Always Never Yours(4)

Tyler doesn’t hear, or he pretends not to. He looks down at Madeleine. “I’ll drive you home after.”

“But I have—” she starts.

“I know,” Tyler interrupts, tugging her ponytail affectionately. “Your sister’s ballet recital. I’ll have you home in time.”

I roll my eyes. Watching them together was the quickest, if not necessarily easiest, way of extinguishing whatever lingering feelings I had for Tyler. Now when I look at him, I honestly can’t imagine dating him—regardless of how his objective adherence to certain standards of male desirability might occasionally affect me.

They smile at each other for a moment, looking like the contented lovers in erectile-dysfunction ads.

I’d hate them if I weren’t happy for them.



* * *





I walk to the restaurant while Tyler and Madeleine drive over together. Verona’s just ten minutes from school—I’d probably go there every day if the place didn’t repulse me. I’m hoping the easiest way to cure the cast’s eagerness for Verona is a meal there followed by certain food poisoning.

In the parking lot, I glance up at the marquee, which today reads To eat pizza or not to eat pizza? That is the question. I shake my head. The Bard would be proud.

Inside, it’s worse. The wood paneling of the booths gives way to kindergarten-quality murals of medieval towers and turrets, interposed awkwardly with out-of-context Romeo and Juliet quotes. “What’s in a name?” is written in three different sizes over the soda machine, and I pass by “Romeo, Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?” over the door of the arcade. Yes, there’s an arcade, and it’s not even the correct quote. It’s definitely wherefore.

The big booth in the back is packed with the usual theater crowd, but when I walk up, Anthony Jenson slides over to make room. He’s holding a copy of the play, and when I sit down, he thumbs it open.

“This monologue is incredible,” he says after a minute.

“Um, which?” I lean over. He’s playing a lead, I’m certain of that. Ever since he transferred here freshman year, poached by Jody from a school district unwilling to cast a black actor in prominent roles, he’s earned key parts in every production.

He glances up at me, mock-indignant. “You didn’t check who I was playing?” He drops the script on the table in front of me. I read the open page. It’s Mercutio’s monologue about the fairy Queen Mab. “Everyone thinks Romeo’s the best male role,” he continues intently, “but Mercutio’s way more challenging. He’s got a long monologue, a death scene—” He breaks off suddenly. “What am I saying? I’m talking to Juliet!”

“Don’t remind me,” I grumble.

He eyes me sympathetically. “You’ll be fine, Megan.” He pats my shoulder. “In any case, it’s a free trip to Ashland.”

I blink. “Ashland?”

“The Shakespeare Festival—”

“I know what the Oregon Shakespeare Festival is,” I cut him off. “What does it have to do with our play?”

“Nobody told you?” Anthony looks incredulous. “Stillmont got accepted to the high-school feature this year. We’re performing Romeo and Juliet in Ashland in December.”

A tightness takes hold of my chest. Jody just had to choose the most prestigious Shakespeare festival in the country to force me into the spotlight. “Learning experience, my ass,” I mutter under my breath. I must look pale, because Anthony’s watching me with an expression that’s half concern, half distrust.

“You’re going to be great. You have to be great. This production needs to stand out. Reps from Juilliard are going to be there, evaluating me—”

“I got it, Anthony!” I loudly interrupt. “I’m just nervous. I’ll figure something out,” I say.

Anthony’s gone quiet. I glance over, guessing I’ll find him with his head in his hands, weighing the devastation I’ll wreak on his college chances.

But I notice he’s no longer looking at me, and I follow his eye line—right to a blond and obnoxiously muscled busboy. He looks our age, but I definitely would have noticed someone like him at Stillmont. He must go to one of the private schools in the area.

“Oh my god,” Anthony mutters, watching the busboy clear a table and head into the kitchen. I know what that look means. Like me, Anthony falls fast and falls often. The difference is, he falls hard. He believes every guy is the one, and he’s devastated every time a relationship falls apart. Still, there’s no use trying to stop him.

“Go,” I say, standing up and letting him out of the booth. Wordlessly, he does.

I realize I’m left sitting next to a group of senior girls who I know all auditioned for Juliet. Alyssa Sanchez is looking at me like she wishes I would go full-Juliet and stab myself with a dagger right about now. Her entourage won’t even make eye contact.

“I didn’t audition for the part, you know,” I say, hoping to defuse the tension. This kind of drama is yet another reason I prefer directing.

“Well, you got it,” Alyssa replies icily.

“It’s obviously going to be a disaster,” I try to joke.

“Yes.” She stands up. “It will.”