Chapter 30
Dafne
We all show up at rehearsal even earlier than usual, as Ms. Patterson told us she had an announcement to make. Hopefully, she’s just going to tell us she’s bought a new earthenware ceramic teapot online.
When we’re all in a circle on stage, she claps her hands lightly to call us to attention, which she really didn’t need to do as Mr. Hackle’s presence in the background is enough for us to know we’d better keep the chatter to a minimum.
“As you know,” she starts, fixing her tortoise glasses on her nose, “opening night is coming up, just over one week left, ” she thrills, a pleased expression taking over her entire face, and a few whoops rise from our circle. I look at my castmates, a bubble of pride surging in my chest, because at the end of the day, we’re doing something very special–and I think everyone knows it. Theodore is standing straight, listening to Ms. Patterson with a small smile on his lips. When he notices me staring, he shoots me a look and winks.
I wish I had my phone on me to immortalise Theodore Price winking.
“Yes, it is very exciting, but being so close to the show also means it’s time for our …” she drum rolls with her pointer fingers on her thigh, “actors weekend retreat!”
Ollie and I exchange an excited smile; the weekend retreat is a something of a myth around here, that one experience only third-year students get to have as a way of bonding before their last opening night at APDAS. I’d honestly forgotten all about it, but I suppose it’ll be a little adventure. While the law-abiding part of me thinks it’s two days of time we could use to work on our scenes, I’m also glad to have a few days to recharge, and find an excuse to spend more time with Theo. Plus, I’ll be rooming with Ollie, which I’m looking forward to. I don’t mind the time he’s been spending with Devon, but I can’t help but miss him a little.
“I don’t want to spoil any surprises, so you will find out what we have in store for you once we get there.” We? As in, Miss. Patterson and Mr. Hackle? No way he’s coming along. I figure he’d rather drink rotten milk for a year than be stuck with us for a full weekend. I’m also sensing that whatever is in store won’t be as fun as she made it out to be.
◆◆ ◆
After rolling out of bed at five-thirty in the morning and Phoebe’s half-asleep mumbled “Have fun and don’t get murdered” , I snuggle against Ollie’s shoulder on the bus taking us to our destination: Ashwell, Hertfordshire, population 1,870 poor souls. We might as well be the only guests they’ve had in years and be welcomed with a parade and balloons.
“Aren’t you tired?” I groan against Ollie’s cotton shirt.
“I went to bed at eight, unlike someone else,” he says, poking me in the stomach and making me jump in my seat.
“Oh, shuddup,” I yawn. “I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t have forgotten my lines by the time we get back,” I say as I pass my hands over my face. I didn’t bother wearing makeup–this group of people has seen me at my sweatiest, they can handle a pair of dark circles. My attention is snatched by a pair of arms stretching above a seat a few seats ahead to our right.
“His hair looks so soft, huh,” Ollie whispers, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“I don’t know about that,” I blatantly lie. “Don’t you have a boyfriend of your own to ogle at?”
“I’m lucky said boyfriend loves to sleep, since you coerced me into sitting with you,” he smirks, and I move my head back just to glare at him.
“It seems Price and Devon aren’t on speaking terms at the moment, has he told you anything about it?”
I tell him what Theo told me this morning when they didn’t arrive at the meeting point in the courtyard to-gether, which was a vague, “We disagreed on something.”
“Well, then, why aren’t you sitting with him?” Ollie asks, looking way too interested.
“I can’t. I’ve got a surprise for him, and if he gets me talking, I’m afraid I’ll accidentally spill it,” I whisper.
Ollie gasps as if I’d told him I was going to dye my hair green.
Mercifully, Theo has earbuds plugged in, so he doesn’t seem to hear any of it.
“I swear both you and Phoebe need a crash course in speaking at a regular volume,” I hiss, and he pushes his shoulder against mine, taking a small packet of candy out of his pocket–which I promptly snag from his hand. He knows I can’t stay mad at him for more than fifteen seconds, but he also knows I’m easy to bribe. When we were in seventh grade, during an afternoon of vigorous background painting for our school play, he accidentally dropped an entire can of blue paint on my head. Scarce minutes of scowling later, he convinced me to forgive him solely with puppy eyes and the promise of an unlimited supply of hot chocolate.
Needless to say, all was well.
“Are you not going to tell me what it is?”
“If I don’t trust myself to keep quiet, I can’t trust you either,” I reason.
Ollie pouts, but I’m sure Devon will be enough of a distraction for him to get over it.
I was joking, of course, I trust Ollie with my life. But this specific surprise, as simple as it is, is something for Theo only.
Theodore
Dafne has been avoiding me all morning except for the quick chat we had before hopping on the bus–I assume mostly due to the fact that we were all half-zombies–but my gut tells me there’s something else. Our driver is parking in a small, graveled courtyard, so I figure I can ask her as soon as we get off. While everyone’s collecting their bags from the overhead compartments, though, Dafne is the first to dart out, Oliver following shortly after. I hear him tell a sleepy Devon that Mr. Hackle is going to make him run laps if he doesn’t get his butt off the bus. As I make my way out, I immediately spot Oliver’s tall figure a few feet from the bus, his arm draped over Dafne’s shoulder as they chat about something. I start towards them, but a heavy hand clasps my shoulder and stops me in my tracks. “Ms. Patterson is about to make her welcome speech,” Mr. Hackle says. “You’re going to want to listen, lover boy.”
“Yes sir,” I nod. I eye Dafne one more time, then step closer to where Ms. Patterson is frantically scanning the sheets on her clipboard.
“Right, everyone, welcome to sunny Ashwell, which will be your sanctuary for the next two and a half days.”
My castmates exchange dubious looks. The sky looking like it’s about to fall over us doesn’t really scream sunny, but Ms. Patterson is nothing if not an incurable optimist. “First things first, we’ll take care of your bedroom arrangements,” she adds, and a worried chatter spreads over our small group like wildfire. We thought we’d be choosing our own roommates, as forced cohabitation almost never bides well, and wait–why did Mr. Hackle say I would want to hear this?
“I thought it would be interesting to let fate decide! Isn’t that fun?” she muses as she extracts a small glass bowl filled with ripped sheets of paper from the craft bag dangling from her elbow.
I swallow as she rummages through the bowl to extract the first pair. “Our Mercutio will room with ...” she says, wiggling her eyebrows in Devon’s direction, “ahh, Tybalt! How fitting, don’t you think?”
Nobody answers.
I see Oliver shoot Devon a lopsided smile, but don’t turn to witness Devon’s reaction. I’m not prepared for the glare he’d send my way.
The next extraction ends up pairing Thomas with David; apparently, there is a triple left as well as a pair, meaning there’s a good chance I’ll room with Dafne after all. A few months ago I would have put a fight with Ms. Patterson to change that in a heartbeat, but now, well, the thought is far from bothersome. Ms. Patterson readjusts her glasses on her nose. “Next, we have Isabel, Jack, and …”