by Mary Gray
A sheen of sweat shines above Juliet’s chest and trickles across her tired face. Even her long black curls are matted down, wet. I’d like to tell her not to worry, that she will earn the vaccine. But in truth, I don’t know if she will; I don’t know if any of us will. I’m not even sure how impressed Teo will be with this soirée. The invitation said it would be a ball, but the only indication of that so far is the Renaissance-style music playing over the speakers hanging on the walls—some slow ballad with a lute, and what I’m pretty sure is a harp. This song doesn’t sound very dance-worthy; we need a beat.
“You doing okay?” I ask Juliet, noting the vines wrapped around the wrought-iron staircase and spiraling down the twisted columns throughout the room. The floor plan is identical to all the homes in Elysian Fields, only the décor fits the stage for Romeo and Juliet. Rose petals dot the chocolate hardwood floor, and one or two fake birds peek out from the ivy on the stairs.
“Just peachy!” Juliet says, pulling up the front of her lilac scoop-necked dress.
I try a few reassuring phrases in my head—just be yourself; flatter Teo, he likes that best—but by the time I’ve settled on something promising, Juliet’s already across the room by the windows, filling Sal’s and Ana’s glasses; they remain mute, like I have. Ana’s absently munching on another piece of celery, lost in thought.
I look around for Marcus, only to find him sitting on the red chaise lounge pushed up against the east wall. Naturally, Cleo’s sprawled across his lap, decked out in a paper-thin gold wrap, “reading” his palm. Tristan and Izzy hover over the chaise lounge, and Izzy keeps glancing at it like she wishes Cleo would move away so she and Tristan could cozy up. But Tristan’s rubbing his finger over what looks like a surfboard keychain, and I’m reminded of Izzy’s comment that he loves to surf. Without the ocean close by, he must be feeling especially caged in Elysian Fields.
Seconds later, Juliet crosses back toward me by the stairs. Not wanting to lose her again, I grab her arm. “Own your couple’s story,” I say as fast as I can. When it comes down to it, that’s what Teo wants. For us to show him we can be who he needs us to be. Most of us don’t like who we have become, but if it means obtaining the vaccine, we must do everything we can to convince him we love this place. No one wants to be killed, or fired up like Izzy said happened to Gwen.
Juliet shifts the bottle of sparkling cider to her other hand. “How are you doing?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
I blink, startled that she could be worrying about me. She’s the one hosting the soirée. She’s the one who needs to breathe.
“Teo’s kind of a control freak, isn’t he?” Juliet talks
through her teeth.
I stammer for a second, unsure what to say. The last thing I need is for Teo to suddenly show up in the room.
Locking her charcoal eyes on mine, Juliet says, “If you need anything, any time, you only need to ask. Let’s just say, I understand.” She glances at Romeo, who’s managed to pry Marc and Cleo apart. Whatever he and Marcus are talking about doesn’t look pleasant. Marcus keeps shaking his head, sending his black hair into his eyes, and Romeo’s gritting his teeth; I thought the two of them were friends.
“You mean Romeo?” I try to picture the cowboy treating Juliet wrong. But he seems like a likeable guy—even if he and Marcus are disagreeing about something now.
Juliet laughs, softly. “Ha, hardly. My boyfriend from before. The jerk controlled everything I did.” She then laughs heartily, as if we’ve just shared some secret joke. I join in, impressed by her act. But she goes further—holds her side, as if it’s the funniest thing she’s heard in her life. She braces a hand on the wrought-iron rails, gestures wildly, ever the perfect host. “I love this house,” she nearly shouts. Then she walks away from me to tend to everyone else. Poor Juliet. I wonder if she, too, thinks Teo won’t be impressed with her soirée—hopefully she’ll do something impressive, like some Renaissance-era dancing, soon.
Teo sneaks up behind me and snakes his arm around my waist. With his hand gripping the white fabric of my dress, I have to focus my entire concentration on not recoiling from his touch, the same touch that pushed the button on the remote to kill Ramus and Bee. How can he possibly think that was okay? He must not think of people as people, but as things.
When I don’t say anything for a while, Teo says, “You are rather quiet tonight, my love.”
I burrow my face in his neck to stall for time. Yeah, because everything I can think of to say involves avenging Ramus and Bee. But Izzy told me I need to act, so I take a steadying breath and dive right in. “I suppose there is so much to drink in. Your world is so elaborate, you know.”
Teo caresses the back of my arm, causing the hair to stand on end. “Mmm,” he murmurs into my goose-bumped neck. “You do know how to stroke an ego so. Did you notice the detailing on the baseboards? I signed William Shakespeare’s name myself.”
I force myself to stand up straight, to study the baseboard below the stairs, because that’s what Teo expects. And he’s right—a black signature lies at the very center of the eggshell-colored trim. Eggshells—that’s how I feel with him. Walking on eggshells. I never truly understood the term until now. But Teo is no doubt awaiting a compliment, so I lather it on thick. “Even your writing looks like his.”
The compliment works beautifully, because his lips press against mine, his stubble bristling across my sensitive skin. And I hate it; I do. The way his tongue thrashes against my own, causing me to wither away like a daffodil in a frost. But then he lowers his mouth, repeating what he did before when we were in his room. He brings those tender lips to my neck and brushes my skin before kissing my throat.
I should hate it, and I abhor myself that I don’t. My mind shrivels, but there’s this little part of my body that quivers at his touch. Like it hasn’t gotten the memo that Teo’s a deranged killer who enjoys snipping marionettes. I wonder if there’s a way to murder that part of myself.
Apparently I’m blushing, because Teo chuckles softly. “You liked that?” he asks, just like before, and I tell all my feminine hormones to jump off a cliff. What did Izzy say? Lots and lots of kissing. I want to strangle myself.
Teo’s ironclad seahorse grasp softens, and I feel like I can breathe again. I wonder if he noticed I was different beneath his touch, but he doesn’t say anything as he looks around the room.
The Renaissance music has shifted; now it’s a song heavy on the drums and bells. A few paces away, by the refreshment counter of apples and cheese, Eloise and Abe are struggling with Eloise’s skirts, but it appears they’re making a game out of her dress, arranging it over her shoulder, or pinning it on her hip. They laugh as if they can’t imagine a more amusing game. On one hand, I’m glad they’re finding some fun in Teo’s dark world, but on the other, I feel they should be mourning the loss of Ramus and Bee, since Bee and Eloise were close friends.
One of the longhaired blond boys—Lance—is lightly tapping wooden spoons on an upside-down bowl in the corner by the chaise lounge, and I remember Ana wrote that he plays drums. His partner, Gwen, the Doublemint blonde girl with frizzier hair, taps her foot to the beat.
Marc and Romeo don’t look like they’re talking anymore, because Romeo is suddenly walking away from him and striding into the middle of the room.
“Juliet!” Romeo shouts in a twang that jars my ears. “Will you give me the honor of the first dance?”
Juliet bows like she’s been waiting for Romeo to ask, but my pulse quickens, because Romeo’s already ruining his tale. Romeo stole into Juliet’s ball—he was a Montague, therefore hated by all Capulets. Didn’t the couple do their reading? He needs to sound more Shakespearean and less redneck.
The couple, now facing each other on the dance floor, reach out for each other, and I’m relieved to see them lift up their hands but leave a slight gap between their palms, like they want to touch, but can’t. I’m not sure if it’s actually from the Renaissance era, but it works.
> Romeo and Juliet move seamlessly to the beat, their footsteps light on the dark floor. When percussion trickles through the tune, they switch palms; as if on cue, both sets of Doublemint twins join them on the floor. Izzy’s green eyes swim with pleasure that she gets to dance with Tristan. Lance and Gwen don’t seem all that hesitant to dance with each other, either, and it makes me wonder if Teo is noticing this—that his couples are “uniting” as he required us to do in his third rule.
Each couple holds out their palms, and when the music increases in tempo, the girls sashay their skirts.
Eloise squeals as she pulls Abe onto the floor, and Cleo’s paws are not only on Marc’s hands, but his back, his neck, and, for a split second, his butt.
My teeth clamp shut. Not that it should matter—Marc can be touched by whomever he wants—but then he pushes Cleo’s hand away, and I know there is a chance Marc and I can be friends.
Glancing sideways at Teo, I try to see if he wants to join the others in the room, but his eyes are fastened on the front door. He must be thinking their “devotion” is pretty bad. They started off shaky, but I’m thinking this dance actually works. Surely he’s willing to give them a little more time to earn the vaccine. And no one is clowning around, like they were before Ramus and Bee died. I can’t imagine Romeo and Juliet doing more to enhance their tale.
Teo cocks a playful eyebrow at me, saying, “I do believe I know how to improve this tune.” And without another word, he brushes past me and out the front door. I’m glad he’s not killing anybody, but then again, maybe he is. Maybe his idea of “improving things” is finding a dagger and some poison and smearing a bit of blood with those rose petals on the floor.
I look to the couples, thinking maybe I should warn them or something. But what am I supposed to say? Quick, run for your lives! Teo says he’s going to “improve” your song. My evidence is as flimsy as those vines wrapped around the iron rods on the stairs.
Ana clomps over to me in her orange sari, that bit of duct tape still fastening together her skirts. She sees me looking and laughs. “Needless to say, I’m glad Teo left the room. Sal would shrivel up and die if we touched.”
I could say the point of the dance is to not touch, but Ana’s little comment makes goose bumps sizzle over my skin. How bad must she feel about herself? Sal is an idiot. He’s the one nobody wants to touch.
Teo bursts through the door again. My slamming heartbeats ease since there’s no weapon in his fist. Instead, it’s his violin. I’ve marveled at Teo’s abilities many times, but I won’t let his playing affect me.
The red wood gleams off the high light of the room, and Teo wordlessly strides up the stairs. When he reaches the top, in my mind he leans over the rail and claims, your dance moves beg to be improved, but instead Teo simply tucks his mahogany instrument below his chin and plays.
His slender arm sways gracefully like it did in class. The instrument hums the pitch of a tenor, and the bow flick-flicks just as the women kick. He’s mimicking the music and dancers in the room. Even Ana and Sal have found the dance floor, not dancing with as much grace as the other dancers, but staying in time with the beat.
When the women twirl, Teo’s bow glides like an ice skater whirling on a lake, and when the tambourines ding over the speakers, Teo stitches all the sounds together like the embroidery on Juliet’s skirts.
Part of me wants to join in and sing a cadence, too, but the other louder, more fearful side of me remembers what happened at the end of another one of Teo’s plays. He tricked Bee into going over that wall and had Jonas chase Ramus onto the other side. Jonas isn’t anywhere I can see, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t hovering on the periphery, readying himself for the moment when Teo says, “Leap.”
Eventually, the music dies down, and my heartbeats grow louder, cracking over the flat silence of the room. Juliet’s crimson cheeks and chest are drenched in sweat, and I watch as Romeo deftly hands her a glass of water and a dishtowel for the sweat.
As Teo lowers his violin, it’s impossible to look away. From where he stands on the balcony, his hungry eyes devour the couples below him, and even from here I can see his chest heaving up and down. I silently cheer Romeo and Juliet for arranging this ball and inspiring Teo to make it his own, to take part.
Tentatively, Abe brings his hands together for a clap, and Eloise joins in, swishing her skirts. The Doublemint boys grab the girls by their waists and lift them up, and Teo, high above, laughs. “I knew the addition of my violin would enhance the tale!”
Gwen giggles and tosses up a few rose petals from the hardwood floor. As if the rose petals aren’t enough, she then moves on to tossing up a fake bird. The little fowl slices against the ceiling fan’s pull-string before dropping down to Gwen’s hands, and when I can see she means to toss it higher, I fear it will hit Teo, so the muscles in my mouth unhinge.
I’ve just opened my mouth, uttered a “N—,” when the feathered dove smacks Teo right on the side of his head. My heart, my organs jump inside my mouth. She didn’t really just hit him. How will he react?
Six men and seven women look up at our leader, Teo, far above. He’s trailing his fingers across the side of his head, seemingly too startled to know how to speak. It’s like he can feel the imprint of where the little bird hit, like the white fowling has seared its shape into the side of his head.
Licking his lips, Teo grips the high banister with both hands, leans forward, and…laughs.
The sound is impossible to categorize. Disbelief? Or shock? He’s going to ask for Jonas to take care of Gwen now. Because she just hit him with a bird. He’s laughing because he will kill. Looking down on us, Teo cries, “Our reenactment has awakened the birds!”
An unsure chuckle echoes Teo’s reaction. Two or three people full out laugh. But Gwen, maybe only two or three feet from me, cowers in her green medieval dress and keeps muttering the acronyms, “OMG. OMFG.” I think I’m with Gwen.
But Teo has that look in his eyes he got when he played for us in class. Forty minutes would get swept away, and none of the other students minded because it meant we just had to watch. Teo’s classical violin classes were my favorite, too, not because we didn’t take notes, but because I got to watch him play.
Eventually, Teo turns his fierce ebony gaze on all of us far below. “Romeo and Juliet—”
Someone clears his throat.
As if he’s purposely trying to ruin the moment, Romeo breaks away from the group, wearing a sequined mask. Extending one hand to Juliet, Romeo cries in his thick twang, “Though I wear this visor, the Capulet let me through. And, though you do not see me, I can see you.”
Juliet’s grin is so fierce it makes my chest hurt. Her fingers twitch, and beads of sweat trickle down her neck. In a voice that’s a little too high-pitched, she replies, “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”
I watch in amazement as Romeo pulls out a ring. With trembling hands he says, “The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”
This is precisely not what I think should happen. Teo, no doubt, will find this absurd. We are far too young; he’ll find it a mockery in his world. And yet—he did set up these fourteen homes. The men and women are paired, so maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe it makes sense for Romeo to take this leap. If the couples don’t die, maybe Teo wants them to prove their devotion to each other first, but we shouldn’t be forced to pledge ourselves to each other like this.
Romeo and Juliet stand awkwardly together like some Renaissance Barbie and Ken, and I can’t decide whether Teo will smile down on their work, or give a flick of the bow, signaling Jonas to take care of them. What would Teo do to murder the couple now? In the story, Juliet takes a sleeping potion, but Romeo thinks she is dead, so he kills himself with poison, then Juliet uses Romeo’s dagger to take her own life. So would Jonas be hiding poison or daggers, or both? But Teo remains precisely where he stands and doesn’t flick his bow for Jonas to come.
Gripping the banister of the balcony, Teo st
ares down on Romeo and Juliet. “Well?” he asks. “Do you promise to wed?”
Romeo twists his mask in his hands, his face drenched in sweat. Marcus, a few paces off, keeps looking at him, moving off the chaise lounge like he wants to stand with his friend.
“Sir,” Romeo says in his twang, “I would like to clarify. The ring is more of a promise thing. We’re not exactly thinking of marrying right now, but we commit to each other and to this place.”
Where before it might have been said that Teo’s face was sublime, now the contentment erodes, and two ebony eyes with fangs lash out. “You either commit or you don’t. There is no halfway.” He ignores Romeo completely and turns to Juliet. Please, Juliet, say something to calm the fire in his gaze.
When Teo says, “What do you have to say?” Juliet shifts her feet, and I can’t help feeling like I’m inside her body, answering Teo instead. Because I know what it’s like to be put on the spot, to have all the pressure mounting on you and to want desperately to please him. Juliet looks around the room, like she might get help from the other couples somehow, and when she looks at Izzy, Izzy’s green eyes pop, like she’s saying, “You can do this.”
But Juliet seems to be consumed with self-doubt. She’s biting her lip and pulling on her curled hair, and I can’t help remembering how she told me of her boyfriend before, how he tried to control her life. Her voice as small as a child’s, she says, “I don’t really know if I’m ready to wed.”
Teo’s voice grows stern. “And why is that?”
She blinks, like she’s trying hard not to cry. “We’re not ready,” she says. “Like Romeo said.”
In my mind’s eye, Teo plays his song again, and the women’s dresses whip around the figures of the plain-clothed men. How can he waffle on her verdict like this? He can’t really believe he has the authority to decide whether or not they deserve to die or live. I hate that we do nothing, merely watch as he reigns. But Juliet must know she’s hanging on by a thread, because she closes her eyes and cries, “I wish to wed!”