by CJ Adler
The only thing I leave out is the people who were originally involved from the start—no way am I ratting out my friends. Bells will curl up into a ball and die if ever faced with detention again.
Principal Long nods in understanding, sighing. “I'll handle it. I'm surprised you came to me with this. I was expecting you to withhold such information. I appreciate you doing the right thing for once. However, you are suspended for the next week as punishment for your actions.”
My face falls at that. “This is why I never do the right thing.”
“Look on the bright side,” he smiles encouragingly, “it will give you more time to work on improving your grades.”
I grin. “Always the optimistic type, huh, Pete?”
Principal Long shakes his head at me before addressing me by my first name. “Aqueela, I'm way too lenient with you.”
I don't like much staff here at the school but Principal Long is one man I do respect wholeheartedly.
“Why is that, sir?” I ask, jumping back to formalities.
He taps his chin with his pen as if thinking about it. “It's because, despite your habit of always causing trouble, you truly are a student with much potential. I see it in you. You're a good student. You're intelligent too, just lazy. I see a bright future for you if you just work for it. I know your circumstances at home have been rusty but you always persevere. No one but yourself can hold you back. You're a leader at heart, Lawson.”
I fall speechless. It's not often someone compliments me. It's a lot to take in. I'm not used to anyone caring about me, at least not in a parental way. I don't act like it but I value Principal Long's opinion. Nonetheless, it's a dagger to the heart because I'm reminded of my own father and how little he cares.
“You might find your father, Aqueela, but you'll never find your dad. You're looking for
someone who just doesn’t exist, not anymore.”
***
“Where've you been? It's 10 p.m. You've been gone all afternoon. You just vanished after Long stopped your strike,” Jay says as I stagger into the house. “Why didn't you answer my calls? You had me panicking. I thought something happened.” Unsteady on my feet, my balance off and my vision blurry, I almost fall as I stumble my way over to him.
Jay notices immediately. “Are you drunk right now?”
I have my flaws. I'm a lightweight—one drink and I'm wasted.
“Jay,” I murmur, “I'm not feeling well,” I manage to say before collapsing against his chest.
I feel his arms shoot out to steady me before he leads me to the couch and forces me to sit down. “Wait here. I'll get you some water to sober you up.” He pauses as if rethinking it. “Actually, I'll give you some Advil when your headache starts.”
“What headache?” I hiccup, my gaze transfixed on him.
“Don't worry about that now,” he says as he sits down beside me. “Why, Aqueela, are you such an idiot?” he murmurs to himself, just loud enough for me to hear. “Want to tell me why you're drunk?” he eventually asks me the dreaded question.
I pout at his question, not wanting to relive what I'd just been through.
“Nope.” I shake my head, mirroring a child's expression.
He sighs but drops the subject. “I heard that you've been suspended for the next week. Is it true?”
I nod, swallowing.
“Hey,” he taps my shoulder gently, “at least, it's not expulsion.”
“Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets? That's one of the mysteries of life, I tell you,” I say absentmindedly, unable to keep focus on the topic at hand.
Jay furrows his eyebrows at me in concern. “You are beyond drunk,” he states knowingly.
“But am I? Am I really?” I question him, puzzled.
His gaze travels down the length of my body as he takes in my entire appearance and studies me with the utmost of worry.
I click my fingers in front of his face as if to capture his attention again.
“Hey, hey, hey, Mister, my eyes are up here,” I point to my face.
Jay's blue eyes meet mine at my request. “Oh, don't I know it.” He smiles playfully before grabbing my index finger, guiding it to way above my eyes. “You were pointing at your lips,” he tells me. “Your eyes are there,” he corrects, releasing my hand.
“Stop staring!” I whine as I fidget under his gaze.
Jay chuckles in amusement at my reaction. “Why? Does it make you feel uncomfortable?” He prods, deliberately leaning in closer to me.
I frown at him and shift away from him. “Are you flirting with me?” I ask outright.
He averts his eyes for a second as if weighing the pros and cons of answering honestly in his head. His eyes soon find mine again. There's a glint of determination in his blue depths, a small smile now tugging at his lips. “And what if I said 'yes'?”
“I'd ask why you are still staring,” I retort back cheekily.
His expression changes to one of seriousness again as he focuses his eyes on me. “I'm just concerned because you're not looking well...” He trails off upon seeing my face. “I didn't mean it like that. You always look b–” he catches himself, “you always look fine to me, you just seem down today.”
I watch him carefully, suddenly feeling drowsy.
He inspects me too as if trying to work something out. “Why do you like me?”
“What?” I breathe out tiredly.
“Why do you like me, Aqueela? I just have to know for myself,” he asks, his eyes trained on me as he patiently waits for my answer.
I let out a yawn in reply and stretch. “Why don't you save that question for sober Aqueela?” I suggest. “She'll answer it the right way.”
“Because she'd most likely slap me for even bringing it up,” he says, explaining it to me as if I'm a two-year-old.
“Mhmm,” I nod, not catching any of that. “So, tell me, JJ, why'd you defend me?” I ask with a sly grin.
I catch him off guard. “You're pushier when drunk,” he mutters under his breath.
“Thank you.” I smile, not following.
“Because they were throwing insults at you every five seconds and I couldn't just sit there and do nothing,” he answers truthfully. “And I'd do it again too.”
“And that's probably why sober Aqueela likes you,” I tell him, fighting to keep my eyes open.
“You mean a lot to me,” he says quietly. “But I'm never going to be good enough for you,” he informs me as if fighting an internal battle with himself. “You deserve the best…and I'm not it. I never will be. I wish you'd see that.”
“Why would you say that?” I question, grinning happily for no particular reason, barely comprehending anything.
“That's a question for sober Aqueela to ask me,” he replies, holding back a grin himself.
My smile falters at this before vanishing completely.
He notices and offers me another truth in return. “I'm only going to say this because I know you won't remember any of this by morning, but back in science, I did do it for you.”
I raise both eyebrows, lost. “Why tell me this now?”
“Because you won't remember any of it,” he answers casually.
“Alrighty.” I yawn again, now bored of his company. “Don't tell me then.”
Honestly, I forgot what we were just speaking about.
“To the world you may be one, but to one you might be the world. For me, that's always been you. You're my world,” he says tenderly, keeping his eyes locked on me as if restraining himself from reaching out and touching me.
He waits for me to say something back, but for the life of me, I have no words. My last remaining brain cell dies. Tipsy, I can feel my eyelids growing heavier by the second. “Samezies,” I drawl out in exhaustion.
“I guess I deserve this. I fell asleep on you, now you're falling asleep on me.” He chuckles.
My eyes begin to close on their own accord as 'sleep-deprived Aqueela' kicks in. “You smell so good, Jay,” I mumble, b
reathing in his minty scent as my head drops against his hard chest.
Still, I manage to hear Jay's last words before passing out:
“You asked me what I wanted to say, I was going to say that I don't want space. Aqueela, I want you. I always have. I'm glad you stopped me. You reminded me that I'm never going to be him. I'm never going to be the person you deserve. You're not mine to take.”
As if triggered, that awful headache begins.
Chapter 38
Julio and Romiet
“I want you to know that I blame you for this,” Bells says, pointing an accusing finger at me, a teasing frown on her face.
“I second that,” Laiken agrees with her before everyone else on stage agrees too. “This is going to be so humiliating. My rep is over. I'm going to be the laughing stock of the school.”
“My popularity just died.” Melinda scoffs, also annoyed.
This coming from the people who all willingly became my henchman. If anything, I'm a hero!
Max places his arm around my shoulder. “Aww, come on guys, it's not completely all Aqueela's fault…but for the most part it is.” He backs me up in a twisted way like any good friend would.
“You're right! It's your fault too!” Melinda hisses at Max, pinning the rest of the blame on him.
Max shields himself behind me in an act to block her merciless attacks.
It's been a full week since the strike. My week suspension is officially over. However, one of the rats in the school told Principal P that Bell and the others were involved too. If I find that rat…I'll introduce it to a cat!
Principal P spoke with Mrs. Paige. Thankfully, she's taken back the essay. However, she and Principal P have made an agreement to teach us our lesson, we, the ones who first started the protest, have to participate in the school's drama club. In other words, we have to star in our school's annual play.
Seeing as Max and I were the instigators behind the strike, we were told to direct the play. Bells and the others were to act in it. That idea was called off when Max and I went way too far. We took it over-the-top. We got too invested into our roles as directors.
We came down hard on the actors and kept yelling 'cut' several times after a single take. Bells got really peeved when we wouldn't let her go home. It's not our fault we wanted to see perfection on stage. We wanted our performers to rise to fame and become stars. Also, taking away your actors' lunch breaks is apparently seen as a big 'no-no', so is calling one of the performers absolutely useless—cough, cough, Melinda.
Apparently, the fame got to our heads, but that's all hearsay. Since then, Max and I have been reenlisted back into the play as actors. Unfortunately for me, Principal P has a good relationship with my grandparents. It makes sense considering all the times he's called them in. Anyway, it's unfortunate because he got in touch with them and now they're our new play directors.
My grams and gramps have been lying to people for years about being professional play directors. They tell everyone that they directed 'Titanic'. They now believe their own lie as a result. Unfortunately, Principal P fell for the lie too.
If Principal P thought Max and I were bad directors, he has seen nothing yet.
There's suddenly a loud, high-pitched sound from within the sound room.
Everyone, including me, covers their ears upon hearing the earsplitting sound.
“Is this gizmo on?” Gramps asks, tapping the microphone yet again as the sound echoes around the entire hall.
Gramps is dressed in typical film director attire. He spent a fortune buying it all. He's got a red beret on his head, glasses, a white tank top to show off his saggy arms and, the worst part, neon-colored skinny jeans matched with black boots. It looks like a rainbow just threw up on him. He's even pretending to be chewing gum to make himself look younger. He also has a fake mustache. Yup, he's definitely going to have difficulty removing that dead hamster from his face.
And Laiken thinks this is embarrassing for him!
Grams whacks Gramps upside the head. “Of course, it's on, you absurd creature you! Stop it, you hooligan! You're making my granny ears bleed.”
Gramps taps the mic again and waits for the sound as if fascinated by the microphone. “Echo. Echo. Echo,” he repeats into the mic, seemingly amazed when the sound echoes through the speakers on stage. “What a nifty gadget this is.”
Grams snatches it out of his hand all too eagerly. “Testing, testing. One, two, three. One, two, three,” she says into the mic, bringing it way too close to her mouth, spit droplets flying everywhere.
Laiken's eyes move off of my grandparents and back onto me. “You make a lot more sense now, Lawson.”
“Please,” I scoff, “those two are in a whole different league of crazy.”
Grams, after first wasting time, finally starts us off. “We'll start with our warming up exercises. We're going to warm up our vocal chords. On the count of three, I want you to all blare out your favorite insult on the tips of your tongues—”
“I don't think that's appropriate, Mrs. Lawson,” Mrs. Paige cuts Grams off—a mistake she should not make a habit out of, that is, if she values her life.
Grams glowers at her. “Excuse me? Who's the one that's been trained to be a film director for years? Me or you?”
I'll tell you what, it's definitely not Grams.
Mrs. Paige keeps quiet this time 'round.
Grams turns back to us and continues, “Sing with me now, just a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go 'round, the medicine go 'round, the med—” She pauses in anger. “Why are none of you singing along?!” she snaps at us. “Do you want to be singers or not?! This song can be a hit single.”
The song already exists and it's ancient. Also, she messed up the lyrics.
“Grams, we're acting, not singing,” I remind her seeing as everybody else is too afraid to.
Mrs. Paige takes over again. “Laiken is Romeo. Bella is obviously Juliet. Max, you can be Romeo's understudy. There really isn't much else for you to do.”
Haha! Max is going to have a fit when Bells kisses Laiken. In fact, Bell looks horrified by the news too. As for Laiken, well, he's clearly enjoying how this play is playing out.
Melinda scoffs quietly to herself in contempt; somebody wanted to play Juliet and have the spotlight to herself, as always.
“My brute—” Grams catches herself, “I mean, my husband, skimmed through the script you gave us yesterday afternoon. Principal P said you'd be open to suggestions?” She drawls slowly as if seeking confirmation from Mrs. Paige.
I can already see where this is going. The final destination is going to be an ugly place.
“Of course.” Mrs. Paige nods at her, smiling.
Wrong move, Mrs. Paige, wrong move!
Grams grins in satisfaction with the last of her crooked teeth. “Great because I hate the script. It's just too cliché.”
Mrs. Paige's smile immediately wavers. “It has to be cliché,” she clarifies.
“After all, it is the world-renowned story of Romeo and Juliet. All clichés were built from their story.”
Grams sticks out her tongue in contemplation before shaking her head. “Meh! I just don't see the point of the play or feel the characters. It is just ridiculous how Romiet and Julio run into the sunset and live happily ever after. Astonishing really. We need a more realistic ending, say a character actually dying for once.”
I slap my forehead. She's just made it obvious that she never read the script.
Mrs. Paige's mouth falls open in shock as she tries to respond. She's at a loss for words.
Gramps backs Grams up as he voices his opinion too, “We just decided to make a few adjustments to the play is all.”
“Not a problem,” Mrs. Paige tells them ever so sweetly. “As long as the concept is still there.”
“Of course!” Grams reassures her in false understanding.
“Let's see these minor adjustments then,” Mrs. Paige replies, interested.
Grams and Gr
amps smile in victory before taking out a completely new script. Grams eagerly hands it over to Mrs. Paige to read, basically forcing it into her hands.
Mrs. Paige glances through the new papers with a perplexed expression on her face. “This is an entirely different play to 'Romeo and Juliet'. This is a whole new script.”
“Read on a little,” Grams insists. “I'm sure you'll agree that we've merely improved your original play.”
Mrs. Paige obeys and turns the pages as she briefly skims through some of it. “Romeo and Juliet don't even feature in here. You've changed the entire play. Plus, there's so many spelling and grammatical errors.”
That explains why they were busy yesterday when I visited.
“Hey, now! We did not fault your cliché work,” Grams points out, offended.
Mrs. Paige bites down on her tongue to restrain herself from lashing out at them. “No, you just changed my entire play which is not at all insulting,” she retorts in sarcasm.
“Exactly! Now you're following,” Gramps exclaims gleefully, not catching the sarcasm.
Mrs. Paige frowns. “What I'm not following is this play. It doesn't even make sense. The scenes are random. Nothing follows on. It's almost as if you just combined two plays into one.”
“Hey! That's exactly what we did because we couldn't agree. We combined my Ninja Turtle play with Lillian's absurd Dragon Ball Z play!” Gramps cheers, clapping his hands as if proud when, really, that's the last thing he should be.
Mrs. Paige continues reading it. “Leonardo eats pizza just as Goku defeats Cell?” She loses her temper and throws the script at Grams in fury. “I quit!” She hisses before storming out of the hall.
Everyone falls silent in response.
“Took her long enough,” Grams retorts bitterly as if that was her goal all along.
“Uncultured swine!” Gramps coughs under his breath, glaring holes into Mrs. Paige's back as she walks away.
Grams, on cue, turns to stare at us, a condescending grin on her face. “Shall we get started? You all ready to get fresh with me?”
“No.” Laiken scoffs in dread.