New York Times ). A film adaptation of Nate , written and directed by Federle, will premiere on Disney+ in spring 2022. The film stars Aria Brooks, Joshua Bassett, Lisa Kudrow, and Rueby Wood as Nate. Tim’s hit series of cocktail recipe books, including Tequila Mockingbird , have sold over half a million copies worldwide. He cowrote the Broadway musical adaptation of Tuck Everlasting and won the Humanitas Prize for cowriting the Golden Globe and Academy Award–nominated Best Animated Feature Ferdinand , starring John Cena and Kate McKinnon. A former Broadway dancer, Tim was born in San Francisco, grew up in Pittsburgh, and now divides his time between Los Angeles and the internet. Klappentext Now on Broadway as second understudy for E.T., Nate Foster keeps in close contact with his best friend, Libby, as he faces his nemesis, Jordan Rylance, and his own insecurities as the cast member with the least training and experience. Leseprobe Five, Six, Seven, Nate! The Fun’ll Come Out, Tomorrow In musicals, characters break into song when their emotions get to be too big. Whereas in life, of course, I break into song when my emotions get to be too big. Without getting paid for it, I mean. “Nate, will you two keep it down up there? It’s almost midnight.” That’s my dad, who has apparently forgotten how exciting my future is about to become. And that people sing and dance in their (incredibly small and poorly decorated) bedrooms when they’re excited. Loudly. “Sorry, Dad!” I shout. But I do this thing where I mouth “I’m not” right before. Gets my best friend laughing, every single time. “I ought to pack for tomorrow,” I say to Libby between huffs and puffs. We have a long-standing Sunday tradition where we belt the entire score of Godspell until either the neighbors call the cops or I lose my voice. It’s our version of church. “I guess I’ll need socks? I should pack socks.” But this Sunday is different. “Refocus, Nate,” Libby says, dragging me to my own desk. “I’ve gotta get home soon. And we have your first Playbill bio to write.” Cue: hopping, hollering, Dad cranking up “the game” downstairs. Libby retrieves a stack of beat-up theater programs from her bookbag. “Let’s study bios.” She has a step-uncle in New York who sends her his Playbills. Can you imagine the luck? This is probably how most normal boys feel when they rip open a pack of baseball cards, suffer through that stick of “gum,” and then . . . I dunno. What do boys do with baseball cards? Fan themselves in the stadium heat? “Flip to the ensemble bios,” I say. “We can bypass the stars.” We scan the little biographies that actors write about themselves, trying to settle on relevant information I might use to craft my own for E.T.: The Musical. “What the heck am I even going to write? I’m allowed fifty whole words to describe a life spent hiding from bullies in bathroom stalls.” “That’s a good thing,” Libby says, chewing on her lip like she’s still hungry. Which you’d know is impossible, if you’d seen the way Libby ate even the crusts on our pizza tonight. “Fifty words,” she continues, grabbing a pencil sharpener from my Zorba mug, “means we get to use a ton of a...
