by M. A. Hinkle
“I think—I think I told Felix I would? It’s all a blur.” Morgan rubbed his forehead. “And what you said to Father was true. It would help us make friends.”
“It’ll help you,” I said, but not forcefully. “You’re joking, right? I’m all for you trying new things and growing into the beautiful blossom you were always meant to be, but there’s socializing and there’s outright courting a panic attack.”
Morgan shrugged. He was trying to appear optimistic, but it came off nauseous. “I’m trying to get used to the idea that no matter what my anxiety tells me, doing new things won’t kill me. But I have to actually do new things.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What a rational line of thought. Are you sick?”
Morgan threw his pillow at me. “Don’t be a jerk when I’m being serious.” His morose expression didn’t change when I threw the pillow back at him. “Felix keeps telling me about all the things he does with his friends—secret concerts and queer choir performances and open mic nights. And he makes them sound fun. And I know they are fun, and I want to participate in them. Realistically speaking, I’d benefit from going out and spending time with people I haven’t known my entire life. People who can probably understand me better than the people we used to hang out with.”
“When you talked about getting better with people, I thought you meant at school.” I was trying to be cautious. It wasn’t his fault I was physically incapable of having a serious conversation. “But you meant all over.”
Morgan nodded. “I don’t expect we’ll get parts, and I have no idea if I’ll be able to make it through the entire audition process. But I think—” He took in a breath. “It’s the smallest thing I can try. It’s not committing to anything, and if I do get cast, I can always back out.”
This was a big deal for him. Therefore, I could not say anything stupid. “Well. Okay. We’ll try it. There’s no way we’ll get cast—not in a school full of arts kids.”
Morgan didn’t point out he was one of those arts kids, so he must have used up all his words.
THE AUDITIONS WERE after school on Monday. Though I intended to strike out, I found myself skimming the play instead of paying attention to whatever short story we were supposed to be reading in English.
I didn’t know what part I wanted. The troupe of players were okay, but I didn’t have comedy chops. Ditto for Puck. And Theseus and the parent characters were super gross, which left the two teenage male leads, Demetrius and Lysander, with the personalities of a slice of white bread and a second slice of white bread respectively, and Oberon, who at least wasn’t human.
Three parts. If I didn’t get cast, I could claim I’d put in a good effort. And I wasn’t going to get cast, not when Morgan would choose the same parts.
For a moment, I wondered what Felix and his friends would audition for, but obviously, they’d be the comedic troupe. They had a natural buddy comedy vibe.
All right. I’d allow it.
THE AUDITIONS DIDN’T start until five. I expected Morgan to practice his violin the whole time, but he insisted on being ten minutes early. The director was already there, flipping through her notes and humming. When we walked in, she smiled as if we were the greatest thing she’d seen all day. I had to stifle the urge to flee before I swore at her in self-defense. I couldn’t handle people who were so goddamn earnest.
But we were the first arrivals, so she came down off the stage to meet us. Morgan stiffened. Why did he insist on coming to things early, when no one else would be there as a buffer? This was a question I’d asked all my life, but I just had to accept it.
“Hello, boys!” She held out her hand to shake. I took it, which prompted Morgan to do the same. “I’m Miss Copeland, and I’ll be directing the play.”
Morgan relaxed. He could talk to teachers and bosses, where their authority clearly dictated his relationship with them. “Hi, ma’am. I’m Morgan, and this is my brother Gareth.” I didn’t know why he bothered introducing me as his brother. Maybe so people wouldn’t think I was his clone from a dystopian universe.
“And we were hoping to look over our lines a little bit before the tryouts, so…” I said, partly to save Morgan’s ass and partly to make sure I didn’t swear in front of a teacher. Could I get suspended at an after-school activity? I wasn’t planning to find out.
“Oh, of course! Let me give you the sections we’re going to read—which characters are you trying out for?” Before we could answer, she held out a packet. “Don’t answer—you can pick whoever, regardless of gender. I don’t want to spoil it, but we’re going to have lots of fun with this play.” She winked, like we were all part of a conspiracy to queer the hell out of Shakespeare.
Since Morgan was afraid of dropping something in front of other people, I took both packets, and we retreated to the second row of seats. I hadn’t realized we could try out for girls, but I hadn’t studied any of the female parts. Oh well.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked, propping my feet up on the chair in front of me. “Maybe letting your hair down?”
“You’re the one who does drag.” He said it in an undertone, as though I cared about keeping it secret. “Anyway, this is stressful enough without having to wonder how my legs look in a dress.”
“I’m sure it’d be fabulous. Dresses are fantastic on me, after all, and you’re the handsome one.” He smacked me with the packet. Before I could think of a counterstrike, more kids streamed in. I indicated with my eyes that anyone who sat by us would immediately burst into flame.
Felix, of course, did not notice and sat in front of Morgan, with the twins on his left side. Today, Alex’s nametag said Power Man and Zach’s said Black Panther. A Latina girl with deep brown skin and straight black hair held in place with a staggering number of pins shoved my feet aside so she could sit beside Felix. She was also wearing a nametag, pressed carefully to the lapel of her neat navy blazer. Hers read America Chavez with Sarah crossed out above it. Thankfully, they didn’t interact with us any more. The triplets minus one were arguing about chord progressions, and Felix was studying the packet with his tongue between his teeth.
I held my lines up to my face, staring fixedly. The main scene for Oberon was a dialog with Titania, their first appearance together. In it, they argued over who got custody of a changeling, and Oberon was a big sexist douche. Par for the course.
“Sarah, have you got a highlighter?” Felix asked.
“Have I got a highlighter. Jeez, Felix, who do you think you’re talking to?” Sarah opened her bag and took out an enormous box of them, organized by color and size. “If I don’t get it back, you’re buying me a new set. I can’t stand it when they don’t match.”
“I know, I know, but this is such a little font.”
I glanced at his paper to see what he intended. I was fully expecting Quince or Bottom, or, at the very least, Puck. But he was highlighting Titania’s parts.
Crud. I turned to Demetrius’s lines.
Miss Copeland clapped her hands for our attention, and everyone shut up. Not much in the way of problem children around here. “All right, everyone, welcome! Obviously, there’s not as many parts as people, but even if you don’t get cast, there’s plenty of work behind the scenes. We need sets painted and costumes sewn.”
She glanced around and came up with a clipboard. “Please pass it down and mark your name by your choice. Remember, you’ve got a better chance of getting the part if no one else tries out for it! And this is a modern production, so there’s no restriction by gender.” She clapped again, as if this was the most exciting thing she’d done in days.
Despite my misgivings about Oberon, I marked my name down. Morgan wanted Theseus, so I marked him too, even though Theseus was a dickface.
“Okay.” Miss Copeland turned back to us. “I’m glad to see there’s so many people marked down for the small parts—the more fairies we have, the better our kingdom will look.”
Felix and his friends exchanged glances with each other, sti
fling laughter. I slouched back in my chair, waiting for her to get on with it. We’d be here a while—you could only recite a Shakespearian soliloquy so fast, even if you were trying to get through your lines before your voice broke.
“I’m glad to see a number of you have selected diverse parts. Let’s start with the smaller speaking roles.” She spent a few minutes sorting out the fairies and bit parts. “All right, now Theseus and Hippolyta.” Morgan and I walked to the stage, joining two girls. “Perfect, two couples. Haylee,” (a white girl with the muscles for an Amazon) “why don’t you go with Gareth, and Cara,” (a willowy white girl who could appear in the dictionary entry for theater kid) “you can pair with Morgan. Who’ll go first?”
I glanced at Haylee to make sure she wouldn’t stab me for volunteering, but she appeared indifferent, so I raised my hand. Haylee was good; I concentrated on trying not to make her look bad. At the end, she winked at me. She knew I wasn’t serious.
When we finished, everyone clapped politely, and the LGBT Whatevers made a scene—except for Sarah, who did a perfect golf clap. Miss Copeland motioned for silence. “All right, very good. Morgan and Cara?”
“Hang on a second.” Cara turned to whisper to Haylee, who shrugged. “I’m gonna let Haylee have it. I’ll try for Helena.”
“Fair enough,” said Miss Copeland. “Morgan, would you read with Haylee?”
I expected him to gesture for me to have the part, in which case I’d have to smother him when we got home, but Morgan nodded. “Yeah,” he said, only loud enough for the teacher to hear. “I’ll do it.”
“Great! Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I did believe in Morgan. He was a talented musician and a gifted student, and he’d be good at whatever he settled on doing. But I wasn’t expecting much. We were in front of a large group of people he didn’t know who would see him around school. Not to mention he’d be required to speak above a whisper outside a classroom setting.
Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting what happened.
Morgan took in a deep breath as if getting ready to read his first line, but he asked Haylee, “Can we try something different?”
“Different how?” she asked, snapping her gum.
“I wanted to read it as if we’re sparring,” said Morgan, talking faster than usual. He usually had the measured diction of an English don, because speaking slowly kept him from stuttering or running out of words too soon. The only time he used a regular cadence was with family, never in public. “Not much happens in this scene, and I think it would be more interesting.”
Haylee nodded. “Good idea. I’m on the fencing team.”
I glanced at the teacher, wondering if she was going to stop them, but she was watching with her hands clasped on her lap, eyes shining. Ohhh boy.
Morgan and Haylee walked out of the circle of chairs, facing one another sideways.
“Are we talking Princess Bride sparring or actual sparring?” Haylee asked.
“Well—Princess Bride looks good on stage.” I hadn’t expected Morgan to project even reading his lines, but he was going full stage voice. “Also, you could kick my butt if we went full contact.”
Haylee cackled. “Good answer. Let’s do this.” She crouched, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet with one hand extended and one behind her back in a legit fencing pose.
Morgan copied her. We’d had fencing in PE at our last school, but in gym, Morgan preferred to hide and do as little as possible. He wasn’t bad at sports, but the possibility of tripping or hitting someone else terrified him.
“Ready?” Haylee asked, and when he nodded, she mimed a strike at him.
He dodged and recited the opening lines of the play, where Theseus and Hippolyta talk about getting married. The two of them circled one another, Haylee attacking and him dodging, and when they reached the end of the scene, he bowed to her, offering the back of his neck to her blade.
When they finished, there was an actual moment of stunned silence. Then someone started clapping—Felix, like he’d been handed the key to the city. The triplets minus one joined him, clapping with stone-faced expressions à la Citizen Kane.
Miss Copeland had one hand pressed to her cheek. I could tell she was only pretending when she said, “Wonderful, you two, but we’ll see where we end up.” She cleared her throat. “Haylee, you’re the only Hippolyta, so you can go and sit up on the stage. Boys, you can stay. You’re both trying for the teenagers—aren’t you?”
I nodded. Morgan was now attempting to turn invisible.
The teacher turned to the group. “All right, let’s have the teenage couples come down next.”
Because most of the remaining boys seemed to be there for the clown characters, Morgan and I got paired with a few different girls reading for Hermia and Helena. Morgan did fine, but nothing compared to what he’d shown with Haylee. Maybe he’d used up all his energy. For my part, I became two nondescript pieces of white bread. I did everything but turn into a sandwich.
“All right, excellent,” said Miss Copeland, glancing over the clipboard. “Now let’s have our fairy king and queen.”
I got to go last. A girl was auditioning for Oberon, but Felix was the only boy for Titania. He didn’t mind; he was snickering with the girls. I tried not to seem bored out of my mind.
After some dithering, Miss Copeland paired the female Oberon, a black girl named Evie with rainbow dreadlocks, with a female Titania. Morgan and the other boy got the remaining girls, which left me with Felix. Fantastic.
One of the Titanias whispered to the others and then the teacher.
“Oh, are you sure?” Miss Copeland said. “All right, go and sit with the rest of the court, then. We can always use more fairies.”
I snorted and faked a coughing fit.
“Hmm.” Miss Copeland glanced over the fairy royalty hopefuls. “Morgan and Gareth, would you both read against Felix? You’ve already read against several girls.”
Felix went from zero to blushing everywhere in less than a second. I rolled my eyes heavenward even though I was an atheist, so I had no one to pray to for patience.
Evie did well with the girls, but her partner didn’t seem invested. The third boy and his lady were nothing special, although I assumed they’d get cast because they were one song and dance number away from the next High School Musical.
Then it was Morgan and Felix’s turn. Felix cleared his throat. “Uh—can we try something?”
Morgan lifted his eyes but instantly dropped them again. Unlike with Haylee, his voice didn’t carry beyond the circle of chairs.
“Well—just—I thought what you did with Haylee was cool. And I’m super bad at sitting and reading things—I know the lines, so I won’t mess them up, but it’s harder for me to do well sitting down.” Morgan said something else, and Felix shook his head. “I thought—a dance, maybe. They’re not couple of the year, but I always read them as the kind who fight with each other because they think it’s. Um. Better.” He was blushing now. It was adorable, if you were into hot messes. “So—something along those lines. If you know how to dance, I mean.”
“We both do,” I said, smirking at no one in particular. I wasn’t about to turn my nose up at a good laugh.
Felix brightened. “Yeah, cool!”
Morgan closed his eyes, looking nauseous, but he’d gotten good at restraining his gag reflex in public. Then he nodded and got to his feet. Felix moved at the same time, so they almost knocked into each other. If Morgan did fall in love with him, I’d have to take precautions so I didn’t choke on how cute they were. The problem would be making sure Felix approached him, and ensuring Morgan noticed when he did, a tall order for someone who wasn’t a jerk.
After some whispered discussion, Morgan put one hand on Felix’s shoulder and the other on Felix’s waist. Felix didn’t trip over his feet dancing backward, and they played well off each other. Here I’d thought Felix would have a hard time being a spitfire. And Morgan still had a perfect stage voice. Wha
t was this world coming to.
The second they finished, Morgan stepped away. Felix almost tripped, but I think he was honestly klutzy. If they did get together, they’d need good insurance because they were going to put each other in the hospital.
Felix’s friends all clapped and hollered, and Felix hid his face in his hands.
Morgan retreated to our spot in the audience seats. Only when he was settled did I push myself up from the stage, right before the teacher turned to prompt me.
“So?” I asked Felix.
Felix was blushing, but I think it was leftover from touching Morgan in a PG, Christian movie–approved manner. “I mean—if you want to—”
“Yeah, because I’m bad at sitting still too. But the waltz isn’t the right dance.” Felix frowned, but he followed me. I stood a few feet apart from him, trying to seem as obnoxiously relaxed as possible. I knew this was pushing it, for one, and for another…
Well, I actually enjoyed dancing. I used to compete, but only before Mom died and I stopped giving a shit.
“What do you mean?” I think Felix was trying to keep his voice down.
“The waltz is fine, but it’s not for a married couple. A waltz was how Victorians flirted with each other without giving their chaperons the vapors.”
Felix set his chin. It was neither intimidating nor impressive. “So what do you want to do?”
“We’re both white as hell, but the tango is the right dance. It’s two people negotiating their way across a dance floor, like how all their conversations work in the play.” As usual, I was making this all up on the fly—but I wasn’t lying.
Felix frowned up at me. Then, “I don’t know how to dance the tango.”
I was being a dick, so smiling at him was easy. “All you have to do is follow my lead. After all, it’s the whole misogynistic point of this relationship, isn’t it?”
Felix considered this and nodded. He didn’t move closer to me, but I said my first line anyway: “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.”
