by Emma Scott
“Bang? Screw? Nail?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. They do. Nothing wrong with it so long as everyone’s down, okay?”
Benny peered up at me, his brows furrowed. “Why you getting so after-school-special on me?”
“It’s important.”
He thought about this, then shrugged. “Cool.”
We ate our cake as the sun broke through the gray and glinted against the rusted pickup. Benny started humming “Feeling Good.”
“Since when do you know Nina Simone?” I asked.
He blinked. “Who?”
“The song just now.”
“I don’t know any Nina. I got that from the Jay-Z video.”
“That works, I guess.”
“Tonight’s your last show?” he asked.
“Last Oedipus, yeah.”
“You sad about that?”
“Not really,” I said.
For whatever reason, the memory of Willow Holloway came back to me, when she was standing outside the theater with a program in her hand.
I glanced over at Benny with frosting smeared over one cheek and smiled a little. “It was a good birthday.”
Willow
Monday morning in English class, I sat in the only available seat—in the back row next to Isaac Pearce. He was already in the one I’d taken last week—slouched back, arms crossed, legs sprawled. He looked straight ahead as I came down the aisle and I tried to keep my own gaze restricted to a quick snapshot. Leather jacket, jeans, boots. The hard, angular features of his face no longer godly under stage lights, but no less devastatingly handsome.
I tucked myself into the desk beside him and stashed my backpack under my feet. Isaac’s otherworldly performance had stayed with me all weekend. Taking a seat next to him in something as ordinary as English class felt odd, though I began to see why Isaac saved his words for the stage—he sat in his chair like it could hardly contain him.
He’s too big for this town.
I stole a glance at him and caught him stealing one of me. My heart jumped in my chest. We both looked away and I sat perfectly still until the electric tingle subsided.
Holy shit.
“Hey,” a voice hissed to my left.
I looked around to see Angie hanging over the back of her seat staring at me, amusement in her brown eyes. Her sweatshirt had a graphic of a rhinoceros and said, Chubby unicorns need love too.
“Have we met?” she asked. “You look familiar? Did we hang out last Friday or did I imagine it?”
“Oh, hey,” I said, finding a smile for her. “What’s up?”
She glanced at Mr. Paulson, who was still shuffling through a mountain of paper on his desk, then motioned me closer. We huddled together, whispering, just like I used to do with Michaela and the girls back in New York. Before X crossed them out of my life.
Angie tilted her chin at Isaac behind me. “It’s like sitting next to Kit Harrington, right? Or Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall.”
I bit a smile between my teeth and shrugged. “I think I can handle it.”
“You sure about that? You didn’t even remember I existed until a second ago, which normally would have broken my heart.” Her eyes widened and she hunched closer to me, her whisper turning to a hiss. “Are you into him? I keep telling you it’s a lost cause, but maybe not. Maybe he’s into you. You should tell him you saw his show. Tell him you cried.”
“Shh.” I whacked her hand, a jolt of heated embarrassment surging through me. “I didn’t cry.”
Angie raised her eyebrows.
“Shit. You saw that?”
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “He has that effect on everyone.” She jerked her chin at Doug Keely across the room. “Sometimes the jocks beat their chests and toss a rude comment his way, but Isaac shuts them down quick. Like a pouncing lion. Or a jaguar?” She tapped a fingernail to her front teeth. “What’s the sexiest genus in the big cat family?”
“Panther,” I whispered, then rolled my eyes. Still, it felt good to gossip about a boy with a friend. Normal.
Except the boy in question is actually a man and sitting right next to me.
“Panther, yes,” Angie said, entirely too loudly. “Anyway, what was I saying?”
“Jocks giving Isaac shit?” I whispered.
“Mm. It’s glorious to behold. I’m not a fan of violence, but watching him in any kind of action is hot. He’s so…electric.” She gave me a lascivious look. “It makes you wonder what he’s like in bed. You know?”
A little thrill shot down my spine before turning ugly and heavy in my chest. Tightening my lungs, turning my breath shallow. The idea of being in bed with a beautiful man like Isaac—or any man for that matter—was a sweet ache of want that rotted under the black X. A swift sadness filled me, how such an innocuous comment and such a natural part of human nature could become so tainted. I sat back, away from Angie’s warm energy.
Boy talk, apparently, was another thing to put on my list of things Xavier had X’d out of my life.
Angie misread my reaction and her friendly smile fell. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m one hundred percent Nash’s girl—”
“No, I’m not…” I stammered. “I know you are. I just—”
“Good morning, class,” Mr. Paulson said, moving to the front of the room.
I turned my attention to him with relief, though Angie’s perplexed attention lingered on my left. On my right, Isaac was staring straight ahead, his face a stone. All at once, I was sure he’d heard every word of mine and Angie’s conversation. Embarrassment swamped me and I tried to dismiss it. He was probably used to girls whispering about him and anyway, I was too young to be worthy of his attention.
“Couple of announcements,” Mr. Paulson said. “The Spring Fling tickets go on sale next week. The dance will be held in the gym on March…” He peered at the paper in his hand. “March fifteenth. Also, if any of you read the Harmony Tribune instead of Twitter, you’ll know the Harmony Community Theatre announced its next show will be Shakespeare’s Hamlet.”
As if there were another Hamlet. Immediately, all eyes turned to Isaac, who didn’t move an inch under the sudden scrutiny.
“I know many of you have seen our own Mr. Pearce’s unbelievable performance as Oedipus,” Mr. Paulson said, beaming like a proud dad. He pointed a thumb at himself. “This classics lover saw it twice. Bravo, Isaac. I’m sure I speak for many of us when I say we look forward to seeing you take on The Bard’s most iconic play.”
Isaac made no response but to nod slightly. I frowned, wondering if Isaac even needed to audition for roles any more. Then I remembered him falling to his knees in agony, fake blood pouring down his cheeks.
He probably didn’t.
“On that note,” Mr. Paulson said, “the HCT is holding open auditions next Wednesday, seven p.m. at the theater.”
My head snapped up. Out of my peripheral, I saw Isaac’s head jerk my way in response. We made eye contact and again I felt that zap of electricity, this time laced with curiosity before he looked away.
“I’ll leave the info on the bulletin board for any eager thespians who want to give it a shot,” Mr. Paulson said. “In fact, I’ll give extra credit for our Poetry and Drama unit at the end of the year to any who lands a part. Or volunteers to help with the production.”
This news didn’t send anyone rushing to the bulletin board, and Paulson began the day’s lesson about the symbolism in Crime and Punishment. I stared through the blackboard, my thoughts filling with possibilities.
Open auditions.
Deep within me, the flicker of light that reached to the stage Friday night, wanting what Isaac could do, reached up again. It burned straight and clear for an instant, then cowered again. What the hell did I know about acting? The last time I’d been on stage was my riveting portrayal of Monkey #3 in Ms. Mellon’s kindergarten production, Meet the Jungle Animals!
Bad idea, I thought. This is a real theater with real actors. And it’s Shakespeare. People t
rain for years to do Shakespeare.
When the bell rang, I lingered by Mr. Paulson’s bulletin board, long enough to mentally grab HCT’s website address. Angie’s eagle eyes noticed, though. Leaving the room, she linked her arm in mine with a familiarity I wanted to both lean on and squirm from.
“Why, Miss Holloway,” she said. “I had no idea you were a fan of old Bill Shakespeare.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just…curious. And my dad is all up my ass about extra curriculars.”
“Uh huh. Or is the idea of spending time with Isaac Pearce the motivation beneath your subtext?”
“I am not interested in Isaac,” I said.
I disentangled my arm from hers a little too forcefully and my ankle turned in my short-heeled boot. It didn’t hurt, but I stumbled right into someone. Someone tall, built like a brick wall, and wearing a black leather jacket. A strong hand shot out to steady me, and I tilted my head up to see Isaac Pearce looking down at me.
Of course.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey,” he replied.
He speaks…
We stood close, too close. Like a couple-at-a-dance-close. I smelled his soap, a hint of peppermint, the leather of his jacket, and the smoky undertones of his cigarettes. He was impossibly good-looking. My eyes swept over his features quickly, as if afraid to miss anything. When my eyes met the green of his, another of those little jolts shot through me again. I stepped back.
“Yeah, so… I’m sorry for…bumping you.”
Oh my God get a grip. He’s not a priceless statue.
I could feel Angie’s amusement behind me and my cheeks flushed pink.
Isaac’s grey-green eyes softened. For a split second I thought he was actually going to say something. But his expression hardened and he strode away.
“Okay,” I said to his back. “Nice chatting with you.”
I turned to see Angie watching me expectantly, her brows raised.
“What?”
“You touched him. He touched you. Is your life changed forever?”
I had to laugh, all my irritation at her draining out. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
She grinned. “I’ve been told.”
We stopped at my locker and Angie leaned against the bank while I exchanged my English notebook for economics. One bank of lockers down, Isaac was turning the dial on his padlock. I kept my eyes on my belongings, trying to ignore the pull to look at him.
Well, come on, he’s gorgeous. I should want to look at him. It’s normal.
“So,” Angie drawled the word into seventeen syllables. “I’m going to throw this out there one last time then leave you alone, I promise.” She batted her eyelashes and pouted like a begging puppy. “Yearbook?”
It would’ve been so easy to say yes. Yearbook was safe. Something I could do from the sidelines. Documenting other kids living their lives would be like a science experiment: What Normal Looks Like. But the memory of Isaac’s acting the other night—the catharsis of emotion—called to me. Hamlet felt like the first thing I could do—a step toward getting me out from under Xavier’s black X. Or at least try.
I shut my locker to look at Angie and sucked in a breath.
“I know you won’t believe me that it has nothing to do with Isaac, but I’m going to audition for Hamlet.”
There. It’s out there. No going back.
“Yeah?” Angie pursed her lips. “Have you ever acted before?”
“Never,” I said. “It’s stupid, right? I’m not going to get a part. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Way to be positive, Holloway,” Angie said, then softened. “For real, if this is what you want, then go for it. I’ll help.”
“You will?”
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, honestly, you’d make a killer Ophelia.”
“Ophelia,” I said, rolling the name over my tongue like a sweet candy, and racked my brain for what I knew of Hamlet. Which wasn’t much. “Doesn’t she go crazy and kill herself?”
“That’s the one. Big, juicy role. Iconic. My queen, Kate Winslet, played her. And Julia Stiles. Helena Bonham-Carter…”
“Yeah?” I asked, my hopes rising, then crashing again. “If it’s an important role, they’re not going to trust it to a noob like me.”
Angie blew a small raspberry. “The director, Ford, casts talent, not experience. Why else do you think Oedipus was full of grocers and hairdressers instead of grad students? You need a killer monologue to audition with.” She dramatically jabbed her finger down the hallway. “Get thee to the library.”
“Um, what?” I laughed, grateful for this quirky, kindhearted gal for pushing herself into my life.
“Get thee to a library?” Angie said. “Get it? Like, the ‘get thee to a nunnery’? From Hamlet?”
“Oh. Right.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, then began ticking off items on her fingers. “You haven’t acted before. You don’t know the play. You don’t think you’re going to get a part. And you’re not trying to hang around Isaac Pearce every night for the next two months.” She threw up both hands. “Girl, what the heck are you auditioning for?”
I shrugged, not looking at her. “I have to do something.”
“It’s getting a little late in the college app game.”
“It’s not that…”
“Then what is it?” Angie’s soft face morphed into concern. She put her hand on my arm. “Hey. I’m here.”
The simple declaration was almost enough to yank the truth right out of me. Tears threatened, but before I could speak, a huge guy with a blond buzz cut, wearing a navy blue George Mason windbreaker, walked by with some of his buddies. He stopped when he saw me and looked me up and down with pale blue eyes.
“Hey there, Princess. You’re the new girl, right? I been seeing you around. And I like what I see.”
A normal girl would’ve rolled her eyes at the cheesy line. Or told him to fuck off. Or maybe been flattered, if this guy’s brand of meathead was her type. But my chest tightened and the air seemed thinner, harder to take in with his hulking presence so close to me.
Angie leaned in to me. “Willow, meet Ted Bowers. ‘Roided out captain of the wrestling team.”
Ted’s face scrunched with anger. “Shut up, Angie. Dork.” He turned back to me, his expression smoothing out into an overly friendly smile. He took a step closer. “We should hang out sometime. I’ll show you around.”
I felt my head nod while every particle of me recoiled from his obvious intentions. I’d gone mute, hardly able to draw a breath. Begging whatever gods would listen to not let me have a full-blown panic attack right in the middle of the hallway.
“Are you scared of me, Princess?” Ted said, looking back to laugh with his buddies, then back to me. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
My throat started to close and lights danced in front of my eyes. Distantly, I heard Angie tell Ted to shut up, and then Isaac Pearce was there.
He pushed between Ted and me like a shield, towering over the wrestler. His smoke-and-soap scent was like smelling salts, bringing me back around. I pulled in a deep breath and the lightheadedness faded a little.
“Oh look, it’s Oedipus,” Ted said. “What’s up, motherfucker? Get it? A mother…fucker?”
“Great joke, Ted,” Angie said. “Very original.”
He ignored her, kept his eyes locked on Isaac. “Back off the little princess, Pearce. She’s too young for you.”
Isaac cocked his head to the side. Ted had a good thirty pounds on him but I was suddenly afraid for the dickhead. Danger radiated off of Isaac, making the hairs on my arm stand on end.
“Well?” Ted said. “You got something to say, motherfucker?” He was on a roll now, nudged one of his buddies who didn’t look nearly as confident. “Hey, how come you’re still in high school? Aren’t you, like, thirty now? Or are you on a prison work release?”
Standing this close to Isaac, I could feel the t
ension humming off of him. The panther ready to pounce. Angie’s hand dug into my arm and the small crowd that had gathered held their breath. Watching.
Ted wasn’t done. His laugh turned dark and ugly. “Haven’t seen your old man in a while, Pearce. Where did you bury the body? Next to your mother?”
RIP Ted Bowers, I thought.
Isaac drew himself up but Ted struck first, ramming at Isaac’s chest with both hands to shove him back.
At the same time, a classroom door shot open down the hall and Isaac, in a flash of black leather, lobbed a right jab into Ted’s face. The sound of knuckles hitting bone snapped through the hallway, followed by a gasp. Ted reeled back, blood leaking out of his nose.
The crowd erupted with oohs and laughter and murmured talk.
“What’s all this?” Mr. Tyler, the biology teacher, stepped into the hallway and pushed through the growing crowd. “Break it up, now, fellas.” He took one look at Ted’s bloody nose and whipped around to Isaac. “Whoa, hey now. Pearce. Principal’s office. Now.”
Isaac didn’t move, but waited calmly for Ted to recover. Possibly to retaliate. Isaac’s hands weren’t even balled into fists anymore, but he looked ready to strike again.
“You’re a dead man, Pearce,” Ted said, shoving his friends’ helping hands off of him. “I’m sick of your bullshit, walking around like you own the goddamn place.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Bowers,” Mr. Tyler said, holding his arms out between the two guys. “Isaac. Go.”
In no rush, Isaac cracked his neck, leaving no doubt who really owned the hallways at George Mason. Girls stared at Isaac as he shouldered his backpack and glanced down at me a final time before turning and heading to the principal’s office.
“Enjoy your suspension, asshole,” Ted called after him, trying in vain to regain the upper hand.
The crowd dispersed and it was clear that the murmurs and whispers weren’t about Ted’s bravery for taking on Isaac. Ted realized it too and tore out of his friends’ grasp and wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve before stalking down the hall.
“And that, ladies and gents,” Angie said, “is why you don’t fuck with Isaac Pearce.”
I turned to her. “Will he get suspended?”