Star-Crossed (8 page)

I awoke to sweat-stained sheets, short of breath, heart pounding, with my hands around my neck.

SEVEN

I stayed away from Will's apartment for the duration of the weekend, despite the nagging temptation to jump in a cab after everyone was asleep and run until I saw those cement steps. I pictured him waiting for me, dressed in dark colors, his smile wide an open arms even wider.

But to play it safe, I remained in the house, engaging in Yale-related conversation with my father and accessory-related conversation with Vivian; they had a gala on Monday evening, which would be a welcomed absence for me.

I also wanted to give Will enough time to either decide whether he missed me, or if he wanted to sever ties and revert back to our proper places. If there's one thing I understood about attraction, it's either obsessive of fast-fading. We're capable of making up our minds quickly.

With my hands stuffed into the pockets of that same Houndstooth jacket, I wondered if he had thought about me at all.

Tyler was waiting at the theater entrance, pointing at a piece of paper taped to the door. He was so lit on his own giddiness that the words spilled out in an almost indistinguishable babble. His breath, artificial-watermelon, was almost too sweet for a boy.

“Guess who's playing your star-crossed lover?” he grinned. “
Me
.”

“You don't say?”

I tried my best at appearing over-the-moon over when I saw – on paper – that I had scored the role of Juliet; but my nerves, they were terrible. I could barely focus on anything at all.

From behind, Marius jumped up and grabbed my shoulders, shoving me aside and darting straight for the audition results. When he saw his name beneath the role of Tybalt, he let out a victory yell so loud that it rang off the walls and resulted in a few covered ears.

“Guess we'll be working together,” Marius prodded Tyler on the shoulder, who withdrew immediately. “Straighten your tie out, won't you? This isn't some thirteen-year-old's birthday party. We aren't at a goddamn Bahtmitzvah.”

“Shut up, Marius,” I snapped. “Don't be a bully. Leave him alone.”

I followed Tyler into the theater, my heart starting to quicken. I walked quickly; eyes low and feet marching straight up the steps and to the very back row of seats.

Mr. Tennant was on the stage, sitting in a theatrical-style chair, legs crossed, watching me intently. When I looked at him, even at a distance, he smiled and nodded; but he gave nothing away.

“So we should practice after school or something,” Tyler prompted, snapping me out of my haze. I tried to ignore the image of Will and I; naked on stage; our limbs entangled. God, it was sickening; maddening, even. “Like, at my house or whatever. You know, aside from the stuff we rehearse here.”

I turned to him, endeared by his frequent usage of
like
and
whatever
. I loved that he talked like a normal kid; not like the rest of us whose language had been adequately molded and trimmed and clipped to dribble from our lips with the perfect preparatory-child manner. Sure, there was the occasional expletive that slipped out; but most of the time, our vernacular was drole and pretentious.

I looked at Marius, who was ignoring Piper's clinging hands. It looked as if she was upset; her face heavily reddened like she'd spiked her morning coffee with whiskey instead of cream. I hadn't seen her enter, and was glad that she had yet to see me.

“You live in Brooklyn?” I asked, glancing over as Tyler worked to indeed straighten out his tie that was already too wrinkled. There was no fixing it. “That sure is interesting.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I live in Brooklyn. It's alright. I mean, I don't
hate
it or anything. Why? Do you go there often?”

Mr. Tennant was still watching me, occasionally lowering his eyes or granting some other student a brief answer to class-related questions. He wore a black dress shirt and black tie, his pants a dark gray; black shoes, polished.

I was starting to like the lack of color. It imprinted on me like an ink stain that I didn't want to ever wash out.

“Not typically,” I finally answered. “I don't leave my house much.”

“Well, we should do something,” he suggested. “There's lots of fun stuff to do in Brooklyn.”

“I'd be interested in seeing your place,” I admitted.

This was true. I wanted to see where Tyler lived. I wanted to understand, in some way, the other side. “Fridays would work best for me, though. For practice.”

Stage practice would be on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Weekend practice was perhaps stretching it, not being entirely necessary; Mr. Tennant's instruction would suffice to give us a groundbreaking performance, no doubt. But at least it would allow me an excuse to be away from my father, from Vivian, from Marius; it would allow me to engage with a normal kid, in a normal setting. Maybe we could even go the beach, or some underground bar. Maybe Tyler had connections in the grittier parts I had never ventured into.

I wanted Saturdays for myself, however. I needed to keep them open for Tennant-related activity. Business.

“Sure. Sure, that's fine.”

It was then I realized that Tyler still thought of me as a girl sitting several tiers above him. I wasn't a real flesh-and-blood human; he was intimidated by me. Whatever I put on the table he would sweep up eagerly; open to accepting anything and everything that came out of my mouth.

It was startling, really. Frightening. I hated it.

“This Friday?” he asked.

I smiled, a quiet agreement.

“Friday sounds perfect,” I said.

Will clapped his hands, calling everyone together. We didn't have much time before first bell, so he made the meeting brief.

“I would just like to say that we had many brilliant auditions last week,” he started. “But as you can see from the posting outside, I've made my decision.”

I loved it when he said
brilliant
. Brilliant, fantastic; his overseas accent gave a certain pang of delight with every single word. The other boys had tried to emulate it; throwing in phrases like
cheers, mate
or
bloody brilliant
- but it just didn't work. Our American twang weighed the lines down with an unskirting plainness.

“Kaitlyn and Tyler,” he said. From our distant spots, we regarded each other like student and teacher; not a trace of intimate, familiar warmth. “Would the two of you stand up, please?”

We stood clumsily, smiling awkwardly as the room cheered for our success. In the very first row, Piper's glare was soft, unmoving. She clung to Marius' arm as he clapped lightly, smiling at both Tyler and I.

When first bell rang, Mr. Tennant chimed up.

“Kaitlyn,” he remarked brightly. “Could I see you for just a moment?”

Tyler was totally unaware; he smiled, and told me that he'd wait up in the courtyard. I waited anxiously as the others – preoccupied with the coursing thrill of their earned roles – were heading out.

Marius tossed me a brief glance, with Piper still glued to him. Her face had softened; she appeared, all things considered, accepting of the fact that she hadn't earned a place on stage. She smiled at Marius, blissfully oblivious of the fact that he didn't care about her. Time was running out. He'd try to cut her loose soon; but his coveted conquest, I knew, wouldn't fall away so easily. Someone was going to get hurt.

Will waited until everyone was gone before he spoke again.

“Kaitlyn,” Will said, his voice low. “I think we need to talk.”

We walked into his office; a small, concealed room that was behind the curtains. There were no windows; just a door surrounded by boxes filled with various props and racks of untouched costumes.

When it was just the two of us, door securely latched, my heart started humming; it thrashed around like a caged animal. Standing there, no words spoken, we were like two stranded, voiceless islands.

Mr. Tennant looked down at me; hands at his sides; without so much as a single breath of sound. His dark, taupe eyes blinked with a mixture of panic and relief; as if my standing in front of him in that cramped room had given him solace. Comfort in the sole fact that over the past forty-eight silent hours, I was alive and breathing.

He reached out, slowly, and touched my cheek with his hand; not stepping forward, not drawing me close. His fingers traced down my chin, withdrawing with that same, trembling hesitancy.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked; the first three words that broke what had felt like an age of silence.

“I'm fine,” I said. “It's just an early morning. I didn't get much sleep.”

“I could walk you to the Infirmary,” he offered, pausing. “I could write you a note if you'd rather sit down and rest for a moment.”

He moved in just centimeters closer. Not enough to pose a threat, but near enough so that that comfort of his presence was more tangible. We were neither lover nor friends, pupil or instructor. At that moment, we were just two faces with two names that I'm not sure, if asked, either of us could have even remembered.

I leaned back against his desk, pulling myself up and sitting with my legs crossed. Mr. Tennant remained standing, and I watched his throat move as if something lived inside there. Was it the skirt, or the knee-high socks?

“Your turn,” I told him. “I want you to tell me what you're thinking.”

Will smiled at our first private, inside joke; not the funniest, but even so.

“There's a part of me that wants to apologize. To resign from my position here, get on the first plane back to the UK, and never think about you again.”

He looked at me; hands on his tie; running up and down the silk that matched the morbid humiliation in his expression.

“It's a shameful thing, you know, touching a student,” he added. “I swear, I've never had these thoughts before. I was a proper, well-intentioned man before I first saw you.”

“I believe you,” I said. “And I won't say a word. Nobody will know.”

Will appeared unconvinced; skimming his hands through hair that only proceeded to fall straight over his forehead; black strands over fair and flawless skin. His natural allure was a tragedy in itself.

“It's not so simple, Kaitlyn,” he said. “These affairs can destroy everything.”

He took a deep breath; I touched his arm, and he didn't draw away. Eventually his stance softened; his fingers slowly traced over my wrist.

“Intentions,” I said quietly. He glanced at me, like I was addressing him, but didn't say anything. “You mentioned that you were once a well-intentioned man.”

“Yes. Very.”

“What are you now? What's the other half of you saying?”

He spread my fingers apart with his own; regarding the ring, for the first time, with a sort of puzzled look.

“What is this?” he asked, ignoring my question. “This ring. Does it mean something special?”

“No,” I swallowed. Will stepped closer, and the guilt felt almost palpable. It beat along with every blood-pouring pound that my heart gave; giving me life but also, somehow, making me feel as if every trace of energy was slowly seeping out. I felt dizzy, looking up at him, with his hands still touching that small spot of bare skin. “It was a gift. From my father. A long time ago.”

His fingertip pressing over the silver rosebud like it were some button that would set us off in a giant explosion.

Maybe that would have been a good thing.

He held my hand; his thumb tracing along the inside of my palm carefully, tenderly. There was a soft curiosity to the act.

“The other night,” I told him. “I had a dream that we were making love on stage in front of everyone.”

I omitted the part about it being a nightmare; but by then, it didn't matter. I was still here, sitting on his desk; our hips aligned with a perfect symmetry, our breath brushing against one another's lips like an unconsummated kiss.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed; soft and feral in the way the words crawled into my ears, sinking like toxic paint into the crevices of my brain. “Kaitlyn-”

He kept saying my name, over and over again as he leaned closer and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Mr. Tennant,” I said, weakening at the thought of him tossing out any reservation and kissing me. Our tongues and bodies colliding in a slow, morphing manner; like we were trying to get closer than our clothed torsos or even naked skin would allow. Even more than sex.

When second bell rang, we drew away, immediately pulled apart like opposing magnets.

“You didn't answer my question,” I said.

My cells were already coursing through thin, blue veins in a confused frenzy. We had done nothing; and yet in that brief span of time done absolutely everything.

Our hands were stained; our mouths smeared in cake even though we hadn't tasted any.

“The other half of me?” he prompted. He'd heard me after all.

I nodded, hopping down from the desk and nearly toppling over. Mr. Tennant caught my arm, straightening me out with a soft half-smile.

“The other half of me wants to see you again,” he said. “But the last thing I want is to take advantage of you.”

There was a heavy silence before I finally spoke again. I took the moment watch his face; his eyes, his lips, the rise of his chest as it moved with each breath.