The Year Shakespeare Ruined My Life

by Dani Jansen

  Just as the actors were starting to shift in discomfort, Mr. Evans drew himself up. He wasn’t a tall man, but he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders to make himself look more commanding than usual. (It was a bit like watching a kitten try to make itself big to scare off a predator. It didn’t exactly have the desired effect, but you appreciated the effort and did your best not to laugh.) “The show must go on!” he declared.

  The cast looked at one another. Then they looked at me. I had no idea when I’d become some kind of authority figure in their eyes, but I didn’t like it. Someone had to say something. “Of course, Mr. Evans,” I said soothingly, still not entirely convinced he wasn’t having a nervous breakdown. I didn’t want to make things worse if he was cracking. “Only, uh, what are we going to do about the part of Bottom?” Almost everyone who’d auditioned had a part in the show already. Unless we wanted to give the role to Charlie Egan, whose striptease still haunted my nightmares, we didn’t have any backups.

  “Simple,” Mr. Evans replied, walking to the middle of the room where the scene had been taking place.

  “Yes?” I asked, sure he was just waiting for his cue.

  “I’ll play Bottom,” Mr. Evans told the room, taking a leisurely spin so he could look at each of the actors in turn.

  You could tell the real actors from the talentless amateurs in this moment. Jack, Charlotte, Ben, and a few others kept straight faces. They were the pros. Some of the sophomores playing fairies giggled. Others glanced nervously at each other, not sure if this was a joke. A couple of the amateurs looked outright shocked—it was a good thing they had minor roles.

  My brain stalled for a minute. Then a flood of images came to me: Mr. Evans wearing the donkey head as a theater full of teenagers gasped and snickered, Mr. Evans prancing onstage, Mr. Evans taking a bow to scattered applause. I felt torn. Who better to play the role of the over-confident, amateur actor who thinks he can take on all the parts in the show? But I’d grown to like Mr. Evans, and I immediately knew what kind of ridicule he’d be facing if he did this. I wanted to protect him from that, although I had absolutely no idea how.

  “I can tell you’re hesitant,” Mr. Evans said to the room. Every once in a while he surprised me with his ability to read people. “But you have nothing to fear. Yes, I am more experienced than you. Yes, I have played on much bigger stages than this, but let me assure you all that I will not upstage you.”

  Yes, I thought to myself. That is what’s worrying us, Mr. Evans. That you’ll upstage the rest of the cast. My sympathy for him began to erode. I could tell I wasn’t alone. Charlotte’s eyebrows danced in amusement. Jack’s mouth twitched. Ben looked less miserable than he had in days. The other actors were mostly staring at the floor. If Mr. Evans kept this up, he wouldn’t need the donkey head to play the ass.

  “It’s been an exciting day,” Mr. Evans told us. “I have lines to learn, as do most of you. Let’s end rehearsal a little early today.”

  No one needed to be told twice. The room emptied out faster than it ever had before. The actors were silent as they left the room, but the hallway outside exploded with sound. I was grateful that they were all so loud that no single voice could be heard. I knew what they were all saying, but Mr. Evans would be spared that knowledge.

  I was slower getting my things together. I still had a niggling feeling that I should fix this. Not for the first time, I wished Mrs. Abrams hadn’t been lying when she said we’d be coproducers. A fellow teacher would surely have better luck talking Mr. Evans out of this terrible idea than I would.

  Charlotte was leaning against the doorjamb waiting for me. When I reached her, she whispered, “You need to talk to him.”

  “I don’t wanna,” I whined.

  Charlotte raised one eyebrow at me. “You need to talk to him.”

  I dug my toe into the floor, stalling. I kept my voice low. “What am I going to say? I can’t tell the director he can’t be in the play.”

  “I know,” Charlotte said. I was surprised. “Don’t get me wrong, I wish you could. I’m going to have to pretend I’m in love with him.” She made a face. “But that’s just the way it is. You need to talk to him about the money situation.”

  In all the commotion of the old Bottom quitting and Mr. Evans deciding he would take over, I’d completely forgotten about the theater mafia. What a simpler time it had been when I just had to deal with a threatening small-town theater troupe.

  I nodded at Charlotte, and she gave me a peck on the cheek and a pat on the arm for encouragement. I turned around to see Mr. Evans pacing the floor, his forehead and bald scalp furrowed in concentration. He was running his lines.

  I cleared my throat.

  Mr. Evans looked up, somewhat dazed. It was like he was coming out of a trance. “Yes, Alison?”

  “Um, Mr. Evans, I know it’s already been a crazy day,” I started. I walked forward, standing just a few feet away from him. “And I hate to add to the, uh, stress. But I kinda need to talk to you about something weird that happened last week.”

  Mr. Evans moved over to his desk, placing the script face down to save his page. “What happened?”

  I stayed where I was, even though the distance was a bit awkward. It would be easier to say this if I didn’t have to make eye contact. “I got a call from the Upstage Players. They kinda, well, threatened us.”

  Mr. Evans looked puzzled. Who could blame him? He bobbed his head, encouraging me to go on.

  “They said that we couldn’t ask local businesses for money. They said there wasn’t room in this town for two shows.” I spoke quickly, needing to get it all out.

  Mr. Evans sat down heavily. I chewed on my thumb, waiting for him to say something. Would it be such a bad thing if I got fired at this point? I wasn’t at all sure producing the school play was helping my case for valedictorian. I doubted very much producing Ye Olde Shakespearean Disaster made me seem like the kind of competent, intelligent, and driven student that deserved to speak on behalf of her classmates at graduation. If I was fired, I wouldn’t see Charlotte as much as before, but I’d have time to study. By the time Mr. Evans finally spoke, I’d embraced my fate. “I didn’t think they’d still be holding a grudge,” Mr. Evans said, staring off into space.

  “What?” I asked. If I was being honest with myself, I was disappointed. I’d been prepared to be fired. Being fired would have made my life so much easier.

  Mr. Evans cleared his throat. “Alison, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. Let’s just say I have a history with the Upstage Players. I never imagined they’d take it out on innocent students.” He shook his head, either confused or saddened, or maybe both.

  “But what happened?” I demanded. If nothing else, I deserved to know why I was being forced to continue working on this disastrous mess of a production. I deserved to know why I was getting threatening phone calls and why I couldn’t raise enough money to pay for basic tech supplies.

  Mr. Evans blushed. “It was a long time ago.”

  I stared at him, unwilling to let him off so easy.

  He stared at the ceiling and told me, “Theater is a strange world. I think you’re starting to see that.” I nodded and he continued. “The intensity of the rehearsal process often leads to romantic entanglements.” If possible, Mr. Evans blushed an even deeper scarlet. “In my last production with the Upstage Players, I was the romantic lead. My paramour was played by a very dramatic woman. Our scenes were powerful. I’d never felt such a strong connection with another actor.”

  As Mr. Evans paused, clearly caught up in memories of a different place and time, I tried to imagine what kind of person Mr. Evans would consider “dramatic.” Nothing ever seemed too big or fantastic to him. I remembered the voice on the phone, the way the woman had been so quick to anger. I suspected this was the dramatic woman Mr. Evans was speaking about.

  “Sometimes the line between fiction a
nd reality blurs over the course of a show. You forget who you are. You think you’ve fallen in love.” I was starting to understand what Mr. Evans was hinting at, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more, but it was too late. “I had to leave the Upstage Players after that show. It wouldn’t have been fair to keep taunting this poor woman with a future that couldn’t be. She didn’t understand that the spell of the show wasn’t enough to change who I am, who I’m attracted to. She was angry, but I thought time would heal her. I had no idea she would still be so hurt and that she would take it out on my students. For that, I am very sorry, Alison.”

  It was my turn to blush. “It’s okay, Mr. Evans.”

  “No, it isn’t. And I’m going to take care of this,” Mr. Evans reassured me. He stood up, hands planted firmly on the desk. He looked determined, and I was happy to have someone take some of the burden off my shoulders.

  “Thanks, Mr. Evans.” He smiled at me, which I took as my sign to skedaddle.

  For once, I was almost happy to take the bus home. It gave me time to contemplate the ridiculousness of the day. Mr. Evans playing Bottom! Mr. Evans breaking a woman’s heart! A few months ago, I wouldn’t have believed any of this. Now? It all seemed part and parcel of life in the theater.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mr. Evans did not take care of things. Instead, he asked me if we could “make do” with our current budget when I saw him the next day. I told him we could not. He offered to pitch in a couple hundred dollars of his own. He looked so pathetic that I said we’d do what we could, but that he’d have to scale back on some of his “vision.”

  “No silk scarves draping the fairy bower?” Mr. Evans looked pained.

  I shook my head.

  “What about the colored lights?” His eyes were closed now, like he was braced for the worst.

  “We can’t afford new gels, so we’ll have to stick to the basic lights.”

  Mr. Evans gave a terse nod without opening his eyes. “Do what you need to do.”

  I left Mr. Evans’s classroom feeling a bit like I’d snatched a lollipop from a little kid. The guilt was uncomfortable, but I told myself absolute honesty was best at this point. The show must go on, but that didn’t mean it needed to go on with silk scarves and expensive lights. Mr. Evans’s requests had always been unrealistic. Without any outside revenue, his vision was absolutely unfeasible. Still, it was hard seeing the perky Mr. Evans brought low. The play might have squashed my spirits, but that didn’t mean I wanted to see a fellow optimist give up hope. Without Mr. Evans’s blind faith, I wasn’t sure how we would keep going. At times his blissful ignorance seemed to be the only thing holding this production together. (His ignorance and my stubborn desire to please. And Becca’s pragmatism.)

  Things did not get better when I got to math class. That quiz I hadn’t really studied for? I’d failed it. Spectacularly. The unit test was a week away, and I needed to set aside time to catch up, but I wasn’t exactly sure when that would happen. I looked for Jack, who wasn’t exactly a math superstar. I was hoping to find someone to commiserate with, but he smiled at me and waved his test, then came over to me.

  “How’d you do?” he asked.

  “Oh, fine,” I lied. I could tell he wanted me to ask how he’d done on the test and though I didn’t want to, I obliged. “How about you?”

  “I got an eighty-nine!” His smile had been big before, but it somehow managed to get bigger. I wanted to be happy for him. I really did. But the best I could do was a forced smile. “You mind giving these notes back to Becca for me?” he asked.

  I took the sheaf of notes he passed to me, too absorbed in self-pity to really hear what he’d just said. By the time I thought to ask which Becca, he was gone. I looked down at the notes and recognized my best friend’s loopy handwriting. How? What? I tucked the notes inside my agenda and made a mental note to ask Becca about this later.

  I shuffled my way to last period English, hoping for a respite. No luck. At the end of class, Ms. Merriam asked Ben and me to stay back. We remained at our desks as our classmates filed out. I snuck a look at Ben. His hair was still un-gelled, which suggested things with Zach weren’t any better. I pitied him, which felt wrong, like I’d unintentionally swallowed gum.

  Ms. Merriam turned a student desk around and sat facing us. She toyed with her dangly earrings. “I’m handing back the papers tomorrow, but I wanted to talk to the two of you today. I know you’ve both been under a lot of stress with the play, which is why I’m going to give you a chance to resubmit your papers.”

  Ben and I avoided eye contact, but I could feel shame radiating off both of us. Our papers were so bad Ms. Merriam wanted us to rewrite them. I traced the graffiti on my desk with my index finger. Jennifer hearts Noah. Oh, to be Jennifer, unconcerned about anything but her teen romance. I hated Jennifer a little. Her life must be so much simpler than mine. For one, a wannabe valedictorian couldn’t chance getting caught vandalizing school property.

  Ben broke the silence. “Thanks for giving us a chance to rewrite the assignment.”

  I piggybacked. “Thanks.” My voice was flat. I was just observing the niceties.

  Ms. Merriam nodded and seemed to think about what she wanted to say next. She spoke carefully, looking us each in the eye. “I think you both know your names have come up in discussions of who will be valedictorian this year.” I nodded, but only barely. I didn’t want to seem cocky. I avoided looking at Ben, though I could see out of the corner of my eye that he also nodded. Ms. Merriam continued, “You should know there’s also been talk of your…erratic behavior lately. If you want to remain contenders, you’ll both need to do some hard work catching up on your academics.”

  Ben stood up. As he walked to the door, he said, “Thanks, Ms. Merriam. I’ll get that paper to you by Monday.”

  Ms. Merriam smiled. “Good luck, Ben.”

  And then there were two. I wished I had left with Ben, but I felt too heavy to get up from the desk just yet. I knew Becca was waiting to give me a lift home. I knew Ms. Merriam probably wanted to pack up and go home herself. But I couldn’t get up. I didn’t have the strength. I ran my finger over Jennifer’s graffiti, hoping it might imbue me with some of her innocent enthusiasm.

  Ms. Merriam got up and turned the desk back around, its metal legs scraping on the linoleum floor. I flinched at the sound, though I’d heard it almost every day of my school life. Ms. Merriam came over and sat at the desk next to mine. She leaned over, and I could smell her vanilla perfume. “Alison, are you okay?”

  It was too much. The vanilla perfume, the ridge between her eyes getting deeper as she worried about me, the love message Jennifer had carefully engraved into the desk. I was either going to break down or I was going to toughen up. I clenched my fist on the table. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll have the paper to you by Monday.”

  Ms. Merriam looked unconvinced. I forced myself to relax my hand and to smile. It felt more like a grimace, but it was the best I could manage. “We lost our Bottom,” I tried to explain.

  “You lost your what?” Ms. Merriam seemed genuinely confused by my non sequitur.

  I tried to explain. “Not our butt. I mean, he was the ass, but I don’t mean we lost our bum.”

  Ms. Merriam raised both eyebrows. I was making this worse.

  “I mean, the actor playing Bottom left the play. So, Mr. Evans is going to play the part.” If I’d thought Ms. Merriam’s eyebrows were raised before, I’d grossly underestimated just how high eyebrows could go when a person was properly surprised. “It’s a bit of a shit show,” I admitted. Shocked that I’d just sworn in front of a teacher, I covered my mouth with both hands.

  Ms. Merriam laughed outright, a hearty guffaw that made me smile. After she finished laughing, she said, “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you?”

  “You could say that,” I responded, perhaps just a touch sarcastically.

 
; “Alison, I know you’re a perfectionist, but there are some things that are beyond your control.” It was my turn to snort. It seemed like nothing was in my control these days. Ms. Merriam pressed on. “Sometimes the hardest thing to learn is how to be okay with things as they are.”

  I nodded and stood up. Having someone else acknowledge just how crazy things had gotten had lightened my load enough that standing was now possible. “Thanks, Ms. Merriam.”

  Ms. Merriam stayed at the student desk as I walked across the room. Just before I left, she said, “I think I’ll buy an opening night ticket this year. It will be worth it to see Mr. Evans in a donkey costume.”

  At least we would have one person in the audience.

  CHAPTER 37

  I put my phone on vibrate as soon as I got home. I created a schedule and color-coded it using my favorite highlighters. If I used all my free minutes in the next week, I could get the paper finished and study for the math test. I ignored the occasional buzz from my phone as I reviewed my math notes and went over the quiz. The mistakes were embarrassing, now that I knew what in hell I was supposed to be doing. I remembered the notes Jack had asked me to return to Becca and was about to text her to ask how on earth Jack had ended up with her notes, since she never spoke to him, but then I reminded myself that I was supposed to be focusing on my schoolwork. I’d have to ask her later.

  The essay was a write-off; I needed to start from scratch. I normally took detailed notes whenever I read a book for English class, but I’d been so far behind on my schoolwork that I’d basically just skimmed King Lear. I had nothing to fall back on except a few vague notes I’d taken in class: fool = wise, king = fool. Not exactly the stuff of an A+ paper.