Hello again! Enjoy another Twelfth Grade
- Bellona -
I feel like 'heaven's dark torch' is a bit much, but the rest is pretty accurate, I decide, skimming the notebook page.
"Belle?"
You know what, scratch that. No such thing as 'too much' when we're describing the wonder of the world that is Hermelinda's eyes. "Mm? Sup." I shove Heloise's notebook back into her bag with one out-of-sight hand.
Hermelinda squints at me. "We're running lighting cues on the scene with the split lighting, the jail cell and the outside."
"Yeah, yeah, right, coming." I stop snooping in people's bags in a dark classroom and jog down the hall after Hermelinda. She's wearing her dark jeans again, the ones that she embroidered a little rose into the pocket of, and her leather jacket. I follow her into the tech booth, and take my seat in front of the control panel. "Izzie's backstage?"
"Yeah," she confirms, already slipping the black commset over her ears. "Babe, can you hear me? Right. Comms are working. Three cheers for that. Alrighty, go lights."
That's gonna be my name for the next two months, 'go lights.' Better than watching her force her way through 'Bell-oh-nah' every time she needs my attention. Err-mah-linnnn-dah, my brain remarks. Guess I'm a hypocrite. I lower the houselights with one hand and drive up the left stage lights with the other.
I like doing tech, honestly. Even though after Mel and I split, it probably would've been better to hand in my pink slip or whatever the fuck, I stuck with it and it's stuff like this that makes me glad I did. As the distant figures move around onstage, coming into and out of the lights I offer them, my hands fly over the board of switches and dials.
St. Erin's has always been a kind of artsy school, and it shows in our tech set-up; backstage is a death trap, don't get me wrong, but the tech booth is pretty nice. I don't envy Izzie, as ASM. She's probably surrounded by extremely flammable, probably-not-school-safe equipment. Even if it means an hour with my ex, I'm glad to be stationed in front of the array of command panels.
Hermelinda keeps up a steady stream of low-voiced instructions into the comm as she handles the sound, even though there's like one sound cue this scene. Loath as I am to admit it, she nails the transition from the 'outdoors' to the jail cell. The grating metal sound of the jail door opening, that I'm assuming she had to go out and record herself, contrasts the warm light change into the interior of the jail, exactly in unison with me.
She shoots me a grin as Freddy walks through the 'door,' that moment of tech crew magic where a new world springs up on the stage with just a clever sound and lighting change hitting just right, and I find myself smiling too before I can think better of it. Then I clear my throat and go back to adjusting the lights unnecessarily.
When our bit of rehearsal is done (we were called first, thank God), I stand, ready to scoot right out as fast as possible. Heloise was working as a stagehand for Izzie backstage, meaning most of the rehearsal was spent with tension humming between Mel and me, alone in the booth. Hermelinda, I mean.
"Hey, Bellona."
I pause, halfway to disappearing out the door, and turn back. She tilts her head a little, eyes as magnetic as ever, then smiles, slow and sad.
"I just… it's fun doing tech again." She sounds unsure; her concrete-sea of competence has ebbed. What the hell am I saying? Heloise infected me.
She pauses and I wait to see if she's gonna say more. She doesn't. I open my mouth, feeling like I've gotta say something in return. "Mel… the new kid's got it bad for you, you know?"
"Honey?" Mel blinks.
I roll my eyes, but I'm grinning. "Her name's Heloise."
"Sure, sure."
"No, seriously, she's…" I pause. Then shrug. "You know."
Mel's gaze drifts up, thoughtful, then she directs it back at me. "You think?" She's got an almost dazzled look in her eye. No shit, is it mutual? Well then. Or maybe that's just her usual dazzling look. "Huh. I'm not going to break her heart, if that's what you're worried about."
I shrug again, hoping to dispel her defensive tone. "I know. That's not your job."
Mel snorts. "I hate that stupid saying."
"And I hate getting my heart broken."
Mel's brow creases, then she realizes what I mean and laughs. "Damn, really? Good luck with Ivy, then. She's a hottie."
My gaze skids shyly to the window over her shoulder and I snort, ducking my head. "Yeah. That's appreciated. I'll see you around, Mel."
"See you, sweetheart."
And even though that's probably up there with the most awkward conversations I've ever had, I head to room 209 to grab my bag with lighter feet that I've had in a long time. Back in the saddle. Things are finally feeling normal again; I went thrifting with Blaire last weekend, helped Bruno with his university applications, and now I'm finally back on track with tech crew and Mel.
Last thing on the list is to go on a few ill-advised dates with Ivy and descend back into a black-cherry-french-vanilla fuelled depression.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and give Heloise's half-open backpack a guilty look. I've always been a bit of a snoop, and damn it, I was curious what she's always scribbling away at when there's a lull in tech rehearsals. As it turns out; poetry. Thirsty, thirsty poetry. I can't really blame her; if I had a poetic streak and I was in the middle of my Mel-crush, I would've been doing the exact same thing. Besides, her poems aren't even bad, in my totally unqualified opinion.
I pause in my journey to my locker so I can grab my stuff and go home, standing right in front of the door that'll spit me out at the top of the auditorium. Then I pull it open. What the hell, right? I shuffle down the carpeted aisle until I reach the first row of chairs where the cast is hanging out. They must be on break or something; everyone's chatting and eating granola bars and leftover Hallowe'en candy.
"Hey, Belle! Sit!" Izzie calls, patting one of the springy red theatre chairs in the row she's sitting in with her friends. And of course, among her friends is...
Here goes nothing. I shamble over and plop down between her and Heloise. Right in front of—
"Mel didn't wanna come down?" Ivy asks, leaning over and resting her arms on top of the back of Izzie's chair. I try not to look her in the eye.
"Naw, you know how she is," I answer, gazing aimlessly over the stage.
"No, I don't," Ivy laughs, a little too close to my ear for me to be entirely sane, then directs a question to Heloise. "How're things with Mel?"
Heloise blushes. "I dunno."
"Don't tease her, Ivy," I mutter, feeling a little guilty for snooping in Heloise's notebook now that I'm seeing how shy she is about the crush.
"Just trying to nudge things along," Ivy answers with an easy shrug, then shoots me a mischievous look that doesn't make me freeze like an animal in crosshairs. "Mel needs a rebound, don't you think?"
"She's over the break-up," I bite off.
Heloise's eyes widened. "You guys dated?"
Izzie puffs a surprised laugh. "You didn't know? Damn, yeah, Belle and Mel were together for like, what a year?"
I nod, feeling my lips purse until they've disappeared into my mouth. Heloise seems to shrink in her chair, and I give her a look. "Hey, it's okay. I know you've got a thing for her, and I'm pretty sure she's interested. So like. I dunno, shoot your shot or whatever. I'm over her."
Heloise shakes her head, even the tip of her nose turning red as she denies it. "I'm not!"
I huff a laugh, lean over, and lower my voice so even Izzie next to me and Ivy, nearly on my shoulder, can't hear me. "Then whose eyes were you calling 'obsidian at midnight?'"
She makes a noise comparable to someone pinching the opening of a balloon to let out the air very slowly and very squeakily.
"Sorry, dude, I shouldn't have looked. But you're a good poet," I add awkwardly, immediately regretting saying anything as Heloise goes from red to mauve. "I'm sorry. Um… listen, I wrote like, a love song for Mel in grade ten and sang it to her. So I feel like… we understand each other."
"What are you two whispering about?" Ivy leans closer and I push her off with my shoulder.
"Mind your damn business."
She laughs and I forget to not smile like an idiot.
- Daphne -
I mostly try to stay out of Ivy's love-life-drama. Not because I don't like drama: Obviously I'm really into musical theatre, and also I can't resist gossip sometimes, but I know that it can be a sore subject for Ivy and I'd just rather not participate.
That being said.
Something is clearly different about Bellona Aiken, because as far as I know, Ivy's been after her for longer than every other crush of hers combined. And for the longest time, I didn't know why and didn't really want to ask and find out exactly why that is. I kind of assumed it had nothing to do with any characteristic of Bellona's other than her disinterest.
Now I'm starting to understand what someone might find attractive about a girl whose first name starts with B and has the last name Aiken.
"You're seriously so good at this!" Blaire exclaims, waving her script for effect. "You're making me look bad."
"Look bad for who," I laugh, trying not to go too red at her over-the-top compliments. We're sitting in a park, me perched on a bench and her sitting across from me in her wheelchair, mostly populated by shrieking toddlers and their parents at this time of Sunday.
"Look bad for me! I can't go onstage with you stealing every scene you're in!"
I redden further. Being pale as sour cream has a distinct downside, even if I don't usually get embarrassed easily. "Oh, come on, I'm just reading the lines like… I don't know, like anyone would."
"Well don't start trying to act or you might incur an audience," Blaire giggles, gesturing again with her script to encompass the aforementioned shrieking toddlers.
I pretend to shudder and laugh too. "You're the one who seems to have no problem memorizing this stuff. What's your secret?"
Blaire flicks her hair, which continues to float in a perfect cloud around her head. If I tossed my head like that I'd need to get out the comb in my purse, which I really only have because I like to shower before school and if I don't comb it it gets frizzy. Which, yes, Ivy teases me mercilessly for doing in first period despite the armada of hair care and dye products in our shared bathroom.
"Pure talent, I'm afraid." She bats her eyelashes. "And also I need to prove to Mr. A that casting Bruno instead of me as the full-Toby was a terrible choice."
"He's two years older than you," I point out.
She shrugs and leans back in her wheelchair. "Pshaw. He lacks my," she makes a show of rolling her r's, "rrrraw charrrisma."
"Was that Italian?" I wheeze.
"No, it was charrrrisma."
Which hardly makes sense, but we devolve into hysterics anyway. Blaire has the most wonderfully infectious laugh; it starts as a bit of a squawk and then transitions into deep-throated guffaws, and I can't help laughing harder when I hear it.
When we finally come up for air, Blaire answers somewhat more hoarsely, "No, really, the only way to memorize your lines is to just keep doing them over and over again until they stick."
So we keep practicing, and practicing, and practicing, until my tongue starts tripping over itself and my cheeks feel like they're stuffed in cotton. Finally, we reach the last scene and Blaire finishes with her last little chunk.
"If he may be conveniently delivered, I would he were, for I am now so far in offense with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot." She's almost out of breath as she finishes, then pretends to turn away from the empty air that is representing Feste and back toward me. "Come by and by to my chamber." She usually delivers the proposition in an exaggeratedly husky purr with a cheesy wink, but we're both so worn out that her voice rests in a voice that's normal, albeit a little low and raspy, and she leaves off the wink.
More than anything else, that's when I realize my cheeks are tinged red and my heart is thundering in my chest. I try to laugh it off, but when Blaire's huff disappears much faster and she just starts looking at me and smiling, it suddenly feels kind of hard to catch my breath.
"Okay, I need to drink something hot ASAP or my whole voice is gonna collapse," Blaire rasps eventually, her smiling hiding in one corner of her mouth. She has dimples, some part of me that hasn't shut down realizes.
Here we go, my brain decides.
Here we go, what?
"Yeah, I'd love to!" Blaire says, face splitting right back into a beautiful smile.
Love to what?
"Have you ever been to Tealish? C'mon, c'mon, I'll show you!" And Blaire's wheeling down the park path before I catch up and realize, Yeah, I definitely just asked her out on a date. Did I word it that way? Does she know I like her? Damn it, brain, the second person you've been attracted to in four years and you asked her on a date without telling me you were going to do it?
I've been fairly confident I'm demi since I started questioning, found the definition, and went 'Oh, there's a word for that?' Now I can officially say both attractions I've experienced have taken hold like a dysfunctional relative turning up on your doorstep requesting bed and board. Hopefully this one won't explode into flames and geysers of pain and embarrassment like the Thomas situation.
Told you I have a dramatic streak.
And I know that I'm a little biased because I'm in the middle of the crush rather than looking back at it with the benefit of hindsight, but as we're sitting on stools, sipping the hot mugs and looking out the window, I'm starting to think this time is different.
Blaire laughs at something I say, then reaches out to rest her hand on my shoulder for just a second. I feel my cheeks flush again. Well, if it does explode in flames and geysers of heartbreak or whatever, I think, taking a long drink and looking out across the street at the people walking, I guess I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
- Heloise -
When rehearsal ends and I've recovered enough from the mortification of learning that Belle snooped in my notebook, I walk up the aisle to the top of the auditorium, where the door to the second floor is. I feel like I've gotten pretty well adjusted to the new school and its layout, but I keep forgetting to bring down my bag when me and Izzie leave the tech booth to go hang out with the cast, which means after rehearsal I always have to go back up to the tech booth.
Hopefully Mel hasn't locked up yet or my backpack will be trapped in there until I can track her down.
When I reach the door of the booth, my hand freezes on the handle. I stand very still, ears straining, and… Yeah, someone's definitely crying in there. My heart starts to thrum faster as I debate what to do. One option is abandon my bag forever and run away. Or duck in there and pretend to be blind, grab my bag, and then run. Or…
I tug open the door slowly.
Mel is slumped across the tech board, crying in soft, low heaves.
I freeze again. Last chance to pretend you never saw her.
"Mel? Are you… are you okay?"
She doesn't move, still hiding her face in her hair that has fanned out across the table like a puddle of shimmery oil. Then her sobs stop and she answers quietly, "No, not really."
Before I can weigh my pros and cons again, I'm easing myself into the chair next to hers and gently brushing her hair away from her face. She peers up at me through the couple of strands that stick to her teary cheeks. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her cheeks gleam from the wetness of her tears.
"What's going on?" I keep my voice soft like I would when Penny has anxiety attacks, and keep my hand next to her head if she needs something to hold onto. What are you doing, Heloise? You two aren't exactly the best of friends. You're probably intruding. But worrying about overstepping can come later.
"I can't drive," she finally rasps, then laughs humourlessly. "Fucking stupid, right? But I can't—I—university applications are due soon, and I don't even know where I want to go. And I don't have a job, and I can't drive—I'm just… it's too much." Her breath stutters as she descends back into panic. "I'm not… I'm not keeping up." She makes a kind of whimper sound, then turns her face away from me.
"You feel overwhelmed," I name it gently, and rest my hand on her back as her sobs fade again. "It's November, Mel. It's one day. I can't drive either. You're not falling behind, okay?"
"But if I don't get into university, then I can't get a job, and if I don't get a job, then what the hell am I going to do?"
"You're gonna breathe, okay? You're doing fine right now. What are you going to have to do to get your driver's license?"
"I have to do my driver's ed, the online training stuff, and I have to learn how to do a three-point turn! I don't even know what that is!"
"It's okay, your instructor will teach you, won't they?"
"I have to book lessons, though, and I hate talking to people on the phone. I'm not good at that stuff."
"It's scary. I don't like it either," I agree. "But you're one of the bravest people I know."
Mel huffs from her faceplant on the table. "But you don't really know me. We met like, a month ago."
"Sure I know you. I know that you wear those red headphones all the time. I know that you bring two full thermoses of coffee to most rehearsals. I know that you know the tech booth like the back of your hand. I know that Izzie and Belle respect you a lot. I know that you don't like to talk to people on the phone."
Mel's breath starts to steady and I continue, keeping my voice gentle and even.
"I know that you love your brothers and you have a big momma bear streak. I know that people think you're responsible for making girls gay." Mel laughs. "I know you like that leather jacket. I know that you're bad with names, and I know that you care a lot about making this play really good, and I know that you're going to make sure it goes off perfectly, and I know that you're gonna succeed because you're one of the smartest, most competent leaders I've ever worked for."
Finally, Mel peels herself off the table and gives me a limpid look out of her semi-bloodshot eyes. "Jesus. You're good at that. I'm… uh, sorry for getting all weepy on you."
"You don't have to apologize for getting overwhelmed." I shake my head. "It happens to everyone, sometimes."
"Yeah, but losing my mind because I'm not learning to drive fast enough is kind of stupid, isn't it?" Mel huffs.
"No, I don't think it's stupid."
She holds my gaze for a second and I freeze again, wondering what she's going to do or say. Then she smiles slightly and says,
"Okay, well now that you've done something for me, I want to give something back to you," she announces and stands, then takes my hand.
Sending a quiet prayer to whatever god cares to hear that my hands aren't sweaty and also that I don't have a stroke, I grab my bag and follow Mel into the hallway. She walks purposefully and so fast that I have to jog to keep up as usual, but when we reach the end of the hall she stops abruptly.
"Through here."
It's a door I've hardly taken note of; nondescript beige, with a small window whose glass is criss-crossed with wires that make it hard to even see into the stairwell that lies beyond. More concerningly, there's a small 'do not enter' sticker on it. Further increasing my concern that I'm about to be quietly kidnapped, Mel looks left and right, then clicks down the handle of the door and pushes it open.
The stairwell is silent, lit by fluorescent beams on the ceiling, and slightly colder than the air of the school. Undaunted by the horror-movie setting, Mel starts off down the stairs and disappears down several flights before I've even caught my breath. The clanging of the metal against her boots is a little jarring, but after a quick gulp, I hurry after her.
"Where are we going?" I call down.
"You'll see!"
We reach the bottom of the stairwell, the air becoming cold and heavy like we're underground, and Mel pulls open another similar door with a large, round sticker proclaiming whatever lies beyond as 'F.'
I follow her through the door, skin prickling both from the cold and nervous anticipation.
"Tunnels," I breathe.
It's not exactly the most jaw-dropping sight; they're large, round cement paths splitting off from a main chamber that houses a couple of abandoned-looking golf carts, humming with the sound of more fluorescent beams. The ground is a little dusty but mostly clean, and there's a faint smell of mildew and stale-ish air.
"St. Erin's used to be a university's building," Mel explains as she steps into the main room. "It couldn't compete with Ryerson or U of T, so it eventually got shut down and the different buildings were repurposed. Our auditorium used to be a lecture hall, I think. The whole university was connected by these tunnels, but most of the other buildings blocked off their tunnels."
"Are we… trespassing?" I ask, taking a hesitant step into the room and peering down one of the tunnels.
"Dunno. But no harm, no foul, right?" She grins. "I'm not dealing crack down here, it's just… a nice place to walk around and think."
I'm about to reply, then freeze as a soft howling sound drifts down one of the tunnels, echoing eerily. "What the heck was that?"
Mel practically giggles, a more girlish and relaxed sound than I've ever heard from her. "Some of the ventilation grates make the wind sound a little…"
"Blumhouse-esque?"
"You like horror movies?"
"Yeah." I blush a little under her approving look. "How'd you find out about this place?"
"One of my orientation leaders in grade nine was very chill. He said it's haunted, which I doubt." Mel laughs. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
I shrug. "I dunno. Maybe. I think that noise was the wind, though."
"Well, if there is a ghost down here, I'm sure we've gotten to at least third base," Mel declares, surveying the tunnels. "I'm the only one who comes down here much."
"Thanks for showing me," I offer shyly.
She turns back to me and smiles. "Yeah, I figured you'd like a place to write in your notebook without Belle pouncing the second you leave."
I flush redder.
"I didn't look," she promises. "I just know that Belle's hella nosy. Anyway. Um, you can come down here whenever, just try not to let anyone see you."
"I thought you said this wasn't trespassing!"
Mel shrugs.
- Julio -
"Enter Malvolio!" Mr. A calls.
I crack my knuckles, smooth my hoodie, and take a deep, deep breath.
Here we go.
The scene starts strong, as usual. I stroll onstage, stretching out my arms as much as feels normal like Mr. A told me to. "'Tis but fortune, all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me, and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion."
Channel Bruno. Channel Bruno. All the girls are in love with me even though I'm a smarmy moron. "Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than anyone else that follows her. What should I think on 't?"
Bruno himself hisses his line behind me and I pause. I never know what to do in these parts, where Malvolio's not supposed to hear the other people onstage but still has to wait to do his next line. I find my hands drifting back into my pockets and yank them out again before Mr. A stops the scene to berate me.
"To be Count Malvolio!" I announce, and then awkwardly pause again. They're not even trying to be quiet. Malvolio's gotta be deaf. "There is example for 't. The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe."
I start to flush in advance as I remember what the next part is.
"Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state—" I mumble. Then even more flatly, "Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a daybed, where I have left Olivia sleeping…"
I hurry through the rest, willing my face not to go scarlet. Mr. A stops us before we get to the letter.
"Julio…" He sounds a little tired. I'm already bristling. "Let's take five, okay? Get your energy up and we'll try again."
I don't think a Cliff bar's gonna do it. Still, I hop off stage and cross to the scratchy chair where I left my bag. I hear a thump as someone drops into the one next to me.
"What's going on with you?" It's Cory.
"Whadayamean, what's going on with me?" I echo through a mouthful of Cliff bar.
The chair creaks as Cory leans back. "I dunno. You're a good actor, Julio. But you're like… holding back, it seems like."
I frown.
"I mean, you're hardly projecting. We can't hear you down here," she says. "Which is not a problem you usually have."
Yeah, growing up with Lee and Mel required perfecting a snarl that could be heard through many floors of a house. "So?"
"So what's the problem with this scene in particular? Is it Bruno?"
"No, it's not Bruno." I'm flushing brighter, I know I am. "It's just… embarrassing stuff. Literally the whole scene is about me making an ass out of myself."
"No, dumbass, it's about Malvolio making an ass out of himself," Cory corrects. "He's just wearing your face."
I send a searing look in her direction.
"Damn, listen. Word of advice. If you cover your whole face in clown make-up, no one will know it's you." Cory snorts. "You got this part. Malvolio's a sleazy, social-climbing dirtbag. Lean in. Make every person in the audience want to leap up and wring your neck."
"That seems dangerous."
"Make a fool of yourself, Julio. You're not looking any better by mumbling through your lines. Go get your fucking clown shoes and put on a show."
Right on cue, Mr. A calls us back over. I scowl at Cory again, then consider her words. "You're bailing me out if this goes south."
"Yeah, I'll go get the clown car."
I hiss at her like a wet cat, then stalk back into the wings. As Bruno, Freddy, Blaire, Daphne, and Baru move through their introductory bit, Cory's words ring in my ears. If you cover your whole face in clown make-up, no one will know it's you. All or nothing. This isn't really the kind of thing I can half-ass. So whole-ass it. Get that whole ass onstage, Cory tells me in my brain.
Here comes my cue. Last chance to remove my ass from the stage. Nope, too late.
So I fucking swan onstage and inject every last ounce of smarmy, greasy smugness I can muster into my voice as I say, "'Tis but fortune, all is fortune." Then I make a point of pausing like I'm admiring myself in a fountain, and add, "Maria once told me she did affect me." I pause again to waggle my eyebrows at the audience, tapping into more of Cory than Bruno. "And I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of myyyy complexion." I fan myself.
This time, as Bruno and the others start chattering, I continue to fluff up my own hair and vogue for some imaginary camera. And maybe I look ridiculous, but that's not my problem, I'm blind. The audience can cringe.
The moment 'Peace, I say' is out of Bruno's mouth, I nearly yell, "To be COUNT Malvolio!"
Hardly waiting for the people behind me, I continue, working myself into a near-delirious state of fantasizing. "There is example for 't! The lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe!"
As Blaire exclaims, "Look how imagination blows him!" I close my eyes and sway a little like I'm sleepwalking.
"Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state…" I pause just long enough for Bruno and then add, "Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet gown, having come from a daybed, where I have… ahem, left Olivia sleeping—" Clown make-up, clown make-up, clown make-up. I plaster a queasy smile over my face like I'm silently beaming to the audience, Don't you hate me? Don't you hate this little shit?
Bruno's 'Fire and brimstone!' comes out much more energetically, and I'm starting to think I'm succeeding. Mr. A isn't jumping in to stop it.
"And then to have the humor of state, and after a demure travel of regard, telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby—" Mid-line, it's starting to click into place. That's what I wrote, right? That Malvolio wants to kill Toby. I imagine Bruno, his singing and arrogance, and think, But what would kill Toby more dead than being lower-ranked than Malvolio? This is what it's about. Revenge. "Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown the while, and perchance wind up watch, or play with some rich jewel."
Here it is, I think, and mime settling onto a throne. "Toby approaches, curtsies there to me—"
"Shall this fellow live?" Bruno hisses.
No, no, you won't. "I extend my hand to him thus," I declare, stretching my hand out and fluttering my fingers, "quenching my familiar smile," and flash the ill-feeling smile again, "with an austere regard of control."
"And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?" Bruno snaps, sounding like he's gotten closer. I grin.
"Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech.'" I press my hand to my chest in false sincerity, then smile beautifically. "You must amend your drunkenness."
"Out, scab!" Bruno growls.
Then I wave my hand. "Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with a foolish knight—"
"That's me, I warrant you," Baru comments.
"One Sir Andrew," I finish, shaking my head like it's nothing short of a tragedy.
"I knew 'twas I, for many do call me fool," Baru says wisely.
"Alright!" Mr. A calls. "Alright. Wow, okay, Julio, what was in that energy bar?"
I grin again, feeling my face start to colour as I take stock of my whole performance there. "I, uh… Cory gave me some good advice."
"I… wow." Mr. A pauses, then says, "Okay. Well, you nailed that, and if you manage every scene with that much energy and drama, then we're in good shape for opening night."
A month and half, I realize, and for the first time, start to feel pretty excited after all.
Hopefully I remember to publish again lol sorry fellas
~Akila
