Star-Crossed Page 10

  To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

  What if her eyes were there, they in her head?”

  “Hey,” Liam said, looking up from his script. “Can I ask something? I get that Romeo is saying Juliet’s eye is talking, which is kind of weird, right? But then he says that there are these two stars that have, like, an errand to go on, right? And so Juliet’s eyeballs should go up in the sky for the stars until they get back? So it’s like an eyeballs-for-stars swap? That’s kind of funny, man.” He grinned at his friends.

  Gemma’s eye caught mine. Her cheeks were pink, and I could see she was desperately fighting off giggles. Pee-in-your-pants giggles. I bit the insides of my cheeks and stared at my uneven fingernails.

  “I agree,” Mr. Torres was saying patiently. “It is a little funny, Liam. But let’s keep going, okay?”

  “WOO, LIAM,” Isabel called out. “YOU GOT THIS, BRO.”

  Mr. Torres glared at her. “Isabel, this isn’t a football game, and we don’t need cheerleading. I said if you were noisy I’d ask you to leave, and I meant it.”

  “She’ll shut up,” Willow said. “I promise.”

  “Another peep, and you’re all gone, humans. I’m serious. And that goes for the newcomers, too.” Mr. Torres pointed to the far left of the auditorium, where Ajay, Keisha, Jake, and some other kids were now sitting. Then he glared at Liam’s friends in the back row, who were moving around restlessly. One of them—Devlin—was even standing, pretending to shoot invisible basketballs at an invisible hoop. “All right, Liam, let’s take it from What if her eyes were there?”

  Liam read his lines as if he had a blob of extra-chunky peanut butter on his tongue. Next it was Gemma’s turn to say, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name.”

  “What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

  Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

  Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

  What’s in a name! That which we call a rose

  By any other name would smell as sweet;

  So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d—”

  “Wait,” Liam interrupted. “The problem is his last name, right? Not his first. So why does she tell him to not be Romeo? Shouldn’t she say not to be Montague?”

  Good point, actually, I thought.

  “She’s just saying names don’t matter,” Mr. Torres said. “Any names. Try not to overthink this, Liam.”

  “Heh,” Lucy murmured. “I don’t think overthinking is Liam’s problem.”

  “Not funny,” Tessa said.

  “You guys, quiet; he’ll kick us out,” I whispered. Although that might not be so bad, I told myself, as I watched Liam’s friends finally leave the auditorium.

  Now Juliet was asking Romeo, “Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?”

  Romeo: “Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.”

  Juliet: “How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

  The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,

  And the place death, considering who thou art,

  If any of my kinsmen find thee here.”

  Romeo: “With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls;

  For stony limits cannot hold love out,

  And what love can do, that dares love attempt;

  Therefore thy kinsmen”—Aw, forget it, man.

  We watched in shock as Liam flung his script across the stage.

  “Hey!” Mr. Torres looked stunned. “What’s the problem, Liam? I thought you were doing very well there.”

  “Nah. This play sucks, man. It’s just all these words.”

  “Well, sure,” Gemma said. “Don’t forget, I’m saying them too.”

  “Yeah, but you make them sound right. I’m just—” He shook his head helplessly.

  “Poor Liam,” Tessa murmured.

  “Why don’t we talk through the lines, like we did after rehearsal yesterday?” Mr. Torres said. “Juliet is asking Romeo how he got there, right? And remember, ‘wherefore’ means ‘why.’ So she’s asking him why he came back to her house. Then she says, ‘The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,’—”

  “That’s what I mean,” Liam exploded. “I can’t do this Shakespeare stuff.”

  Mr. Torres took a deep breath. “Please help me understand the problem, Liam, okay? Are you not getting what Juliet’s saying here? Because it’s pretty direct. I think if you focus—”

  Liam shrugged. I could tell that his brain had left the auditorium when his friends walked out. Probably he just wanted to hang with them, shoot baskets, forget this whole Romeo business.

  “Okay, look,” Mr. Torres said. “When she says, ‘The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,’ it means—”

  “The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,” Ajay yelled out.

  Somebody guffawed.

  “Shut up, Ajay,” Willow shouted. “That isn’t funny.”

  Mr. Torres spun around and glared at the audience. “Okay, everybody out!”

  “But that’s not fair,” Tessa blurted. “Why should we be kicked out just because of Willow?”

  “Because of me, Tessa?” Willow snapped. “You mean because of Ajay! He’s the one who—”

  “Because none of you are behaving like mature eighth graders!” Mr. Torres snapped, sounding exactly like Possibly Verona. “What’s the deal here today, people? You think this is easy? Or that maybe you can do a better job? Is that it? You want to be Romeo, Ajay?”

  Ajay turned purple. “No, Mr. Torres. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Leave, all of you! Now. And no more audiences at rehearsals until I say so. Which I may never do, if I can’t count on you to behave appropriately.” He turned. I could see his back rising and falling in a sharp, frustrated sigh. “Okay, Liam. Let’s just take a minute and then we’ll go through this word by word.”

  20

  “But I pray, can you read any thing you see?”

  “Ay, if I know the letters and the language.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.ii.60–61

  It’s a funny thing. I’ve seen my parents annoyed with my sister, Cara, and with my brothers, and once in a while even with me. But I never worried. I always knew that no matter how angry they felt, they’d get over it eventually.

  But when Mr. Torres yelled and kicked us out of rehearsal, I felt like crying.

  Not only because I hated to think my favorite teacher was mad at me—even though he wasn’t mad at me personally. Just mad at all of us.

  And not only because I could see the production was in bad trouble.

  But also because, by the way Gemma had greeted me—greeted all of us, really—I could tell that she actually liked having people in the audience. So the whole thing seemed extra unfair, because if Liam’s concentration was the problem, why did Gemma have to suffer? And why did the rest of us, too?

  But, of course, I couldn’t say anything to Mr. Torres. Especially the Gemma part—there was no way I could express Gemma’s feelings for her. I mean, if I even knew her feelings, anyway.

  * * *

  The next morning, my homeroom teacher, Ms. Crenshaw, said that Mr. Torres had asked to see me as soon as I got there. She frowned at me, as if the fact I was in trouble was perfectly obvious to her.

  “What’s going on?” Tessa asked as I gathered my backpack and jacket.

  “Not sure,” I mumbled. “I’m being summoned.”

  “Better not betray your co-conspirators, Monaghan. Or we’ll come after you in the dark of night.”

  “Mum’s the word.”

  I walked upstairs to the second floor. Mr. Torres didn’t have his own homeroom, so his classroom was empty. As soon as he saw me standing at the door, he jumped up from his desk to close the door behind me.

  He seemed a bit jittery, I thought. Also, as if he needed a shave. And probably a better night’s sleep, too: He had shadows under his eyes.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.
/>
  You sent for me; why are you thanking me?

  “Um, sorry about yesterday,” I said. “I know we were distracting.”

  “Not your fault, Mattie. And sorry I blew up like that. It was a long day, and a challenging rehearsal.” He drank some coffee from a mug that had that Christmas-present-from-a-student look: the head of an author-type male (Charles Dickens?) with a handle. Although why anyone, even a teacher, would want to drink out of a famous author’s open head was kind of a mystery.

  “Would you like a cookie? My wife made some for the cast.” Mr. Torres went over to his closet to get a Tupperware, took off the lid, and passed the whole container to me. Chocolate chip. Maybe they were apology cookies for kicking us out yesterday.

  “They look great,” I said. “Thanks. But I just had breakfast, so . . .”

  “Take one for later,” he urged me. “They’ll disappear by rehearsal. And you’re not scheduled for today, right?”

  “Right.” He had to know that Paris wasn’t in today’s scene. What was going on here?

  “Thanks,” I said again. I took a cookie and put it on top of my backpack, which was at my feet. Then I looked up at him, waiting for him to explain what I was doing there.

  “So, Mattie,” he finally said. “I’d like to chat with you about a special project. I’m sure you noticed at rehearsal yesterday that one of our actors has lost a bit of confidence.”

  “You mean Liam?”

  Mr. Torres nodded reluctantly, as if he hadn’t wanted to name anybody in particular. “He’s struggling with the part, questioning everything. Despite his joking around, he’s a bright, hardworking student, so I know he can get the role, but the more I try to help him—well, it’s just not happening. I think what he needs at this point is to read the lines with a peer. Another student, not a teacher. In a friendly, casual, low-pressure sort of way.”

  “You want me to help Liam?”

  “Exactly. I have a lot of faith in your ability to do this, Mattie. You’re a terrific reader, and you’ve read the entire play on your own, right?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But I didn’t understand every word!”

  “That isn’t necessary. Just do your best to help him make sense of what he’s saying, and if you have a question about anything, I’m here to help.”

  I swallowed. “But couldn’t Miss Bluestone or Mrs. Dimona work with Liam? I’ve never tutored before, or whatever.”

  Mr. Torres caught my eye. “They could,” he answered carefully. “Although I’m convinced they’re not what Liam needs right now. He needs to relax, and I think he’s the type of student who relaxes most when he’s with his peers.”

  “But when would we do this?” I asked, my mind starting to race. “He has rehearsal almost every day. And I think he plays ice hockey too, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s right. He’s way overscheduled, which is a big reason why he’s so stressed. So I’m asking you to meet with him during English class. I’ve gotten permission for you two to use the stage that period.”

  “You mean I’ll be missing English? Every day?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted on what we do. Fortunately, Paris is a small part, so you won’t have too many lines of your own to work on. Oh, and another thing: I’m also going to ask you to come to rehearsals, so you can see what’s working, and what needs a little extra attention. But just you, Mattie—nobody else. I think allowing open rehearsals was part of the problem; he was distracted by his friends, and too many people in the audience made Liam nervous.”

  I almost said: But he’s going to be performing in front of the entire school in a few weeks, plus people’s parents and grandparents. So if he’s nervous in front of a few classmates, how is he supposed to deal with opening night?

  But all of a sudden, then, the whole thing came into focus for me. Tutoring Romeo was going to be torture, no doubt about it—but this arrangement meant I’d be seeing Gemma again. Almost every rehearsal, from now until opening night. And nobody else would be in the audience to see us together. Or to distract us. Including my best friends.

  “Yes,” I blurted. “I’ll do it.”

  I was so happy right then that I almost danced. But I couldn’t. Not there in the classroom with Mr. Torres.

  So I ate the cookie.

  21

  “O, what learning is!”

  —Romeo and Juliet, III.iii.160

  At lunch, Tessa was sulking.

  “Mr. Torres could’ve asked me to help Liam,” she said. “I’m the only one of us who went to theater camp. And took a whole workshop on performing Shakespeare!”

  “Yes, but Mercutio is a major part,” Lucy said. “Mr. Torres knows you don’t have the time, Tessa, right?”

  Tessa shrugged. “I guess. But Liam knows me. He trusts me.”

  “And aren’t you happy that Mattie’s working with him? It’s got to help him feel better, don’t you think? And it’ll be great for the whole play.” Lucy’s eyes were shining, as if we’d solved the Liam problem.

  “Hey, guys, don’t expect miracles,” I said. “I really don’t know what I’m doing, and Romeo’s a hard part.”

  By then, I was starting to get nervous. I didn’t even know if Liam knew about the Romeo tutoring, or whatever Mr. Torres wanted us to call it. So it was possible that Liam would feel humiliated about being singled out, taken out of English class, and having to practice with someone who’d only first read the play a few weeks ago and was a complete newbie as an actor. Plus, I’d never even had a one-on-one conversation with Liam before. He was a friend of Willow’s, on her (figurative) team, not to mention her crush. She hated me enough to exclude me from her party—and now she hated me even more for crashing it. Probably Liam had to hate me too, out of loyalty to Captain Willow. At the least, he’d resent me for acting all Shakespeare Nerdgirl at him.

  But when I arrived at English that afternoon, Mr. Torres said Liam was already waiting for me in the auditorium.

  “He’s very grateful,” Mr. Torres told me quietly. “There won’t be any problem, I’m sure of it.”

  Which made me realize that he’d been worried, too.

  I went into the auditorium. Liam was sitting in the front row, staring at his phone. I stood in front of him to let him finish whatever he was looking at.

  “Hi, Mattie,” he said, looking up at me after a minute. “Looks like you’re my rehearsal dummy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nah, that was just a joke. It’s really nice of you to help out. Thanks.” He smiled at me in a way that was supposed to give me a crush on him, I figured. Like it probably would with all the other girls in our grade.

  I couldn’t help wondering if he’d tried that smile on Gemma.

  “You want to get started?” I said, breaking off eye contact. “I was thinking maybe we’d read the balcony scene.”

  “Sure. I’ll be Juliet, you be Romeo.”

  “What?”

  “Joking again. You don’t like jokes, Mattie?”

  “I do. I love jokes. I just think we should take this seriously, don’t you?” God, listen to me. I sound so stuck-up. Why am I acting like this?

  Because I’m nervous.

  Well, but he’s nervous too. So if we’re both nervous, how is that helping?

  We climbed onstage.

  I took three deep breaths. Relax, I commanded myself. Breathe.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s start where Juliet thinks she’s talking to herself. She’s saying all that stuff about names, how they don’t matter. Like if you picked a rose and called it something else—a dandelion, say, or a stinkweed—it would still smell like a rose, right? Because the name isn’t important.”

  “But that’s not true,” Liam said. “Because if you know you’re smelling a rose, you expect it to smell a certain way. But if you know you’re sniffing stinkweed, you’re like this.” He scrunched up his face and waved his hand in front of his nose.

  “Yeah, well,” I said, “the point
Juliet’s making is that Romeo would be the same person if his last name wasn’t Montague.”

  “But how does she know that? If he had a different family maybe he would act completely different.”

  “True. But can we just—”

  “Whatever. Go ahead.”

  I exhaled. “Okay. So when Juliet realizes someone’s been listening to her, she asks what he calls himself, and Romeo says:

  ‘By a name

  I know not how to tell thee who I am:

  My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,

  Because it is an enemy to thee;

  Had I it written, I would tear the word.’

  “That means—” I began.

  “Nah, I can figure it out,” Liam interrupted. “If she hates his name, he does too. If he’d written his name on a piece of paper, he’d shred it.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly—”

  “Dude is messed up,” Liam continued. “Because, I mean, it’s his name. It means something, right? And he’s like, I’ll do anything for you, Juliet, I’ll erase my name. I just met you at this party fifteen minutes ago, but I’ll, like, destroy my whole identity for you.”

  “That’s true,” I admitted. “Romeo does go there really fast.”

  “He’s crazy. All that after kissing her one time?”

  “Well, twice.”

  “Right, twice. And then he’s like, I don’t care if your kinsmen, or your guards, or whatever, kill me. I mean, come on, man. That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m not arguing with you, Liam. But that’s just how Romeo is.”

  “Then he’s a jerk. He should just be like, Yeah, I love Juliet, everybody. Deal with it.”

  “But he can’t. Or he thinks he can’t.”

  “Why not?” Liam blinked at me from under his long blond hair.

  “Because of the feud,” I said. “He thinks nobody he knows will understand his feelings.”

  “So, about that,” Liam said. “Maybe he can’t talk to his parents, but he’s got these friends, right? Benvolio and Mercutio. Has he talked to them about his feelings? He doesn’t give them a chance! Maybe he thinks they never loved anyone like how he loves Juliet, but they could still help him decide what to do, you know? At least they could listen. But it’s like Romeo’s in his own head all the time. And that’s his problem.”