Chapter 19
Dafne
“ No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers ,” Ollie says as we practice Act Three, Scene Two in one of the rooms any student can reserve for out of schedule rehearsals. He’s reading Isabel’s part for me since she stood me up at the last minute.
“ Shame come to Romeo! ” he cries with exaggerated pathos.
He looks over at me when I don’t reply.
“Shame come to Romeo?” he tries again, unconvinced.
“I’m sorry,” I shoot him an apologetic look. “I can’t bring myself to say that ‘he was not born in shame’. That’s still up for debate,” I huff as I sit with my head against the mirror-covered wall, my elbows propped on my knees.
“Is this about that lad who took the last scone this morning?” Ollie offers, only half-joking. I really wanted that scone .
“No,” I roll my eyes playfully. “It’s not about that lad.”
“Oh. What did Price do now?”
Of course that was Ollie’s immediate thought.
Guilt suddenly reminds me Ollie still doesn’t know about the kiss, as I begged Phoebe not to tell him because I wanted to do it myself. I’ve never not told Ollie something. Especially something this big. I don’t know why it’s so hard to bring myself to say the words–is it plain shame? Shame that I let Theodore kiss me and kissed him back, after everything that’s transpired between us? I should know Ollie would never judge me for it.
I need to get it off my chest. “There’s something I should tell you–”
The door opens, Theodore coming in as he sings under his breath, wearing a short-sleeved black shirt that clings to the lean muscles of his chest, and grey sweatpants. Well, that is just unfair.
He abruptly stops and freezes when he takes us in.
“Sorry, uh …” he turns to look at the small plaque on the door with a number four etched on it. “Wrong room.” He’s about to leave, when Ollie yells, “Hold on!” which makes me wonder whose side he’s really on, and I hope the glare I throw him conveys as much. “I have to go anyway, I’m sure Dafne doesn’t mind a different partner. Do you, Daf?” he asks innocently, and I can’t help but think he and Phoebe have spent too much time together.
Theodore swallows and moves from the door to let Ollie pass. Before my soon-to-be ex best friend closes the door, he mouths a talk to him at me.
Once we’re alone, Theodore grips his rucksack’s shoulder strap tighter and says, “For what it’s worth I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“It’s fine, Price,” I sigh as I get up.
Theodore
Might as well take the bull by the horns since we’re at it I think, dropping my things next to the door. “Maybe we can talk now? I know you were rehearsing, and that’s what I came here to do as well, but …” I shrug. She considers me for a moment, tapping one foot on the hardwood floor.
“Go ahead,” she says then, her brows furrowed.
Right. Not intimidating at all.
I begin rolling up my earbuds cord and start, “Let me just say it was wrong of me to assume–”
I am about to shove it in my pocket, when she steps forward and offers her palm up. I eye her once, and when she nods in her palm’s direction, I place the tangle of white plastic in her waiting hand. Unexpectedly, she starts detangling it carefully. It’s probably not the best time for me to notice even her hands are fascinating.
“Assume that you’d be okay with it,” I resume, trying not to stare at her meticulous work like a psycho.
“It?”
“Kissing you.”
She hums pensively, her gaze focused on a particularly tight knot in the string, and I’m about to drop to my knees and beg her to say something else before I spontaneously combust. Out of annoyance, because I feel like an idiot, but also frustration because how did I ever manage to brush over the fact that she’s absolutely beautiful–and I can’t even tell her.
“I think we both know I was more than okay with it, but I appreciate that,” she finally says.
I should be relieved, but I can sense something else is coming.
“Can I ask you something?” she says calmly, handing me the perfectly untangled earbuds.
I swallow way too audibly and nod.
“Did you know some, uh, people think that we were, or … are, together?” It’s one person, but still.
“Beg pardon? Who?” I ask, and I realise too late that it came out like an accusation, more than a question.
“Alright, no need to lose your head over it,” she purses her lips. “Just someone I know.”
“Ah, it must be true, then,” I say scornfully before I can think twice.
"What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Wright, you wanted to rehearse, yeah? How about Scene Three from Act– ”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk! Is it really so hard for you to have a normal conversation? Do you rehearse in your sleep, too?”
“Some of us have to! Some of us aren’t naturally gifted , as Ms. Patterson put it,” I sneer.
“ Oh my God .” She articulates it, and I know it’s stupid, but that riles me up even more.
“Come on now, I know you love to hear what you already know,” I raise my arms and let them fall with a muffled thud against my sides.
“You’re the one who told me you were obviously going to get Romeo . You should really–”
“I lied, alright? Does this answer satisfy you?” I snap.
Her mouth opens and closes on nothing.
My brain is suddenly in overdrive. I feel like I could cry. I can’t remember the last time I cried.
“I wasn’t sure I’d get Romeo. I’d already started learning Mercutio and Tybalt’s parts as well, in case I lost the role to someone else because the truth is that I don’t know what I’m doing, Dafne. The clothes, the smiles. I’m a big fucking fraud, and everyone will see that eventually.”
It’s out.
I close my eyes and desperately try to calm my racing heart, but my breath is stuck in my throat, and I can’t think–
“Theodore,” she says softly. “ Look at me.”
I shake my head, wishing I could get out of here, but I drop to my knees instead. I think that if I were to open my eyes this dreadful feeling would crush me completely.
“Theodore, breathe,” Dafne’s voice says, close, but not enough for it to feel suffocating. “We’ll breathe deeply together, yeah?”
I nod once.
“In,” she says, “and out.”
I follow her instructions one time, two times, three times. The only sounds I hear are our deep breaths and the muffled footsteps of people walking down the corridor.
I can’t tell how much time passes, all I know is that once I’ve calmed down and managed to peel my eyes open, Dafne is sitting on her knees about three feet from me. Her head is cocked, caramel eyes roaming over my face.
At whatever she sees on my face she murmurs, “I think you had an anxiety attack. Was it the first time?”
I want to say it was, but that’s not quite true. It’s happened a few times before, I’ve never told anyone, and I’m not really sure why. I clear my throat and slowly start rising when she does the same and steps closer, her hand hovering over my arm as if to make sure she’s there in case I plummet to the ground.
“I don’t have anxiety. It’s just a stressful time,” I tell her.
Dafne licks her lips and says, “Maybe. But if you did, there would be nothing to be ashamed about.” She’s looking at me with softness, not pity, which is infinitely worse. I’m starting to think she’s actually perfect and I just have always had a deeply twisted sense of reality.
“You should rest, Price,” she adds after a beat.
She heads to retrieve her things, and when I have my back to her she says, “And for what it’s worth … I don’t think you’re a fraud.”
I’m still reeling from being at my most vulnerable in front of her twice in the span of ten minutes, her last words echoing in my head. They affect me more than I’d like.