Chapter 35
Outside of the bogus Christmas performances we used to do in elementary school, I’d never gone to a school play.
Brentwood didn’t have a theater department for the high school, and I wasn’t about to rock up to a middle school performance of Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Besides, the idea of sitting crammed up alongside overzealous parents to watch choppy dialogue exchanged on a stage had always been nothing short of lame.
And now, I hated that I’d ever thought that way. I wasn’t sure if it was my own opinion or Jade’s, but I decided to find out.
There was a row of boys standing near the table, the one in front slightly familiar. “Hi, um,” I said to the lady, my heart picking up its pace. “I’m… Noah Park’s plus one.”
I’d been fearing she’d blink at me, having no idea what I was talking about—Noah’s revenge to embarrass me—but instead, her grin deepened.
“Oh, how lovely,” she replied. She checked off something on her clipboard before picking up a playbill from her table’s surface.
She offered it out to me. “Curtis, here, will escort you to your seat.”
I looked at the boy closer, realizing that was why he’d looked so familiar. Curtis. The boy Logan and I had gone to see play football. He looked even lankier without his shoulder pads on, and in a dress shirt that was buttoned up to his throat.
“Follow me,” he murmured in a lower voice than I expected, and promptly turned on his heel.
I trailed after the boy, running the pad of my thumb over the playbill’s cover. They had designated seating? It seemed so fancy for a high school performance, but I refused to look at anything through a biased lens. Interesting was the only word I was allowed to use.
Except the further we walked, the more tense I became. “W-What row are we going to?” Dear God, please not the front row.
Curtis glanced back. “The fourth.”
When we got to the fourth row, Curtis told me I needed to go to seat 8, which meant I had to awkwardly shuffle past people to get to the middle. Seat 8 was right beside a middle-aged man who was busy in conversation with a dark-haired woman seated right in front of him, so I settled in wordlessly.
The playbill was intricately done, with a dramatic illustration of two silhouetted figures reaching for each other across a starry sky. The title was even foiled, and I traced my fingertip across it. Flipping it open, I scanned until I found the one name.
Logan Castle.
Paris is played by Logan Castle, senior at Jefferson High and quarterback of the Jefferson High Bulldogs football team. This is Logan’s fifth performance with the Jefferson High Theatre Troupe.
His fifth. And to think, one of those performances was the one that’d scarred him from singing forever.
“Oh.” The blond man sort of jolted in his seat when he finally realized someone had sat down beside him. His blue eyes were wide. “You’re not Danielle.” His voice was pleasant enough, though, not accusatory.
“Oh, um.” Was this Noah’s dad? They didn’t look alike, but he still planned to sit with Danielle. Had Noah given away her ticket without telling the people he was sitting with? “Well, Noah actually—”
“He had two tickets,” a voice on the other side of me said, and I turned to find Danielle shimmying her way down the aisle. She sat down on the seat beside me, leaning around to smile at the man. “This is Madison’s first play, so she needed a good seat.”
“Did I take Noah’s seat?” I sucked in a breath. “I can—”
“Noah’s in the play,” Danielle told me with a small chuckle. “So I think he’s got the better seat.”
The blond man looked at me closer. “You’re Madison?”
The recognition in his voice startled me, so much so that I hesitated before nodding.
His soft blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, the glint so familiar that it almost stole my breath. Realization hit me only half a second before he spoke. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Logan’s father.”
Logan and his father looked alike, but not in the way where they were the spitting image of each other. His father’s face was rounder, nose larger, but they both had the same eyes and smile. His father’s hair was lighter, whereas Logan’s was more of a golden color.
I’ve heard a lot about you. “Logan’s talked about me?” My voice was meek.
Mr. Castle gave a laugh. “All the time. And, really, I hear him talking to you quite often. Every night before bed, in fact. You’re the girl who’s got my son smitten, huh?”
My cheeks burned as I ducked my head, feeling both giddy and embarrassed. “I—I guess so.”
I now understood why Logan had grinned so widely when I’d told him that my mom knew about him. If things between us weren’t so uncertain, I was sure I’d be grinning like an idiot, too.
The theater teacher came out onto the stage then, her cream-colored dress in stark contrast against the red velvet curtains.
She introduced the play warmly, excitedly explaining how, due to popular demand, they were bringing back the Jefferson High rendition of Romeo and Juliet for one weekend only.
She bragged up the performers for being so easily able to fall back into their old roles, to remember their old lines, and the theater applauded in response.
And as the teacher slid off backstage, the lights dimmed, plunging the auditorium into darkness. A quiet hush fell over everyone, and I could almost feel the buzz of anticipation dance around the room. In my lap, I picked at the playbill, a weird buzzing in my chest, too.
A spotlight cut through the dark as the curtains peeled back, revealing Verona’s streets.
For a school performance, the props were quite intricate—the stone-painted buildings seemed to be made out of plywood, with arched windows set into them.
They were outlined with fairy lights that looked like ivy licking up the boards.
The backdrop shimmered faintly, a watercolor wash of sunset pinks and golds that made the whole scene feel dreamlike.
And this was just one set.
A voice rang out—clear, steady, familiar. “Two households, both alike in dignity.”
I pressed my lips together, imagining Trevor from the bonfire. He wasn’t on stage, which I was a little bummed about—I would’ve loved to see him in Shakespearian clothes—but his voice was solemn, painting the story to come. “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.”
Actors burst onto the stage then, wielding fake swords toward each other.
It was clearly choreographed, but I was so distinctly aware of how invested people around me were.
Logan’s dad even leaned in, drawn in by the melodramatic battle.
And then, suddenly, I realized I recognized some of the people on stage.
Amir and Peter were locked with vicious looks on their faces, and in the background, as one of the onlookers in a window, stood Charlie, her hands over her mouth.
The tension in my chest eased, replaced by something lighter. Maybe this wouldn’t be as weird as I’d thought.
After shuffling to the front of the stage, Peter thrust his fake sword toward Amir, and from the angle the stage was at, it looked like it genuinely pierced Amir’s chest. Peter pulled his sword back, and Amir let out an agonized, loud cry.
In an exaggerated move, he pitched forward, stumbling with both hands clutching his chest, before he fell over and died.
The crowd laughed at the display, including me.
“I told him time and time again that he needed to rein it in,” Danielle said in a disappointed tone. “‘Comedic relief,’ he’d always tell me.”
A soft smile still sat on my lips despite the fact that Amir was dead on the ground.
I held my breath when the scene changed, the stagehands shifting props with quiet efficiency. Since I’d watched Romeo and Juliet with Mom not that long ago, I knew what came next. The Capulet house. The conversation about Juliet’s marriage.
Which meant it wouldn’t be much longer.
My fingers curled around the edge of my seat, pulse picking up with every passing second. I tried to play it cool, to pretend I wasn’t waiting for one person in particular, but I was nearly shaking in my chair.
And then—there he was.
Logan.
He stepped into the light with a quiet kind of confidence, dressed in a navy padded jacket trimmed in gold that shimmered each time he moved.
A crisp white shirt flared at his collar and cuffs, the fabric catching the glow like he’d walked straight out of another century.
Even the boots looked real—soft leather that creased as he crossed the stage, shoulders squared, every movement deliberate.
Someone in the audience gave a soft whoop! as Logan walked on stage, which caused scattered giggles to follow. Logan’s dad grinned up at his son, and I wondered if Logan knew how proud his dad was of him. I could see it in his eyes now; Mr. Castle was very proud.
Logan’s golden hair was combed neatly for once, gleaming beneath the stage lights, a far cry from the tousled, loose look I was used to. The careful styling made him look older somehow—more polished, more princely.
Seeing him like that was strange. Familiar and foreign all at once. The Logan I knew wore wrinkled clothes and worn jeans, his grin lopsided, his voice teasing. But here, he was Paris, poised and confident, his voice steady as he spoke to Capulet.
There were so many versions of Logan Castle, I realized. The actor, who looked so natural on the stage. The quarterback, who dominated the field and led his team.
And then there was Logan Castle, the boy who was the pulse in my chest I hadn’t known I’d been missing. The boy I now couldn’t imagine living without.
I swallowed the sudden flare of emotion in my throat, but the choking feeling didn’t subside.
When Romeo came onto the scene, I gave a little gasp, leaning into Danielle. “You didn’t say Noah was Romeo.”
She gave me a sidelong grin. “I know. My grumpy boyfriend playing a love-struck idiot? As if.”