Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of my, the author's, imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
The Winter holidays came and went, and with it the two precious weeks outlined on the district calender for the students of Lakes City High. Now they find themselves back in familiar halls, hugging friends they haven't seen in what seems like forever and prattling on about the Christmas gifts they received. All the while I, Nolan Ferdinand, resident nerd of said school, am falling back into my normal routine of going to class, avoiding getting stuffed into lockers, and fading quietly into the background where I pray to spend the rest of my awkward teenage years. But avoiding unwanted attention isn't exactly my forte.
Being the only child of a first generation German father and a second generation Irish mother, I don't really have the most "American" features. I've acquired my fathers fair blond hair and high cheek bones along with his sleek build that I've always thought seemed more appropriate for an Olympic swimmer than a hardened German military officer. From my mothers side I have her stormy blue Irish eyes, a pale white complexion, and cheeks that inflame if I get even slightly flustered. I really wouldn't mind any of it if it wasn't for the fact the other kids find it funny to call me a Nazi or make fun of my Irish heritage using inane and overused phrases like, "Top o' tha mornin' to ya, lad!" and "Where are me lucky charms, boyo!?" And worse yet they call me things like "fag" and "homo" because I look a little (alright, a lot) effeminate.
Thankfully the insults have lessened since a few of the kids have made some unpleasant trips to the vice principal's office and then to detention. Now there's just the occasional "nerd" and "four eyes" when they try to shove me into lockers or pass by me in the hallway. And yeah, it bothers me and hurts some, but I'm always quick to bounce back with my best friend and confidant, Anne Maroni.
She's what kids refer to as, well, a bitch, and honestly, I don't think it's her fault. Having a good amount of Italian blood flowing in her veins, she was born with a volatile personality that gets her into a whole mess of trouble. When the counselors suggested she try sports, I encouraged her to try it out and get involved. She quickly decided that it was a healthier, if not more fun, way to release her anger. She now plays in Lacrosse, Soccer, Fast Pitch, any sport really. If they have a girls' season for it, she plays it.
Although she isn't the easiest person to get along with, she is still pretty popular when it comes to the male populace in school. With green eyes, olive skin, and a well toned body she is a force to be reckoned with, and she knows her way around well enough. Relationships don't last for her, but she is more interested in sexual trysts, like most of the school. If the guy is willing, she is happy to oblige.
While I don't like to focus too much on this aspect, the fact of the matter remains that if I was given the opportunity I'd probably jump into bed with whatever guy offered to warm it. And after almost two weeks in Germany away from my friends (or Anne, in this case) and people who didn't talk about my lack of a love life, I'm more than ready to see my best friend again.
Spotting Anne by her locker, I can feel my face break into a smile and, pushing past mass teenage cliques, I make my way towards her. It's like a war zone in these hallways, and I have to duck, cover, avoid tripping over outstretched legs, and steer clear of the section that the jocks occupy. Arriving safely at her bank of lockers, I fall back heavily against them and slam my head back, a relieved sigh making its way past my lips.
Anne grins and closes her locker, leaning her shoulder against it as she looks me over, "Looks like some one's wishing they were back in their beloved Doofenshmertz."
My head lolls over in her direction and I roll my eyes, "Oh please. And it's not called 'Doofenshmertz' Anne, that's the name of an evil incorporation in a kids show. The place where I spent eleven agonizing days was called Dorfprozelten."
"Close enough, broskie," she replies with a shrug. "What was so bad about being abroad for the holidays? I love visiting my Gran in Italy during the summer."
All I can manage is an aggravated sigh and a shake of my head.
"That bad, huh?"
Pushing myself off the lockers, I sigh, "You don't even know the half of it. My grandmother's even more of a psycho since the last Christmas I saw her, the one where my aunt Nadia was getting married to a Jew."
"Oh?"
To demonstrate my point I grab her by the shoulders and shake her playfully as I cry out, "Warum heiratest nicht du noch, Nolan? Warum heiratest nicht du noch?"
Pushing me away, she giggles, "Heheh, wait, wait. Let me figure it out. Let's put those German lessons to good use!" She looks thoughtful for a moment and I just roll my eyes, knowing she never retained anything I told her except the cuss words (which she put to good use).
"Okay, so the first thing you said was..."
"Warum heiratest nicht..."
She nods, "Warum heiratest nicht, and that means... Uhm, it means..."
"You have no idea, do you?"
"No... Not really."
I smirk and cross my arms before mimicking an old German woman's accent, "Vy youz not married yet Nolan, vy youz not married?!" I sigh and shake my head, "I'm seventeen and in high school and my seventy year old grandmother asked me that every single day! I mean, what the hell, right?"
Anne laughs loudly and manages to ask in between fits of laughter, "So... Heheh, so what'd you say?"
I grin and shrug, taking off the beanie I'm wearing to run a hand through my hair, "I did what any self respecting German half-breed would do. I just said, 'Look Gran, I can't have grandchildren. I plan to become priest and serve God and his son, Jesus, our savior.' I don't know what she was more pleased by, the fact that I spoke up to her or how well I lied."
Another set of giggles erupt from her and she slaps a hand on my shoulder and leads me down the hallway,"You might as well be a priest, cause you sure as hell ain't ever gonna get any female tail my friend." Leaning in she whispers so that only I can hear, "Not that you'd want to anyway, ya little crack fairy."
I roll my eyes dramatically and shove her away playfully, "Be quiet, you closet dike."
She wiggles her tongue at me in between her index and middle finger before replying, "You wish you had a dike friend to share your fairy conquests with."
"If ever there were any. The closest I've ever come to getting anywhere was that stupid game of truth and dare back in middle school where you dared me to kiss Nicholas Dolan. I'm not putting my ass in that kind of predicament again b-t-dub."
"Lanie..." She looks at me affectionately, using my nickname. "You do know that losing that V-card you have tucked safely away in your wallet isn't a bad thing, right? I've told you this before and I'm gonna tell you again, you need to take a chance! It isn't bad to lose it in high school!" She looks at me excitedly, as if she has just made a huge discovery. "In fact, it is important to do so. There is a reason kids date and have sex in high school. It's to prepare them for the big scary world beyond those double doors." Her hand makes a big sweeping half circle in front of us as she talks, "And I know you personally don't see the point but maybe, maybe if you found someone interested in you and gave them a chance then you could see what all the hubub is about."
I've heard this speech before and will no doubt be hearing it again, but after almost two weeks with my fathers family constantly harping on about kids and nice German girls I could settle down and have a family with, I really don't need to hear it from Anne of all people, even if she is just talking about getting laid.
I turn to her with and sigh, and give her a pointed look. "Alright, Ms. Psychologist Extraordinaire, I hear you, but how about we delve into more shallow waters and talk about something else, hmm?"
She makes a face at me but shrugs, "What ever you say slick."
~*~
There aren't a great many things I enjoy about school. In fact, I can't wait until my four years in hell are up, but there is one thing I look forward to that comes every year, without fail: the Spring play.
The director, Mrs. Hagen, is not only the drama teacher, but she is also one of the craziest, most eccentric teachers at LC High. There are a significant number of students that dislike her teaching methods and her in-your-face attitude, but she does her job well and is, by far, my favorite teacher.
The plays she chooses every year for the Spring production either are, or have something to do with Shakespeare. Last year they performed "WORDS WORDS WORDS," where three monkeys attempted to write Hamlet. The year before that they did A Midsummer Night's Dream, one of my personal favorites. I can only guess what it'll be this year.
Walking quickly into the class, I slip off my backpack and sling it over the back of the chair before sitting, my legs twitching in anticipation. When the bell rings, Mrs. Hagen strolls into the classroom, her scarf and dark auburn hair billowing behind her as if there's a gust of wind only she can feel. She leaves in her wake the scent of theatre and dust and home, and I smile brightly at her as she spins around to face us.
Her bright green eyes look affectionately down her nose at us and with a flourish, she speaks loudly, "Welcome back, my bright eyed, wet nosed pupils! I hope your Spring breaks were agreeable?"
I glance over at one of the girls in the front of the room, Melissa Richards, as she snickers. Raising her hand, she has the audacity to try and correct Mrs. Hagen's mistake. I feel like punching her.
"Wow, Mrs. H, ya do know it was Winter break, not Spring, right?"
When Mrs. Hagen looks pointedly at Melissa, I smirk and lean back in my seat, watching. She dismisses the girl with a wave of the hand and tosses her hair back. "For you perhaps, Ms. Richards, but it is always my personal belief to consider each break a Spring break for you see..." She plants both hands on Melissa's desk, leaning forward just far enough to make the teen shy away, yet still respect student-teacher boundaries.
Mrs. Hagen's lips pull back into a snarl, but her tone remains deceitfully calm. "When I am given a blessed break from you little heathens, because Lord knows a Summer just does not suffice, it puts the warmth of Spring back in my body, as you can see from my rosy cheeks, and reawakens the sense of love and passion for life in my heart!" Her face goes blank for a moment, and suddenly, as if remembering something, she flies back from Melissa's desk, her scarf whirling like a second shadow behind her, as she thrusts her finger into the air.
"Speaking of which!" she exclaims, ignoring the dirty look the girl gives her. She grabs a book from her desk, clutching it to her chest. "The production this year will be one of my William's best known works, which we all affectionately know as 'Romeo and Juliet!' It is a tale of passion, forbidden love, heartache, and oh so much more!" She spins around quickly, falling into a pose with her head tilted back, the back of her hand resting across her forehead dramatically. There are a few subdued groans throughout the class, but she ignores them in favor of retrieving a box hidden underneath the podium.
I look on excitedly as she passes the scripts out to each student and I have to keep from bouncing excitedly in my seat. She is well aware that Romeo and Juliet is my favorite! When she hands me my copy with a wink I have to fight the urge to tackle and hug her.
"You each will receive a book, and no, I am not going to hold your hand and walk you through it." She looks at a section of slackers in the back for a moment before continuing. "I want a five page essay comparing our fair Romeo and young Juliet's love with that of a more modern romance. Be it Ms. Spears and K-Fed or your own tryst with love, I care not! But what I do want is for you all to use evidence, your brains, and most importantly, creativity my good people."
Her eyes sweep across the classroom, narrowed as if she's trying to instill fear into our souls before they still briefly on me.
"This will be due the final day of the production, and before one of you monsters ask, I realize that it will be a Sunday, which means -- and listen people! -- which means that if you are not going to the last performance, I expect you give it to me sometime before. I will not be taking them on Monday." She turns and throws up her hand, her bracelets clinking along her arm and bellows out, "No excuses!"
I hold the book reverently in my hands and flip it open to the balcony scene, the images of countless plays passing through my mind, the words playing out like a film in my head, the inner turmoil clear in their eyes, the way they look at one another with utter adoration. For them, their love is simple and they won't let anything come between them. Feeling a small pang of desire in my heart, I close the book and sigh heavily. I place the book at the edge of the desk and rest my head on my arms, closing my eyes and moving my lips in tandem with that of the Romeo in my dreams.
Feeling a sudden presence above me I crack open an eye and see Mrs. Hagen looming over me in all her state. Sitting up, I give the drama teacher a lopsided smile.
"Good-morrow Mrs. Hagen."
She leans against the counter next to my desk and tilts her head towards me, smiling warmly, "Is the day so young?"
I nod, grinning happily at her for playing along. "But new struck nine."
"Ay me! Sad hours seem long..." The corners of her eyes crinkle, a tell tale sign of old age, but I think she just looks all the prettier.
Smoothing out the front of her multicolored robe, she inquires good-naturedly, "I trust you had a pleasant time in Germany with your father's family?"
I make a non-committal shrug. "It was interesting enough. I trust you had a nice break as well, doing whatever it is you teachers do."
She waves as if she is shooing the notion away from her. "Oh the school gets so droll during breaks, Mr. Ferdinand, they really should let us out more often. This one teacher in the seven hundred hall, it seems, started running through the halls wearing nothing but construction paper and body paint! Imagine that."
I laugh, scrunching my face at her. "You're a teacher in the seven hundred hall, Mrs. Hagen."
She grins slyly. "I'm well aware of that." Flipping her hair behind her shoulder, she lets out an exasperated sigh.
"I must admit though, it was quite difficult picking a play for this season. So many to choose from and yet so little that our student body can perform, let alone understand!"
She lifts the play book off his table and shakes it slightly, her head bobbing in a sort of affirmation. She taps it, saying "When my hand came across this, I knew it to be the one. Not to mention you've been giving me those damnable puppy dog eyes ever since you discovered the damn thing your freshman year."
"I knew I'd wear you down." I prop my head on my hand and look up at her. "When are you holding auditions anyhow?"
She makes a clucking sound with her tongue as she pushes herself off the counter and walks around to the front of my table. "There will be no auditions. I have each role picked for it already!"
I give her a skeptical look, "Mrs. Hagen, if no one auditioned than how--"
She silences me with a raised hand and taps her temple with an index finger. "It's all up in here, my dear boy, all up in here. I know my regulars. They will do an excellent job. And as for the lead of Romeo... Oh, one moment." She snaps her fingers at the group of students, getting a little too rowdy and gives them her patented glare.
Once they have quieted down, I prompted her to continue, "And what about the lead roles, Mrs. Hagen...?"
"Mmm? Oh yes, the roles. Well you just let me worry about that, Mr. Ferdinand. Of course, my Romeo will need as much help as possible and everyone will have to pitch in. He's the perfect image for my ideal male lead but he's just a little..." -- Her hand waves jaggedly in the air -- "rough around the edges. Nothing we can't handle, my dear."
I'm not quite sure what to make of what she said, but then again it isn't often that I understand her plans until well after they've been implemented. She knows what she's doing, so I trust her.
When the door suddenly opens, all eyes turn to focus on whichever poor soul has decided to venture in late. And looking at the culprit, I feel my heart skip a beat. In sauntered LC High's varsity linebacker and my own personal crush, Satchum Kingsley.
I let my eyes sweep across the taller boy reverently, drinking in every detail. Satchum, or Sean as everyone seems to call him, embodies everything I think a guy should possess. Strength, that unbeatable southern charm from thirteen years spent in Arkansas, humor, undeniable sex appeal (that's a big one in my book), athletic talent... And he is surprisingly intelligent for a jock. It's not like I'm stalking the football player or anything. I've just dedicated a lot of my time to paying a little attention to the other boy. Well, okay, a lot.
I especially love paying special attention to Sean's physique, and I have to contain a sigh as he moves across the room. He is built, like most athletes are, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. He has eyes the color of melted chocolate, and short brown hair that always looks like he just got out of bed, yet impossibly sexy on him.
When Mrs. Hagen starts talking again, I nearly fall out of my seat, but pull myself together in time to see her walking out of the classroom with Sean in tow. Sighing, I prop my head up on my hand and look out the window, indulging in fantasies of Shawn and I spending quiet nights out together, and maybe some not so quiet nights in.
~*~
Sean drops his backpack on the floor and leans against the wall outside the classroom, arms crossed over his chest and a look of teenage petulance on his face.
"Oh Mr. Kingsley, a look like that belongs to murderers and rapists in courtrooms, and since you are neither, I hope, and at school, I would think it best to wipe it right off your face, do you not agree?" Her tone is sincere, but her face is patronizing and Sean has to fight hard not to sneer. He instead schools his expression before giving her a look as if to say, "Better now?"
"That's much better." Smiling she mimicks his position before speaking again. "This is the fifth time you've been late this month, and that is when you even bother to show up. Do you have an explanation or is it just pure laziness that drives you?"
Pushing himself off the wall, Sean opens his mouth to retort, but thinks better of it, shaking his head. "No ma'am."
Her mouth forms a thin line before nodding. With a wave of her hand, her bracelets rattling. She sighs and shakes her head as if to clear a thought.
"As I thought. Now because of your behavior and your belief that this class is a bird course, you are now pitifully behind and failing. As we both know, you have to retain a C plus or better in each of your classes, and at this point there is next nothing you can do to make up the credit."
Sean feels his stomach leap into his throat and has to fight back the wave of panic at the prospect of being kicked off the football team, but before he can open his mouth to whine, beg, grovel or do anything, Mrs. Hagen continued.
"I however, will not be the reason our beloved football team loses their morale, so I have talked to your coach and we have generously come up with a solution."
"Whatever it is, I'll do it ma'am, I swear!" His southern accent thickens, his tone desperate. When she looks at him in surprise, he's afraid he said the wrong thing.
"I appreciate your enthusiasm, and this makes it all the easier for me to offer you the chance to stay on your sports team. There is only one thing you must do, and that is participate in my up and coming play."
Sean frowns slightly and knows that it can't be as easy as that. "So you mean all I have to do is help with the sets and lights and whatever and I can pass? I reckon it can't be that easy."
The older woman laughs and clutches her hand to her chest before shaking her head vigorously and raising a hand. "You're quite right, Mr. Kingsley, it's not that easy. What I meant to imply was that you are going to be \i in\i0 the play. The lead role of Romeo in fact." It's his turn to laugh, and he shakes his head.
"You've got to be kidding me. I mean, I don't even know how to act, or memorize lines, or whatever it is the actors do. I can't do that. I just... I can't!"
"Not for lack of trying I see," she replies wryly. "You have these few moments to make your choice, Mr. Kingsley. Expulsion from the football team or a place on stage performing a masterpiece." The smile she gives him this time reminds him of that one cat in Alice in Wonderland, and he knows she is well aware of the choice he has make.
Taking a deep breath, he scrubs his hand over his face, and throws his hands up in the air, defeated. "Alright, I reckon there ain't much choice fer me in the matter. I'll do it, but I honestly don't know how I'm gonna with practice an' \f1\endash\f0 "
"Don't worry about that Mr. Kingsley. All the details have been worked out with your coach and I. He's more than happy to lend me your services every other day and to make up the days you won't be spending with me in rehearsal, you'll be using your study period, which fortunately coincides with one of my drama techs. He will help you through the play, run you through the motions and such. I have little doubt you two will become very good friends."
"Every free period?" He asks, looking very much like a puppy that has just been kicked in the face.
She nods. "Every free period." Placing a hand on his shoulder she maneuvers him toward the door. "Come, I'll introduce the two of you now."
~*~
My head jerks up at the sound of someone clearing her throat, and suddenly, I find myself looking up into the faces of none other than Mrs. Hagen and Satchum Kingsley.
Mrs. Hagen looks to Sean and smiles before stretching her arm out towards me. "Mr. Kingsley, meet Nolan Ferdinand, your new acting tutor."