Star-Crossed Read online

  “Block?” Keisha asked.

  “That just means figure out where everyone stands,” Mr. Torres explained quickly. “Gemma and Liam, lines, please.”

  As they spoke, Gemma and Liam touched hands, like they were one person praying. Liam, who’d obviously been shaken by Gemma’s kiss, practically whispered his lines, but Gemma’s voice was clear and full of wonder. Almost as if she were saying: I’ve never touched a boy’s hands before, or even stood this close to one. This is incredible. And you could tell she had no trouble with the meaning.

  Still, it was hard for me to watch. Just the thought of Gemma’s hands pressed against Liam’s seemed so wrong, and I couldn’t beat the thought of his stupid, conceited hand germs mixing with hers. In a way, this hand pressing was worse than the kiss. Because the kiss had been a joke. And unlike the hand pressing, it was over fast.

  My chest felt tight, as if it had shrunk somehow and now my lungs didn’t have enough space. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe again.

  When I looked up, I saw Lucy still watching me from the stage. I waved; she nodded.

  “Nice,” Mr. Torres was saying. “The rest of this scene needs to happen chaotically, in fast motion, so let’s see plenty of energy, okay?” He showed Lucy where to stand for her one line telling Romeo to leave the party. Then he showed Keisha where to be as she told Juliet the identity of the boy she’d kissed.

  “Thanks, humans,” Mr. Torres said. “Great job today. Liam, can I see you for a few minutes?”

  * * *

  While Gemma, Keisha, and Willow were laughing together, I waited for Lucy to jump off the stage.

  “Good rehearsal,” I told her.

  She grunted. “I can’t believe I had to give up an entire afternoon for just one line. Benvolio does nothing this scene!”

  “At least you’re in it,” I said. “Paris doesn’t show up again until Act Three. You want to walk home?”

  “Sure.” Lucy gathered her jacket and her backpack, not saying anything to anyone else, including me.

  We left the auditorium together. It was the second week of November, and the wind was icy sharp. I buttoned the top button of my jacket, wishing I’d worn the scarf I’d crocheted last winter. The good news was that I’d stuffed my red mittens into my pockets, and they were still wearable, even though both thumbs had nickel-size holes.

  “So what do you think?” I said, because Lucy wasn’t talking. “Is Liam going to ruin the play?”

  “I hope not,” Lucy said. “Why did Mr. Torres cast him, anyway?”

  “No idea. But hardly any boys came to tryouts, and he wanted someone from our class to play Romeo, so . . .”

  “Well, he’s a disaster. Did you see the way he kept looking at his friends in the audience? It’s like he was goofing for them.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe he’s embarrassed about being Romeo.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have tried out with Romeo’s speech, right?”

  “I guess,” I said. “Although he probably hadn’t read the play before tryouts. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was getting into.”

  “Then Mr. Torres should’ve explained it to him. Before it was too late to do anything about it.”

  We walked another block. I waited for her to say something else on the subject of Liam, but she didn’t. She didn’t even make mindless small talk. So obviously, if there was going to be any conversation at all, I needed to be the one to make it happen.

  “Anyway,” I said brightly. “At least Gemma’s great. Don’t you think so?”

  Lucy looked at me. “Gemma?”

  “I mean as Juliet. Don’t you think she says her lines really well? And with so much expression?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I took a deep breath. “Lucy? Can I ask you—is something wrong? I mean, about Gemma?”

  “Not at all,” Lucy said emphatically. She stopped walking, and looked straight into my eyes. “Mattie, really, I’m totally okay with it. I just didn’t know before.”

  “Know what?”

  “The whole thing. How you felt.”

  “About what?”

  It was like Mr. Torres said: Some scenes go fast. Some seem to stop time.

  This was a time stopper.

  “About what?” My heart was picking up speed. “Lucy, what are you talking about?”

  “Mattie, it’s fine,” Lucy said. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want. Not even Tessa.”

  “Tell her what?”

  “How you feel about Gemma. That you’re in love, or have a crush on her, or whatever.”

  “What?” I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.

  This wasn’t a joke. She really meant it.

  “Oh, Mattie, come on, it’s obvious,” Lucy said quietly. “The way you talk to her. The way you talk about her.”

  My head was shaking. My whole body was shaking.

  “The look on your face when she kissed Liam just now. I was thinking something was going on, because you’ve been so weird lately—keeping secrets from us, not dealing with Elijah. And the way you freaked out at Willow’s party—”

  “Lucy, what does the party have to do with—”

  “I didn’t know, until you mentioned that you’d been hanging with Gemma in the kitchen. So that’s why you were so embarrassed about being discovered, right? Anyway, I had a feeling about you and Gemma. And today at the rehearsal, I just . . . was sure.”

  “No,” I said hoarsely. “Lucy, listen to me, okay? You’re totally wrong about Gemma. And me.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I mean, yes, I like her, I like her a lot, but I don’t—”

  “It’s fine with me, Mattie. I’m still your best friend. I just don’t like secrets.”

  “Lucy,” I said helplessly. “Nothing is going on.”

  “Okay, Mattie. I said okay.” All of a sudden, she threw her arms around me and squeezed. “We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  Then she ran down the street to her house.

  18

  “O, she doth teach the torches

  to burn bright!”

  —Romeo and Juliet, I.v.46

  I zombie-walked home.

  My little brothers were racing around the living room in their Stormtrooper costumes. And I did a demented thing: I asked if I could play with them. They were both shocked, because I only ever played with them as a bribe. But that day, I actually wanted to put on the Darth Vader costume, be covered from head to toe, talk into a voice-changer thingy. And especially to have lines to say, already written and pre-acted. Because I didn’t want to have to think. I didn’t even want to improvise. The force is strong with this one. I am your father. You don’t know the power of the Dark Side.

  “I really appreciate this, Mattie,” Mom said as she called us into supper. “I was on the computer all afternoon with a work deadline.”

  “Any time,” I lied.

  After supper, which I could barely swallow, I started my math homework. But I couldn’t focus.

  Because: OMIGOD. Is Lucy right? Can I possibly have a crush on Gemma Braithwaite?

  I really liked her. Really, really, in fact.

  Yes, but WHY?

  Because she was smart. And funny. And pretty.

  Although pretty wasn’t relevant. Not to friendship, right? I wasn’t friends with Tessa and Lucy because of pretty. So why did pretty matter with Gemma Braithwaite?

  It shouldn’t. It didn’t.

  Okay, fine. Why else did I like her?

  That accent.

  But it was more than the accent—it was her voice. Whispery but clear and strong.

  Also, I liked that she liked words. She liked saying them: remember all those t sounds in her tryout? And she liked expressions, the same way I did. DIM MUPPET. DANG.

  And the way she said her lines: It was like Shakespeare had written the words just for her.

  Of course he hadn’t, but seriously, she was super talented.

  Yeah, but Tessa was ta
lented too. Even Ajay said his lines incredibly well. So did Willow, for that matter. So it definitely wasn’t just about talent.

  Then what was it I liked about Gemma Braithwaite?

  I thought.

  I liked the way she wanted to be friends, despite Willow.

  I liked the way she wasn’t shy about kissing Liam.

  I liked her braid, the way it fell over her shoulder.

  I liked the pink streak in her hair at tryouts.

  The way her eyelashes were wet on the balcony.

  The way she smelled like Gemma powder.

  The way she crossed her eyes at me onstage.

  The way she leaned over my rehearsal calendar.

  The way she dueled me with the straw.

  The way she laughed.

  The way she called us we.

  All right, I told myself. But even if you felt all those things, if you added them up, did it equal a crush?

  And if it did—not that I was saying it was a crush, just saying IF—would it mean that you were gay, or a lesbian, or whatever word you were supposed to call it, if you liked only one particular girl?

  Who wasn’t just any girl, but the Star of Our Show, the perfect choice for Juliet, pirate treasure?

  Who, let’s face it, everybody liked. Because the weird thing would be not to have a crush on Gemma Braithwaite.

  Or were you just—I mean, was I—overthinking again?

  19

  “Had I it written, I would tear the word.”

  —Romeo and Juliet, II.ii.57

  I hardly ever ran into Gemma at school, but the next day, she was everywhere. I saw her in the halls. In the lunchroom. In the PE bathroom. And every time I saw her braid or heard her laugh or her whispery voice, my heart zoomed. All day it felt as if I’d been set at the wrong speed, and would end up crashing into a wall or something. But I still kept looking for her, seeing her, and then asking myself: Is it happening again? Am I zooming?

  And I was. Every time.

  I couldn’t deny it.

  Whatever it meant about me.

  Once she even waved at me across the hall and called out, “Hullo, Mattie.” Pronouncing the ts in my name as if she were cutting them out in little stars.

  “Hey,” I said back. At that moment my head felt so strange and swimmy that I could barely remember her name. And when I finally did, it was too late to add it to the Hey. So I just waved back. And kept walking.

  Wednesday was a short rehearsal because it was a short scene—Mercutio and Benvolio searching for Romeo after he runs out of the party. I considered not going that afternoon, just coming straight home to do the homework I’d blown off the day before. Maybe washing my hair again, even though it was clean. But I knew that if I avoided rehearsal, Lucy would think I was avoiding her. And the only thing I could think of doing was nothing—acting as if everything was the same as always, as if we hadn’t even had that conversation.

  Plus, I wanted to know if Lucy had said anything to Tessa about the Gemma-and-me situation. Although I suspected by Tessa’s behavior that the answer was no. Tessa was a good actress, but she was the worst secret keeper in the world, incapable of not blabbing things immediately. So I felt pretty positive that if she knew what Lucy had said to me, and how I’d answered Lucy, she would have jumped on this topic like it was a bouncy castle.

  Instead, she ranted about how Miss Bluestone did nothing to help her with the Queen Mab speech. The whole time they were supposed to be rehearsing, Tessa said, Miss Bluestone just reminisced about the “glorious” Shakespeare productions she saw “in her youth.” So Lucy suggested going to Mrs. Dimona for help, but Tessa wouldn’t even consider it; she was convinced Mrs. Dimona had hated her ever since sixth grade, when Tessa’s mom backed into Mrs. Dimona’s minivan in the school parking lot, resulting in a small crater in Mrs. Dimona’s fender and plenty of ranting (for once, not about politics) from Tessa’s mom.

  “What about asking Mr. Torres?” I suggested as the three of us walked home that afternoon.

  “Yeah, I would,” Tessa said, “except he’s so busy working with Liam.”

  Lucy was eyeing me. “Mattie has some extra time,” she said. “Maybe she could help you.”

  “Oh, that would be awesome-tacular,” Tessa shouted. “Would you, Mattie? Pleeease?” She did the begging thing with her hands.

  “Okay,” I said, “but that speech is super difficult. Truthfully, I’m not sure I get it.”

  “You probably get it better than I do! Anyway, I really just need someone to listen to me say it like fifteen times in a row. And we still have tons of leftover Halloween candy at my house.”

  “Sure,” I said. “This weekend. But Lucy has to come too.”

  “We’ll have a three-way rehearsal-slash-candy binge,” Lucy said, smiling.

  Tessa threw her arms around Lucy and me. “I looove my friends,” she shouted to the sky. “I loooove them!”

  And I wondered: Would she have said love if she knew?

  * * *

  Next day was the famous balcony scene, when Juliet says, “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” and “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Oh, and also “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” The good news was that all of those lines, which were like Shakespeare’s Greatest Hits, would be said by Gemma, so I didn’t have to worry that Liam would ruin them. Still, I wasn’t planning on showing up at rehearsal after school. I wasn’t sure I could stand watching. And I wasn’t sure I could be in the same auditorium as Gemma.

  But then Tessa grabbed me at the lockers at dismissal. “You’re going today, right?”

  We were at the point where if one of us said going, the other one didn’t need to ask where. I started to tell Tessa I was skipping rehearsal, but she insisted I needed to go. Panicking, I asked her why.

  “Because it’s That Scene,” she explained. “I want to check out Liam, but it would look creepy if I went by myself. So you have to come, Mattie. Lucy, too.”

  I couldn’t think up a decent excuse fast enough, so I just said okay. A minute later, Lucy showed up and said okay also. She smiled at me in a supportive way, but I pretended not to notice.

  Five minutes later the three of us took seats in the third row of the auditorium. Dead center.

  Mr. Torres was chatting with Liam in the corner of the stage. Gemma was shuffling her feet and swaying center stage, listening to something through earbuds, when she suddenly saw us.

  “Mattie!” she called, yanking out the earbuds and jumping off the stage.

  My heart thumped as she ran over to us, grinning.

  “Hullo, Tessa and Lucy! Are you staying for the whole rehearsal today? I’m so nervous I think I might throw up.”

  “I’m sure you won’t,” I said, willing myself not to blush.

  “Mattie, you’re so sweet.” Gemma leaned toward me, her braid coming close to my cheek. “Although I’m starting to worry about Liam. I think he’s starting to worry as well. Mr. Torres is giving him a pep talk. Don’t look.”

  Of course Tessa looked. “I don’t like his body language,” she commented. “He looks floppy.”

  “Yes, he said something about being exhausted from ice hockey practice. Apparently, they have to be at the rink at some hideous hour—five in the morning, I think. Can you imagine that?” She shuddered. “But I think the real problem is—Ooh, look, there’s Willow. Hullo, Willow! And Charlotte and Isabel! Excuse me.”

  She hurried over to chat with her friends. For a second I wondered if Willow had come to watch Gemma or Liam. I mean, if she had to choose. Which, of course, she didn’t.

  Also, I noticed Liam’s friends gathered in the back of the auditorium. Noel, Devlin, Jamal, and a seventh grader named Max this time, too.

  “Can we get started, please,” Mr. Torres was saying. “I see we have an audience today. I hope I don’t need to tell you that this scene requires the full focus of the actors, so if there’s any distraction, I’ll ask you to leave. Got it?”

  �
��No problem, Mr. Torres,” Willow sang out.

  “Good. Okay, Act Two, Scene Two. Capulet’s orchard. First Romeo speaks, then Juliet appears at the window. Romeo, line, please?”

  “He jests at scars that never felt a wound,” Liam recited. “Mr. Torres, that doesn’t make sense.”

  Mr. Torres smiled cheerfully. “Well, Benvolio and Mercutio had just been making fun of Romeo’s lovesickness. Although they both still think Romeo is pining for Rosaline, right? Romeo overhears them, and basically he’s saying they don’t know what they’re talking about, because they’ve never been in love.”

  Liam tossed his hair. “So why does Romeo say he? Shouldn’t he say they?”

  “Yes, but it’s like a saying: He who laughs last laughs best. He who hesitates is lost. ‘He who’ just means ‘a person,’ okay? Anyway, now Juliet appears at the window. Juliet, please stand on this riser. Romeo, you’re here, looking up at her.” Mr. Torres put his hands on Liam’s shoulders and turned him toward Gemma.

  “This is stupid,” Liam said. “I’m supposed to be saying all this stuff, and she won’t hear it?” He glanced at his friends in the audience.

  “When we build the scenery it’ll be more plausible,” Mr. Torres said. “For now, pretend there’s an orchard wall behind you, and you’re standing at Juliet’s open window, which is on the first floor. All right? Please begin.”

  Liam started reading the speech that begins, “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!” I think it was Romeo’s longest speech so far, maybe in the whole play, and as he was saying the words, you could tell that Liam’s mind was starting to wander, especially when Jamal and Devlin started laughing about something.

  Then Liam said:

  “It is my lady; O, it is my love!

  O, that she knew she were!

  She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?

  Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

  I am too bold; ‘tis not to me she speaks.

  Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

  Having some business, do entreat her eyes