by Emma Scott
“How are you holding up?” Angie asked as I slid into my seat. “You look tired.” Today’s t-shirt was white with black lettering: If you don’t have something nice to say…we have a lot in common.
“I’m great,” I said. “Considering the guy my dad wants me to hook up with is a complete douchebag and the guy I want to see is literally forbidden.”
Angie’s jaw dropped open. “Really? Isaac? You want to see him, see him?”
“Shh. I don’t know. Maybe. It’s so stupid because he’s leaving Harmony in a couple of months. But I can’t stop thinking about him. He doesn’t make me feel trapped.”
“Trapped by what?”
I plucked at the long sleeve of my dark green shirt. Underneath, a new army of little black X’s marched along my forearm. “Nothing in particular,” I said. “I just don’t like feeling pressured by guys. And I don’t feel that from him. At all.”
“Holy shit,” Angie said. “Do you think he’s into you? He has to be, right? Picking you up in your time of need…?”
And dancing with me.
I played every detail over and over in my mind while curled up on my floor in a blanket, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I said.
“It’s—”
“I know, I know. You told me over the phone it wasn’t a big deal. But I need to tell you in person. I’m trying to get better at this whole being-a-good-friend thing.”
“You’re doing all right, Holloway.”
Her eyes dropped to my notebook where hundreds more little black X’s crawled all along the margins.
She frowned, a fingertip tapping the paper. “What’s all this about?”
“Nothing. Just doodles,” I said. “Hey, did you start your poem yet? The one Paulson assigned us last week?”
“Yes,” Angie said slowly, “I’ve been toying around with this one, tell me what you think. Roses are red, violets are blue, when you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you.” Her bright smile dimmed with sadness. “Okay?”
I nodded and whispered, “Okay.”
While eating lunch, my phone pinged an incoming text. Isaac’s name and number flashed on the display, making my heart pound and my stomach flutter.
Hey, had a question about rehearsal tonight. RU free to talk?
Smart, I thought.
The coast is clear, I typed back.
Wanted to make sure you are OK. I would’ve texted earlier.
I’m OK. Thank you.
A pause and then he started typing again.
Do you want to run lines today after school?
Was this code for something else, I wondered? It didn’t matter. I just wanted to see him.
He’s leaving. Be smart. Don’t try to crawl your way out of the darkness by falling for some guy who can’t be with you.
My fingers flew as I typed a text. Love to. Where?
The same place as last time?
I remember. 3:00?
CU then.
A text from a boy I liked, and I had to delete the entire thread.
“I need two little favors,” I told Angie after school. “I’m meeting Isaac at the amphitheater to run lines.”
“Is run lines code for sex and no one told me?”
A shiver slipped down my spine but it was a heated one, not icy.
“It’s code for running lines. Can you cover me?”
“Cover you how? Put a mannequin with long blonde hair in the passenger seat of my car and drive around town?”
“Now that you mention it…” I grinned. “Just tell anyone who asks we’re studying together.”
“Oh my God.” She pinched my cheek. “Look at that smile. You love him.”
“What? I do not.”
“Mm. And I’m not the best friend anyone could hope for.”
“Just let me be a little bit happy about this right now, okay?” I said. “He’s leaving in a few months, and at the very least, I want to make this experience with the play special.”
“Okay, Holloway,” Angie said. “I got you covered. But girl, this town is small and Isaac Pearce is big. He gets noticed and if you’re seen together…”
“I’ll be careful,” I said and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”
“That’s the word on the street. What’s the second favor?”
“I need a ride to the amphitheater, like right now.”
She sighed for five whole seconds and rolled her eyes. “Oh woe is me, woe is me, my kingdom for a car for my friend.” She slung her arm around my shoulder. “Come on princess, let’s hit the road.”
I got to the amphitheater first. I climbed up on the cement block and sat, waiting, remembering the feel of Isaac’s hands when he helped me down. Hoping he’d do it again today.
“Hey.” Isaac stood at the northern edge of the theater. He wore jeans that looked new, a white T-shirt and a hoodie with the hood pulled up. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hi,” I called, and my heart did that rabbit-y thumping it always did in Isaac’s presence.
Neither of us spoke as he walked up to me. By now, I knew Isaac took a little time to warm up. He stood still and silent. Not climbing up next to me, or even putting down his pack.
“Did you want to run lines?” I finally asked.
“Not here.” He glanced around at the wide-open space. “Anyone could walk by and see us. I know a better place.”
“Okay.” I started to scootch down from the block. Isaac offered me his hand again. Then his other. I took them and hopped down to stand in front of him as we had done a few weeks ago.
He held both my wrists and his thumbs ran back and forth along the delicate skin there. I wondered if he could feel my pulse point; my heart was beating so fast.
He looked down at me from under his hood. His gray-green eyes placid and warm. He no longer wore a bandage, and the cut on his cheek was still dark with congealed blood. Most of the swelling had gone down.
“Are you sleeping better?” I asked softly.
He shook his head. “Not yet. You?” He was still holding my wrists.
“Not yet.”
Gently, he pushed up the sleeve a little to reveal a few of the black X’s on my forearm. I held my breath, waiting for the cold shiver, and instinctive urge to snatch my hand back. Instead, I let him see them and then he raised his eyes to mine, concern darkening them and furrowing his brows.
“No questions,” I said softly. “Not yet, okay?”
“Okay.” Simple as that. He drew my sleeve down and let go of my hands. “We should get going.”
We climbed back up the stone steps and started down a small, quiet street beyond the amphitheater. Bright spring sunshine streamed through the trees lining both sides of the road. We passed a small children’s park, not talking as we walked side-by-side, the backs of our hands brushing now and then. The houses grew further apart. The streets grew quieter until the buzzing of insects was the loudest sound.
“What do you think?” Isaac said.
We stood before a hedge maze.
“I love it,” I said, before even stepping foot inside.
The hedges were about five feet tall, their corridors branched off in two directions and covered thirty yards or so. In the center, I could just see the top of a small shack with a windmill.
“In the summertime, this place is busy with tourists,” Isaac said. “But we should be good for now.”
“Okay. How close are you to being off-book?”
He shrugged. “Ninety percent?”
“That’s not bad, considering you have approximately that much of the play.”
“What happened after I dropped you off after the dance?”
“Oh…uh, nothing shocking,” I said. “Justin played nice with my dad. They both talked over my head as if I were incapable of making any decisions on my own. Talk about art imitating life.”
“When do you turn eighteen?” he asked.
“July,” I s
aid.
Isaac nodded. “Tonight at rehearsal, should I ask Marty to run the scene where Hamlet kills Laertes?”
“No,” I said, “because Laertes kills him right back.”
“Laertes kills him first actually. Hamlet just dies more slowly.”
“Not as fast as Ophelia. I got you all beat.”
A silence.
“You know it’s a Shakespearean tragedy when you’re discussing which character dies the fastest.”
He smiled a little, but I watched it fade as his eyes held mine. I felt the moment thicken between us. It would’ve been nothing for him to bend down and kiss me.
I want him to kiss me.
The thought sent electric shivers dancing down my skin, but tangled my stomach in a knot at the same time. What would happen if he did? Would I freeze up? Would panic grip me, shake me and throw me to the ground? Would the shadowy memory of Xavier’s mouth come through Isaac’s lips?
I turned my head and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I’m ready to check out this maze.”
“Sure, yeah,” he said, with equal parts relief and regret too. “Let’s go.”
We faced the two entrances to the maze, each heading opposite directions.
“It’s not hard,” he said, “and you can see the center so you can’t get lost.”
Getting lost in a hedge maze with you wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen today. “Okay, I said. “Race you to the center?”
“I’ll win,” Isaac said. “I’ve lived here my entire life.”
“So you’re scared?”
He laughed. A small one but a real laugh nonetheless. “All right, let’s see what you got. Ready. Set…”
I took off running down my branch of the maze before he could say go.
“Cheater,” he called.
I laughed, feeling the warm sun on my face and the smell of spring coming back all around me. The maze was composed of dried brush, slowly turning green. Bugs chirped and small white butterflies fluttered across my path. It wasn’t a complicated maze, and I kept my bearings by watching the windmill shack in the middle. Isaac, at six-foot-two, should’ve towered over hedges but he was nowhere to be seen.
“No way he’s that fast,” I muttered, reaching the clearing where the little windmill sat. A cutout door faced me, its faded red paint peeling away. Isaac sat on a bench inside, one ankle resting on the knee of his other leg, looking like he’d been there for hours.
“Okay, you win,” I said with a laugh, but it died to see the way he was looking at me. He slowly got to his feet and stepped out of the windmill, his brows together as if he were in pain.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He kept his hands to his sides as if it were an effort to do so. “Nothing. I can't do this,” he said. “We should go.”
“Go? We just got here.”
“I realize that but it’s not fucking fair to you or to me…” He sighed, dropped his gaze to the ground, shaking his head. “You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
“Isaac…” I swallowed over the pounding of my heart.
“We should go,” he said. “We should… I’m leaving in a few months. I have to. I have to get out of this town for myself and I have to get out to make some money for my dad and Martin and the theater. I’m broke as hell, but maybe if the scouts like me…?”
The desperate hope in his gruff voice broke my heart.
“I know you have to go,” I said. “It’s your dream. The world needs your talent.”
He swallowed hard. I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall as if he were choking down a jagged lump.
“It needs your talent too,” he said. “Your Ophelia…”
“I don’t know about that, but I need Ophelia. I need this play and I can’t lose that.”
Or you.
“I know,” he said in a low voice.
“This play is how I keep you…keep hanging out with you,” I said, louder. “Before you leave, we have this. Hamlet. My father will ruin it if we…”
He shook his head as if to cut off my words and nodded brusquely. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we should go.”
Without another word we walked out of the maze side-by-side. Isaac knew exactly which way to turn. We didn’t hit a dead end until we came out.
Nowhere left to go.
“Are you going to be okay getting home?”
“I’ll call Angie.”
He nodded. “See you at rehearsal?”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
He nodded again, then turned and walked away, while I turned and headed in the opposite direction.
I walked into town and got a ride home with Angie, and hardly spoke. I told her I wasn’t feeling well in order to stave off her barrage of questions. It was the truth, anyway.
My house was empty. I went into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice and found today’s mail on the counter. On the top of the pile was a thick invitation envelope. The name on the return address read Wilkinson.
With a trembling hand, I turned the envelope over. It had already been opened. I pulled out the card inside. Fancy calligraphy swam before my eyes, focusing into words:
You are cordially invited to celebrate Wexx’s highest fourth-quarter earnings in the history of the company. Grand ballroom, Renaissance Hotel 8 PM April 30, Braxton, Indiana
Below that, in handwritten black ink:
Xavier has the time off from Amherst. If he knew Willow was coming I could persuade him to come join us. I’m sure he’d love to see her again. Hope to see you all there!
Ross Wilkinson
Xavier. In Indiana.
The words on the invite swam again, until all I could see were little black X’s.
Isaac
You’re doing it, I thought. You’re walking away from Willow, just like you promised yourself you would. How’s it feel?
“It fucking sucks,” I muttered.
It was a twenty-minute walk from the maze to the Fords’ house. Twenty minutes under a sun that was getting warmer with every passing day. It shone so brightly over Willow when she emerged from the hedge maze. The cold pallor of her skin the other night was gone and she looked fucking radiant with the sun in her hair and a smile for me. All for me.
How did I let this happen?
I hefted my backpack higher on my shoulder and reaffirmed my vow: I would give her Hamlet and nothing else. She’d give her Ophelia to me and that’s how I was going to get out of Harmony.
And I had to go.
The other night I hadn’t been able to sleep, as usual. I’d gone downstairs for a snack, but froze halfway through the living room. Brenda and Marty were in the kitchen, talking in low voices. I was about to backtrack when I heard Martin say my father’s name. I froze then, listening.
“…showed up at Nicky’s Tavern… Made one hell of a scene… Cursing Isaac out… Telling everyone he has a faggot for a son…”
Dad was arrested and spent the night in the drunk tank. The humiliation of it cut me to the bone. Not because of the gay slur—I was used to that. Pops wasn’t only the town drunk now, but the town’s ranting bigot as well. Our names back in circulation among the town gossips. I prayed Sam Caswell hadn’t been at Nicky’s that night. He and I did Angels in America two summers ago and he’d had felt so empowered by the experience, he came out to his friends and family. Now my dad was ruining that too.
God, I had to get out of Harmony, I thought as I walked, and lit a cigarette.
But Willow… Maybe, after I made my fortune like the heroes do in the stories, I could come back to Harmony.
The thought stopped me cold in the bright sunshine. In all the years of plotting my escape, coming back had never factored in.
“Shit,” I muttered as I blew smoke out my nose. I was finally on the verge of getting out for good and I meet the one thing that could bring me back. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Fuck that, I’d focus on Hamlet. I’d take all these thoughts about
Willow and give them to Hamlet. He could pine for her and regret their separation. He could be angry at her father and murderous toward her brother. Keep all this shit onstage, where words written hundreds of years ago could speak for me.
That evening, when rehearsal began at seven, Willow wasn’t at the theater.
Neither was Justin.
“We’ll give her a few minutes,” Martin said.
Twenty minutes later and still no sign.
A heavy feeling settled into my gut. I reached for my phone to text Willow, but she buzzed me a text first.
Isaaaaaaaaac I’m outside and OGM I am sooooooo drunk :D:D:D
“Oh, shit.” I grabbed my leather jacket off the back of a chair. “It’s her. I’ll be right back,” I told Martin.
I stood on the sidewalk outside of the theater, looking up and down the street in both directions. Finally, half a block away, in front of the liquor store, I saw her. She was standing with the group of guys—older men, not high schoolers—and laughing loudly.
I covered the distance between us in about three seconds. “Willow.”
“Isaac,” she cried, her face lighting up the way drunk people do, as if they hadn’t seen you in ten years. “Oh my God, you’re here.”
She slung her arms around my neck and I smelled a sharp bite of whiskey on her breath.
“You guys, this is Isaac. Isn’t he beautiful? He is so beautiful.” She placed her palm on my face and patted my cheek. “He’s a genius actor. He’s Hamlet. You see that big sign up there?” She jabbed a finger in the general direction of the HCT marquee with HAMLET coming soon in black lettering. “That’s him.” She smacked my chest with her hand. “He’s our Hamlet.”
“Willow, what are you doing?” I eyed the three guys who watched her with amusement.
“With the help of these fine gentlemens, I am purchasing some beer,” she said, with slow and careful enunciation.
I looked at one of the guys. He shrugged. “She gave my buddy fifty bucks for a six-pack of Heineken.”
“And you think it’s cool to buy underage girls beer?” I slipped my arm around Willow’s waist to hold her up. “Come on, let’s go.”
