"This is just wrong," Jane grumbled to herself as she walked through the mostly empty parking lot, "Going back to Lawndale High, on a Sunday." She dug the key Ms. Defoe had given her out of her pocket and opened the door. She made her way through the empty halls to the teachers' lounge and stopped outside. There were two voices coming from inside, one unfamiliar and one painfully unmistakable. Jane prayed she was wrong and opened the door.

The teacher's lounge was a depressing little room. The door opened into the left side of the room, almost hitting the cluttered bulletin board hanging on the left wall. There was a beat up fridge in the far right corner and a countertop and cabinets ran along the rest of the back wall. The right wall was covered in the teacher's inboxes, and a cafeteria table was pushed against the close wall. Two people sat in the plastic chairs placed around the table.

They stopped talking when Jane entered. "Hello, Ms. Lane," purred one, a familiar red haired annoyance, "I look forward to working closely with you on this great thespian undertaking."

Before Jane could put Upchuck in his place, the man sitting next to him spoke up in a low, tired voice. "Chuck, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He looked to be in his early thirties and Jane would guess about five foot ten when he stood up. His face was drawn and covered in stubble and his short black hair was an unkempt mess.

"Why, Sean, I was simply greeting our—" Upchuck tried to explain.

"You were being creepy. Stop it." Shaking his head, the man added, "God, I thought Claire was kidding." He took a drink from the mug of coffee in front of him and turned to Jane. "Hi, I'm Sean O'Neill, the new theatre arts teacher, and you must be our art director. There's coffee over there–" he pointed to a pot sitting on the counter "—if you want some."

Jane made a beeline for the coffee. She grabbed a mug from an open cabinet above the coffee machine. As she poured herself some coffee, Jane replied, "You shut Upchuck up and have coffee waiting for me? I like you already. Nice to meet you Sean." Jane walked over to where the man was sitting and stuck out her hand. "Jane Lane, artist extraordinaire, at your service."

Sean smirked and shook her hand, "Looking forward to working with you."

Jane took a seat on the side of Sean opposite Upchuck. "So Upchuck is doing the technical stuff?"

"That's right my artistic angel," Upchuck purred, "Ms. Li offered me this position based on the technical prowess I displayed during my daring escape performance last semester."

"What's with the nickname?" Sean asked.

"It's the reaction most women have when they first meet him," Jane explained.

Sean chuckled, then turned to Upchuck "Look, Chuck, what you do on your own time is your own business, and I trust Jane can take care of herself."

Jane steepled her fingers and gave a predatory smile. "Oh, I can."

Upchuck growled, "Feisty!"

Sean continued, the tiredness in his voice replaced with authority, "But if you start hitting on students we're going to have a problem. I don't care if they're only a couple of years younger than you; you're in a paid position of authority over minors and if you so much as give a sleazy look to one of the girls you will not only be fired, but I'll inform the authorities as well. Got it?"

Upchuck swallowed. "O-of course," he squeaked, then continued in a sincere voice "Really, I'm here to educate. I don't mix business and pleasure." He said this last word eyeing Jane.

Sean shook his head. "As long as you understand," he said, his voice tired and bored again, "now let's get to work so we can get out of here." Jane liked this man's priorities. "Obviously we're dividing the kids up into three groups: acting, stagecraft, and design." Jane and Upchuck nodded. "There will be some overlap between you two's groups, especially at the start. Just let them figure out what they want to do. If they don't want to do anything and you don't need them, just leave them alone. If they want to waste their parents' money that's their business. We have thirty-seven students so we should be able to put on a full production and still have enough people for you two, even with a couple of dropouts. Any questions so far?"

"What exactly are Ms. Lane and I responsible for? How are things divided up?" Upchuck asked.

"That's really up to you. If you want my recommendations, I'd say you should do the lights, sound, effects, and any kind of staging. Jane, you can handle the design and creation of the set, costumes, props, and makeup. Obviously you'd have more people under you."

"That sounds fine to me," Upchuck said and turned to Jane, asking in what he must have thought was a sexy voice, "How about you my raven haired collaborator?"

"It should work, but Upchuck, if we're going to be collaborating all summer, you're going to want to lay off the lame come ons—" she looked him in the eye "—or my boot will be collaborating with something very important to you." She punctuated this with a swift kick to the underside of the table between Upchucks legs. "Capiche?"

Upchuck grew pale and nodded. "Yes ma'am." he squeaked meekly, hands over his crotch.

Jane smiled. "Good, glad we got that cleared up." She turned to Sean, and asked "So, about the design, exactly how much creative control do I have?"

Sean, who had been watching with idle amusement throughout the exchange, stopped to think for a moment then answered, "I'm pretty open-minded, but make sure you check with me before you get started, once you figure out what you want to do."

"I'll come up with a few ideas and run them by you tomorrow."

Sean nodded. "Sounds good. If there's nothing else—" Jane and Upchuck shook their heads "—then we can get out of here." He stood up, and the others followed suit. "Sorry for dragging you out here for such a short meeting, but I figured we should be introduced before the program actually started." He walked to the sink and started rinsing his mug and the coffee pot. As Upchuck was heading out the door and Jane was waiting to rinse her own mug, Sean seemed to remember something. "Oh, right. Bring the students back to the auditorium for the last hour or so on Monday. I want an audience for the auditions."

"Understood. Farewell, my swe—" Upchuck caught himself and instead said, "I'll see you tomorrow," in a deflated voice and left.

Jane studied Sean as he started putting the pot and mug back in the cabinet. "What, something on my face?" he asked.

Jane moved to rinse her mug. "I just can't see it." she said.

"What's that?" Sean responded.

"The family resemblance. You don't really look alike and you haven't asked me about my feelings once." She handed him the clean mug.

He took it and placed it in the cabinet. "I'll take that as a compliment. Tim's family, but there's just something wrong with him." He chuckled. "He was a great babysitter though, total pushover."

Jane tried to imagine a teenage Mr. O'Neill taking care of a young Sean and laughed as well. "Well, I'm gonna head out. Looking forward to working with you."

"Same here."

Stacy's stomach was full of butterflies as she walked into the school with Quinn. She took a couple of slow calm breaths. Everything's was fine. This was going to be fun. Everyone was not looking at her. It was alright, Quinn was there. She turned to her friend and said, "Thanks again for doing this with me Quinn."

Quinn sighed and smiled. "Stacy, that's the fifth time you've said that this morning."

"Sorry," Stacy said reflexively, flinching a bit.

Quinn shook her head. "Don't worry about it." Quinn looked around the hall and added in a whisper, "Did you get to read the play?"

Stacy nodded. She leaned in and whispered back, "Yeah, I found it online. It's great that your sister told you what it was. So what role are you trying out for, Titania?"

Quinn's voice shot back up. "With the donkey? Ew! No, I think I want to try out for Hermia."

Stacy berated herself for not thinking of that. "Of course, right. Sorry. That was dumb."

Quinn stopped walking and grabbed Stacy's shoulder. Once Stacy had stopped as well Quinn took her by both shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Stacy," she said, her voice serious, "you've got to stop this. No one is going to get mad at you. It's okay."

Stacy squirmed and avoided Quinn' gaze. "Right. Sorry." When Quinn didn't let go, Stacy took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "I'm okay Quinn."

Quinn let go and gave Stacy a quick hug. "Come on let's go, I don't wanna be late," she said and headed down the hall,

Stacy hurried to catch up. After walking for a while she asked, "Why did you choose Hermia?"

Quinn thought a moment. "I kind of relate to her, being pursued by a bunch of guys."

"But Helena's pursued by both guys too."

"I guess, but that's magic. Anyway, Hermia has less lines," Quinn said with a smile.

Stacy giggled. "I guess Shakespeare would be a little hard to memorize."

"Totally. I mean I get what it means when I take the time to think about it, but it's so weird," Quinn said as they came to the doors to the auditorium. She pushed the doors open and headed inside, saying, "Come on, let's go. I wanna get good seats,"

Stacy looked around the room as she walked in behind Quinn. There were about two dozen people scattered around the auditorium, some talking and quite a few reading scripts. Scanning a bit more, she saw a table in the front of the room, pushed up against the stage. On it, there were piles of paper booklets and a sign with large print reading, 'Scripts, take one'. "Oh! Quinn, over there, let's go get our scripts," she said pointing at the table.

Quinn looked to where Stacy was pointing and nodded. "Alright," she agreed, and the two started walking down to the front of the auditorium. "By the way Stacy, I love your hair down. Did you get it done? It looks a little different."

Stacy nodded and smiled at Quinn. "Yeah, I went to the hairdresser this weekend. I want it to look good now that I'm wearing it down all the time." She ran a hand through her hair. "No more pigtails," she said wistfully. As they reached the table, Stacy took a script, turned to Quinn, and asked, "So, where do you want to sit?"

Quinn looked up from scanning the script she'd just picked up and back at the seating. "I don't' know, in the middle I guess?" she replied pointing to some empty seats towards the back.

Stacy looked and bit her lip. "I don't know, I wanna make sure we can hear well."

Quinn looked over the seats again. "How about over there?" she asked, pointing to the right side where there was plenty of room towards the front.

Stacy nodded. "Yeah, that looks—"

"Hey," came a confident voice from behind. A boy who looked a year or two younger than them walked up, his attention on clearly on Quinn. He leaned on the table full of scripts and smiled at Quinn. "What's up? I'm Drake."

"Um, hi. I'm Quinn and this is Stacy," Quinn said, seeming a bit put off.

"Hi," Stacy said, waving meekly.

"Yeah, hi," the boy said dismissively. He leaned toward Quinn and asked, "So, would you like to come read some lines with me or something?"

Quinn held up the script she had just picked up. "Sorry, I haven't had a chance to read it yet." I kinda wanna look over it first," she lied in a polite but dismissive voice.

"Then how about we practice together after class, maybe over dinner?" he tried again.

Quinn sighed. She raised her voice as much as she could without shouting, to the point where everyone nearby could hear, and kindly and calmly explained, "I'm sorry, I'm not dating this summer, I'm taking some time off for myself." She then lowered her volume and addressed the boy in a critical tone, "But even if I was dating, I wouldn't date you. You interrupted my conversation with my friend, completely ignored her, and then didn't take the hint when I turned you down the first time." She stared at him as he stood there stunned. "Bye," she added in her usual perky voice. She grabbed Stacy's wrist and pulled her over to the seats on the right. Once they both sat down, Quinn turned to Stacy and said, "I'm so sorry about that. Guys can be so pushy."

"You know, you don't have to worry about that no dating rule I made earlier, Quinn. I mean it's not exactly fair considering…"

"Stacy, I'm glad you came up with that rule." Quinn slumped in her seat. "I need a break. I'm kind of tired of the whole 'game'. I'm starting to think I might not even want that anymore. Don't get me wrong, I had fun, but something that lasts more than a couple of dates might be nice, even if it's not forever. Like Daria and Tom had."

"Didn't you try that? With Joey, Jeffy, and Jerry?"

"Well, a little, but not for real. Plus, Daria was messing with me the whole time." Quinn chuckled. "Maybe it would end up the same, but I don't want things to keep going like they are forever."

Stacy smiled and put her hand on Quinn's arm. "Quinn, people change. If you think you're ready for a serious relationship, then you should definitely try. If you find a good guy, please don't let my silly rule stop you."

Quinn smiled. "Okay, Stacy. Same to you though, if you find someone, you go for it too."

Stacy was about to say that she didn't think that was very likely, but stopped when someone walked onstage.

The man was dressed in black and looked a bit sloppy all around. He spoke into a microphone in a low, laid back voice that somehow still carried authority, "Hello, my name is Mr. O'Neill." He paused as there was a murmur throughout the auditorium. "Yes, we're related; and no, I'm not going to ask you how Shakespeare's work might have differed if he had been bullied as a child." He paused again, until everything was quiet. "Starting next year I will be the theatre arts teacher at Lawndale High School. This summer I will be the director for this program and this production. Assisting me will be Ms. Lane," Quinn's sister's friend Jane walked out, "and Mr. Ruttheimer." Charles walked out to boos and a few hurled scraps of paper. Mr. O'Neill cleared his throat and, after a moment, things died down. "I am aware that Mr. Ruttheimer has a somewhat questionable history, but he knows what he's doing when it comes to stagecraft. I can assure you that he will be perfectly behaved," he turned to Charles, his tone harder, "as he knows what will happen if he is not." Charles visibly shivered.

Mr. O'Neill continued, "Ms. Lane, Mr. Ruttheimer, and myself will each be in charge different aspects of the production. Ms. Lane will be in charge of designing and creating the sets, costumes, makeup, and props, Mr. Ruttheimer will be in charge of the lighting, sound, effects, and stage management, and I will be in charge of the actors. Over the course of this week you will figure out the section you wish to work in, although there will be some overlap. Auditions will be held during the last hour of today's class, everyone will attend, whether they are trying out or not, to provide an audience for our actors." He looked at the other two people on stage. "Anything to add?"

Jane stepped up and took the mic. "Yo! I'm Ms. Lane. I'd ask you to call me Jane, but every teacher that ever asked me to do that turned out to be a touchy-feely weirdo." There were a few chuckles. "Like Mr. O'Neill said, I'm in charge of the artistic side of things. I don't care if you think you're the next Van Gogh, or if the most advanced art you've done is in a coloring book, I'll find something for you to do. I'll be in the art room." She handed the microphone back to Mr. O'Neill and threw up her arm in a wave as walked off stage.

Mr. O'Neill seemed unfazed by Jane's rather informal greeting and turned to Charles. "Mr. Ruttheimer?"

"Thank you, Mr. O'Neill," Charles said, taking the mic with a nod. He turned to the class. "Good morning students. I am Mr. Ruttheimer. I will be in charge of instructing you in the intriguing world of stagecraft. As many of you know, I have years of experience with the technical arts. I have worked as the announcer for our own Lawndale Lions—"

A few cries of "Go Lions!" came from the crowd.

Charles smiled. "Indeed. As I was saying, among other things I am a professional DJ and stage magician, having performed a daring escape performance in this very auditorium. I look forward to passing my vast knowledge to those of you who wish to work behind the scenes. I will be waiting in that far corner." He pointed to the back right of the auditorium. "Thank you," he finished and bowed with a flourish before handing the mic back to Mr. O'Neill and heading to the corner.

Mr. O'Neill addressed the group again, "Well, you heard them. If you're here to act just stay in the auditorium, read the play, pick a part, and learn it as best you can. We'll be reading from the scripts, so you don't have to know the lines by heart." He started to turn, then turned back and added, "Oh yes, you should at least look at the other parts in case I ask you to read for a different character." He turned around again, saying, "Good luck," as he walked backstage.

Everyone in the room started talking and heading in different directions. Quinn turned to Stacy and said, "Well I guess this where we split up. I know you'll do great Stacy. Have fun."

"Thanks, Quinn, you too," Stacy said. The girls hugged and Stacy headed towards Charles, calling, "Good luck!" over her shoulder.

"You too!" Quinn called back.

As she approached, Stacy immediately noticed that there was only one other girl in the corner where Charles was waiting. She looked like a freshmen, too. Stacy guessed that was probably unavoidable considering the teacher.

As they waited for everyone to decide where they wanted to go, Stacy looked down at where Quinn was sitting. She saw a boy walk up and then shortly leave, his shoulders slumped and giggled.

"Ah, Ms. Rowe." Stacy jumped at Charles' voice. "I'm apologize, I didn't mean to startle you."

Stacy looked around, people were still wandering around figuring out what to do. "It's fine, I was just… daydreaming."

"An activity I enjoy thoroughly myself." He gave a leering grin, then quickly lost his smile and darted his eyes around. After a moment, he seemed to calm down and wiped his brow. "Sorry about that. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that it's a pleasure to see you continue to pursue your interest in the performing arts, but I must admit that I'm a bit perplexed as to why you aren't going on stage. You put on a wonderful performance as my assistant."

Stacy tilted her head in confusion at Charles' jumpy behavior for a moment before rattling off her response, "Well, I enjoyed being your assistant a lot, and I since the school actually has a theatre program now I thought I'd try to get involved in it." She took a breath. "And I figured that if I wanted to get involved in theatre I should really know about all the aspects of theatre, not just acting, so I decided to try out technical theatre, but Mr. O'Neill said we could overlap, so maybe I'll try some of the design stuff too." Stacy panted, catching her breath.

Charles looked at her appraisingly for a while, stroking his chin in thought. Just as Stacy was starting to feel creeped out he said, "Ms. Rowe, I must say I am very pleased at your interest in stagecraft. Let me to ask you a question: You are the secretary of the fashion club, correct?"

"Um, yes. I was."

"Excellent. I ask because I want to offer you a very important position that I think you're perfect for. I want you to be our stage manager. My right hand woman, if you would, as well as the director's. You would be in charge of recording all of the sound, lighting, and set change cues, the blocking, calling lines during rehearsals, taking notes, and coordinating everything during the show. I know it's a lot of work, but I think you can do it. You would, however, obviously be too busy to also help Ms. Lane. What do you think?"

Stacy's brain was overloading. "Um, shouldn't you wait to see what everyone else can do?" She pointed to the people gathering in the corner.

"While some of them may be trustworthy, and possibly even more skilled, I believe you are the best choice because I've had the pleasure of working with you before and know you're trustworthy. It may not sound fair, but this is an important job and you're the one I trust to do it."

Stacy gulped, sweating. "Can I have a minute?"

"Of course. I was planning to wait about fifteen minutes for everyone to decide which path they wish to pursue."

"Thanks," Stacy said and sunk into a nearby seat. Okay, that's a lot of stuff to do. A lot of it sounds like Fashion Club secretary duties though, I'm good at taking notes. But can I be in charge of people? Isn't that what I'm working on, exerting myself? What if I mess up? Everyone would be counting on me. No, that's true of everything in theatre. I can do this.

Stacy took a few deep breaths and looked around. She looked at Quinn. She was reading lines with some girl. She looked over to where Charles was. It looked like people were settling in. She stood up and walked over to him. "Mr. Ruttheimer," she said firmly, "I'll do it."

::

Stacy was following Charles around the auditorium, as he gave her and the other four members of his group a tour.

Charles was lecturing as they went, "This the one of several speakers, all of which will be controlled by Greg"—he gestured to the short, heavy, sophomore who would be handling the sound—"during the performance. We won't be micing the actors, but there will be—" Everyone grabbed their ears as feedback poured out of the speaker.

Stacy looked up at the stage and saw Jane standing there wincing. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Jane say, "Ouch! I guess it's on then." The lanky artist looked around the auditorium and continued, "Sorry about that. So, we have a tiny problem over in the art department…" she looked right and left over the students, "Does anyone know how to sew?"

There was a brief silence as everyone finished recovering from the feedback. Mr. O'Neill walked out from behind stage, looking very much like he had just woken up, and took the mic from Jane. "Excuse us a moment," he told the students, then turned off the mic. The two teachers started talking to each other in hushed tones, Jane occasionally making sweeping arm gestures.

Stacy wanted to speak up; she loved to sewing. She'd learned in middle school when Sandi had started getting into fashion, trying to impress her. She had gotten pretty good at making cute little bags and accessories, but Sandi had said they were stupid and told her that only name brand things mattered. She stopped sewing for a while after that, but found that it had been helping her relax and so continued in secret. She'd improved a lot over the years, and had designed and made some really cute clothes. She'd never worn them outside her room though. It didn't matter anyway, because she was going to be way too busy to help with all this stage manager stuff. She was still nervous about the problem however, and watched to see if anyone else volunteered.

Eventually, Jane and Mr. O'Neill seemed to come to some kind of decision. Mr. O'Neill turned the mic back on and addressed the auditorium, "Alright people, as Ms. Lane said, we have a problem. We have no budget for premade costumes, as apparently a large part of the money from our theatre grant is being used for new digital security cameras." There was generally unsurprised grumbling throughout the students. "This means that we need students to design and make the costumes. It doesn't have to be anything intricate," Stacy noticed Jane scowl at this, "but it will require at least some sewing experience." He paused and scanned the room. "Anyone?"

A tall girl with a long black ponytail slowly raised her hand, clearly not confident. As if encouraged, a pudgy blonde girl followed suit. Eventually, a boy with a heavy tan and dark hair stood up, his friends giving him a hard time.

Mr. O'Neill's face didn't betray any emotion, but Jane's was full of frustration and disappointment. The director waved them to the stage, asking, "Anyone else?"

Stacy fretted. She was worried about the play. Those three didn't look too confident. Of course she wasn't too confident either. She thought she could do a good job, she'd been sewing for a long time. But helping would mean she had to show her work to other people. People who would judge it. Stacy took a deep breath and forced herself to stop that train of thought. What would Quinn tell her? Definitely that she could do it. Right, she could do this.

As the three volunteers reached the stage Stacy called out, "Wait!" her voice squeaking, but carrying. Everyone went silent and looked up at her. Suddenly extremely tense again, she froze in place. After winning a struggle with her nerves she managed to say, "Um, I can sew."

Charles turned to her. "Ms. Rowe, it's very noble of you to volunteer, but—as I said before—you'll be quite busy with your current duties."

Stacy realized he was right; she hadn't been thinking. She looked back down at the stage. The whole room was watching. She'd already offered, going back and letting everyone down would be wrong too. Her chest tightened and she looked back and forth from the stage to Charles. From somewhere in her panic, a solution occurred to her. She took another deep breath to calm herself and faced Charles, speaking clearly, "It's just about time right, not having enough?" He nodded, a confused look on his face. "What if I did most of the costume work at home? You know just met and talked about the design here."

Charles stroked his chin. "Well, I suppose that could work. But, are you certain you can handle all this?"

Stacy nodded firmly. Everyone was still looking at her, she couldn't back down. "I can do it."

"Wonderful," came Mr. O'Neill's dull voice over the speakers, "Mr. Ruttheimer can you spare her for a while, while we discuss the costume arrangements?"

Charles nodded. "Certainly, Mr. O'Neill."

"Great." Mr. O'Neill turned to Stacy. "Well, come on down so we can discuss things."

Stacy gave a quick nod to, Mr. O'Neill. She turned to Charles and said, "Thanks," before quickly sprinting down to the stage. Once there Jane and Mr. O'Neill ushered her and the others backstage.

Mr. O'Neill turned to Jane. "I assume you can take things from here?"

Jane still looked frustrated about something, but it didn't show in her voice, "Yeah, I've got things here. You go ahead and get back to your nap." She shot him a sarcastic grin.

Mr. O'Neill gave a small smirk. "I think I'll do that," he said and headed for the door leading to the hallway. Turning as he left the room, he added, "Oh, and Ms. Lane? Please don't try to turn the microphone on again. That's a terrible way to wake up."

Jane chuckled and turned to the four students. "Sane people really don't go into teaching, do they?" She seemed to wait for some kind of response for a moment, then shook her head and continued more seriously, "Alright, what are your names and what do you know how to do?"

The blonde girl spoke up in a cheery voice, "Hi. My name's Claire. I don't have that much experience; I mostly make stuffed animals and fix tears in my clothes. If someone shows me how, I can probably do more. I'm a fast learner."

Jane's crossed her arms and nodded, her face neutral. "Anyone else?" No one spoke up. Just as Stacy was about to say something, Jane let out a sigh. "Alright, if none of you feel like introducing yourselves we'll just go in the order you volunteered," Jane said, a little frustration creeping into her voice. She pointed at the dark haired girl. "You spoke up first, what can you do?"

The girl seemed a bit taken aback. She ran a hand over her hair and replied, "I haven't been sewing very long. I've made some basic stuff, like pajama pants and simple top. I should be able to follow a pattern if it's not too complicated." After a second, she quickly added, "I'm Liz, by the way."

Jane nodded. "Well that's something anyway." She turned and pointed at the tanned boy. "How about you?"

"My name's Davis. I don't really know much about sewing. I just know how to patch stuff up." He scratched the back of his head and smiled. "I've got four younger siblings and end up having to fix their clothes a lot."

Jane smiled and seemed to lose some of her tension. She turned to Stacy and asked, "Well, now we come to our dramatic last minute volunteer. What can you do Ms. Rowe?"

Stacy wrung her hands as everyone stared at her. She gave a tiny wave. "Um… Hi. I'm Stacy, Stacy Rowe." She blushed, and quickly continued, "I guess you knew that though. I mean my last name, why would you know my first name? I guess you might, I mean we go to the same—" She stopped herself when she saw Jane role her eyes and start impatiently tapping her foot. She started sweating, "Right, sewing," she hesitated, then continued in a less than confident voice, "Well, I can make bags, and accessories, and stuffed animals, and little things like that." Jane gave a small sigh and her shoulders slumped. Stacy quickly added, "But I can make clothes and stuff too. I don't know if I'm any good though. I mean, I've never shown anyone anything I made. Except for my mom, but moms don't count because they have to tell you you're good. Well, I guess they don't have to. Sandi's mom certainly doesn't, but my mom is always nice to me. Unless I—"

Jane grabbed Stacy's shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Stop," she commanded in a firm voice, adding in a less serious tone, "For the love of all that is good, please, stop."

Stacy caught her breath, then blushed when she realized she'd rambled on like that. Her blush deepened when she realized how close Jane was. She managed to squeeze out a meek, "Sorry."

Jane let go of the beet-faced girl, then ran her hand through her hair. "Just try not to freak out like that again." She smirked and added, "I hate having to act like a responsible adult, it makes me worry I'm turning into one." Her voice fell a bit as she asked "So what kind of clothes can you sew, just basic stuff from patterns like her?" She pointed at Liz.

Stacy took a moment to recover and then responded, "No. Well, yes. I can do that, but I can do other stuff too. I've designed some really cute outfits. Like this one dress—"

Jane cut in, "Wait, you designed them? Like drew them up yourself?"

"Um, yeah." Stacy blushed again.

Jane's face lit up and she excitedly asked, "Do you think you could design a costume from a sketch?"

Stacy squirmed a bit under all the attention. "I don't know. Maybe? I'd have to see it I guess."

Jane glanced around the backstage area, looking for something. "Must have left it in the art room," she muttered. She turned to Stacy and said, "Come with me."

As Jane started to turn, Claire spoke up in a cheery hopeful voice, "Ms. Lane, what do you want us to do?" She gestured to Liz and Davis, smiling.

"Huh?" Jane seemed to snap out of something. She turned back to fully face her students. "Oh, right. You," she pointed to Liz, "come with us. You two," she waved a hand at Claire and Davis, "Go on back. I'll let you know if I need you." She then promptly swiveled around and headed for the hallway at a brisk pace.

Liz and Stacy hurried to catch up to Jane, while Claire and David returned to the auditorium. As they walked down the hallway Liz asked Stacy, "So how long have you been sewing? It sounds like you're pretty advanced."

Everything was moving really fast, and it was keeping Stacy on edge. She took a deep breath and took a moment to clear her head, trying to push out some of the stress. "Sorry, I don't do well with stress. It's actually the main reason I sew." She smiled sadly. "I've been sewing since middle school, so around five years. How about you?"

"Wow, that's amazing. I've only been sewing for a few of months. I've hardly had any time though, with school and studying."

Stacy nodded. "I know, between school and club duties I never have much time either."

"What club are you in?"

"I'm the secretary of the fashion club." Stacy said without thinking. Her face fell, and she continued in a quieter voice, "Was the secretary of the fashion club. Former fashion club."

"So the soldiers of satin are no more? I'll have to see if I can get Daria to own up to that bet," Jane called from up ahead, without slowing her stride. "Did your leader gain a few pounds again, or was it a zit this time?"

Stacy giggled, surprising herself.

Jane's grin could be heard in her voice as she walked ahead, "Well, whatever it was, it seems like you at least got a sense of humor out of it." They rounded a corner and reached the art room. Jane pulled open the door and hurried to a sketchbook sitting on Ms. Defoe's desk, ducking through tables and easels with practiced ease.

Liz and Stacy followed her more carefully, trying not to disturb any of the students drawing or painting throughout the room. As they reached Jane, Liz asked, "What are they doing?"

Jane answered without looking up from her sketches, "They're making art." Jane said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right, but it doesn't look like it has anything to do with the play."

Jane sighed and looked up at the girl. "How else am I supposed to know who to trust with the important stuff and who to have do the grunt work? Look, you don't need to worry about that. You two just need to look at this." She pointed to the colored sketch she had opened the book to.

Stacy studied the picture. It was mesmerizing. Some sort of forest, but the trees weren't like anything she'd ever seen. The other plants too, bushes and vines, everything was smooth and twisting around with sharp edges. It almost seemed to be moving. The colors were vibrant. Most of the plants were unnatural looking shades of cyan, but there were others in colors that contrasted them. She noticed a few crimson trees winding through, a few bushes or shrubs in different shades of violet, and some gorgeous fuchsia and white flowers. In the shadows stood what must be fairies. They were dressed in bolder hues of the same colors of the forest and their skin was painted in bright colors.

"It's beautiful," Stacy uttered in an awe, accidentally speaking her thoughts aloud.

Jane seemed a little surprised. "Thanks. It's not my first choice, but it'll work."

Liz looked up from the sketch "Not your first choice?"

"Yeah," Jane said with a touch of bitterness in her voice, "Mr. Director thought it was too 'avant-garde' for a school production."

"What was it?" Stacy asked, now curious about Jane's other work.

Jane grabbed the sketchbook and started flipping through it. "Well, I wanted to try to do something different without changing the text. So I tried to think of other situations where freaky outside forces influence a primitive society, and then it came to me—" she found the page she was looking for and set the book down "—post-apocalyptic mutants!"

The page was dominated by green, yellow, and brown. There was a bomb shelter with 'Athens' written on it next to a polluted warped forest, not completely unlike the one in other sketch. Strange creatures with extra arms and weird lumps hid in the forest, while people clad in rags argued outside.

An uncomfortable silence started to grow. Stacy gathered her courage and spoke up, "Um… I like the art. But—" she tried to think of a nice way to put it, then had an idea "—wouldn't it be hard to make those costumes? I don't really know anything about extra arms."

Jane stroked her chin in thought, "Hmm… You know, I hadn't thought of that. I wonder if I could rig something up?"

Much to Stacy's relief, Liz interrupted Jane's musings, "But, didn't Mr. O'Neill already say you couldn't do it this way?"

"Hm? Oh, right. I guess, we'd better figure out these costumes then." Jane picked the sketchbook back up and flipped past the forest to some sketches of people. "This one's for Oberon, what do you think?"

Stacy brushed back her hair as she leaned over the sketchbook. Oberon looked like some kind of space alien from one of those old TV shows, but not as cheesy. His skin was red with some dark spots and he had short, swept back black hair. He wore a dark red cape over a short burgundy tunic that was cut like one of those kung fu top thingies and showed a lot of chest. His legs were covered in burgundy tights, and he wore a pair of rust colored long boots, long gloves, and a thick belt. Two antennae curved back over his scalp from his forehead.

Stacy studied the sketch and thought for a while. "Alright, this one shouldn't be too hard. The tights are easy, we can just buy those. Gloves I can make no problem. The belt and boots I think I can make some kind of cover to slip over a normal one." She paused to breathe and try to push away some anxiety. Recovered, she continued, "I've never made a cape, but that can't be hard. It's just a big piece of cloth. The tunic thing is the only part that might be a problem. I think I can make it, but we need to talk about exactly how you want it to open and sit. I don't know about the antennae things though."

Jane and Liz stared at Stacy, surprised looks on their faces. Just as Stacy was starting to freak out, Jane spoke up, "Wow, who would have guessed that someone from the fashion club would know something useful about clothing? I thought you girls just knew how to copy the pretty pictures in the magazines."

"Ms. Lane!" Liz gasped, and stared at her teacher.

Jane looked at Stacy who was shaking and starting to tear up. She quickly began backpedaling, "Sorry! I'm sorry! Old habits. What I meant to say was, I'm impressed. You're confident and you actually seem to know what you're talking about. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm looking forward to working with you."

Stacy felt a warm pride inside, being praised by someone. She managed to calm down and looked up at Jane with a shy, hesitant smile.

Jane nervously looked away and continued, "And don't worry about the antennae, I was planning to make those myself." She turned to the next page in the sketchbook. "This is the one I'm most worried about, Titania."

Stacy took a second to finish collecting herself and picked up the sketchbook. Titania was slightly shorter than Oberon and extremely thin, she had waist length blonde hair, and her skin was a soft blue-green with darker blue markings. She wore a backless turquoise dress, accented with white, and a flowing skirt. She had ankle boots and long gloves that matched her dress, the color slightly darker. A pair of antennae, like Oberon's but smaller, swept back from her forehead.

"Hmm… Well obviously the dress is the hard part. Like I said with Oberon, the gloves—"

Stacy was cut off as Mr. O'Neill's voice came over the PA system. "Alright people, it's time for auditions. Everybody come back to the auditorium to watch so I don't get stuck with a lead with stage fright."

"He's very…" Liz trailed off.

Stacy nodded in agreement. "Yeah…"

Jane turned around to her students. "Alright kiddies, you heard the director. Make sure your name's on your work and set it on the far table, then get to the auditorium. If your name's not on something you've volunteered for heavy labor." Jane turned back to Stacy and Liz. "We'll have to finish this later, let's go." She grabbed her sketchbook from Stacy and started towards the door, the other two girls following in her wake.

As they entered the hallway, Liz asked, "Ms. Lane, we do actually have some budget for costumes, right?"

"Not much," Jane replied, scowling, "Budget cuts. Never thought I'd say that; I feel dirty."

The other two girls laughed. Liz continued, "Okay. Don't get mad, but do you know anything about buying fabric?"

Jane stopped in place and Stacy nearly bumped into her. "Huh. You know, I hadn't thought of that."

Stacy stepped away from Jane's back and walked around to her side. "I can give you some tips; I know a place with some great deals."

Jane let out a breath and started walking again. "Great, when are you free this weekend?"

Stacy tripped and almost fell, but Jane caught her. She was fast and surprisingly strong, and close again. Very close. Stacy blushed and put some distance between Jane and herself. "Th-thanks."

Jane smirked. "Can't have my best seamstress breaking an arm, can I?" She turned to Liz. "No, offense."

Liz shook her head. "None taken."

The girls started walking again after Stacy caught her breath. Jane turned to Stacy. "So, when are you free?"

Her heart still racing, Stacy tried to clarify, "I-I meant I could tell you about them; you don't have to take me with you."

Jane looked at Stacy dubiously. "Somehow I really doubt I can manage half as well as someone who's been doing this for five years."

Stacy laughed nervously. She was embarrassed and not entirely sure why she'd tied to avoid going with Jane in the first place. "Yeah, I guess that kinda makes sense, huh?" She managed a smile. "Sorry, I just didn't want to make you go out of your way taking me. If you really want me to go with you, I think there's a sale on Saturday."

"Great, I'll pick you up at noon." A bit of harshness crept into her voice as she added, "I'm glad that's all it was. I was worried it was stupid fashion club 'don't be seen with losers' rule."

Stacy nearly tripped again. Once she was sure she wasn't going to fall, she hurriedly tried to clarify, "No! No, I just didn't want to bother you." After a pause, she quietly added, "I'm done with all that."

Jane quirked an eyebrow, "Done with what, exactly?"

Stacy took a deep breath, and spoke clearly, "I'm done with judging people"—her voice grew angrier and louder as she went on—"I'm done with the fashion club, I'm done with stupid popularity rules, I'm done with Sandy, and I'm done pretending I'm—" Stacy quickly covered her mouth before she could continue. In a barely audible voice she added, "Maybe I'm not quite done with that last one."

Before Jane could reply, Liz piped up. "Sorry to interrupt, but we're here."

Stacy looked up, surprised to see that they were already at the doors to the auditorium. Glad for the interruption, she quickly said, "I'm gonna go find Quinn," and started into the room.

Jane called after her, "Wait! I need your info so we can meet up."

Stacy stopped and turned around to walk back, when Liz pointed out, "Ms. Lane, the program meets all week long. It's only Monday, you can just get it from her later." Stacy silently thanked her new friend.

Jane sighed dramatically and turned to Liz. "You just had to remind me I'd be here all week, didn't you?" Turning back to Stacy, Jane said, "Fine, fine. Run off and leave me." Stacy stood in place, unsure. Jane shook her head. "Seriously, go. I'll see you tomorrow." She made a shooing motion with her hands.

Stacy nodded and said, "Thanks, see you tomorrow." She turned around and pushed the door open. She scanned the auditorium and quickly found Quinn sitting with a small group of students. She jogged down to her and called out, "Quinn!"

Quinn looked up from her script and called back, "Stacy! Come here!"

Stacy walked the rest of the way and sat down in an empty chair next to Quinn. She turned to the people sitting around her friend and gave a small wave. "Hi. I'm Stacy."

Something seemed to register with the smaller of the two boys in the group and he commented, "Hey, you're the sewing girl."

Stacy shrunk in her seat, Quinn scowled at him, and the boy next to him slapped him in the back of the head. The boy who had hit him introduced himself, "Nice to meet you Stacy. I'm Steven and this knucklehead"—he ruffled the smaller boys black hair—"is my younger brother Alex. He's a bit unrefined, but he didn't mean any harm." In a more stern voice he added, "Did, you Alex?"

Alex rubbed the back of his head and grinned. "Nah. Sorry if I upset you. I'm not too good with words; feel free to let me know if I say something stupid." He smiled and added "It's cool that you had the guts to stand up in front of everyone like that though. You should have tried out for the play instead of doing that tech stuff."

Stacy had recovered by this point and gave a small smile. "Um… Thanks, I guess." She took a moment to look at the two boys. They both had slightly curly black hair and blue eyes. They didn't look familiar, but Steven looked like he was her age. Which was weird, because he definitely would have been on the fashion clubs datable list.

The pretty blonde girl sitting on the other side of Quinn interrupted Stacy's thoughts. "Hi, I'm Gwen. It's nice to meet you." She stretched a hand over Quinn, offering a handshake.

Stacy shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

The last member of the group, a short haired brunette, started to say something when the lights dimmed. A spotlight came on and followed Mr. O'Neill as he walked to the center of the stage. "Alright, people. You've all had plenty of time to go over the script, now it's time to see what you've got. To make things easier, I want everyone trying out for the same part trying out for the same part sitting together." He started pointing to different parts of the auditorium as he went on. "Oberon here, Titania and any other female fairies there, Puck there, Bottom and any other mechanicals over there, Lysander and Demetrius up here, Hermia and Helena there, and everyone else over there. Audience, you fill in the middle. There are sheets in each section, write down your name and first and second choice roles."

The lights came back up and people began to scramble around the auditorium getting to the right area. Stacy looked around at the chaos and was suddenly very glad she was already sitting in the center. She turned to Quinn, who was getting up and said, "Good luck Quinn, not that you need it."

Quinn squeezed past Stacy with an anxious smile on her face. "Thanks, and I'll take all the luck I can get. Some of these guys are really good."

As Quinn headed down to her section Liz walked up. "Mind if I sit down? I don't really know anyone here."

Stacy smiled. "Sure."

"Thanks, is that your friend?"

"Yeah, her names Quinn. I'll introduce you later."

"Cool." The lights dimmed again. "Guess we should be quiet."

Stacy nodded.

Quinn was getting anxious. Mr. O'Neill had been stopping to explain what was going on in the play, and what words meant all night. Worse, he had called up several people to read for Hermia, but hadn't called her yet. The people on stage finally finished and Mr. O'Neill walked onstage to call the next scene. He consulted his clipboard, "Alright, Davis as Demetrius, Marcus as Lysander, Greta as Helena, and Quinn as Hermia. Start from Hermia's entrance. Act three, scene two, line one hundred eighty." With that, he walked back down to the audience.

Quinn flipped through her playbook as she headed for the stage. She found the scene; she had the first line. Once onstage, she took a deep breath to calm her heart, which was beating like crazy. She ran up to the others onstage and stopped. "Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, the ear more quick of apprehension makes. Wherein it doth impair—"

A call came from the front row. "Like, boo! Boo!"

Quinn couldn't see who it was from the stage because of the lights. She faltered for a second, flashing back to that horrible renaissance fair, but pushed those thoughts back and forced herself to continue. "—the seeing sense, it pays the hearing double—"

"Yeah," came a second voice, stretching its vowels, "Booo!"

Quinn had balled up her fists and was about to lose it, when Mr. O'Neill stood up and called out, "Stop, stop." He walked over to where the booing had come from and addressed the people sitting there, "What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

The first voice responded, "I would think that would be obvious. We are expressing our distaste for this pitiful performance." Now that she wasn't in the middle of performing, Quinn immediately recognized the familiar, haughty female voice.

"Yeah, pitiful," stretched out the second voice, its owner equally obvious.

Mr. O'Neill's voice grew sterner than usual. "First of all, there will be no booing in this program. It's not constructive and only serves to slow things down." He stepped back and addressed the whole auditorium. "Is that understood?" There was a general murmur of acknowledgement from the crowd and Mr. O'Neill returned his focus to the girls. "Second—" He stopped and sniffed audibly. "What is that smell?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," answered Sandi.

Mr. O'Neill looked between the girls, "What's in that bag?"

Quinn squinted against the stage lights and managed to make out some kind of bag sitting open between Sandi and Tiffany in the front row. "Um… That's my lunch," Sandi answered. "Why is it a crime to bring your own lunch in this theatre thing?"

"Sandi, ew. That turkey is so greasy. How could you eat it?" Tiffany asked.

"Shut up, Tiffany."

Mr. O'Neill cut in. "Alright, that'll be quite enough. Who are you and why have you brought a backpack full of—" he grabbed the bag and looked in "—turkey legs into my theater?" Quinn started shaking. Turkey legs, like the renaissance fair. Was Sandi planning to throw those at her?

Sandi raised her voice accusingly, "Like, why don't you tell me who you are first? I was told Mr. O'Neill was in charge of this thing. I'm don't have anything to say to some assistant." Quinn couldn't help but laugh, her anger and anxiety draining off.

Mr. O'Neill just stood there staring at the girl. Quinn took the opportunity to speak up. "Mr. O'Neill, I think I can explain."

"Please do Ms.—" he looked at his clipboard, "—Morgendorffer."

Quinn walked to the edge of the stage. "These two are Sandi Griffin and Tiffany Blum-Deckler. They're some ex-friends of mine who are trying to mess up my audition."

Mr. O'Neill nodded. "Well, that explains the booing, but what about the turkey legs?"

"Excuse me," Sandi interrupted, "Are you just going to believe her? What about my side?"

Mr. O'Neill sighed and hung his head. "You wouldn't tell me 'your side'. Ms. Morgendorffer, please continue."

As Sandi sputtered indignantly, Quinn explained, "Well, a couple of years ago the school held a renaissance fair. Mr. O'Neill, your cousin, put on a play. There were… problems—" Quinn shuddered involuntarily, "—and we ended up getting booed off the stage…"

Mr. O'Neill sighed again. "That sounds like him. But what about the turkey legs."

Quietly, Quinn responded, "It was dinner theatre."

Mr. O'Neill cringed. "Of course." He spun around to face Sandi and Tiffany. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. You snuck into my program in order to boo my actors and pelt them with turkey legs?"

Sandi crossed her arms, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I don't have time for this." He turned to where Jane was sitting. "Ms. Lane call the police and tell them what's happened." Off to the side someone got up and hurried out of the auditorium. Quinn wasn't sure, but she thought she heard them laughing.

"You can't do this! I haven't broken any laws!" Sandi protested.

"Um, Sandi, I don't want to go to jail. Horizontal stripes make me look fat," Tiffany added.

Mr. O'Neill voice was firm. "Young ladies, you have harassed my students and are currently trespassing. They may not arrest you, but I'm definitely making sure this is on record."

Sandi stood up. "Well, I'm certainly not going to stand here and take this. Come on Tiffany, we're leaving."

"Please do; I'd like to get back to rehearsals." As they walked out Mr. O'Neill added, "I'm sure the cameras my grant money paid for got everything." He turned back to the stage and said, "Alright people, from Hermia's entrance."

Quinn took a deep breath to calm herself, only to realize that she felt great. Sandi's plan had completely backfired; getting all that stuff about that other play out had totally gotten rid of her nerves. She smiled confidently and began.

Hello readers,

Finals, sick, blah, blah, blah. I've got plenty of good excuses why this took longer, but I don't really want to use them because I'm not making any promises for future deliveries. I hope this and future chapters are worth the wait.

This one has been a bit of a bear. Apparently I'm much more comfortable with writing people who have actually spoken to each other in the show. This is mostly groundwork stuff too, which is much less fun than actual character growth.

Well, let me know what you think. I always appreciate reviews, even if they're not good. No pressure if you don't review though; I've certainly lurked in enough stories over the years without saying anything. Thanks for reading, regardless.

Edit: 8/11/15 Word choice, a little grammar and punctuation.