Falling for Romeo (4 page)

When they saw him, they watched. John moved to the back of the room into darkness. It wasn’t easy being watched all the time. Sometimes the pressure crushed, like being caught in a giant garbage compactor.

He took a seat in the furthermost chair.

Paint on the sets was fresh, filling the cavernous room with the pungent scent of turpentine underneath the hot lights. Cast and crew worked late into the night over the past few days building and painting the walls of the city, the lattice that Romeo climbed to reach Juliet, and the tomb where the two lovers took their final breaths.

They would kiss again today. He’d kiss Jennifer every day from now until the play ended.

His body hummed.

But the sting of her words flatlined the pleasant buzz.

Did she really think the kiss was lame? The kiss had been far from lame—from his angle anyhow. It was better than when Tricia Boswell had shocked him with a kiss. And way better than when he’d kissed Sara Lahoney. Sara had k

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been his first. They’d barely known each other and it had been a strangely empty experience.

Even in front of everybody, kissing Jennifer was unlike anything else. John figured it was because they’d known each other for so long. He thought that would make their stage intimacy weird, but lately he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Other cast members gathered in the darkened room and the usual scanning took place. Some saw him.

Those who did looked eager to join him but hesitated.

He didn’t want company, so he kept himself in the dark and didn’t meet any gazes. His stomach knotted. Four o’clock. He was within moments of facing Jennifer.

Any other girl didn’t set his nerves on edge. It seemed every other girl went out of their way to agree with him. Sometimes he liked the convenience of that, most of the time he was bored by the predictability.

When Jennifer entered, John sat up. She didn’t come in and look around like everybody else. Jennifer Vienvu didn’t care if anybody watched her. John liked that. She did what she wanted. Even as a fresh victim of her opinion, or gossip—whatever it was, he liked that she had a voice of her own, not one that got lost in the screams of the crowd or whispered in unquestioning compliance with his.

She wore baby blue today. Her vanilla ice cream hair was down, melting around her shoulders. No expert on hairstyles, John realized that he liked Jenn’s hair just about any way she chose to wear it.

Her light laugh caused a ripple somewhere inside of him and he shifted in his seat. She hadn’t seen him yet. He may like her self confidence, but, hey, if she

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wondered where he was, she’d check around for him by now, wouldn’t she?

Most of the cast had arrived and buzzed all over the room. It would be only moments before Chip flew in, and the energy level cranked to high.

John stood. A dozen heads turned his direction.

He wondered if he could make it backstage without being approached by somebody wanting something.

He weaved through the rows and noticed that Jennifer’s head turned. Though he still didn’t want to talk to anybody, not even her—yet, he forced himself to make eye contact with those watching as he walked down the center aisle of the auditorium.

“John.” Ty, the set manager waved.

A hard slap to John’s shoulder brought his face to Blake’s. Still touching up the sets, the eager junior was splotched like a Dalmatian with paint. “Dude.”

“Hey.” John slugged his arm and continued his stroll toward the stage.

“Hi, John.” The high pitch of female voices made John cringe. He turned to his left. A group of girls cast as the citizens of Verona huddled in some of the seats, grinning and giggling.

He gave them a smile. “Ladies.” When they dipped their heads together in whispers he quickened his pace.

Out the corner of his eye he caught Jennifer watching.

A warm shot of pleasure went through his system. He jumped on stage with a little more finesse and stood under the fiery spotlight, ready for rehearsal.

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John’s cool professionalism created angst in Jennifer. She prided herself in being able to read people—guys, especially. She had no idea what he was thinking. Long ago, she’d figured out what she could get away with, how much she could say, how far she could go. It worked with just about every boy she knew—except one. For having known him so well, she realized she hardly knew him at all now.

With the exception of an occasional non-scripted glance, he all but ignored her. The kiss was coming, and the gradual gathering of butterflies in her stomach caused her palms to sweat. When he touched her, her clammy hands would give her away so she rubbed them against her clothing to keep them dry.

“Are you nervous?” Lacey whispered as the scene played out. Romeo and Benvolio were coming in secret to the party where Romeo first sees Juliet. Jennifer stood with Lacey and watched the dancers— Juliet yet unaware of Romeo’s presence.

“Not at all.” Jennifer didn’t break character knowing that Chip watched from the director’s booth.

“I dare you to bite him.”

Jennifer’s face twisted into shocked surprise at Lacey’s wicked smile.

“Whatever.” Jennifer concentrated on the scene so she wouldn’t miss her cue. But a strange shiver ran along her spine. No way would she bite John, that was just weird. Just before she stepped into the action she heard Lacey whisper, “Do it.”

Jennifer searched the partying, dancing crowd for John. He was easy to spot. That dark mop of unruly

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hair stuck out like a black bee in a hedge of flowers. He moved through the dancers with such purpose, the thrill racing through her pulse was not solely theatrical.

Juliet found her true love. He stood a few feet away amidst the music, the laughter and joy, a mere mask for two families with a rivalry that nurtured pride and refused love. But even with obstacles seeped in tradition, even with resistance, Romeo’s determination drove him through the crowd to her.

When he stopped, his eyes locked on hers. Jennifer told herself she was Juliet, feeling what Juliet felt for Romeo. But that wasn’t all. Though they’d been there in that very spot in other rehearsals, it was as if they stood there for the first time. Only she couldn’t make her eyes see Romeo. John made her knees soft, her head light.

When her lips broke into a smile, it was because her heart thudded one name.

John made his way through the dancers to Jennifer.

Every nerve jittered. Within seconds he’d touch her. In a few more minutes he’d kiss her. His feet wanted to flee, but flowing in his blood was something he couldn’t deny that he wanted.

He never ran from anything, least of all a girl. Still, everyone in the room was curious, titillated even by the physical romance unabashedly explored in Romeo and Juliet. That meant the spotlight that seemed to be his constant companion was heating up.

In this scene, he was supposed to go to her and take her hands. He was supposed to look into her eyes k

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as if—
why was it so hard to think it
? For weeks, Chip had forbidden them to touch, insisting the wait preserved the chemistry needed to make the love story alive for performance. But to look into her eyes as if she was the only girl on earth, the one he wanted, needed—the nerves in his throat clutched. He wondered if he’d be able to deliver his lines.

“You okay?” Fletcher asked. He played Benvolio, Romeo’s friend and sidekick. Together, they were crashing the Capulet party in search of Juliet.

“Fine.” John swallowed. “Why?”

As staged, the two of them ducked behind four dancers. “Your face is white.”

John took a deep breath and made his move across the front of the stage to Jennifer.

Juliet saw him and now waited. John’s heart skipped. Sweet eagerness lit her face. Her blue eyes were happy, excited. The sight calmed him some and he thought that Romeo was a pretty lucky guy.

The stage was hot under the lights, the smell of sweat and fresh paint intoxicating. Music urged him forward; he hoped she wouldn’t feel his heart beating in his hands. Reaching out, he took hers and noticed for the first time how delicate they were. Without thinking, he looked at them, and ran his thumb over her knuckles.

Familiar hands. They’d climbed trees together, built mud cakes side-by- side.

He took her by surprise, touching her that way.

A smile would have broken out on his lips had he not already had one—Romeo’s. He stood under the heated lights, her hands in his, his voice ready.

And forgot his line.

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Panic shoved euphoria right out of his system. Sweat bled from his face. His mouth opened and nothing came.

Thankfully, the dancers kept dancing, the citizens still played at being spectators. Unconsciously his grip on her hands tightened as his brain squeezed for the right words.

“What’s my line?” he whispered.

The way her eyes danced, he knew he was screwed. She didn’t tell him. Frustrated, he nearly shoved himself away. The music stopped, the dancers slowed and silence fell like a bad smell over the stage.

The heat of humiliation started in his neck and spread through his body. Turning from Jennifer, he hoped to hide what he knew would be a red face, but it was impossible to hide anything when you lived in the glare of a spotlight.

“I need the line, Chip,” John barked into the darkness.

Chip’s heavy sigh spoke volumes of annoyance.

“We’re days from show time, people,” he began. John felt every eye from the cast burn into his back, and sharp rays from Chip hitting him in the chest, but he held his head up anyway.

“If you don’t know your lines,” Chip came down the center aisle, “then I don’t want you doing anything else, and I mean anything other than eating, sleeping and peeing, until you do. Get it?”

Murmurs of agreement, nodding heads followed.

Chip now stood at the front of the stage, looking up into John’s face. “You,” he said, “don’t get to pee.” John didn’t smile or laugh, even when Chip smiled at him first. He figured being unable to remember lines was inexcusable for an honor student, somebody on k

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student council. A guy who had rented every version of Romeo and Juliet and watched each one to better understand what he’d gotten himself into. He memorized the whole script two weeks after he was cast—a feat for a guy who had a problem memorizing.

It didn’t set well that his mind was now so easily distracted.

Out the corner of his eye, Jennifer shifted. He didn’t look over. It was callous she hadn’t prompted him. Now, he was mad.

“Let’s take it from where you come in again, John,” Chip announced. “Places.” Then he stepped back into the darkness.

John looked over at Jennifer and scowled. Her baby blue eyes teased.
Yeah, I’m looking at you, babe.

You could have helped me and you didn’t.

Storming back to his starting position, John tensed.

Why can’t she ever forget a line? I’d love it if she was the
one standing there with her mouth hanging open, looking
stupid. I’d friggin’ love it.

Since she was Miss Perfect, he’d have to throw her balance off some other way. The ribbon of revenge dangled temptingly inside of him—a feeling he hadn’t felt for her in a long time.

Music started. Its light, harmonious strains irritated John as stormy frustration built. Dancers bowed to each other. As he watched her in preparation for his move across the stage, he noticed that her back was to the audience. In her pretended excitement, her body moved as if she had an itch deep inside.

John waved his hands over his head. Everything stopped.

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“John?” Chip asked.

“Yeah, I was just thinking.” He took a feigned, thoughtful pose. “When Jenn’s standing there with Lacey, isn’t her back to the audience?” Jennifer’s eyes flashed; pink embarrassment flushed her face. He made her think.
Good.
He almost smiled.

“You’re right,” Chip said. “I missed that. Thanks.

Jenn.” Jennifer squinted out into the darkness.

“Remember to cheat right there.”

“And she’s doing some wiggling thing,” John added innocently, his hands gesturing to her bottom.

When Jennifer shot around to him with a glare, it took everything he had not to break into a big grin.

“Something with her, uh…her rear.” Everyone on stage erupted into laughter. John smiled. Chip walked toward the stage again, lips twisted in thought. “Let me see you in your last position, Jenn.” Obediently Jennifer stood ready. Only, with every eye pinning her, her body didn’t move. “I don’t think she knows she’s doing it,” John observed. “She gets so into it, it’s like she’s an excited puppy.” Jennifer’s eyes opened wide. Red bled up her face.

That was too far.

In an effort to calm the laughter and talk, Chip climbed up onto the stage and took Jennifer aside. John was instantly surrounded by the boys, all of who made jokes about his comment. But John couldn’t take his gaze from Chip and Jennifer.

She looked—did she really look ready to cry? He felt like he was slugged in the stomach with a two-by-four labeled:
Loser.

When Chip finished talking to her, she returned to k

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her mark. Her chin was up, her eyes were cool and John saw no trace of the criticism anywhere. But Chip glanced at him with a biting look before jumping off stage.

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Four

Jennifer hadn’t cooled down. When she walked through the front door of home two hours later, she let everyone know it with a heavy slam. She stomped her feet across the living room toward the kitchen, though she had no intention of eating. She hoped her mother had ten or more dozen eggs in the refrigerator she could huck at John’s window. If there weren’t any eggs, her mother always kept a container of cottage cheese. With a large spoon, she could fire at will and make a nice, goopy mess that would harden and be impossible for John to scrape off.