Disclaimer: Man, I wish I had some clever way to say this, but I don't at the moment. So, I'm not Stephenie Meyer, and I do not own Twilight.


You know how I said that Ms. Murphy was just the sweetest little thing? Yeah, I was WRONG.

Within the few days since we've started the play, I've come to realize she is a she-demon more sadistic than Alice on a shopping spree. I've contemplated faking my death once, self-injury four times, and begun plotting an elaborate revenge scheme several times, all to get out of the play. Unfortunately, I had the feeling that I would be forced to be Juliet regardless of whether I was conscious and/or breathing.

So for the last few days I've been spending half of 2nd period acting and the other half avoiding Edward, who seemed hell-bent on cornering me for one reason or another. Honestly, I didn't want to listen to anything he had to say. It was beyond annoying.

I was broken out of my internal grumbling by the happy-go-lucky sound of Ms. Murphy's voice berating Emmet once again on his lines. I grimaced and focused on their conversation.

"It's not that hard, Emmet, just try it," she encouraged.

Emmet took a deep breath and recited:

"Alas poor Romeo! He is already dead; stabbed with a
white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a
love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with-"

"No, no," admonished our teacher, "Your lined aren't unhappy, they're sarcastic. Come on, try it again."

Emmet unclenched his teeth and tried again. "Alas poor Romeo! He-"

"No!" cried Ms. Murphy, "You're still-"

"You know what?" fumed Emmet, "I-I CAN'T WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS!!" He whirled around with a flourish and dramatically stormed offstage. I had to stifle my laughter at his reaction.

"Having fun?" a velvety voice whispered at my elbow.

I immediately turned around and glared at the speaker, who was none other than Edward Masen himself, the most recent bane of my existence. "What do you want?"

"Can't a guy just stand around?" he asked innocently, but I was not fooled.

"That's called loitering, and is illegal in most establishments," I fired back, annoyed.

Edward chuckled and turned his attention to the stage, where Lauren was standing trying to deliver her lines. "You know, I broke up with Lauren yesterday," he said, trying to be casual about it.

I glanced at Edward sideways, wondering if he was joking. "So?"

"So-" he seemed to hesitate, before resolutely plowing on, "-so there shouldn't be any problem with you going out with me this Saturday?"

I sucked in a sharp breath before meeting Edward's gaze with my own. "Are you trying to be funny?" I demanded.

"Huh?" he asked, bewildered.

I shook my head, utterly disgusted. "You're unbelievable."

"Wait – what?" he grabbed my arm to stop me from walking away. I wrenched my arm from his grasp, utterly enraged.

"You think you can just dump your floozy of a girlfriend, and expect me to fall into your waiting arms?" I asked him angrily.

"Um…" Edward quailed under my furious gaze. "Maybe…?"

Consumed by fury, I could only let loose an inarticulate howl of rage. I was just about to claw Edward's eyes out (quite happily, I might add) when Ms. Murphy called, "Alright, Bella, Edward, you're up for Act 3, Scene 5."

I glared at Ms. Murphy with as much loathing as I could muster, but she remained oblivious to it entirely. "Best not to dawdle, now."

I grumbled my way up the stage stairs, my temper cooled slightly, only slightly, because it shot back up again as soon as I heard Edward's heavenly chuckles behind me.

We faced each other onstage with our scripts in our hands. I refused to meet his eyes, knowing I would hardly be able to restrain myself from attacking him at the moment. Jeez, I really needed to chillax. Heh. Chillax.

"Okay, Juliet, begin," said Ms. Murphy in a business-like tone.

I took a deep breath before beginning my lines in a begrudging tone:

"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

I rolled my eyes at the stupid words, but was once again struck breathless at Edward's voice.

"It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die
," he said, cool as a cucumber.

Stupid guy with his stupid, lovely voice and his stupid, sexy hair and-

I gave myself a mental slap and continued with my lines:

"Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone."

Edward smiled at me mysteriously and winked, making me mad all over again. Wait-did I seriously just blush? Again?

"Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day,"
he said, and I almost heard a pleading note in his voice. How curious…and how bizarre. (1)

"It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows."

Again I rolled my eyes as I said the words. Ah, the idiocy of love, I thought sardonically,

"More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!," Edward finished, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I was almost pathetically grateful when Ms. Murphy decided to let us leave early. I grabbed my bag, and was just about to dash out the door when a familiar hand grabbed my wrist.

"Hey…what's the hurry?" Edwrad asked with his infamous crooked grin on his face.

I inwardly groaned and faced Edward. "What do you want?" I sighed wearily.

Edwrad's visage abruptly turned serious as he leaned down to my face. "What can I do to convince you I'm serious about you?" he asked me softly.

I blinked, not expecting his question. I replied slowly, "Well, you have to be willing to work for it. I'm not one of your floozys, Edward."

"Don't I know it," Edward chuckled, suddenly in better spirits. He had a mischevious twinkle in his eyes that suddenly looked menacing. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bella."

Edward then walked out of the room, a slight bounce in his step. I looked after him for a moment, shocked and perplexed. Finally, I walked out the door as well, my head muddled and confused. What was he up to?


(1) A line from one of my favorite plays, called The Bald Soprano. You peeps should read it sometime, because it's hilarial.