Hollyhoney! Angst! Shakespeareeeeeeeeee

Tysm brambledawn for the review I am so so grateful for all the support you've shown me for years.

- Heloise -

This is the place. I... think.

I peer at the smudge on the back of my hand again. Crowded between 'science reading (p. 125-131)' and 'main office - penny's bus pass' is 'tech meeting 11:40, rm 209.' Probably should've just written it on my wrist; even though I tried to keep it all on my hand, I ended the day with nearly half my forearm covered in smudgy black reminders. There are a lot of little tasks and stuff to remember when you start at a new school. And I'm not defacing my beautiful new notebook with 'page for english due Fri.'

No sign of activity at room 209 though.

The notebook, with its pearly curlicues and accompanying New Year's resolution to try to write something every day, feels like it's burning a bit of a hole in my pocket. I've been trying to get better at describing people's faces, and after meeting like, a dozen new people every day, I've got lots of material to start scribbling down descriptions.

Speaking of; another person! Actually, I think I saw her before, in the aforementioned English class with its paper due Fri.

"Hey," she rasps as she arrives next to me, leaning against the bluish-green lockers, and studying the floor.

"Hi!" I smile at her. Huh. S'weird being the more extroverted person in the interaction. She returns the smile, though hers is less toothy I'm sure. More like a close-lipped slant. "Bellona, right? We've got English with Ms. Hanson, second period?"

She nods, gives me a quick, evaluating look. "You can call me Belle," then returns her gaze to the speckly floor, without asking my name. I'm almost relieved by her silence; I appreciate everyone's friendliness, but at this point, I've had enough too-long small chats with mega-outgoing 'popular' kids today to last me a lifetime.

Instead, I take the opportunity to very subtly stare at her, like a stalker. Like a poet trying to improve, I correct myself. She's lovely; quite tall, black, and dark-eyed. I'm not sure if it's intentionally fashionable or not, but she has an alternativey-grunge style with her baggy flannel and torn up jeans that appear to be more like patches of denim held together with safety pins. Her head's shaved too, which might be edgy on someone else but somehow gives her a more feminine look. It draws attention to the way her brows and lashes frame her big, doe-brown eyes, I think. My hand almost unconsciously moves to touch the outline of my notebook in a pocket of my skirt. She'd be fun to describe.

"So, um…" Usually I'm okay with silence, but I'm starting to get concerned I'm in the right place. "This is the A/V—er, tech crew room, right?"

"Yep." Bellona's still studying the floor. "Hermelinda's just makin' us sweat."

Hermelinda? No gentle, small, or warm person has ever had a name with that many syllables. "Who's Hermelinda?"

"Hermelinda Cuerves, she's tech head." The way Bellona grimaces makes me think there's more to that story. "She got promoted last year and… went a 'lil power crazy. But I'll look out for you, no worries. Just try to stay out of her way."

Sounds terrifying. "Right. Okay. Um, do you know anyone doing the play?" Now what am I doing? Don't make small talk.

Belle doesn't seem to mind though. She nods, and makes another of her half-smiles. "Yeah. My brother and sister are both big theatre nerds. Blaire and Bruno?"

Belle, Blaire, and Bruno? Top-tier parenting. But I keep that to myself. "Oh, cool, um, did they get any big parts?"

"Man, I'll level with you, I don't know shit about Shakespeare." And then she laughs, a flash of white teeth and a chuckle like distant thunder. "Bruno ain't shut up since, and Blaire seems excited too so I dunno, probably."

I can't help laughing too. "Right. Okay, good to know. Yeah, my sister Penn—" I don't want to be Penny at St. Erin's, okay? It's a new school, and I wanna make a fresh start, her quiet voice in the dark of our shared room echoes in my head. "Penelope, she auditioned too."

"Cool." Belle nods, and the silence lulls again. I look up and down the hallway, hoping to catch sight of Hermelinda Cuerves the Scary Tech Head ahead of time so I can brace myself. No sign of anyone that fits that description though, mostly just kids sitting in loose circles on the floor with their lunches spread out in front of them. A couple minutes later, Belle looks up. "A'ight, the fuck is going on? This is late, even for M—Hermelinda."

I open my mouth, then pause. When the buzz in the hallway died for a second, I thought I heard voices behind the door, but I brush it off. Then the door to room 209 swings open.

"Belle, what are you two lollygagging out here for?" In the entrance, a girl built like a telephone pole is standing, her platinum blond ponytail flickering out behind her spaghetti-strapped-shoulder as if it's wagging its finger at us. "Mel's gonna kill you."

Belle huffs. "Take it easy, Izzie, we just…" She trails off then squints at me, a little glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes. "Did you try the door?"

Deer in the headlights time. Belle lets out another laugh, and shakes her head.

"Just getting to know the newbie, Iz," Belle rasps, then gives me a grin. I smile shyly, and turn to 'Iz.' Her exasperated look is immediately replaced with one I've seen way too many times lately. Friendly kid has found a target, locked and loaded.

"Hey! You're new, right? I'm Isadora Hämäläinen, but everyone calls me Izzie!" Everything about her is like, UV-ray-white. Smile, ponytail, skin, even her ice-blue eyes.

I've heard that absurd last name somewhere. Poor supply teachers. "You have a brother, right?"

"A twin," Izzie groans. "Sort of. Yeah, Freddy's my younger brother."

A sort of twin? We don't have time to unpack that, though because…

My heart has stopped beating and I need to be rushed to a hospital.

Well, first, a girl who I'm assuming is Hermelinda walks out of the tech room. Then my heart stops beating. Look, it would be poetic to say that I've always been good with words but when I saw her, words failed me.

Unfortunately, it's not true; I do have a coherent thought when I see her. And that thought is Holyyyyy shit.

Hermelinda the Scary Tech Head is… devastating, is the best my brain can supply. And also, Why are all the Canadians so insanely tall!? That's supposed to be a Dutch thing. Belle, who I'd previously assessed as tall, looks positively shrimp-like next to the at-least-six-feet girl in front of me.

She looks at me. Maybe she heard the faint fizzle of my brain dying. Those wet-wood black-coffee night-sky-fireworks eyes fix themselves on me, and she tilts her head. A swath of shiny black hair sweeps over her shoulder. She's beautiful in a way I haven't seen before, I don't think; not specifically sexy or cute, more like… a classy, gorgeous, twenties movie star. A mexican twenties movie star…? The goddess Venus in tech crew form. "Giving the new girl a hard time, babe?"

Izzie grins. "No, boss. That was all Belle."

Hermelinda's heart-stopping gaze shifts to Belle, then she shrugs. "Right, hello Bellona. Well, you're here now." And back to me. "What's your name, honey?"

Oh, no, we're in no shape to speak anything out loud, my brain helpfully informs me. My mouth opens a little anyway. Hermelinda's head tilts another degree. The passage between my mouth and brain has collapsed and will be under repairs for a few months.

"I'm Mel," she adds after another beat.

"Alright, Mel, you broke her. Back in the tech room." Izzie clicks her tongue, then shoos Hermelinda the Devastating Tech Head back into the room. Mel just shakes her head, then disappears. "You'd better go with her, Belle."

Belle shoots Izzie a pleading look, which provokes a raised brow from her and a microscopic gesture to me with her pointy chin. Belle sighs, then shuffles into the room too.

"You good? The defibrillator's that way."

A blush scorches my cheeks, all the way to my ears. "It wasn't that obvious, was it?"

"It… was, extremely so. But honey, it's expected, she has that effect on everyone," Izzie says with a sympathetic shake of her head.

The second use of 'honey' makes me recall. "She called you babe—are you dating?" I redden further. It'd be even better to know that I just dropped dead at the sight of someone else's girlfriend.

Izzie laughs. "No, I'm straight and not trying to get my heart broken. She 'thinks nicknames make it feel more like a real team,'" she motions air quotes, "but uh, she's actually just shit with names. Called me Isabella last week and we've known each other for three years."

But she called Belle 'Bellona.' "Is she… uh, mean?"

"Only if you don't loop your cords. Naw, the heartbreaking thing was about Ivette." Izzie pats my shoulder. "You'll learn the way of the gay at St. Erin's. Mel turns you gay, Ivy breaks your heart. S'a real house of horrors, exclusively for lesbians. Anyway, glad to have you on the crew! C'mon in."

I blink. So… she is single?

- Julio -

I'm going to kill Bruno Aiken.

And yes, I said that last time, but this time it feels much more… actionable. I scowl at the vague blot of darkness in front of me. At least the harsher spotlighting of the auditorium makes it easier to perceive forms, but... Why can't Blaire sub in again? It's all well and good to be method-hating Bruno in most scenes, but then we get to the ones where Malvolio isn't actively trying to kill Sir Toby, and suddenly I'm having a lot of problems. The words all come out flat and unsteady.

Thankfully, Mr. A seems to decide I'm sufficiently tortured. "Alright, alright, great work, Julio. We're gonna transition into the two major scenes with Toby and Malvolio now, okay? We'll tackle the box tree next week. You guys can take a five minute break while I go find Daphne, Freddy, Baru, and Blaire."

A sigh of relief escapes me. Lucky thing that Blaire also got cast as Fabian or the binder in my hands will be halfway down Bruno's throat by the end of rehearsal.

"Julio, the thing about Malvolio is that he's, at his core, deeply unhappy with himself," Bruno says, approaching me. "I know you don't—"

"Sorry, can't talk, need some water."

"But—hey, listen—"

I escape with a somewhat risky jump off the stage. I'm fairly confident I can judge the distance of it now; we've moved rehearsals from the gym to the auditorium in the past week. Hadn't had much reason to be hopping around the stage before this. Bruno's voice is still going, but I hope he's found a new target—I'm getting better at tuning him out, I think.

After a few teeth-numbing gulps at the water fountain, and a moment of prayer for God to give me the strength not to beat Bruno with a stick, I return to the chairs and snarf down the Cliff bar Mel forced on me.

"Hungry work?" The squeak of Blaire's wheels and the familiar lump of darkness heralds her arrival next to me.

"Can't kill him on an empty stomach," I mumble, crumbs spewing.

She chuckles. "What's up next?"

"Didn't Mr. A tell you?"

"His tie is magenta with zebra stripes, I was slightly distracted."

"Ah. We're doing the 'two big Toby and Malvolio scenes,' whatever those are."

"The one with the letter?" Blaire's grin is audible.

"Nope, box tree's next week."

"Pity."

"It is not."

"Alright, guys, c'mon over!" Mr. A calls. I scramble back onto the stage and Blaire scoots around to the ramp. "We're starting with act two, scene three, beginning with 'Approach, Sir Andrew!' Baru and Bruno, you're up."

Daphne, Freddy, and I shuffle to the edge of the stage to wait for our cues, while Blaire reclines in her chair. I try to mentally flip through the lines in preparation. This is one where Malvolio tells them all to go to hell. Bruno found me last rehearsal to tell me that if I ever needed to be guided on stage he could take my arm. And then touched my arm helpfully. I wish I was allowed to bite him. But I can channel that into my performance, right?

Once Freddy's launched into another song, hamming up his performance much more than anyone asked for, I take a deep breath. Then they do another song. Christ, there's a lot of singing in this. Lucky it's mostly Freddy and not Baru or Haiza. That family is not musically talented, which I've learned from some very unfortunate karaoke at a party Blaire, Lee, and Haze conspired to drag me off to. My masters, are you mad? My masters, are you mad? My opener hums on my tongue, and I rub my hands anxiously.

"For the love of God, peace!" Daphne exclaims. I count my paces as I storm in.

"My masters, are you mad?!" It nearly explodes out of me. I barrel on, trying to ride the wave of sudden in-tune-with-the-characterness that I've found, gesticulating wildly. "Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?" The line ebbs and I rack my brain for the next, half-extended arm hanging in the air.

"Just remember that—" Bruno begins, almost in my ear. I jerk away and shout,

"Do you make an alehouse of my lady's house, that you squeak out your coziest catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you?" Then I direct my best glower in Bruno's direction.

"It's coziers, not coziest," Bruno replies. He sounds a little… aghast? "And you're not supposed to—"

"Bruno! I'll handle the directing. Keep the scene moving," Mr. A calls up to us. I hear Bruno's faint sigh, then,

"We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up." He might be delivering it so flatly on purpose, but I manage not to screech the scene to a halt to tell him how I think he should be doing it.

"Sir Toby, I must be round with you." I channel as much of Bruno's own oozing condescension as I can. "My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house. If not, and it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell."

Bruno starts his and Freddy's little bizarre song exchange, and I fold my arms. Blaire's gonna tease me, but fuck it. That was good. I didn't even forget anything. We finish off the scene, and I can't help a little grin for myself as I exit.

Blaire congratulates me with minimal ribbing, and I return the compliment.

"A kind word from my best friend? Is it my birthday?"

"I say nice things about you all the time," I grouse.

"Politifact rated that 'no.'"

Once Blaire got old enough to realize that being a gay, black, trans, disabled girl would result in a few of her rights being debated every election, a fierce political interest developed soon after. "Okay, maybe I don't say nice things, but I… I don't say all the mean things that I think."

She makes a high, doubtful noise.

"Most of 'em."

"Mm. So toxic." I can hear her grin.

"What's the ETA on Bruno's broken kneecaps?" I ask her, grabbing my cane off my chair as we leave the auditorium. We were only called for half an hour; Lee and others are apparently forced to hang around. "I dunno how much more of this I can take."

Blaire sighs loudly through her nose. "I dunno, man, I'm trying to curse him through ill-will alone, but it's slow-going. If it helps, I'm suffering too."

"It doesn't."

"He just stares at Daphne like she's so freakin' perfect, and I mean, obviously she is, but like, back off, right?"

I nod. Someone in front of me dodges so hard to the left they hit the lockers. You don't need to fuckin' parkour around us. Goddamn. I guess I'm in a good mood, because normally I'd flip them off.

"And like, fuck, he's so bad at acting," Blaire continues. I raise an eyebrow. That's pretty damning, coming from her. "I get to say it 'cause he's my brother, and I busted my ass learning every last line for Toby so that I could practice doing it with lots of zest if Mr. A ever gives me a damn rehearsal. But he's like a fucking robot!"

"Three dollars for the swear jar," I say dryly, then add, "and I thought you were gonna learn lines with Daphne."

"That's the point, Jules! I gotta learn them so that when we practice together she'll be impressed by how smart I am."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, all good relationships are founded on lies."

"It's not a lie, it's… a scheme," Blaire lectures as we leave the school. The chilly September-October breeze sneaks its way under my hoodie. "Very different things."

"Potato, po-tah-to, tomato, to-mah-to, ketchup, smoothie."

Blaire groans. "Okay, Kiss Quotient time, that was unforgivable."

Definitely a good mood, because I find myself handing her the earbuds so she can open the audiobook on her phone. I guess it's because of rehearsal. I hate Bruno, but acting is kind of fun, I grudgingly admit to myself. Then to keep up my cranky cred, "What kind of cornball can listen to the same cliched romances two hundred times in a row and still enjoy them?"

When she hands me the earbuds, instead of the expected narrator's voice, it's techno music. A moment later… Baby, can't you see? I'm calling. A guy like you should wear a warning… I scowl down in Blaire's direction.

- Bellona -

I'm a Taurus, I think you should know. I'm also not that into astrology, even though you won't believe me after I chose that as my opener, but I think it's relevant.

When I get my horns into something, I don't quit. Ever. I don't know how. I don't think it's a family trait, since Blaire flits from interest to interest like a hummingbird getting distracted by bright flowers, and Bruno only ever does things he already knows he's going to succeed at. And it's not like, a moral thing. I just do stuff, and then realize four years later I probably should've stopped.

Tech crew is well on its way to becoming one of those things.

I pull my thumbnail out of my mouth and wipe my bleeding cuticle on the edge of my shirt. I'm supposed to be paying attention, but I've been spaced out since 2010, so I don't think I can catch the blame for not listening to Mr. A as he runs through a bajillion lighting cues.

"Scene four, I want a middle spot on…"

My brain turns the dial of his volume all the way down until I can only hear my thoughts. Hmmm… pretty lights. The auditorium yawns like the mouth of a giant angler fish out the window of the tech booth, the centre-stage spotlight acting as its… dangly light thing. What's the word for it? Grade-nine-Blaire would know. She had a marine biology phase that lasted a couple of months.

Now that I'm in year five of my tech crew phase, I feel like I should've gotten slightly better at paying attention when the teacher gives me the list of directions. And it's not like I'm bad at taking orders; fuck, if anything, the number of decrees Queen Mel has been issuing since our first meeting should show that I have the patience of a goddamn saint. Queen Hermelinda, I mean.

I dart a look at Her Majesty, who is reclining on the padded swivel chair I didn't bother trying to fight her for. Despite the bulky headset over her ears, she's obviously listening to the teacher, nodding along and slipping Mhmms between his enthusiastic gesticulation. Why doesn't she just take off her other headphones for tech meetings…? I don't know if I've ever seen her entire neck. Except for that time when, uh, I got a really good look at her neck, let's say. But aside from a couple instances that I'm not gonna dwell on, those scarlet headphones stay firmly resting on her collarbone. I wish she looked stupid, wearing two pairs of headphones. One ear of her personal pair has gotten caught on the edge of her blouse.

And I don't notice, because I'm paying attention to everything Mr. A says and not staring at my ex.

'Cause I'm fine, and completely over her. Totally moving on.

Well, that last part isn't actually a lie; my brain has found another unattainable, out-of-my-league girl to silently obsess over. But I'm hoping that if I just don't admit it to myself, I won't actually get my heart broken, you know? Denial is comfier than the comfiest swivel chair in the tech booth, sometimes.

"What do you think, Belle?"

Mr. A's asking for input. I nod, pretending to think it over, then shrug. "Whatever you think is best."

That's my go-to for Mr. A; he's always already made up his mind about whatever it is. And sure enough, he smiles wide and starts off again about spotlights. I didn't have a go-to when I was spacing out around Mel. I could just tell her that I wasn't paying attention and she'd repeat herself, because she was always patient with me. But I'm over her, for sure.

"Right! That should about do it. Well, thank you, ladies, and I'm looking forward to next rehearsal!" Mr. A stands and shakes Mel's hand. Hermelinda's hand, I mean. "Glad to have you as tech head, Mel, you're doing a fine job so far."

Her smile is subdued, one of her 'She's so pretty it hurts' smiles, not a full on, triple-decker deluxe 'I think you're actually my soulmate' grins. Which is for the best. But still, validation from an authority figure is supposed to be her greatest joy in life, so I'm getting the feeling there's something going on with her. But she can chat about that with her friends and her family and whichever new girl she's seeing.

And I don't know who that is, because I'm not stalking her socials. That one's true as well. I've been on a bit of an Instagram cleanse generally. Pinterest is still getting combed every so often for aesthetics and fashion, and my 'wardrobe of the war god' board is quickly filling up, which means another Value Village spree is on the horizon. Blaire's swiped enough of my clothes that I think Dad'll agree. I think Bruno even stole one of my belts.

Grand larceny is the highest form of flattery, right?

Hermelinda bids a farewell to Mr. A, who offers her a copy of the script with his cue notes in it, then dances out the door. I pull out my phone, ready to be engrossed in staring at my home screen of Blaire, Bruno, and me on Bruno's birthday last March, if things get awkward. Sure enough, Mel's taking her time—Hermelinda's taking her time packing her stuff away. She pulled out homework to do halfway through the meeting when we were waiting for Mr. A, and now she's flattening each paper like it's four hundred years old and she need to preserve it for historical records. Mr. A's script gets the same treatment, and I quickly look back at my phone so I don't start dwelling on the satisfying movement of her long fingers sweeping across the page, glossy black nails pinning down each edge.

Instead, I stare at my home screen. I wasn't kidding. It's a really good picture, man. Blaire's cheesing from ear to ear, even Bruno managed a smile for the occasion. I'm tilting my head like I'm trying to get a good angle, lips closed and eyebrows raised a bit. My brain starts picking out the faults in the picture; I looked so posed, and the blur tool I tried to use to fix my cystic acne gives it a really Facetune-y, fake look. That's the kind of superficiality I'm trying to fix with this whole social-media-cleanse, though.

"Bellona? Are you coming out?" Mel's voice snaps me out of my home screen haze. "I was going to lock up."

"Oh, yep, coming." I fail to pick between waving and saying 'bye' to her when I get to the door of the tech booth, so instead I give her a really awkward head bob and then start walking down the hall.

"You forgot your bag!"

Motherfucker. I will my cheeks not to flame as I make the walk of shame back to the tech booth to grab my backpack. "Thanks. See you later."

"See you."

I don't know which god I pissed off, but just as I'm walking out the C door, I spot the group of people ahead of me. Izzie, who I'd normally catch up to and say hi if she was alone, is walking with her non-tech friend group. Which includes Daphne. And her twin sister, who shall remain nameless. And Moiz and Heloise, the new girl, who I care about equally.

I'm sure you've heard the saying by now, but for the record, Hermelinda Cuerves is not the reason I'm gay. Shego from Kim Possible is the reason I'm gay. And possibly also the reason I've found myself attracted to a girl in black lipstick. Fuck. Maybe Freud was right. I swallow hard and try to shuffle along even slower. And she-who-shall-not-be-named won't break my heart.

Moiz says something and Iv—the group laughs. I stand still and wait until they've crossed the parking lot to the bus stop and resign myself to walking home with only Megan Thee Stallion to comfort me. Earbuds, not headphones.

- Moiz -

"Would thoud'st be ruled by me?" Cory looms over me, batting her eyelashes, and I fight off another nervous giggle. Mr. A, yeah Mr. A already got on my case about bursting into laughter in the middle of a scene, but I can't help it. Cory's got a better poker face than me, but I can see the pent-up giggles twinkling in her blue eyes.

"Madam, I will!" I proclaim, voice strained as I hold it in.

"Oh, say so, and so be!" Cory fans herself and an actual tear leaks out of the corner of my eye as she swans offstage, tugging me along behind her. I slap my hand over my mouth but I'm already wheezing.

Mr. A can't keep up his stern gaze for long, and also starts laughing. "I know, Moiz, it's a funny scene, but let the audience do the laughing."

I don't really know how to explain to him that it's not strictly how Sebastian's ready to run off with this woman he quite literally met thirty seconds ago, or how enchanted Olivia is with the twin of the person she's actually interested in, but more about the way Cory seems to have made it her mission to go full ham on every last one of her lines. And apparently laugh-wheezing your way through all your lines is Haraam.

"Yes, Mr. A," I say as soon as I'm under control.

"Alright, let's try the marriage. You gonna be okay, Moiz?"

"Yes, Mr. A."

Bald-faced lie. I make it through my monologue, a solid job for someone who was line-cramming just before rehearsal, and immediately start to crack when Cory flounces on. To be fair to me, I never knew Cory had this melodramatic streak—we have that weirdly close-distant relationship of two people who grew up just outside of each other's social circles. We both went to Tranton, both go to St. Erin's, but by the time it wasn't weird to be friends with girls, she was deep in the track team and I was always a little too intimidated by her. But I guess now's as good a time as any to get to know the girl I've known for a decade.

Heloise, the new girl on tech that Ivy immediately set her sights on steps onstage to be the pastor. Lucky her, she has no lines and Mr. A doesn't reprimand her when she giggles at Cory's antics. I fumble my way through the last couplet, then Cory drags me back offstage.

"You're doing this—on purpose," I hiss at her between gasps for air.

She gives me an angelically innocent look but I see right through her. "Never! It won't be funny by opening night, anyway."

But that's not even three months away, now. We're almost at Hallowe'en. There's a good chance I'll be wheezing through my lines in front of whoever wants to come see a high school production of Twelfth Night. And Baru and Haiza are doing just as bad, apparently. Poor Haiza, she was so excited, and now she's having all that trouble saying her lines onstage. That is… not my problem, but I empathize anyway.

"We'll see," I choke, and manage to make it sound like a threat.

"Alright, you guys can come back and I'll give you some notes," Mr. A sighs and I have a feeling I already know what he's gonna say.

Once he's done with us, he calls the whole cast together for our last meeting before we go. Some more people with minor characters, or who weren't called for the whole rehearsal, are already gone. I drop into a seat next to Ivy, still catching my breath. Asthma and nervous giggles is a bitch of a combination.

"How's Cory?" she asked, eyeing the way I suck in a breath and try not to remember the way Cory waggled her eyebrows on This act of mine.

"She's hilarious. I... never knew."

Ivy gives me a doubtful look.

"Seriously." I shake my head. "You'll see."

Mr. A launches into his spiel, going over how long we have before opening night and what we're going to be doing in the next couple of weeks. Apparently music rehearsal is ramping up and we're going to start choreographing the fights. That should be interesting. I know Sebastian's involved in some of them.

"And finally, Daphne let me know about something you all might be interested in!" he finishes.

Oh? I crane my neck to look over Ivy's head at her twin. Daphne's blushing a little to be the centre of attention, fiddling with her charm bracelet, but she smiles as Mr. A continues.

"As you all know, there's a lot of music in Twelfth Night. But as Daphne discovered, there's an actual musical for the play!" he announces, eyes twinkling. "It's on YouTube, right?"

Daphne nods, lifting up her phone like we can see the tiny screen from our positions the first row of chairs in the auditorium.

"Right! Well, you guys can go look for it on your own time. If you've been having a hard time with the plot or anything, you might want to check it out!" Mr. A suggests. "Alright, that's all. We'll see you next week."

Huh, a musical? Daphne's… passion for musicals isn't unknown to our friend group. I've been sworn to secrecy by Ivy on a few occasions when her twin cajoled her into some kind of musical theatre duet. Dunno if that's really my thing. But I guess it's worth checking out.

"Ready to go?" Ivy's already got everything tucked away in her satchel. I shove my script's binder into the already-overstuffed beat up black backpack that I've had since grade four and sling it over my shoulder.

"Yup, let's bounce. I have so much homework."

"Too much for costume shopping?" Ivy doesn't use her puppy eyes nearly as much as her sister does, but they're still pretty hard to say no to.

"Ohh, shit, I forget we were gonna do that today," I groan. "Not for too long, yeah?"

"Half an hour?"
"Yeah, yeah, alright."

"And anyway, your costume's gonna be way easier to find. You still have your dad's old lab coat?"

"Yeah." I grimace to think of how he's going to react when I return it, dyed a dark blue.

"Then all you need is the face paint and the crazy hair. I'm going to have trouble, though. Where the hell am I going to find this much black and green spandex?" She waves her phone with its 'Shego costume ideas' board open onscreen under my nose.

"Green and black spandex is half your wardrobe."

"Shut up and let's go, we're wasting daylight."

I shut up and follow her into the mostly deserted hallways. Then a moment later, ask, "Hey, did Daphne tell you about that musical thing?"

Ivy snorts. "Yeah. Me and half the neighbourhood. I think it might be the only thing she's listened to for the last week."

"And? How is it?"

"I dunno, Antonio hardly gets a song, so…" Ivy purses her black lips and shrugs.

I snort. "You listened to it, eh?"

Ivy grins. "Hey, man, she's annoying sometimes but she's my sister. If she's gonna dedicate her whole life to a musical, I wanna know what's up with it. And I'm gonna need to know the lyrics when she wants to do karaoke. Now c'mon, let's go thrift."

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~Akila