RHS Theatre Presents: William Shakespeare’sTwelfth Night.
Dr. Lochley’s put it up over all the other notices on the board; the pushpins beneath are dimpling the banner.
“So she finally picked a show?” Liam asks, sipping on his pineapple-mango-arugula shmoodie. (It sounds weird but it’s super tasty.)
“Yeah.” I heard on Friday, but Dr. L swore me to secrecy. “Have you read it?”
Liam shakes his head and stares at the sign.
“You going to audition?”
“I dunno.”
“What? Why?” Liam’s too good to not even try out.
He chews his lip and glances toward Cam and Philip, who are canoodling in the little vestibule by the stairs.
“You can’t let them stop you.”
“I’m not. But... you know they tried to start a rumor me and Tori were hooking up in the scene shop? That time I was late for my cue?”
I roll my eyes. “They’re drama queens. And I’m allowed to say that.”
Liam’s eyes sparkle as he laughs. He sips his shmoodie, then licks off the little drop left at the corner of his mouth. I trace the movement with my eyes. His lips move but I’m still thinking about his tongue.
“What?”
He caps his shmoodie, tucks it under his arm, so he can sign.
“It’s not just them. I don’t exactly feel welcome.”
“Some of the senior actors are jerks to everyone,” I say aloud. “You can’t let that stop you, okay? You’re amazing.”
“All right. I’ll try. What about you? Are you going to audition?”
I laugh so hard I almost spit my own shmoodie out. “Me? No way. Someone has to stage manage.”
Liam pouts. Actually pouts. It’s so cute I think I’m going to pass out. My heart thunders extra hard and I back away a bit.
It was so much easier to deal with my crush when he was with Jasmine.
“That’s not a good reason. Dr. L would find someone else.”
“Well, maybe Paige can take over next year, but she’s not ready yet. And besides. Iwantto stage manage.”
Liam studies me really hard. And then he says, “It’s not because the actors are awful to you too?”
“They’re fine. It doesn’t matter.”
He gives me the kindest look then, all soft feathery hair and ocean eyes and I never want him to stop looking at me that way.
“It matters to me,” he says. “I swear, if Cameron calls you ‘Jackthon’ one more time, I might drown him in the diving well.”
It matters to me.
I can’t pick that apart right now.
“I’m gonna be late to class,” I tell him. “You going to sign up or not?”
