Scene Three
By Friday I’m somehow in the wings of the auditorium with Len, adjusting lightbulbs. On Wednesday, Mrs. Barch hit us with another pop quiz, and this time I didn’t let Len switch our papers. I got a sixty-eight, so I currently need all the extra credit points I can get.
They’re doing Macbeth. And so much for hiding out here with all the theater geeks.
Turns out, in addition to being Rob’s new girlfriend, my cousin is also a talented actress.
She landed the role of Lady Macbeth. The news spread fast at school that she used to be an actress in LA.
Nothing big, just some pilots and commercials, but enough to warrant some serious internet presence.
Charlie is convinced that Juliet is the paper towel girl. “The one who does the commercials with the dog,” she says. Olivia and I just shake our heads. “God, do you guys never watch TV?”
We look it up. Charlie is right. Not only is Juliet the paper towel girl, but she’s also the Super Soaker girl and the allergy girl.
By some stroke of luck, my thespian cousin and I share no classes together, so at least I only see her between classes and at lunch.
And it seems like she and Rob eat off campus most of the time, so even that hasn’t been much of a problem.
There’s something about watching her onstage that feels comforting.
Like I’m keeping tabs on her. Like at least I know she’s not with Rob.
The Belgian is here too. He’s playing Macbeth, which makes sense, because Mrs. Barch is obsessed with the Belgian.
I think it’s because he’s basically the closest thing to British she’s ever going to get.
From my place in the wings I can see her fussing over him, asking him if he needs some water and making Lucy Stern, her sophomore assistant, fetch it for him.
Right now Juliet and the Belgian are wandering around the stage, taking directions from Mrs. Barch, who keeps looking at her clipboard and yelling things like “Stage right!” I don’t know much about Mrs. Barch outside science, but I’m pretty sure she has no actual theater background.
Which is probably why this entire thing feels more like a parody of a play than an actual play.
“Hey, a little help here?” Len is next to me, rifling through a box of big metal clamps.
“Sorry. What’s up?”
He hands me a clamp and instructs me to keep the light still. “Right there. Good.”
He tightens it in place and then nods for me to let go. It’s dark up in the wings and kind of chilly despite the fact that it’s eighty degrees outside and barely even September. I hug my arms to my chest and watch as Len works, brow furrowed.
“Why are you here, anyway?” I ask.
He answers without looking at me. “Because thanks to that quiz of yours, I’m currently pulling a D in bio. I need the points too.”
“Yeah, but I thought you didn’t care about grades.”
He straightens up. “Why don’t you tell me why I’m here. I’m sure your answer is better.”
I glance down at the stage. “Just show me what to do.”
“I’ve been at this awhile,” he says. “I got it.”
I plunk down in a plastic chair and look at him. “So when you’re not taking bullets in bio or playing piano, you’re stage crew?”
“Playing piano?”
Thank God it’s dark, because my face instantly goes red. I can feel the heat creep up my neck like water rising in a bathtub.
“Um, yeah. Didn’t you used to take lessons or something?”
Len crosses his arms. It’s dark, but I can see the edges of a smirk. “Keeping tabs on me, Rosaline?”
“You wish.”
“Don’t worry. I remember,” he says, handing me a red slide. “Here, take this.”
“You do?”
“I may be—what do you call me? Vile?—but I’m not an idiot.” I see something flit across his face. Like the sunset of a smile.
“I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t say that.”
Len looks amused. “No? Must have been one of your minions.” He picks up a metal clamp and then sets it back down. “So what happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I just stopped playing. I got busy with school, and it was hard to find the time to practice.”
Len shakes his head. “No. Not with piano, with him.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the red slide. I put my hand underneath. It looks sort of distorted, like it’s under one of those gigantic microscopes I used to have when I was little, to look at bugs. “I dunno.”
“Here.” He takes the slide out of my hands and slips it onto a light. Then he turns the light on. Immediately a spot on the stage is illuminated. It startles Juliet, and she curses, looking up.
“It’s kind of like playing God,” I say.
“Exactly.” He hands me a green slide and helps me set it in place. Juliet jumps again.
“I like this,” I say.
“I can tell. You have it out for Lady Macbeth, huh?”
I shrug. “She’s my cousin.”
He flips on a blinding yellow spotlight, and Juliet throws her hands up in the air. “Doesn’t really answer my question.”
Len stays perfectly still, looking at me.
He looks different when he isn’t busy smirking at me.
He reminds me of one of those marble sculptures we’re always reading about in history class.
Even his curly hair looks kind of like the David’s.
Who would have guessed that Len is actually kind of handsome?
I hunch my shoulders and blow some air out through my lips, biding time. “She’s fine,” I say.
“Convincing,” Len says, but he doesn’t move.
Down below, the Belgian looks bored and he’s bouncing slightly, like he’s listening to music.
Actually, he is. I see the small snake of white wire that runs up to his ears.
His AirPods are in, and every time Mrs. Barch shouts something at them, he looks at Juliet.
Which is actually a good bet, because she seems to be taking this incredibly seriously.
“This doesn’t feel authentic,” Juliet says, her hands on her hips.
“I agree,” Mrs. Barch says. “I’m needing more from you.”
“From me?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Barch says, nodding. “You’re not feeling it.”
“I am feeling it,” Juliet snaps. “I’ve already played this role. Twice.”
“Well, our productions are really closer to community theater than a high school performance.”
“Community theater isn’t even good,” Juliet says, “and this is a high school performance. I’ve done commercials.”
Mrs. Barch has a look on her face that I’ve seen before.
It’s the worst kind of déjà vu. In chem sophomore year whenever students were late to class, she’d lock the doors.
The lab classrooms have glass sliding doors, so she’d just stand there, on the other side, staring at the students who were late.
It was so terrifying that the few times I knew I wouldn’t be on time, I just ditched altogether.
Juliet, however, is staring right back at her. They look like they’re sending death beams through their eyes. I honestly think they might start catfighting right here in the auditorium, but then Juliet blinks and looks away. Rob has just come in.
She runs to him and throws her arms around his neck.
Mrs. Barch seems flustered and goes over to the Belgian, who keeps nodding and smiling at whatever it is that she’s saying in low, hushed tones.
She doesn’t seem concerned by his response, though.
Maybe she thinks there’s a language barrier.
Olivia was convinced he couldn’t speak English for the first two weeks they were dating.
When Charlie asked her how she could possibly not know, she just shrugged and said, “We don’t really talk that much. But I’m so into his hair.”
I glance over at Rob and Juliet. He’s holding her just like he was at Fall Back on Friday. Delicately, but firmly. Like she’s something that might break or run away.
“Okay, Banquo. You ready?” Mrs. Barch asks.
“Yep,” Rob says, releasing Juliet.
“Banquo?” I whisper to Len, who’s still just standing there. “Who’s Banquo?”
He picks up a script off the floor and flips through it. Then he hands it to me, pointing at a name.
Great, so he’s in the play too? Just what I need, to watch the two of them onstage for two months.
Mrs. Barch has directed them into position, but Rob isn’t paying attention. He’s just looking at Juliet. He looks incredulous, assuming I got the word right on the SATs. Like he can’t quite believe she’s there. With him.
When Rob and I were in the third grade, we used to play “one, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war” in the car.
His hands were bigger than mine, and eventually he’d win, but we used to argue about whether it was against the rules to “hide” or not.
Meaning, was I allowed to drop my thumb down by my fingers so he couldn’t catch me?
Debates on the subject were usually settled with Rob’s mom buying us ice cream.
But right now, above him, hidden in the wings, I can’t help but feel a little like my thumb.
Like I’m hiding because I know the second I reveal myself, I will lose. And I’m just not ready for that.
“Hey,” Len says, “you still with me here? I could use a hand.”
I blink and look at him. The lights are coming up, and it’s easier to see now, which lucky for me makes him fully aware of the tears that are sliding down my cheeks.
“Yeah,” I say, swiping the back of my hand across my face. Len looks away and down at the stage, like he’s giving me some privacy.
“What happened?” he asks after a minute. He doesn’t take his eyes off Rob and Juliet, but something about his question makes me feel like he’s staring right into me. Like I can’t lie to him because he’s already seen the truth.
“We had a thing for a minute,” I whisper. “It didn’t work out.” I expect the confession to make me feel worse, but it doesn’t. It actually makes me feel a tiny bit better. Like a small weight has been lifted.
“Then he wasn’t your guy,” Len says. I glance at him. His jaw is set, and he looks stern. Even a little angry. It’s unnerving.
“I guess,” I say.
Len shakes his head. “You don’t get it,” he says. “If he walked away from you, to her, then he wasn’t yours.”