Falling for Romeo (19 page)

“What did you want?” Jessica asked.

The class whispered. It was her own fault he’d pinned her down like this. She was the one to open the discussion. Jennifer thought a flickering of hope lit John’s eyes.

“All right, I’ll admit, I wanted something. But I could see it wasn’t going to happen. So I’ve gone from denial to acceptance.”

His face changed quickly, the glint of hope darkened with what she thought was disappointment.

Turning forward, he looked at the board.

“That’s it?” Jessica complained. “That’s conveniently vague.”

“What about you? It’s your turn, John,” Jennifer egged.

Heads aimed anxiously John’s direction. His fingers played with the paper he was writing on, his eyes were downcast there as well. “I’m in denial, sure.” Jennifer’s pulse thrummed. He looked ready to

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unload something of grave importance. Her dreams and fantasies were ready to run with what it might be.

“Because of?” Jessica sneered. “Which girl to turn down this weekend?” The suggestion was harsh, but it broke the tension building in the room, and John laughed a little. But then his jaw hardened, his gaze fixed again on the paper in his hands as if it would bring him strength or give him the answer. “I’m in denial about moving,” he said quietly. The admission was followed by soft whispers.

“But I don’t have to be in denial about it because, even if we do move, I can still finish my life here.” Freddy lightly slugged John’s arm. Others turned in their seats, relieved John Michaels was not going to leave.

Jennifer’s eyes met his. A gush of pleasure coursed through her body and brought a small smile to her face.

His relieved expression stayed fixed on her.

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Sixteen

They stood in a circle, shoulders tight, hands clasped, heads bowed as Chip gave his final encouraging words for the last performance. John’s heart was heavy, there was no ignoring it. Jennifer wasn’t the only one in denial about the play ending.

She stood close, but not right next to him. He wished he was next to her and could take her hand for this. But he was still uncertain inside. She was so aloof, so hard to read. That smile in class this afternoon was sweet. But he’d seen her smile that same way at dozens of guys.

“Break a leg,” Chip said. The good luck phrase was a theater tradition. Cast members hugged.

When Jennifer turned from hugging Fletcher, John’s palms moistened. She looked up at him. Around them prop people buzzed and cast members took their starting positions. She seemed to wait for him to make the first move.

John took a deep breath and extended his arms.

Was that hesitation in her stance? He almost snapped his arms back, feeling stupid. But suddenly she pressed against him, all warm and soft. He lowered his face to her hair, took in a breath. Absently, his hand moved to her back. “Good luck, Jenn.”

Her arms closed tight around him. “You too.”

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“Two households, both alike in dignity in fair Verona
where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to
new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of
star-crossed lovers take their life, whose misdaventured
piteous overthrows, doth with their death bury their
parents’ strife. The fearful passage of death-marked love
and the continuance of their parents’ rage, which, but
their children’s end, naught could remove, Is now the two
hours’ traffic of our stage – the which, if you with patient
ears attend, what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to
mend.”

John never looked out at the audience. He’d learned that if he did, the fragile bubble holding his concentration popped; causing him to forget his lines and fumble his moves.

There was something comfortingly anonymous about the sea of heads floating in the darkened room that made performing easier. He knew there was an audience; he enjoyed it when they laughed. It almost stole his voice when he heard sniffling, knowing somehow he touched their souls. That was still a secret miracle to him. He was just John Michaels. Yet he’d made somebody feel something inside that moved them to tears. It was humbling, empowering and completely unfathomable.

If only he could figure out how to move Jennifer.

Things went perfectly in the first act. Only one mike scrabbled out and it was fixed instantly by the tech crew.

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Everybody was high on adrenalin, stretching out the moments, hoping to make them last forever even though they all knew they couldn’t. At intermission, John decided to take another daring step.

He found Jennifer touching up her makeup at the makeup table. The lights surrounding the mirror lit her skin to ivory and cream, as if she sat in front of an altar at church. The room was a mad house of noise, but he shoved it out of his mind.

He came up behind her, stood in the light with her. Everything inside of him swelled, urging him to do something. The show was almost over. Just one hour, and all he hoped the show would bring to him—to them, would be gone.

Her blue eyes locked on his. She stopped dabbing the fluffy powder at her chin.

“What?” she asked.

“Today in class,” he began. “You were holding back.”

Her eyes widened. He’d hit the mark. He waited.

Slowly she put the fluffy puff back into the round, white box that held powder.

“Okay. Maybe I was.”

“Why?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I think I already know.”

“Then you tell me.”

He shook his head. “Not this time, Jenn. You say it.” She smiled a little, slid out of the chair and stood in front of him. “I’d rather hear what you
think
I’m going to say.”

His lips eased into a grin. He shook his head. “Not

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this time. I want to hear you say it.” She seemed to consider him. His heart raced. His fingers opened and closed. If he could tear the answer out of her, he would.
Tell me. Tell me now and put me
out of my misery.
But her smile only deepened with that aloof, secretive sparkle she wore. Something magical he knew he’d never touch, never know. A bittersweet misery engulfed him, one he wished he could put her through.

“Fine,” he sighed, then looked around with feigned disinterest, just to see where it got him. Out the corner of his eye her smile wilted like a dry daisy. “Well,” he kept his voice cool. “See you on stage.”

“Five minutes!” Ty called at the door, warning them that intermission was almost over. John wanted to turn around and look at Jennifer so badly he almost did.

Instead, he interrupted a game of cards going full swing between Andrew, Fletcher, and Drake.

“This game won’t end before we go on,” Andrew said, eyes tight on his cards. “What’ll we do?”

“We’ll continue it, no matter what,” Drake told him. The boys all agreed. John knew it was in hopes of keeping even a thread of the production strung together after the play ended. He grabbed a chair, turned it around and straddled it, watching.

Then he felt a tap at his shoulder.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Casually, he looked up into Jennifer’s perturbed face. “Sure.” Pleasure lifted his lips into a grin. He trailed her to the only empty corner of the drama room. She was thinking.
Good
. He wanted her to say the words, just like she always insisted that he say them. So he forced her back deep into the corner.

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Her blue eyes darted around, as if she was achingly uncomfortable. He didn’t care. He was ready to see her squirm.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He leaned close, his hand cupping his hear. “Excuse me, did you say something?”

She could have started a fire with the blaze in her eyes. She wasn’t really mad at him, but there was the undeniable familiar pleasure of the fight, making everything in his system jitter.

“I don’t know what you think I’m going to say, but—”

“Come on,” he started, frustration surfacing.

“Okay, okay.” Her lashes fluttered enticingly against her cheeks when she couldn’t look him in the eye any longer.

“Hard isn’t it?” he asked.

Her chin lifted. “I—you’re not going to like what I’m going to say. You won’t be able to handle it.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?” The drama room door burst open and Ty waved his arms. “We’re on.”

Jennifer couldn’t believe the timing—she was so relieved, she went to move past John but he reached out, caging her in with a look that was almost frantic.

“It’s time,” her voice scraped.

“It’s time you talk, Vien.”

“We have to get on stage.”

“Not till you talk.” His other arm blocked her when she tried to dart free. He looked so reckless and audacious, so completely hot hovering over her all masculine and stretched tight. And he had that same

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look in his eye Alex had when he’d wanted her kiss.

Power
, she thought, feeling it in a delicious current that warmed her everywhere.

She shot one fast glance over his shoulder, saw that the drama room was almost empty. Ty stood at the door ushering stragglers out with a wave of his hand. She looked up into John’s face, at his lips, and lifted to her toes. Quick as a butterfly sampling a flower she kissed him.

His eyes were closed when she drew back. His lips barely parted. She pressed her back into the corner and waited for him to open his eyes.

They finally fluttered open. He looked at her so intensely her insides trembled.

Ty cleared his throat. “Guys.”

“Hold on,” John snapped to Ty. He didn’t even look at him. It was as if he wasn’t ready to let go of her or the moment—she wasn’t sure which—but her knees wouldn’t hold her up if he kept looking at her that way, if she was locked in this hot, steamy corner with him.

John stepped back, his arms dropping to his sides.

Jennifer took in a breath, not sure if she should smile or run. He was blank, unreadable. Shocked probably, she thought, suddenly mortified at what she’d done. I shouldn’t have kissed him, it was stupid, rash.

Before either one of them could take another breath she ducked out of the corner and left the room.

Art mirrored life. Jennifer had one moment to think as she stood on the balcony as Juliet and John hung k

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from the trellis as Romeo. Trish, Juliet’s nurse, said her lines, unaware that Romeo was hidden on the lattice, climbing to meet her in secret.

Jennifer had a flash of John falling from the rotted, vine-infested lattice he’d tried to climb outside her bedroom window. The prank had awakened her heart and made her realize just how she really felt for him.

When Trish said her last line and exited, Jennifer leaned over the balcony and saw him. A rush of excitement coursed through her.

“Then, window, let day in and let life out.”
He smiled. For a flash, she dared to think the smile wasn’t purely theatrical.
“Farewell, farewell. One kiss, and
I’ll descend.”
He climbed carefully, pausing at the railing.

Jennifer cupped his cheeks, something she had never done during this scene in rehearsal, and the move sent his eyes wide. The audience quieted. The startled look on his face was priceless. Pausing, she dragged out the tension. He was helpless to stop her. The surge of momentary power brought mischief to her mind and she lowered her mouth to his.

His breath stopped. She felt him swallow, it caused his lips to move under hers and she smiled when she drew back, taking another pause at his ear to whisper, “Beat that.”

Stepping back, she delivered her lines as if nothing unscripted had occurred between them.
“O God, I have
an ill-divining soul. Me thinks I see thee now, thou art
so low as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my
eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.”
There was a fleeting flash of something playful on his face before he backed down one step, narrowing

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his eyes.
“And trust me, love,”
Romeo replied but it was John’s taunting that sparkled in his tone
, “in my eye, so
do you. Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!”
Jennifer readied for her next line, facing the audience. She happened to catch her parents and John’s parents in the front row. Seeing them broke her concentration, not expecting them there for another performance. The brilliance of white roses sat across her mother’s lap.

“O fortune, fortune!”
she began
. “All men call thee
fickle. If thou art fickle, what dost thou do with him that
is renowned for faith? Be fickle, fortune, for then, I hope,
thou wilt not keep him long, but send him back.” How
ironic.

After finishing the lengthy scene, she darted offstage and right into John, blocking her exit. He wore a devil’s grin.

“What was that?” His head jerked toward the set in reference to the kiss.

“That was me, being Juliet.”

“You’re so going to explain that, Vienn,” he said.

“Maybe. But right now I’m needed onstage and I have to change.” She tore past him. It was rousing to do something like he did with all of those spontaneous kisses during rehearsals. She took the upper hand and left his satisfyingly empty.

Something undeniably playful was in the air, infusing everyone from the players to the crew handling props.

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previous performances, anything was possible.

Somebody lit the torches that Romeo, Paris and the Page carried with long-lasting oil, which meant when the Page was supposed to extinguish them they flickered and burned bright. The joke threw the boys off, accustomed to blowing once and having the flames go out. Andrew had the presence of mind to lay the torch down and stomp his out. John and Jake did the same.