It’s lunchtime and despite the sky being an ink wash of dark clouds, we’ve all chosen to congregate under our tree versus sitting inside, or at least at the patio tables. The swirling cold cuts right through my sweater, and I huddle deeper between Donovan and Connor, attempting to absorb some of their body heat as well as shield myself from the wind. Of course, none of them seemed bothered by the cold.
Noticing that I’m starting to become one with his arm, Connor takes off his jacket to wrap around my shoulders. It’s blissfully warm and has the scent of the forest, a mixture of the sharp tang of pine and other green things.
“Thank you,” I murmur, grateful but also slightly annoyed that he looks as comfortable in his Henley as he did in his jacket.
Connor gives me a sharp nod in answer. His brows raise and head tilts like he’s remembered something. He digs through his backpack, then hands me my travel mug that I left on the floor next to my locker this morning.
Releasing a breathy laugh, I murmur another ‘thank you” and shove it into my bag.
“I’m serious,” Donovan grunts, throwing the crumpled ball at Nolan. “Even if they succeeded, they were fucked. Two teenage rich kids running away to do what? Become farmers? They had servants that did everything for them. They wouldn’t have lasted a week.”
Kaleb sighs from the other side of Connor. “That’s not the point of the play. It’s a commentary on values and what you have to lose when you let petty things get in the way of what truly matters, your family and loved ones.”
“The whole thing is bullshit,” Donovan continues, not done with his tirade over one of Shakespeare's most famous plays. “Romeo was all about this Rosaline chick, then he sees Juliet and it’s ‘Rosaline who?’”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, as Kaleb responds like this isn’t the first time he’s said it, “Rosaline didn’t return Romeo’s feelings. She was an unattainable infatuation, whereas Juliet reciprocated Romeo’s advances, therefore turning into something real.”
“All I’m saying is a guy that flips that fast is a player,” he replies. “Hell, the daughter of his family’s arch rival? He was an asshole after forbidden fruit.”
Nolan snorts. “Hello, Pot. Have you met Kettle?”
“Fuck you, Kettle,” Donovan snaps back with a one finger salute. “One, I don’t go after anyone. They come to me. And two, anyone I’m with knows exactly what they’re getting into. I don’t do relationships. No point.”
“Aww, you’re such a romantic,” Felix sniggers, earning an eye roll.
I pick up the crumpled paper ball that bounced off of Nolan’s chest and attempt to smooth out the pages. The first line of Donovan’s paper reads:
Romeo and Juliet were doomed to failure from the beginning, because regardless of whether they succeeded in escaping their families, neither had the skills necessary to survive on their own.
At the top of the paper is a scribbled note:
Though accurate that the two lovers were destined to an unhappy ending, your thesis fails to address the themes of the play. Please see me if you would like assistance in reworking your thesis statement.
Everyone looks at me expectantly as I read quietly, Donovan’s expression guarded and masked under feigned indifference. I press my lips tightly together to keep an amused smile from spreading across my face. His statement is a window into how his mind works-- focusing on the logistics and concrete details necessary for survival, holding little reverence for why he needs to figure out these details in the first place.
I fold the paper neatly in half and return it to Donovan.
“You’re not going to tell us what he wrote?” Felix asks, while Donovan stuffs the paper into his backpack-- ensuring it will be a crumpled mess under his books.
“Nope,” I answer, the end of the word popping off my lips, then I look to Donovan and offer, “If you want, I can help you with your paper after school. I’m writing mine on how Romeo was essentially the worst thing to happen to Juliet, and in the end her suicide has as much to do with the precarious and limiting options Romeo left her in, than any grand gesture of undying love.”
They’re all silent for a moment. Each has varying expressions ranging from Donovan’s smug vindication to Felix’s outright surprise. I shrink more into Connor’s jacket, hiding my hands within the sleeves, and fear I’ve had another one of those moments where I’ve said too much… revealed too much of the truly twisted parts inside me. Like Donovan’s thesis, does this show that I focus more on how ones that are supposed to love us only hurt us in the end, than I do that unconditional love is real?
“See, Callie agrees with me,” Donovan finally bursts the silence, which I appreciate; though I fear our shared cynicism might not be a good thing. “Romeo was an asshole.”
“Wow, pretty girl,” Felix murmurs. “It looks like we have two romantics in the group.”
“Make that three,” Nolan admits, coming to my rescue. “How Juliet fell for those lame lines is sad. Honestly, I bet he used those same lines on Rosaline.”
“She was thirteen,” Kaleb groans, coming back to life. “Romeo was probably the first boy to show any real interest in her as a person. Whether you believe Romeo’s intentions were genuine, to Juliet they were and understandably so.”
Connor has been his normal silent self, his expressions ranging from amused to thoughtful, but not really revealing his own opinion on that matter.
I elbow him gently. “What do you think? Epic romance of the ages or Juliet was royally gypped?”
“She deserved better,” he answers, his voice low and smooth.
“Why do I feel like I’m playing devil’s advocate?” Kaleb mutters to the overhanging branches, then rubs at his face. “Again, whether Romeo was the best match for Juliet is irrelevant. To Juliet the love was real, and at the very least, Romeo believed his feelings were real. Whether their love would’ve lasted had they survived we can’t know, because they never had the chance to find out. The rivalry between their families kept them from being able to have a normal courtship. I also would argue that despite his fallacies, Romeo was a better option than Paris.”
