Chapter 12
Dafne
We’re meeting everyone in front of the Globe Theatre at five forty-five pm, so of course it’s six and there’s two people missing. Two people as in Theodore and Devon. Ollie nudges my shoulder with his and shoots me a you okay? look. I quickly nod. I’ve briefly mentioned to him about Ethan but didn’t mention almost making out with Price because I all of a sudden felt this bloody stupid pull towards him–and Ollie looked surprised, if not a little skeptical. I have been saying I don’t want or need a boyfriend for the longest time, but I reckon it wouldn’t kill me to appreciate some unexpected attention. From … Ethan, that is.
Mr. Hackle eyes his watch, huffs impatiently, and gestures for us to follow him inside. Theodore and Devon have been here plenty of times, as have we all; I’m sure they’ll manage to find their way to us. It hasn’t been more than five minutes in line to get our tickets checked, when a voice shouts, “We’re here!” It’s Devon, being ob - noxiously loud. Ollie chuckles and I look at him in ques-tion. “Theodore just smacked Devon in the head,” he smirks. The benefits of being as tall as my best friend is it’s like getting front row seats to everything, not just plays. Never mind we don’t have actual seats at the Globe since we always get the yard tickets. Not only they’re much cheaper, but there’s also nothing quite like being this close to the stage. It’s well worth the two hours of standing.
“It’s not like Price, being late,” I consider, turning back towards the slowly advancing crowd.
“My guess is he got lost in his wardrobe–like Narnia, you know?” Ollie says, and I snort at the serious expression on his face. “Or he was busy making moon-eyes at that girl,” he adds, looking straight ahead. Moon eyes?
“What girl?” The words are out before I can stop them. Ollie’s expression is somewhere between amused and innocent.
“I saw him and some girl talking outside the gym. I’d never seen her before,” he shrugs.
I lick my lips, thinking of something that will translate as casual and disinterested to say. It’s ridiculous, because Ollie doesn’t even know about this morning, but still, I come up with the next best thing. “There must be something profoundly wrong with the lot of you if you’re going to the gym on Saturday mornings. New girl included.”
Way to sound disinterested, girl. I suddenly find my ankle-cut boots very intriguing.
“Dafne,” Ollie says, turning to face me fully, “Do I detect jealousy ?” he presses his pointer fingers to his temples in mock imitation of a fortune teller.
“Ha!” I laugh, my voice sounding more pitched than intended. “The only time I’ve ever been jealous is when you asked Susan Porter to the school dance instead of me.” Ollie rolls his eyes.
“You had the stomach flu, was I supposed to miss the very rare chance for free booze?” I ignore that and take another step forward; it’s almost our turn before we can get in. The ticket lady is Ginny, who knows me and Ollie by name by now; this must be out thirtieth-something time here in the past three years. She greets us warmly and tells us to enjoy the show. We thank her and make our way behind Mr. Hackle and Ms. Patterson, who are quietly chatting amongst themselves. Like there are not dozens of people squishing them from left and right. Isn’t that something?
“Either way,” Ollie unexpectedly resumes, “I wasn’t familiar with this jealous and delusional side of you, Daf,” and I slowly cock my head to face him.
“I couldn’t possibly know what you’re talking about, Oliver,” I say, a sickly-sweet smile on my lips. I am not falling for his bait. He shakes his head lightly, and when he speaks again, his tone is devoid of all previous sarcasm. “It’s not a big deal, you know,” he considers, “if it bothers you to think of Price dating someone. He is your Romeo, after all.”
I huff a humourless laugh.
“Ollie, he is my nothing–” I’m interrupted by someone tapping my shoulder. “Who’s nothing?” Devon asks with a lazy smile, one eyebrow raised. I press my lips tightly together, and wave my hand dismissively. “No one,” I make a half-laugh, half-choking sound. “No one is ... nothing.” Ollie clears his throat to my right, and I elbow him in the ribs while looking straight ahead. To Devon’s left, Theodore is looking intently over at the play about to start, not bothered in the slightest by whatever’s happening right next to him.
Once the play is over, we wait for most of the audience to start leaving before we do the same, and I send one last longing glance at the stage. If you asked me what one thing I’d want engraved in my mind forever, it’s this. A stage after a play, seemingly the same, but inevitably transformed. The lingering music, the thundering applause, the final bow. Those are the only butterflies I should crave.
As we walk, Ollie steps at Devon’s side with Theodore. “Sounds like there’s going to be a storm tonight,” Ollie says, nudging Devon’s arm, who doesn’t seem particularly shocked by the gesture.
I shoot my friend a questioning look, taken aback that he’s actually touching someone who isn’t me or Phoebe, and keep a tight smile plastered on my face.
I notice Theodore’s eyes are glued in front of him. It’s almost like he doesn’t know us and just happens to be walking by. I guess he didn’t enjoy my little stunt at rehearsal. This is not going to be embarrassing at all moving forward, huh?
There’s quite the crowd as we make our way out, and the passage is narrow enough that Ollie and Devon need to pass as a pair. Theodore’s friend clasps Ollie’s elbow gently so that they stand closer.
Suddenly, I find my right shoulder pressed to Theodore’s. He finally looks at me, and I’m really starting to think he didn’t realise I was there at all, because he looks at our joined shoulders like there’s a third head sprouting where the fabric of our coats meet. It all happens in a matter of seconds, but I can tell–he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like this proximity, however brief, because he’s already forced to spend an upsetting amount of time with me. Not to mention the little number I pulled this morning when I had clearly been possessed by horny Dafne. The more I think about it, the more I want to shove my face in the sand like a flamingo and never come back up. Ollie and Devon chatting like long-standing friends isn’t helping, either. I’d be willing to bet Price is a Leo–always striving to be the one in control. His natal chart must be an astrologist’s nightmare.
For his sake as much as mine, I dive to the left as soon as there’s enough space for me to make my way through, and we’re finally reunited with the rest of our group. The air smells heavily of rain, and everyone is already extracting their small umbrellas from their bags, me included. You can’t in good conscience call yourself a Londoner if you’re not carrying one with you at all times, rain or shine. “Alright, everyone,” Mr. Hackle says, struggling to open the biggest tartan umbrella I’ve ever seen.
“We’ll discuss on Monday. I want you to think long and hard about what you saw, take notes if you must, but I expect you to have learned something useful tonight.” Ms. Patterson is rummaging through her leather purse for her umbrella, nodding enthusiastically, as she always does. “We’ll see you bright and sharp next week, then! Please do not forget you are required to attend Mr. Boyus’ seminar after rehearsal on Monday.” The reminder elicits more than a few grumbles among the group. Attending a seminar about the history of Spanish Theatre in the 18th century after an exhausting day of class and rehearsal should be fun indeed.
As Mr. Hackle and her turn and leave, the rain makes itself known with fat drops, and we all start towards the train station to get back to the school, Theodore’s pace slightly faster than everyone else’s .
Theodore
For the whole albeit short time we spend on the train, Devon incessantly babbles to Oliver. That leaves me to do small talk with David, who is raving about some action movie I truly could not be less interested in. Dafne sits across from me, and not once does she raise her eyes to mine. So this morning we were about to make out and now we’re back to ignoring each other’s existence? I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. She probably just wanted to intimidate me. The speaker calls our stop, and we start storming out of the train, the rain unrelenting. Once we jog up the stairs and out of the station, barely a few seconds pass before a car speeding way too close to the pavement all but soaks in puddle water Dafne’s white corduroy pants up to the knees, along with most of her coat. “Bloody hell,” she groans, her tiny umbrella long forgotten on the ground next to her in favour of furiously rummaging through her tote bag, I assume for anything that could dry the mess up. Her dark hair is plastering itself on her face, and my legs are moving before I can put too much thought into it. I lead her by the elbow under the nearest portico before the next passing car drowns her completely. She looks at me dumbfounded, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Where’s Ollie?” she asks then, going back to her task.
“You’re very welcome,” I reply dryly, closing my umbrella .
“I don’t know where Oliver is, he was behind me with Devon and–” I’m interrupted by my phone’s vibration in my jeans’ back pocket. “Seriously?” I say under my breath as I read the incoming message, and Dafne rises on her toes to look over my shoulder at the lit-up screen.
I’m walking back with Ollie,
he was telling me the most
interesting story and I couldn’t wait
to hear the rest of it!
He says to tell Dafne he’s sorry and to
remember the countless favors he’s done her
throughout their lives :D
Sent: 20:43 p.m.
“I’m going to put a spider in his bed,” Dafne declares, more to herself than to me. She tiptoes to retrieve her now half-broken pale pink umbrella, holding it by the handle and muttering a string of interesting curses as she gets back under the porch.
“So unladylike of you,” I muse, hoping to break the tension, but possibly making it worse.
“Never said I was a lady,” she sighs. We’re quiet for a minute, standing next to each other but not doing much else to acknowledge the other’s presence–except I’m all too aware of hers. Without warning, Dafne starts walking into the pouring rain again, clutching the handles of her tote bag for dear life .
“What are you doing?” I yell over the cacophony of cars bustling the streets at this time of the evening.
“What does it look like I’m doing, Price? Going home,” she says over her shoulder. I should let her go, since it looks like asking me to share an umbrella didn’t even cross her mind–but if it’s even just to prove that I’m completely unaffected by what happened this morning, I won’t. I close the short distance she’s walked on her own and place my umbrella higher over both of our heads. She glares at me, but before she can tell me to piss off, I raise my free hand. “You’re already likely to catch a cold as it is,” I say, pointedly looking at her soaked clothes, “and we can’t afford to skip any rehearsals because of your pride.”
She scoffs, but at least it looks like she’s not about to use my umbrella as a weapon against me.
“And here I was, thinking you were being decent just for the sake of it,” she eventually retorts, her hands rubbing her shoulders to get warm.
“I am always decent,” and I’m not sure if I’m saying that to convince myself or Dafne. After a few minutes of walking in silence, she flinches, an involuntary response to the sharp cold. We’ve still got a ten-minute walk before we get to the dormitories, so I think I need to figure something out, since the rain doesn’t seem likely to stop pouring anytime soon. It seems we’re in luck, as I can see the dimly lit neon sign of an all-nighter coffee shop about fourty feet from us. “Come on, I’d rather you didn’t freeze over and have to explain to your roommate why I’m leaving a Dafne-sized ice cube on the doorstep,” I say as I redirect her towards the red lacquered door.
She stops a few feet from the door, her gaze falling to the hand I’m still holding onto her forearm. I hastily remove it.
“What’s your endgame? You need something from me, is that it?” she asks then, her eyes boring back into mine, suspicion and bitter cold scrunching her features. I’m sure I look as appalled as I feel.
“My endgame, ” I start, turning her around and lightly pushing her forward, “is that you get a fill of something hot and stop being so difficult.”
Oh God. That was a poor choice of words.