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“Bingo!” someone else yells, and they haul ass up to Gertrude, who confirms that we do indeed have a winner.
“Round two starts in ten minutes,” Gertrude drones, starting a timer.
A handful of students get up to leave, but everyone else just stands and walks to the table to get another bingo card from Gertrude’s table. Some students grab snacks at the vending machine.
“Another round?” Jessie asks.
“Hell yeah,” I say, determined to do every chant and to shush every loud person.
It’s time to party.
14
JADE
“Now I do wish it, love it, long for it . . .”Act IV, Scene I
Despite all of Dallas’s efforts to convert me, I am not a Shakespeare girlie. Their most desperate attempt to give me an appreciation for Shakespeare involved a weekend in Philly last summer, where they planned a picnic dinner at a local park and there just happened to be a “Shakespeare in the Park” showing ofRomeo and Julietat the exact place they planned for us to go, at exactly the time we showed up. Dallas cried through most of the show, and so did I, but for different reasons.
The snippets of rehearsals I hear while sneaking through the audience of the Main Stage theater confirm I haven’t changed my mind. What hast thou just fucking said? I have no idea.
I tune them out on the rest of my climb up to the stage manager’s booth to see Ian. Not because I have any particular reason to, but I had a few makeup consults for the faeries in the cast and thought it might be nice to go say hi. That’s what friends do—they go say hi to their friends. I’m definitely not going to seehim because I like him and I’m not used to not seeing him now that we don’t run lines every day.
I pause to gather my skirt in my hands, because while I never regret a crop-top-and-maxi-skirt combo, climbing steps in a long skirt is never a good time.
“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains . . .” someone says from the stage.
“Damn straight, they do,” I say under my breath, mentally patting myself on the back for being able to follow what they said. That was a pretty easy line, though.
The door to the stage manager’s booth is closed, which could mean anything. Maybe Ian’s here and he just wanted some quiet. Maybe someone else is in there. Maybe it’s locked and no one is in there. Maybe I should turn back around because this was dumb. Or maybe I should walk in and see my friend, because I’m not going to be a weirdo with a crush.
I knock softly twice and try the handle. It gives, and I find that Ian is in fact in here and perched on a tall chair-stool. For reasons I don’t care to explore, I feel relieved that he’s alone.
The stage manager’s booth isn’t a place I come often, but it looks the same as the last few times I’ve been in here. Half the wall facing the stage is just a large piece of glass, tinted so anyone in the booth can see out but people can’t really see in. Under the glass is a counter mostly covered in equipment. A soundboard, a light board, two monitors, a mic that lets stage managers project over the audience, a couple of loose headsets, some cables that don’t look like they belong anywhere, and in front of Ian, a small, cleared space with a notebook and a pencil.
It’s stupid how adorable he is.
“Hellooo?” I say as I push through the doorway.
He spins around in the chair, and when he sees me, his face cracks open with a smile.
“Jade, hi,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your favorite scene partner?” I ask as I drop my bag by the door.
“But you’re the only scene partner I’ve ever . . .”
“Zzzsst, zzzsst, zzzsst.” I hold up my hand, pinching my forefinger and my middle finger against my thumb to silence him. “Don’t ruin my day.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right. Definitely not the greeting my favorite scene partner deserves. Do you want to go back out and try again?”
I fight a smile, the muscles around my lips dancing and tugging. Backing out of the room, I close the door, pausing for a moment, and then I knock and reopen it.
“Helloooo?” I say the exact same way I said it the first time, but I’ve barely made it into the room before I’m practically tackled back out of it.
There’s a blur of motion right before getting body-slammed. Ian is squeezing me so tight my face is plastered against his chest.
“Hello, my queen,” he says. I gently slap his back to indicate I need space since I’m sucking in fabric instead of air.
