As the weeks passed, my friendship with Max intertwined his life with mine in a way I hadn't expected. I found myself truly enjoying his company, thinking of him as my equal—a rare experience among teenagers, especially since I often felt like I was navigating a world of youthful chaos with far too much life experience. I cherished every moment we spent together.
We decided to try out for the school play, an adaptation of A Midsummer Night's Dream. This was high school, so there wouldn't be much in the way of sets or elaborate costumes, but it could work if the teacher could find enough students who could act. Last year they'd done Twelfth Night. The teacher had cast twins to play the twins. Though they certainly looked the part and had natural chemistry with each other, they hadn't mastered projecting their voices in a theater with no sound system, even a small one. The boy who played the Duke had a natural charisma and had ended up carrying the play singlehandedly. Still, the thrill of performing alongside Max excited me, and I was determined to immerse myself in the role. However, I also recognized that my approach was overly methodical, as I'd been through high school drama before. I tried to channel my youthful energy, making sure I read the role the way a normal teenager would. The casting results were posted a week later, and to my dismay, neither of us received a role.
"What? No way!" I exclaimed, staring at the notice. "I thought we were both terrific!"
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I guess I just don't have the stage presence they were looking for. I can't blame them. It was my first time under the spotlight. I think I stumbled over too many lines."
"You were great!" I insisted, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes. "You just need to find your confidence. I think I could help."
Max looked at me, a flicker of hope in his expression. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Of course! Let's work on it together. I'll coach you," I offered, my heart swelling with determination to help him shine. "We can meet at the library after school. I can try to help you get comfortable on stage."
His face lit up with genuine gratitude. "You'd do that for me?"
I nodded.
"That's amazing! Thank you, Edie. It's not often I get an offer like this from such a beautiful girl."
I felt a rush of warmth at his compliment, and I would have blushed if my body were still capable of it. "You're sweet, Max. I just want to help you find your voice," I replied, unable to suppress a smile.
In the days that followed, whenever I was going to spend time with Max one-on-one, I would wear my hair down. I typically kept it tied up in a braid, ponytail, or bun. It was the current fashion, and it was practical. But I wanted to make an effort to show him the softer side of me. I wanted him to see the real Edie, even if I did look like a girl out of time.
I waited for Max outside the front doors. We both grinned when he arrived, and I led him to a quiet area under a tree. "So what's the plan?"
We began with some basic exercises to help him warm up and loosen up. As we practiced, I noticed his confidence slowly growing, a spark igniting within him. I gently corrected him, but I made sure to emphasize the positives, celebrating even the smallest victories.
"You see, you're getting better!" I encouraged after he delivered a line with more conviction. "Just keep letting your passion show."
"I'll try," he replied, determination in his voice. "It's just hard for me to shake off the nerves sometimes. I've never been good at being in front of people."
"Remember how easy it is for us to chat?" I suggested, my heart swelling with pride as I watched him respond to my encouragement. "It's just us. No audience. I care about you whether you're good the first time you try it or not."
We continued to practice over the next few weeks, even though the next play wasn't until next year. I could see the progress he was making, and it filled me with a sense of purpose. But there was also something else—a delightful thrill in being close to him. I cherished the moments where our hands brushed or where I caught him stealing glances at me, the shy boy captivated by the girl who saw something in him that he struggled to see in himself.
At one point we did some Hamlet, and as I read Ophelia, I suddenly remembered the class I'd had in film criticism last time I was in college. With a profound sense of irony, I wondered: am I turning into a manic pixie dream girl?
Well, there's nothing manic about me, and pixie? Definitely wrong. Not only was the mythological creature way off, if there was anyone pixie-like in my life, it was my sister Alice!
No, I realized - the archetype doesn't fit me. I wasn't dedicating my entire life to helping Max grow. By being with him, I was growing, just like he was growing by being with me. And Max definitely isn't a manic pixie dream boy!
As we finished, Max seemed more at ease, his earlier nervousness fading away. "Thank you, Edie. You really have a knack for this," he said, genuine admiration shining in his eyes. "I feel better already."
I smiled brightly. "I'm glad! You're a great student, Max. I can't wait to see how much you'll improve."
As he left that day, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the deepening friendship between us. Max was smart - he just had trouble showing that in front of people. His enthusiasm filled me with hope for what lay ahead. I was grateful for the opportunity to help him grow, and in turn, I found myself growing too—embracing my tender side.
With each passing day, I felt more at ease in my relationship with Max, our shared passion for literature growing into something warm and delightful. After our successful coaching session, I found myself daydreaming about our next meeting, a spark of inspiration igniting within me. I knew exactly what I wanted: to immerse ourselves in a play we both loved: Much Ado About Nothing.
The following weekend, I suggested we read it together. "You can be Benedick, and I'll be Beatrice!"
"That sounds awesome!" he grinned.
As we settled into our nook in the school library for our reading, I felt a rush of excitement. I had carefully prepared the space, arranging some cushions on the floor for comfort. My long hair tumbled over my shoulders as I turned to Max, who looked slightly nervous but ready to dive into the material.
"Are you ready to play?" I asked, my eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Some characters, I mean?"
"Absolutely," he replied, a grin spreading across his face.
We dove into the text. I read the female parts and Max read the male parts, and I saved my best for Beatrice, embracing her fiery, witty nature. Max transformed into Benedick, embodying the character's charm and humor. It was incredible to see how naturally he brought the role to life.
As we read through the familiar banter, I couldn't help but grin when he delivered Benedick's "There's a double meaning in that" monologue. Max infused it with a comedic flair that had me laughing harder than I expected.
"You get it!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands in delight. "You understand the words! You have a knack for timing! Shakespeare would be proud!"
"Thanks! I've never had this much fun with it," he admitted, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
We continued, the playful tension between Beatrice and Benedick building as they danced around their feelings for each other. When we reached the moment of their declarations of love, I felt an exhilarating thrill. The words felt charged with emotion, and I could almost hear the heartbeat of the characters echoing through me.
"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," Max said, as Benedick. "Is not that strange?"
The words sounded so sweet coming from him. "It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you," I told him. "But believe me not; and yet I lie not."
In that moment, something shifted within me. The words felt too genuine to remain bound to the page. Before I knew it, we were caught in a spontaneous embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, and he responded in kind, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to mine.
But then, a moment of hesitation filled the air. Max pulled back slightly, surprise etched on his face. "Wait," he said, his brows knitting together. "What's the problem?"
I looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"You're so cold!" he exclaimed, concern lacing his voice. "Here, put my coat on." He quickly draped his jacket over my shoulders, the soft fabric enveloping me.
I couldn't believe I'd made that mistake. My skin was nearly thirty degrees cooler than his, a characteristic that I often forgot in the warmth of our moments together. "Oh! I didn't even think about that," I admitted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement as I adjusted the coat around me.
Max chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with a mix of concern and affection. "Are you okay? You're not sick or anything?"
"I'm fine, really!" I reassured him, a smile creeping onto my lips. "I just… tend to be a little cooler than most people."
"Is it a health thing?" he asked, studying my face as if trying to gauge my temperature.
"No, it's... me," I replied, choosing my words carefully.
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not probing further. "Well, you're definitely one of a kind, Edie."
We continued reading, but my thoughts were consumed by the embrace we had shared. My thoughts weren't on how cold my skin was compared to his. I was thinking about the way we looked at each other as we played the two rivals slowly falling in love. I hoped his thoughts were as well - so I listened in a little. Indeed, Max was thinking about the way my amber eyes had looked when he had asked, "tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?" and I had replied, "For them all together."
By the end of our reading, I felt a heady mix of exhilaration and a newfound affection for Max. The chemistry between us was real, and I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for us. Perhaps this journey we were on—this exploration of literature and ourselves—was leading to something more profound than I had anticipated. As I glanced at him, laughing at one of Benedick's quips, I realized that I wanted him to talk to me like Benedick talked to Beatrice by the end of the play. My brief moment of listening in on his thoughts indicated the same thing: he had noticed the way I was looking at him when I was Beatrice. I couldn't wait to see where fate would take us next.