Falling for Romeo (20 page)

The audience laughed when all three finally had to jump on the skittering flames to extinguish them.

Money used during previous performances was somehow misplaced, forcing someone to reach into their own pocket and draw out a twentieth-century bill for an eighteenth-century exchange.

Jennifer stole the note Romeo was supposed to read and give to Paris and wrote: BEAT THIS. She watched from the sidelines when John opened it. His face didn’t change as his eyes skimmed the letter, but Andrew did a double take and the hiccup nearly threw off the timing of the dialog.

In a moment of brilliance, John replaced Jennifer’s vial of “poison” with colored vinegar. Jennifer’s face contorted only briefly before she fell into her “death sleep.”

After the scene ended she ran from the stage, seeking him out. He waited for her in the wings, his grin so big she wanted to slug him.

“Beat that,” he tossed.

Her mouth pickled and puckered. “It’s you who has to kiss me again. Don’t blame me if I taste sour.” During the fight between Andrew and John, Jennifer held her breath. As the two boys danced up the

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stairs, their weapons crashing and clanging, her chest tightened with anticipation. John was so fluid, so natural.

It was easy to believe he was Romeo, that he fought for something he wanted.

In a forceful strike, Andrew knocked the rapier from John’s grip and sent it spinning. The weapon slid across the stage and dropped onto floor in the front row of the auditorium. Without a break, John shook a fist at Andrew then strode across the stage, leapt down and plucked up the rapier. He returned to the stage, picking up where they left off.

Perfect
. Jennifer sighed with awe.
Instinctively
reactive.
She glanced at his dad’s face, pleased to see a smile of pride on his lips.

She took her place in the tomb and waited for John to open it. Listening to the dialogue, heaviness grew in her heart. This was the last kiss she and John would share.

She wouldn’t feel his body wrapped around her again.

He was right today in class;
she had held back
.

Curled in a ball beneath the set she fought tears.

It was almost over. The emptiness of finality came at her head on.

She heard Andrew fall and readied herself for John to open the tomb. She hoped she could keep the tears welling behind her eyes from falling.

“A grave? Oh, no. A lantern, slaughtered youth. For
here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes this vault a feasting
presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead
man interred.”

The last monologue was long, but John wasn’t thinking about that as the words spilled from his mouth.

After he placed Andrew near Jennifer, the finality of k 0

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the show coming to a close caused emotion to swell in waves inside of him.

“Thee here in the dark to be his paramour? For fear
of that, I still will stay with thee, and never from this palace
of dim night depart again. Here, here I will remain.”
Lifting Jennifer into his arms he slowed the monologue down, letting go of each word one last time.

What he felt at that moment, thunder and storm, light and warmth was more real than theatrical.

Tears broke again and he finished with a heartfelt sob, clinging to her, kissing her longer this time. Opening the vial, he threw his head back. The crisp, bite of club soda sizzled down his throat. The shared joke left him with hope.

He fell across her in a heap and lay still as the rest of the play finished.

He didn’t listen to the words spoken, he was hardly aware of the other actors moving through space around him. Under his body lay Jennifer’s, warm and soft. Her breathing so faint, he had to freeze his own to assure himself she was taking in air.

Her heart beat where his chest lay across hers; the thuds seemed to seep through their clothing and join his.

Stirring inside to the rhythm was something he wouldn’t let go of when the curtain fell for the last time.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The
sun, for sorrow, will not show his head. Go hence, to have
more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardoned,
and some punished. For never was there a story of more
woe that this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

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Seventeen

Tradition demanded the players and crew stay after the final performance and take down the sets. Chip ordered ten pizzas and twenty liters of soda. Somebody brought a boombox and various soundtracks pounded along with the thud of hammers, the crash of wood as it splintered and fell to the floor.

It was hard to see the set come apart; the place where days and weeks and hours had created a world that had lived for a brief moment.

Lacey took pictures, so did Fletcher and Andrew.

Ann Naeverson was on hand in case somebody got hurt. She wiggled to the beat, lending a helping hand conveniently close to wherever Chip worked.

Stories were exchanged as groups worked together, respectfully tearing apart the framework of what would forever remain only in memory.

“Remember how hard it was to learn the dance?” somebody called out.

“Who choreographed that?”

“Chip.”

“Not true,” Chip yelled from somewhere. “Jenn helped.”

Jennifer curtseyed before picking up the push broom.

“Let’s have an awards party.”

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“Best actor, actress, stuff like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t forget best director,” Chip said, coming out from behind the main wall of the set, wiping his forehead with a bandana.

“That’s definitely you,” Ann Naeverson piped. Chip’s cheeks reddened.

“Who sold the most tickets?” Jennifer asked.

Chip looked at Ty. “Ty?”

The stage manager pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket. He studied it, his head tilting back and forth, lips silently counting. Then he looked up and smiled.

“John.”

Cheers and whistles filled the air. Everybody left their posts to congratulate him. Jennifer went to him with her broom and a grin. “Told ya.”

His grin sparkled with something private, but she pushed that aside, too afraid to believe it was for her.

“Guys, she’s ready to come down.” The boys followed Chip to the main flat that had been both the wall of the city and the back of town. Chip directed who should stand where, who got the honor of shoving and who got to be there to make sure that when the set crashed no one was behind it.

Jennifer grabbed Lacey, Trish and Taunia, elbowing in next to the boys.

“No way.” John shot her a sharp look.

“We can help.” Jennifer placed her hands on the wood and held.

John’s eyes flashed with fiery colors. He shook his head. “Get away.”

“That’s not fair,” Trish whined.

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“It’s full-on chauvinistic,” added Lacey. None of the girls were willing to leave. In fact, the rest had gathered, trying to find places where they could hone in.

Chip stepped back and clapped his hands. “Girls, girls. Thanks for the offer but I’m gonna let the guys take this one down. Come on. I have to insist.” The girls didn’t go willingly and made their displeasure known with a few groans.

John shot Jennifer a triumphant look over his shoulder.

The girls stood back, watching anxiously as Chip barked out orders. After a few heaves, the giant wall tumbled. Dust filled the air. Cloudy smoke floated heavenward.

The cast and crew began to break the large piece into smaller sections.

“That was cruel, putting vinegar in my vial.” Jennifer stood next to John and some of the boys who were tugging the lattice off.

“Dude. Sick,” somebody said.

“You didn’t have to kiss me afterward, either.” Jennifer reached for a section, grabbed and yanked.

“So how was it?” Drake asked John, tossing a hunk of lattice over his shoulder.

Swoons filled the air, mixing with the music of Moulin Rouge. The boys elbowed John, who turned red. He let out a grunt and pulled off another piece of lattice.

“Sour or sweet?” someone asked.

This was John’s chance to strike back. He had every right to. A sinking feeling hovered over Jennifer. He kept his eyes on his hands. With more fervor, another piece came off and he threw it over his shoulder. When he k

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didn’t respond, no one pressed him for more.

As the evening wore past midnight, some said goodbye. The trailers were loaded with sets, costumes and props. More of the production family sloughed away into night as the end crept silently in.

At two a.m. Chip told those who remained they could go home. Most did, but John, Fletcher and Andrew stayed to help close the trailers up until the next morning when Chip’s brother-in-law would come and drive them to wherever they were going.

Jennifer took one last walk around the clean stage.

Her footsteps echoed softly in the emptiness left behind.

She could still see the sets, vibrant, colorful, alive with the smell of fresh paint. Whirling in her head were dancers, their skirts flowing as music roused. Laughter rang off the corners of her mind—smiling faces. Sword fights. Pranks.

And tears.

“Think you’ll go out for drama in college?” She looked across the stage at John, standing alone, his student council jacket casually tucked under his arm. She’d grown accustomed to his tights, tunic and the white blousy shirt he wore in costume whenever they were on stage. His faded jeans and light blue teeshirt looked completely twenty-first century.

“Maybe.” She took a few steps his direction. “It’s hard when it’s all over.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Can I catch a ride home?”

“Still grounded?”

He smiled, nodded again. They began the long walk through the empty halls of the school. Neither spoke.

The strange quiet of a hall characteristically full of activity left Jennifer with an odd echo of finality.

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Night air chilled Jennifer and she shivered. Without warning, she felt the heavy comfort of John’s jacket set loosely on her shoulders. She looked at him. “Aren’t you cold?”

He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I want you to have it.”

She slipped her arms in, and pulled the coat tight. It was still warm. “I don’t know why I’m cold.”

“Coming down from a three month adrenalin rush will do it to you.”

She dug in her purse for keys. He stood next to her by the door. Her fingers fumbled through the disorganized contents of her bag. Finally, she felt the statue of liberty key chain and pulled it out. His gaze was so intense, she stopped.

“I lied about moving,” he said.

She almost dropped her keys. “You guys are moving?”

He shook his head. “In class, when I said what I was in denial about. That was only part of the truth.”

“Oh.” She swallowed, wanting to feel relieved, but something bigger surrounded them, bubbling and jumping with electricity.

“I was afraid to say it.” His eyes looked steadily into hers, giving her courage.

“I was too,” she offered. It pleased her when the tightness on his face softened. “Let me,” she said, taking a deep breath, plunging shaky hands into the pockets of his coat. “I was in denial about you.” She couldn’t finish her admittance looking into his eyes, kind as they were.

That was asking too much of herself. “I like you, John.” She held her breath, held every muscle in her body in a k

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tight, frightened fist, waiting for him to respond.

Even if he patted her head patronizingly, or laughed out loud like she was foolish, she didn’t care. The weight she had carried on her back for so long was gone now.

She lifted her gaze to his. Pleasure flickered in his eyes.

“I feel the same,” he said.

“You do?”

He nodded.

Every sense tickled with butterflies, now free to fly through her system.

“I wanted you to say it.” He touched her lightly on the arm.

“First?”

He laughed, nodding. “Yeah.” He stepped closer.

She felt him from her shaking knees to trembling breasts, now pressed flush against him. His fingers framed her face.

He looked at her lips. “I can’t wait to kiss you.”

“But you have kissed me,” her voice jittered.

He shook his head as he neared. His lips floated softly over hers. “Those were for Juliet.”

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About

the

Author

Jennifer Laurens has six children.

She enjoys writing, reading, traveling and miniatures.

For excerpts from her next book or to contact her, stop by her website: www.jenniferlaurens.org Other titles:

Magic Hands

Nailed

Heavenly