The rest of the day feels like I’m walking through a different building. The whispers are still there, but they’re now less and with hesitant smiles from some students and outright wary looks from others. The story of Asher’s very public defense of me has clearly made the rounds.
My last class is Drama with Ms. Theroux, a woman with wild red curls. The room is less a classroom and more a black–box theater, with risers for seats and a proper stage at one end.
“People! Settle, settle!” she calls out, clapping her hands. The chattering dies down slowly as we all rushed to sit down. “Welcome back to the thunderdome! This semester, we are tackling the wit, the wisdom and the sheer glorious chaos of William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night!”
A few groans echo through the room but Ms. Theroux ignores them, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Thee‘ and ‘thou‘ and iambic pentameter, oh my!” She mocks, fainting. “But I promise you, this play is a rollercoaster. It’s about love, mistaken identity, cross–dressing, and fools who are wiser than the nobles. It is, in short, a soap opera written by a genius.”
That gets a few laughs from us.
“Auditions are next week,” she continues, pacing the stage. “We’ll be reading scenes. I want to see interpretation, passion, a willingness to look a little foolish! And for our new faces,” her eyes land directly on me, and I sink a little into my seat, “this is a fantastic way to dive in. Don’t be shy! Now share yourself into groups”
As the class breaks into groups to read the first act, a girl with choppy black hair and a nose ring slides into the seat next to me. “Hey. You’re Aria, right?”
“That’s me,” I smiled, bracing myself for another round of interrogation.
“I’m Maya. You might not notice but we were lab partners in Chemistry.” She gives me a small smile. “I love the way you handled the Chloe situation at lunch. That was epic.”
“Oh. Thanks. I didn’t really do anything. Asher did.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t crumble. That’s the important part. You also got her embarrassed by her crushes.”
“Crush?”
“Yeah, she has always had a thing for both Asher and Nolan.” She nudges a photocopied script toward me. “So, are you auditioning? We need more people who aren’t afraid of Chloe Vanderbilt. The drama club is basically her personal fiefdom.”
“I don’t know… I’ve never acted before. At least, I don’t think I have.”
“Perfect!” Maya’s eyes light up. “Look, just think about it. I’m going for the role of Maria. The sassy servant who outsmarts everyone. It’s the best part.” She grins. “It’s way better than the lead, Viola. Moreover, Chloe’s probably already practicing her swooning maiden face for that one.”
The thought of going head–to–head with Chloe in an audition makes my palms sweat and back down? But deep down, what if I want to?
I noticed the mansion was unusually quiet as soon as I got home “Helen?” I call out, dropping my backpack by the staircase.
“In the sunroom, darling!” her voice floats back.
I walk in to find her standing in the center of the room, a vision in a cream–colored silk pantsuit, directing two staff members who are carefully hanging large, abstract paintings on the far wall.
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“What do you think?” she asks, gesturing dramatically. “Too bold Or not bold enough? Art is so stressful.”
“They’re… huge,” I say, staring at the vibrant splashes of color.
“They’re investments, sweetheart. Now, tell me about your day! Every single detail!”
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I smiled and recounted the events–leaving out the more stressful parts and focusing on Maya, Drama class, and all. I smiled at her reaction from outrage at Chloe’s name to delight at the mention of the play.
“Twelfth Night! Oh, I adore that play! The disguises! The poetry Robert courted me by quoting Orsino, you know.” She sighs dreamily. “If music be the food of love, play on…”
“He did not,” I laugh.
“He did! It was terribly cheesy and I loved every second. She walked up to me and looped her arm through mine, dragging me up. “You simply must audition. It’s decided.”
“Helen, I can’t. I don’t know how.”
“Nonsense! Our whole creation is art, It’s in our blood. You know I was the lead in every production at my finishing school. It’s all about confidence, darling. And you, my dear, after facing that terrible accident and that Vanderbilt girl, I’m sure you have buckets of it, you just don’t know it yet.” She pats my cheek. “We’ll practice! It’ll be fun!”
“Practice what? Please don’t tell me she’s taking up opera.” Asher strolls in, still in his blazer but with his tie gone and his hair
messy.
“Drama!” Helen announces with a cheeky grin. “She’s auditioning for the school play!”
Asher’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at me. “You? On stage? With… people watching?”
“That’s generally how theater works, yes,” I said blankly.
A grin spreads across his face. “Oh, this I have to see. You’re going to need help. You have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
“I do not!”
“You cried at a car commercial yesterday.”
“It was about a puppy finding its way home! It was poignant!”
Helen claps her hands. “Perfect! Asher, you can help her. You have a natural dramatic flair.”
“I have a flair for telling her she’s doing it wrong,” he corrects her grinning. “Alright, Tinker Bell. Let’s see what you’ve got. Hit me with your best shot, why don’t you hit me with your best Shakespeare.” He singsong, plopping down on a plush. velvet ottoman, striking–a pose of royal noble. “I am Orsino, Duke of Illyria. Impress me.”
I stare at him blankly. “I… I don’t have anything prepared.”
“Useless,” he sighs dramatically. “Fine. We’ll start with the basics Say ‘O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!‘ like you mean it.”
“Have you done a play before? Hi do you still remember that”
“Nope, but I’m a genius.” He smirked. “Now say ‘O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!‘ Say it like you mean it.”
I clear my throat, feeling utterly ridiculous. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright?”
“No, no, no!” Asher leaps to his feet. “You sound like you’re asking for directions to the bathroom at the palace of Versailles!
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You have to feel it! There’s a woman so beautiful she makes fire ook dim! It’s passion! It’s awe!” He throws a hand over his forehead. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn BRIGHT!” he screamed.
I burst out laughing. “You sound like a wounded cow!”
“I sound like a man in love!” he retorted, collapsing back onto the ottoman. “This is hopeless. You’re doomed.”
“I think she has a lovely voice,” Helen says from the sidelines, where she’s now sipping iced tea.
“She has the voice of a startled sparrow, Mother.”
“I do not!”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
