by Anna Davies
But he didn’t. He simply winced sympathetically. I glanced at the marker below my feet, then leaned down to wipe the snow off it.
EMILY MASTERS, 1792–1823
“I’m sure Emily wouldn’t mind, right?” I asked.
“Let’s hope,” Eric said dubiously.
“Eric! You’re not supposed to be superstitious!” My heart hammered against my chest like an anvil. I felt like something was about to happen. I just wasn’t sure if it was something good or something bad. I crossed my fingers, hoping for good.
Eric dusted off the gravestone looming in front of him. While most of the grave markers were rectangular stones that lay flat on the ground, this was a proper tombstone. A gargoyle-like statue of an angel flanked it. He leaned in to read the lettering.
“Woah,” he breathed out.
“What?”
“Breckin O’Dell.”
A shiver launched up my spine. “What?” I squeezed in next to him. The lettering was faint and faded, and the old-fashioned, elaborate script made the individual letters hard to read. I traced them with my fingers.
I whirled around, expecting to see someone in the darkness. Nothing. In the distance, an owl hooted. A tree branch cracked. My heart hammered wildly against my chest. Nothing.
“I guess it’s a common name.” Eric shrugged.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the headstone. The date read 1822. Eric was right. It was just a coincidence. Even though Breckin didn’t sound like a very old fashioned name.
“Officially freaked out. Let’s go.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I feel like it happens a lot when we’re together.”
“Better than being scared by myself.”
“You have a point.” I felt the warmth emanating from Eric’s body as we stood up and made our way through the woods. I concentrated on the sounds of our footsteps crunching in the snow and the foggy puffs of air visible in the moonlight.
“I’m just really on edge. But I’m fine,” I added quickly.
We’d reached the edge of the woods, and I was able to shake off some of the weirdness. It was strange, but it was a coincidence.
“You say that a lot, you know,” Eric said. “ ‘I’m fine.’ Fine. For a girl who has pretty much every single Shakespeare play memorized, that’s such a boring word!”
“So I can’t even complain well enough. That’s great.” I’d meant for it to be a joke, but the words came out short and angry. I continued to walk, not looking at Eric. I jammed my hands in my pocket, marching forward even though I had no idea where we were going.
“Bree,” Eric said softly.
“What?”
“You don’t need to be fine. That’s all I meant. We’re audition buddies, now and forever. And you know what that means?” he asked softly.
I didn’t bother to stop walking. He was now several feet behind me, and I raised my voice for him to hear me over the howling January wind. “That that’s probably the last time we’ll see each other, since you’ll be at rehearsal all the time?” My voice sounded snarky and sharp. “Kidding,” I added lamely.
Eric caught up to me and I stood silently. My tears had stopped, but I knew if I turned toward him, I would begin crying all over again.
“Look, it sucks to not get a part in the show. I know it. If you’d seen me freshman year …” He stopped. “I know what it’s like. And I make time for what’s important. Always,” Eric said. “We don’t have to pretend with each other. We do that for the rest of the world. But we’re connected now.”
“He even gave himself a part,” I said in a small voice.
“I know. That was weird. But I guess he wants the ghost of Hamlet’s father to be, like, older. Like a dad figure. He’s not doing it from onstage, it’ll just be his voice booming from the catwalk.”
“Still,” I sniffled.
“Still, he’s just being a weird director. But that’s just one person. It doesn’t mean you’re not a good actress.”
“I bet you’ve never been rejected from anything,” I said.
Eric laughed, a short bark that mirrored my own sharp tone. “That’s a fantasy.”
“What happened?” I asked. Just then, a gust of wind rose up, causing snow from the tree branches above to dump down on our heads.
Eric laughed and brushed the powder from his head and shoulders.
“That’s a sign we’ve got to get out of the cold. All right, Tropical Plant, let’s go.”
“Tropical Plant?” I asked.
Eric smiled. “Yeah. Because you’re so sensitive. To temperatures, I mean.”
“Not just temperatures,” I said quietly, but Eric didn’t hear me above the wind. I quickened my pace to keep up with him.
Duffy Street was a small cul-de-sac located west of the railroad tracks, dotted with more abandoned lots than one-level houses. Eric pulled out his phone, frowning at the display.
“Look for 118,” he directed.
I glanced at the house closest to me. 112. “It should be a few up,” I said.
We stepped onto the cracked sidewalk and slowly walked past an abandoned lot, then came to a small house set back from the road. The house was painted red and looked like a child’s approximation of a gingerbread house, with a falling-apart roof and one shutter lopsidedly hanging from a single hinge.
“I guess this is it,” Eric said dubiously.
“We could always go someplace else,” I said, still holding out hope he’d ask me if I was down with skipping the party and heading to the Trusty Ax to grab a pizza. I wanted to be alone with Eric. I didn’t have to act effortlessly cool like I did with Willow, or super snarky the way I was with Tristan. I could be myself.
“It looks kind of quiet,” Eric said dubiously.
That was an understatement. There only seemed to be one light on in the house, barely visible from the window. It didn’t look like this was the location of a happening party. It didn’t even seem possible that a happening party could fit in the space.
Eric nodded uncertainly, clearly torn. “I said I’d come. I should at least try.” He bounded to the door and rang the bell while I hung back.
Almost instantly, the door swung open, held by the real Ophelia, aka Kennedy Clifford. She was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a black camisole, and it looked as though she was in her pajamas, except for the fact her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders and her green eyes were carefully lined with thick black eyeliner. Her face fell as her gaze moved beyond Eric’s shoulder and landed on me.
“Oh,” Kennedy said flatly, then turned on an insta-big, insta-fake smile. “You brought someone!”
“Yeah, this is Bree. She’s also doing the play.”
My shoulders tightened. Skye already had me on edge. I never imagined there would be another girl vying for Eric’s attention.
“Right. Who are you playing again?” The frostiness in Kennedy’s voice made it very clear that she’d scrutinized the cast list and knew I wasn’t officially any character.
“I’m the social media director.” My teeth chattered. I was freezing. Was she going to invite us in or not? Or would she invite Eric in, leaving me out in the cold — literally. And if she did only invite Eric in, would he accept, or would he leave in solidarity? And if we did leave, would we go to the Trusty Ax and sit in a corner booth, and then would he turn toward me and allow his lips to graze mine….
“Got it.” Kennedy’s sharp tone broke my reverie. “I wasn’t expecting you. But that’s cool. I mean, if you’re cool watching the movie version of Hamlet. It might be boring for you. Given that you don’t really have a part.”
“I won’t be bored,” I said coolly.
“Is anyone else here?” Eric finally asked, glancing over Kennedy’s shoulder into the silent house.
“No, no one else showed up. So I guess it’s just the three of us!”
“What a surprise.” I said icily.
“Well, you know what they say. Two’s company. An
d three’s even more merrier. So come on in!” Kennedy stepped aside from the door to let us through.
“Yup, that’s exactly what they say. Actually, it’s not. You know that, right?” I asked.
Kennedy shook her head. “Nope. I go to public school, remember?” she asked sweetly.
Eric glanced between us.
“I don’t care where you go to school,” I said, forcing a smile.
“I didn’t mean to crash,” Eric said awkwardly. “But I think you guys might have a lot in common. Kennedy loves Shakespeare, too!”
That’s not the only thing she loves, I thought, annoyed at Eric’s oblivion.
And then I realized he probably didn’t know what was going on. Just like he didn’t believe in superstition, it was also clear that subtext wasn’t one of his specialties. He was used to being admired and adored. To borrow Kennedy’s butchering of the phrase, he was the epitome of the more, the merrier.
“Well, come in,” Kennedy said as we trailed behind her, across the threshold into the house. It was even smaller on the inside than it looked on the outside, and almost every single surface was covered with piles of paper. Something brushed against my leg and I screamed.
Eric and Kennedy looked at me, startled.
“Oh, that’s just Brutus.” Kennedy reached down and picked up a large orange cat. She hissed loudly. “She didn’t mean to scare you, did she?” Kennedy whispered in Brutus’s ear. Eric chuckled.
“Bree’s afraid of everything,” he announced.
Kennedy put Brutus down and shrugged.
“No. I’m not. Scared of anything.” I gave them both a tight-lipped smile. While she may have gotten the part, she wasn’t going to get Eric. At least not without a fight. “So, which one are we watching? The Kenneth Branagh one?” I asked pointedly, proving that I wasn’t about to take the bait.
“Oh, yeah,” Kennedy said. “Here, let’s go down to the basement.” She opened a plain wooden door that led to a narrow flight of stairs.
“Hold on, let me get the light.” She headed down into the darkness. Seconds later, a bare bulb above us lit up, casting a dim light on the concrete walls below us. A leather love seat sat on a threadbare rug facing a television. “I’m sure this doesn’t look anything like the palace-like dorms you guys live in, but it serves its purpose.”
I softened a tiny bit. “This is what my rec room back home looks like,” I offered, trying to let her know that it wasn’t her house that unleashed my bitter side. “If we’d have known it was a movie-watching party, we’d have brought popcorn.”
“Yup,” Eric agreed, and I felt a momentary thrill that, for a brief moment, he saw us as a we.
“Oh, there’s some upstairs. Can you make it, Bree? I need to make sure the movie has finished downloading. It keeps stopping on my laptop.” Kennedy frowned.
I glanced at Eric, hoping he’d suggest we make the popcorn together. But he’d already plopped on the couch.
“Okay …” I agreed dubiously, wanting to make it perfectly clear to Kennedy that I knew exactly what she was doing. “Good luck with getting the movie to work.”
“Popcorn is in the cupboard, microwave’s on the counter. Thank you!”
Careful not to trip over Kennedy’s psycho cat, I made my way to the kitchen and put the popcorn in the microwave, trying to ignore the sound of Kennedy’s and Eric’s laughter wafting up from the floorboards in between pops. I glanced at the refrigerator, covered in a Kennedy-focused collage. There were pictures of Kennedy as a kid at a dance recital, her gap-toothed smile eagerly turning toward the camera. Kennedy in pigtails and a cowboy hat, at some sort of talent competition, braces on her teeth and a preteen pout evident on her face. So she’d also always wanted to be an actress. And unlike me, she didn’t have any problem going after the things she wanted.
The microwave beeped, pulling me out of my reverie. I pulled out the bag, and, not bothering with bowls, headed downstairs.
As expected, Kennedy and Eric were sitting together on the love seat, their arms touching.
“Here,” I said, tossing the bag into Kennedy’s lap as I slid onto the hard floor.
“Ouch! That’s hot!” she yelped.
“Bree!” Eric grabbed the bag. “Sorry, Bree loves hot stuff because she has a freakish internal temperature. She thinks anything below tropical is freezing.”
“And you decided to go to school in Maine?” Kennedy barely hid her disdain. “Or did your parents just force you here?”
“No one forces me to do anything,” I said.
“Except walk through the graveyard.” Eric grinned. “Are you superstitious, Kennedy?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m a townie, remember? We’re born to be tough. We don’t have the luxury of living behind a stone fence like you all do.”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Kennedy lurched forward, the popcorn spilling onto the floor in a constellation-like pattern.
“For someone who’s not superstitious, you seem pretty jumpy,” I noted lightly.
“I’m fine. I was just surprised.”
“But you knew people were coming, right?” I pressed. It was the oldest trick in the book: Pretend to have a party, but only invite the guy you like. Even I knew that one. I was going to give her a harder time by asking even more questions, until I noticed fear flicker across her face.
“Should I get it?” Eric asked, already sliding off the couch.
“No … that’s fine.” Kennedy leapt to her feet, but Eric followed her. At my feet, Brutus whined.
“I’m coming, too!” I called. I was definitely uneasy.
The three of us formed an odd tableau as Kennedy stood on her tiptoes and peered through the window. I mimicked her motion, recognizing the red-haired kid who’d gotten kicked out of auditions. Zach? Zeke?
“Who is it?” Eric asked.
“Um …” Kennedy shifted from side to side. Clearly, she didn’t want to open the door. But Eric didn’t catch her signals.
“It’s that dude from the Trusty Ax,” he said, surprised. “Yo, I’m Eric.” He held out his hand as he swung open the door.
“Zach. And we met,” the red-haired guy said, already looking beyond Eric’s shoulder at Kennedy. “Kennedy, we need to talk.”
“No, Zach. Not now.” Her voice had a pleading edge to it. Zach’s jaw tightened. I shifted from one foot to the other, hoping Eric understood what was happening in front of him. But Eric’s bemused expression remained the same. “I’m here with MacHale kids. We’re rehearsing,” she added.
“Okay. I don’t want to disturb you. But I just want to talk, K? It’s important.”
“So is this,” Kennedy hissed as she slammed the door shut. She turned toward us with a big smile. “Sorry about that! He’s just a little … not right. You saw what happened at the auditions with him. He’s sometimes overemotional.”
“Is he dangerous?” Eric asked, taking a protective step toward Kennedy.
“No … no.” Kennedy shook her head and carefully locked the door. She flicked off the outside light. “Let’s go downstairs.”
As we followed her, I unsuccessfully tried to make eye contact with Eric. She and that Zach kid must have had a relationship. I was sure of it.
“Anyway, sorry about that!” Kennedy slid back to her spot on the couch.
“So, Zach wasn’t invited…. Was anyone else?” I pressed.
“Shh!” Kennedy stage-whispered as she pressed her finger to her lips and turned to her laptop. “I want to hear how he does iambic pentameter.”
I leaned against the back of the couch. Eric’s bare leg was close to mine. This was going to be a long night. I felt my iPhone wedged in my pocket. Should I Tweet about this?
Technically, yes, I should. But there was no way I wanted to commit this awkward encounter to Internet eternity. At MacHale, it didn’t count if it wasn’t Tweeted. And I did not want this to count.
But something about the way Kennedy had angled her body toward Eric’s on the couch mad
e it very obvious that it definitely did.
Skye Henderson
Ready to get in character, starting at the costume closet. Follow along on #machalehamlet to see some exclusive behind-the-scenes images.
Tristan Schuler
Digging up some major dirt on the players in #machalehamlet. You’ve been warned….
Hamlet’s Ghost @hamletsghost
How to describe the end of the first week of rehearsals? Some might say … electric. What do you think @alleyesonbree?
I think you’re a drama queen, Tristan,” I whispered under my breath, even as I pressed RETWEET on all three.
In the past week, everything Hamlet’s Ghost had Tweeted had to do with the actual stars of the show. I learned that Kennedy and Eric had been meeting up before official rehearsals; that Rex Andrews, who played Polonius, had been spotted making out with Leah Banks during a dinner break; and that Skye Henderson had been raiding the costume closet. I felt a twinge at being excluded, but mainly, I felt glad that I was no longer being scrutinized. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe not being in the play was a good thing.
After all, my level had plummeted. I was bored, but maybe being bored was better than being sad, suspicious, and terrified.
For amusement, I’d been watching Skye. She’d heard about the movie-watching “party,” and had arrived at rehearsal furious — and followed Eric’s and Kennedy’s every move. If it didn’t hurt so much that Eric wasn’t interested in me, it would almost be funny.
Maybe because she was mad at Eric, maybe because hanging around me made her feel better about her own life, or maybe for a combination of reasons only known to Skye, she’d actually become friendlier with me — or at least, friendly-ish. Because we were seemingly the only two people on campus to wake up early enough for dining hall breakfast, we’d seen each other almost every morning. The other day, we’d even sat at the same table, although we’d spent most of the time reading from our respective phones. At one of these breakfasts, she’d asked if I’d noticed Kennedy and Eric getting close, and I’d given her the intel about the Hamlet-watching “party” the week before.
