Chasing Juliet

“You should totally go for it,” Artie says, giving my shoulder a squeeze as we stand gazing at the poster on the school’s bulletin board.

           ‘Romeo and Juliet – auditions this Thursday after school,’ the words proclaim.

           “Me?” My voice is the frightened squeak of a small animal cornered by a predator. Why would I want to put myself through the embarrassment and almost certain humiliation of something like that?

           “I’ve heard Jed Wilkins thinks he’s a shoo-in as Romeo,” Artie says casually, demonstrating his own acting skills by pretending not to look at me.

           Jed. My secret crush for as long as I can remember. But he doesn’t even know I exist. I’m like Romeo crushing on Rosaline at the start of the play: hopelessly infatuated with someone who doesn’t even know my name.

           “C’mon, Amy. You know what a Shakespeare nerd you are. You probably know the entire play off by heart. You’d be awesome as Juliet,” he says now.

           I know he’s only joking when he says I probably know the entire play by heart, but actually I do. When you’re a shy, brainy kid who’s never had a boyfriend or a kiss or even a decent hairstyle, you tend to spend a lot of time reading – or watching endless repeats of the movie versions of your favourite literature; and for me, that includes Shakespeare. I could tell you every one of Juliet’s lines – or Desdemona’s, or Ophelia’s, or Kate’s. (The Taming of the Shrew, in case you’re wondering.)

           “Don’t you want to try for Romeo yourself?” I ask. Artie’s a sensational actor. Whenever we have to read out loud in English class, he keeps everyone spellbound by the way he becomes all the different characters. Even when we did A Christmas Carol – and most kids my age hate Charles Dickens – he had the teacher and students in fits of laughter one minute and choked with emotion the next.

           He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m not really leading man material. I mean, look at me.”

There’s nothing wrong with the way Artie looks. He was a pudgy ten-year-old, but he’s lost most of the puppy fat since being in high school. He’s no Harry Styles, but he has a kind, comfortable face; and at five ten, he may not be as tall as the jocks on the football team, but he still towers over my minuscule five feet nothing.

“Jed looks the part,” he continues, and I have to agree. Six two with chiselled cheekbones and dark blond hair that flops over hazelnut mocha eyes, Jed’s been mistaken several times for a young Robert Pattinson (or, rather, for Edward Cullen as portrayed by RPatz in the Twilight movies). “Anyway,” and his voice is brisk, “I’ve got another role in mind.”

“Mercutio?” I hazard. “Tybalt?” He’d be good as both of these. I can just see him channeling Mercutio’s flamboyance or Tybalt’s swaggering, moody hatred.

“Just wait and see,” he says, looking mysterious.

And so that’s what I do.

*

When we reach the auditorium on Thursday, I begin to wish I hadn’t signed up for this after all. It was easier to feel hopeful several days ago when my name was the only one beneath ‘Juliet’ on the sign-up sheet. Since then, seven other girls have added their own names to the list; and looking round the room, I can see they’re all stunningly attractive cheerleader types. I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.

           Mr Cordoza, the drama teacher, gives us all a little spiel before we begin. He tells us how Shakespeare is still totally relevant today, even though he was writing in the early 1600s.

           “Not all of it,” I whisper to Artie. “Romeo and Juliet dates from 1596.”

           “Geek,” he whispers back, and I grin happily.

I tune back into what Mr Cordoza is saying. “So,” and he sounds even more excited than usual, “a fencing instructor will be coming into school to train you in the art of stage sword fighting.”

“But I thought the two families had guns,” argues a voice from the back.

“Only in Baz Luhrmann’s 1990s movie version,” Mr Cordoza explains. “Our production is going to use traditional costumes – and yes, that does mean the boys will be wearing tights-” At this, a loud groan goes up from all the male auditionees. “And we’ll be using swords in the main fight scenes.”

“Act 1 scene 1 and Act 3 scene 1,” I tell Artie in an aside, then flush with embarrassment as Mr Cordoza turns his head in my direction.

It’s time for the actual auditions to start. Because there are so many would-be Juliets, Mr Cordoza pairs each of us with a boy – 2 Romeos, a Paris, 3 Tybalts, a Mercutio and Artie (who still won’t tell me which role he’s going for) – and tells us to practice the balcony scene from Act 2 scene 2. I’m relieved to be reading through with Artie. He’s so convincing as Romeo that it’s easy for me to get into the part of Juliet and read the lines as if I really am a lovestruck 13-year-old.

When I practice with Artie, I know my acting is the best it’s ever been. As Juliet, I know I’m crazy about this boy in my garden, but I still have my practical side too, reminding him that

“The orchard walls are high and hard to climb

And this place death, considering who you are,

If any of my kinsmen find you here.”

           “Good,” Mr Cordoza says approvingly as he stops by and listens in on us. “Now let’s see how you get on performing on the stage in front of everyone.”

           He claps his hands for attention, then motions to everyone to come and sit in the front three rows. One by one, he calls us up to read the part we’re interested in, starting with Romeo. I’ve psyched myself up to play Juliet to Jed’s Romeo, but Mr Cordoza makes us stand onstage on our own, reading all the other parts himself. He says it’s so no one else detracts from our performance, but I can’t help thinking that he doesn’t read as well as Artie.

           Jed’s delivery isn’t great, but there’s no denying he’s pretty to look at. He’s given the part of Romeo, just like he wanted, and my stomach flips as I imagine myself standing onstage with him in the flirty scene where the two young lovers meet each other, or the two of us cuddled up under a blanket for the heartbreaking Act 3 scene 5 when they have to say goodbye straight after their wedding night.

           Sorrel Anderson, the head cheerleader, is up first for Juliet. She oozes confidence as she tosses her long blonde hair and recites her lines. She’s not got the hang of the iambic pentameter, but her Juliet is sassy and confident.

           “She’s great, isn’t she?” says a voice behind me. “And it would be just perfect if she gets the part. She and Jed are so loved up at the moment.”

           Loved up. My heart stands still. Even if my audition is better than Sorrel’s, Jed won’t want me as his Juliet. He’ll want all his romantic scenes to be with the girl he loves.

           When it comes to my turn, I trip climbing the stairs to the stage and almost fall flat on my face. Sorrel and her friends snigger loudly. I feel my cheeks flame.

           “When you’re ready, Amy,” Mr Cordoza says.

           From the audience, Artie gives me a thumbs up. I try to calm my breathing, but nerves are tying my windpipe in knots and bows.

           “When you’re ready,” he repeats, sounding impatient.

           “Sorry,” I mumble, unaware of anything except the hostility emanating from the cheerleaders. They want me to fail.

           “Romeo,” I stutter, “Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

           “Nowhere near you,” someone calls out.

           I’m tempted to stop and explain that ‘wherefore’ means ‘why’ and not ‘where’, but I catch sight of Artie, still giving me the thumbs up signal, and flounder on. It’s no good. Even Sorrel said the lines better than I’m doing at the moment.

           I limp to the end of the scene, and then as soon as it’s finished, I rush away from the auditorium and head for the safety of the girls’ bathroom.

*

The school’s empty by the time I unlock the door to my stall and crawl out. Why, oh why did I listen to Artie? I’ll never be able to face anyone in my English class again. Or my math class. Or Spanish. Or… or any class for that matter. As I was leaving the auditorium, someone had muttered, “What’s she even doing here? She looks like she’s still in middle school.”

           Whover it was, he’d been right. You only have to look at any Hollywood adaptation of Shakespeare to realise that people are cast for their looks and not their talent. I don’t look like a leading lady and Sorrel does.

           I make my way through the deserted hallways, hoping that the janitor hasn’t locked all the exits. And then I spy Artie. He’s standing by the water cooler in the foyer, wearing a patient expression.

           “You didn’t have to wait for me,” I say.

           “I know I didn’t have to – I wanted to,” he replies.

           After an awkward silence, he speaks again. “Sorrel got the part of Juliet,” he says.

           I nod. It was a foregone conclusion.

           “Not because you weren’t any good,” he says quickly. “Mr Cordoza said it was between you and her – the other girls were really bad.” He emphasises the qualifier. “So he asked Jed which of you he’d prefer to act with,” he continues.

           “And he chose her,” I say flatly. Then, “They’re dating. Did you know?”

           He shakes his head. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Beautiful people have a habit of ending up with each other. I mean, people who look good on the outside,” he corrects himself. He holds the door open for me and we walk outside. “Anyway, Sorrel’s Juliet, but Mr Cordoza’s made you her understudy.”

           “He did what?” I halt abruptly. Understudy. So, if anything happens to Sorrel, I’ll be…

           “So you might get to play Juliet after all,” Artie says.

*

I don’t find out until the following day that Artie’s been cast as the Nurse. Some of the kids in my algebra class are whispering about it as I walk in. I overhear a few comments about drag queens, and my blood boils. “For your information,” I snap at Megan Jackson, “the part was originally played by a man. Women weren’t allowed onstage in Shakespeare’s time.”

           And when I see Artie in rehearsal, he’s a revelation. Even without a costume, he is the Nurse. His interpretation of her is a gossipy, overweight woman in her early forties who cracks crude jokes but has a heart of gold. I’ve been watching him for seven minutes before I realize he’s channeling Zelda, one of the lunch-ladies.

           “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask as we drive home together after rehearsal.

           He shrugs. “I knew you were upset about your own audition. It seemed insensitive to tell you I’d got the part I went for.” Changing the subject, he adds, “Anyway, look at you. You’re not just understudying Juliet now – you’re the official Prompt for the whole cast.”

           “Ony because Mr Cordoza saw me mouthing the words at the same time as the actors,” I say, self-deprecatingly. “Maybe it’s just as well, though, because I don’t think being an understudy is going to lead anywhere.”

           And then three weeks later, Sorrel gets mono.

*

“You got your wish, then,” Artie says lightly as we head for the auditorium after school.

           I don’t reply, nerves skidding around my insides as if they’re in an ice-hockey playoff.

Don’t let me make a fool of myself in front of Jed, I pray silently.

But God isn’t listening, and when Jed and I start going through Romeo and Juliet’s first meeting at the masked ball, I feel so tongue-tied that I can’t even get my words out.

“You looked terrified,” Artie says later as he drives me home.

I bite my lip, still reliving the shameful experience.

“Why don’t I help you rehearse?” he says, pulling up outside my house.

“Really?”

He nods awkwardly. “Some of your scenes are with the Nurse anyway. But we can do Act 1 scene 5 again – if you’re okay with me reading Romeo.”

Mom’s not back from work yet, so the house is empty. I take Artie into the living room – it’s where there’s the most space.

“Okay.” His voice is brisk, suddenly business-like. “The first time you set eyes on Romeo is when you have the flirty conversation about hands and kissing. Elizabethan dances don’t involve a lot of physical contact, but when you come face to face with Romeo, he lets his hand rest on yours for a few seconds, and you make eye-contact with each other through your masks. You break away and he follows you behind a pillar and takes hold of your hand again, like this.”

He demonstrates.

“If I profane,” he begins, “with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

           And he gently kisses my hand. It’s an incredibly romantic gesture.

                       “Good pilgrim,” I reply, getting into character, “you do wrong your hand too much,

                       Which mannerly devotion shows in this.

                       For saints have hands which holy pilgrims touch

                       And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”

           I remove my hand from his lips and press the palm against his own.

                       “Have not saints lips and holy palmers too?” Artie asks, his words low and husky.

                       “Ay, pilgrim,” I give a feisty smile, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

                      “O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.”

He pulls my hands together as if praying, then wraps his own around mine.

                       “They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

           He leans in for a kiss.

                       “Saints do not move…” My breathing is shallow. I’m caught up in the sensuous excitement Juliet must have felt, hormones and pheromones screaming inside me at the touch of Artie’s hands and the prospect of his lips on mine. “…though grant for prayer’s sake.”

I want him to kiss me. I close my eyes.

           “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.”

His kiss is light at first; then, as our lips remain together, his hands release mine and move to my face while the kiss deepens.

And at that moment, I know I’m not in love with Jed anymore.

*

The sound of the front door opening breaks the spell. Artie looks at me, his face flushing. “Play it like that and Jed won’t be able to resist you,” he says.

           I blink at him in confusion.

           “That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? So you get to kiss Jed – the boy you’ve been in love with since ninth grade.” He checks his watch. “I’d better go. It sounds like your mom’s home anyway.”

           I watch him leave, knowing exactly how Juliet must have felt when Romeo walked away from their marriage bed.

*

And because I’m no longer crushing on Jed, I find that all my old stage fright has disappeared. When we run through Act 1 scene 5 in the dress rehearsal after school the next day, I’m sassy and confident, just like Sorrel was in her audition. Perhaps Jed likes this new, flirty version of me because, for the first time, he actually kisses me when he’s supposed to instead of kissing the air like he did before. And even though, twenty-four hours earlier, I would have thought I’d die of happiness to feel his lips on mine, when it comes down to it, he’s not as good a kisser as Artie – in fact, he’s a terrible kisser.

           I respond with Juliet’s line: “You kiss by the book.”

           Yeah, sure – if there was a book of the world’s worst kissers, I want to add.

           I glance across at Artie. He’s sitting there, stony-faced. And for once, he doesn’t give me an encouraging thumbs up.

*

I normally drive home with Artie, but he seems to have left without me. Luckily, someone else offers me a ride. Artie lives opposite me and his car is on the driveway, so I decide it’s time to put my newly-found confidence to good use. I message him, telling him to look out of his bedroom window, then stand beneath it, waiting for him to appear.

           “It is the east and Artie is the sun,” I intone dramatically as soon as he pokes his head out. Then, switching to my normal voice, I add, “I thought Jed was my Juliet, but it turns out he was my Rosaline.”

           “Have you been drinking?”

           I try again. “Romeo was infatuated with Rosaline until he saw Juliet. That’s why he says,

                       Did my heart love till now? Foreswear it, sight!

                       For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

           Artie shakes his head. “I still don’t know what you mean.”

           “You. Me.” I’m getting impatient now. “The two of us – together. As in dating.”

           His face breaks into a grin. “You mean you’re asking me out?”

           And instead of staying on his balcony like Juliet, he’s down the stairs and enfolding me in his arms before you can say ‘William Shakespeare’.

*

Sorrel recovers in time to play Juliet. I watch her from the wings, not minding in the least when she and Jed practically make out onstage. As I watch, a pair of arms encircles me from behind and my boyfriend pulls me close, nuzzling into the back of my neck. “All’s well that ends well,” he whispers, and I smile, thinking that Shakespeare couldn’t have put it better himself.