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Martin checked his watch. “Damn. The Equity actors need their break.” He clapped his hands. “Okay, everyone. Take five.”
Isaac and I were left alone on the stage, a thick silence between us where words whispered.
The feelings you have for each other…
You look smitten…
More like Romeo and Juliet…
“Well,” I finally said. “Martin’s a very…colorful director, isn’t he?”
Isaac rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, he gets some wild ideas.”
“I like his ideas,” I said. “I mean, him. I like him.”
Isaac met my gaze. “Yeah. Me too.”
The moment shimmered. His gray-green eyes so warm in mine and the yellow stage lights shining down. Then Martin clapped his hands to call attention, making me jump in my skin.
“Martin also likes to clap,” Isaac said. “A lot.”
I laughed. “I noticed.”
“Just a friendly reminder about memorization. It’s been two weeks.” Martin said. “How is everyone doing getting off-book?”
A few murmurs and nods, a few groans. Len Hostetler grabbed his own throat with both hands and mimed being choked to death. Then he smiled brightly and gave a thumbs up. “Going great, Marty.”
Justin raised his hand. “I have a question. Willow and I are going to the Spring Fling dance next Friday night at the school. Are we going to be able to get the night off?”
An icy cold bloomed in the pit of my stomach and spread out. I looked at Isaac. He stared back. For half a second, the hurt was evident in his eyes. A little boat floating in the green-gray waves, then swiftly sinking. His face closed up and he looked away.
“You have to say yes, Herr Direktor,” Len said in his booming voice.
“Indeed,” Lorraine said. “A spring dance is a milestone in any high school experience.”
“I will make an exception this time,” Martin said, frowning a little. “But one night is all I can spare. Anyone else? Put your hand down, Len.”
Everyone laughed and Justin looked pleased with himself. The weight of my guilt and embarrassment was so heavy I couldn’t lift my eyes to meet Isaac’s.
Why do you feel guilty? He’s leaving town. He said he’s done with high school…
“Okay,” Martin said, with a clap of his hands. “Let’s get back to work. Willow? Isaac?”
We ran the scene again, this time with no flirtation. No niceness. Isaac delivered his lines with barely-concealed disdain. A wounded prince mocking the lover who betrayed him. His head in my lap was a heavy stone. We weren’t playing roles now. We were just being ourselves.
It had only taken one Saturday afternoon to make a connection. Isaac shared private information with me. I let him come closer to my story than anyone. The time we spent together was the foundation of the scene. My going to the dance with Justin was the betrayal. Hamlet’s pain was Isaac’s. Ophelia’s regret was mine.
When it ended, Martin clapped again and this time it was applause.
“Perfect,” he said. “That was perfect. It adds so much more dimension to the scene. Good work everyone. Moving on…”
At the end of rehearsal, I hurried to grab my stuff and get out. Then I remembered Justin was my ride home. He was waiting for me at the theater entrance, looking smug and triumphant. I hated him a little for that.
I tried to jam my script into my bag too quickly, dropped it and the three-ring binder busted open as it hit the floor. Pages spilled out and I kneeled to gather them up. A figure crouched beside me and I smelled gasoline, aftershave and cigarette smoke.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to go,” he said, muscles showing in his clenched jaw.
You said you were done with high school, I wanted to shout.
