CHAPTER SIX

Scarlet’s first period class was filled with about thirty kids, everyone scrambling to take their seats. The desks were lined up single file in three neat rows of ten, while to the side of the room were long wooden tables, benches beneath them. She scanned the room and saw with relief that Sage wasn’t in it; at least that was one less drama to deal with today.

“Where is he?” Maria asked, dejected. “Figures.”

It was English, Scarlet’s favorite class. Normally, she’d be happy to be here, especially because Mr. Sparrow was her favorite teacher, and especially because this term they were studying Shakespeare and her favorite play: Romeo and Juliet.

But as she slumped into her seat, in the row next to Maria, she felt deflated. Apathetic. She could hardly concentrate on Shakespeare. The class quieted, and she took out her books by rote and stared at the page, in a daze.

“Today’s going to be a little different,” Mr. Sparrow announced.

Scarlet looked up, happy to hear the sound of his voice. In his late 30s, good-looking, slightly unshaven, with longish hair and a strong jaw, he looked out of place in this high school. He looked a bit more glamorous than the others, like an actor slightly past his prime. He was always so happy, so quick to smile, and so kind to her—and to all the students. He never had a harsh word for her, or for anyone, and he always gave everyone As. He also managed to make even the most complicated text easy to understand, and actually managed to get everyone excited about whatever they were reading. He was also one of the smartest people she’d ever met—with an encyclopedic knowledge of world and classic literature.

“It’s one thing to just read Shakespeare’s plays,” he announced, a mischievous smile on his face. “It’s quite another to act them,” he added. “In fact, one could argue that you can’t truly gain an understanding of his plays until you’ve read them aloud yourself—and even tried to act them.”

The class giggled in response, the kids looking and murmuring at each other in an excited buzz.

“That’s right,” he said. “You guessed it. After today’s discussion, we’re going to break off into groups, each of you choosing a partner and act the text aloud to each other.”

Excited whispers spread in the classroom, and the energy level definitely rose a few notches. It managed to shake Scarlet from her reverie, managed to make her forget, for a few moments, all the troubles in her life. Partnering up and reading the lines: that would definitely be fun.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Scarlet turned, with the rest of the class, to see who it was.

She could not believe it. Standing there, proudly, book in his hand, was Sage, wearing a slim leather jacket, black leather boots and designer jeans with a large black leather belt and huge silver buckle. He wore a black button-down shirt hanging loose, and it revealed sparkling necklace—it looked like white platinum—with a large pendant in the middle. It looked like it was made of rubies and sapphires, and sparkled the light.

Mr. Sparrow turned and looked at him, surprised.

“And you are?”

“Sage,” he replied, handing him a slip. “Sorry I’m late. I’m new.”

“Well then you are most welcome,” Mr. Sparrow responded. “Please class, welcome Sage and make room for him in the back.”

Mr. Sparrow turned back to the chalkboard.

“Romeo and Juliet. To begin with, let’s talk about the background of this play.…”

Mr. Sparrow’s voice faded out in Scarlet’s head. Her heart pounded as Sage walked down the rows of seats. And then suddenly, she realized: the only empty seat in the room was directly behind her.

Oh no, she thought. Not with Maria sitting right next to her.

As Sage walked down the aisle, she could have sworn she saw him turn and stare right at her. She looked away quickly, thinking of Maria, and not understanding why he was looking at her like that.

She felt more than saw him walk behind her, heard his chair scrape and felt him take a seat behind her. She could feel the energy coming off of him; it was tremendous.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She furtively reached down, slipped it out a couple inches, and looked. Of course. Maria.

OMG, I’m dying.

Scarlet pushed her cell back into her pocket, and didn’t turn and look at Maria, not wanting to make it obvious they were texting. She then put her hands back on her desk, hoping Maria would just stop texting. She really didn’t want to text now. She wanted to concentrate.

But her phone buzzed again. She couldn’t ignore it, especially with Maria sitting right next to her, so again, she reached down.

Hello? What should I do?

Again, Scarlet pushed her cell back into her pocket. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had no idea what to say and really didn’t want to get into a texting conversation right now. The situation was just getting worse, and she wanted to focus on what Mr. Sparrow was saying, especially as they were on her favorite play.

But then again, she couldn’t completely ignore Maria. She quickly reached down and typed with one finger.

Don’t know.

She hit send, then pushed her cell deep into her pocket, hoping Maria would leave her alone.

“Romeo and Juliet,” Mr. Sparrow began, “was not an original story. Shakespeare actually based it on an ancient tale. Like all of Shakespeare’s plays, he found his sources in history. He recycled old stories and adapted them into his own language, in his own time. We like to think that he’s the greatest original writer of all time—but in truth, it would be more accurate to call him the greatest adapter of all time. If here were alive and writing today, he would not win the award for best Original Screenplay—he would win for best Adapted Screenplay. Because none of his stories—not one—were original. They had all been written before, some many times over many centuries.

“But that doesn’t necessarily detract from his great skill, from his ability as a writer. After all, it’s all about how you turn a phrase, isn’t it? The same plot told two ways can be boring in one instance and compelling in another, can’t it? Shakespeare’s great skill was his ability to take someone else’s story and re-write it in his own words, for his own time. And to write it with such beauty and poetry that he really brought it to life for the first time. He was a dramatist, yes. But ultimately, and most of all, he was a poet.”

Mr. Sparrow paused as he lifted the play.

“In the case of Romeo and Juliet, the story had already been around for centuries by the time Shakespeare got his hands on it. Does anyone know the original source?”

Mr. Sparrow looked around the class, and it was dead silent. He waited several seconds, then opened his mouth to speak—when suddenly, he stopped and looked right in Scarlet’s direction.

Scarlet’s heart pounded as she thought he was looking at her.

“Ah, the new boy,” Mr. Sparrow asked. “Please enlighten us.”

The entire class turned and looked in Scarlet’s direction, at Sage. She was relieved to realize he wasn’t calling on her.

She couldn’t help turning just a bit, too, looking behind her, at Sage. Instead of looking at the teacher, oddly, Sage looked at her as he spoke.

“Romeo and Juliet was based on a poem by Arthur Brooke: The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Iuliet.”

“Very good!” Mr. Sparrow said, sounding impressed. “And for extra points, might you know the year it was written?”

Scarlet was amazed. How had Sage known that?

“1562,” Sage replied, without hesitating.

Mr. Jordan looked happily surprised.

“Amazing! I’ve never had any student get that. Bravo, Sage. Since you’re such a scholar, here’s one final question. I’ve never known anyone—even among my peers—to get this right, so don’t feel badly if you don’t. If you get it, I’ll start you off with an automatic 100 on your first test. Where and when was the play first performed?”

The entire class turned in their seats and looked at Sage, the tension running high. Scarlet looked, too, and saw Sage smile back at her.

“It is believed to have been first performed in 1593, at a small venue called The Theatre, on the opposite side of the Thames.”

Mr. Jordan shouted out in excitement.

“WOW! My Sage, you are good. Wow, I’m impressed.”

Sage cleared his throat, not finished.

“That is the common understanding,” Sage said, “but in truth, it was actually performed once before that. In 1592. In Elizabeth’s castle. In her courtyard, amidst her private orchard.”

Scarlet looked back at Sage, speechless. His eyes had a far-off look, almost as if he were remembering being there himself. She couldn’t understand.

Mr. Sparrow’s smile fell.

“Oh, you were doing so good, Sage. I’m sorry. I’m afraid you are mistaken there. You should have quit while you were ahead—you actually had it right the first time. It was never performed before 1593.”

“Actually, I’m sorry sir, but I am correct,” Sage insisted gently but firmly.

Mr. Sparrow looked back at him, eyes opening wide in amazement.

“And what is your source?” he asked.

There was a long pause, as Sage sat there, apparently thinking. Scarlet was amazed. Who was this kid?

“I have none,” he said finally.

Slowly, Mr. Sparrow shook his head.

“I’m afraid without a source, we can’t verify, can we? I’ll tell you what: find me the source, and I’ll gladly reinstate your 100.

“In the meantime class,” Mr. Sparrow continued, “it’s time to break off into partners. Please find one, proceed to the benches, and open to Act one, Scene Five.”

There was a loud shuffling in the room, as everybody rose and headed over to the long benches on the side of the room.

“Remember, it’s a boy-girl scene!” Mr. Sparrow yelled out. “I want girls partnered with boys, and vice versa!”

Scarlet was about to partner up with Maria until he made this announcement, throwing her off.

“OMG, what should I do?” Maria whispered as she hurried over. Maria, flushed, was staring at Sage, who was just getting up.

“This is my chance,” Maria said. “I have to partner with him.”

“Go for it,” Scarlet said, half-heartedly. She wanted Maria to be happy, but she couldn’t help it: another part of her wanted to partner with Sage herself.

Scarlet headed over to the long, wide benches on the far side of the room and took a seat alone at the far end, beneath a window, all alone. She unfolded her book before her. Since she wasn’t going to partner with Sage, she didn’t really care who she partnered with: she didn’t like any of the boys in this class. She figured she’d just sit there and wait for one of them to come up to her, because she didn’t really feel like seeking one of them out.

She looked up and watched Maria approach Sage. Maria went right over to him, and was the first to reach him; Scarlet noticed other girls trying to get to him, too, but Maria was first. She had her chance.

Sage turned and glanced at Maria, and Maria stepped forward. She opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped. She froze up.

“Hi,” Maria said to him, apparently too scared to say anything else.

“Hi,” he said back.

He waited a few seconds, but Maria stood there, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Finally, she turned away, her face red.

Scarlet could not believe it. Maria turned and headed in her direction, and as she did, two other girls walked up to Sage.

But Sage turned his back on them, and instead looked right at Scarlet. To Scarlet’s horror, he bee lined right for her.

She looked down, burying her head in the play. A part of her willed him to talk to her. But another part willed for him not to; it would be a like a slap in the face to Maria.

Oh my god, she thought. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Why here? Why now?

She looked up as he took a seat on the bench opposite her, facing her across the wooden table. He smiled as he stared at her.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Scarlet turned red, not knowing what to do. She shook her head and looked back down, hoping that Maria wasn’t watching this.

“You can sit wherever you want,” she said.

“What I was really asking was if you would be my partner?” he continued.

Scarlet looked up. She could hardly ignore him at this point. Now Maria was standing beside her, looking down, watching. She could see in Maria’s eyes that she was desperate, silently begging her to say no.

“Actually,” Scarlet said, wanting to be a loyal friend, despite her own feelings for Sage, “I think you’d be a really perfect partner for my friend, Maria.”

As she said it, Scarlet got up, slid out of her seat, grabbed Maria, and slid her into the seat she had just been in.

She saw Maria flustered, but happy, break into a big smile, as she reached out an awkward hand.

“I’m Maria,” she said to Sage.

Sage, clearly not wanting to be rude, reached out and shook her hand, and Maria shook his way too hard, awkwardly, smiling like an idiot.

“I know,” he said. “I just heard. Pleased to meet you.”

Scarlet sat beside Maria, feeling sad but good that she had been as loyal as can be. As she did, a boy sat opposite her.

Oh no, she thought. Not him.

Spencer. He was a geeky kid, covered in acne, his shirt buttoned up to his neck. He smiled at her, revealing a mouth full of braces.

“Hey Scarlet,” he said with a lisp.

He was nice enough, though Scarlet was not remotely attracted to him. But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Hi Spencer,” she said matter-of-factly.

“So like I guess we’re partners, huh?” he said, proudly.

“I guess so,” Scarlet replied.

Scarlet sat there, burning up inside, hoping that Maria appreciated the supreme sacrifice she had just made for her.

As she sat there, out of the corner of her eyes, she could not help but notice Sage. Oddly, he wasn’t looking at Maria, but rather looking diagonally, directly at Scarlet. His staring at her was obvious, and Scarlet was flustered. Clearly, Maria would see this, and she knew it would upset her.

“So did you like hear about this big dance tomorrow night?” Maria asked Sage.

Scarlet watched his reaction. He was expressionless, clearly not wanting to engage Maria.

“I did,” he said back to her, leaving it at that.

Scarlet wondered if Maria would have the courage to follow up, to flat-out ask him if he wanted to go with her. But an awkward silence followed.

She heard Maria swallow; clearly, she was too nervous to ask him.

“Okay class!” Mr. Sparrow yelled out. “Boys, you of course are Romeo and girls, Juliet. In this scene, Romeo and Juliet are in a lavish costume ball. They see each other for the first time. It is love at first sight. And although they don’t know each other, in their first words, they express their undying love for one another. Clearly, we are not going to re-enact the dance in this room.”

The class erupted into a giggle.

“But,” he continued, “try to read the lines with meaning. Feel how it feels to be Romeo, feel how it feels to be Juliet. Feel how the language feels when you pronounce it aloud. What is the difference between pronouncing it aloud and reading it to yourself? This will take us to the end of class. Feel free to begin.”

A chorus of voices erupted around them, as everyone began reading.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear…” Spencer began to read to Scarlet.

His voice was so nasally, and his pronouncement so stiff, she had to suppress a smile. It was possibly the worst reading she had ever heard, and the farthest thing from romantic she had ever encountered—it sounded robotic, as if a computer had recited the line. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to smile, not wanting to embarrass him.

She read her lines back to him quickly, without any expression of meaning.

Scarlet stole a glance over at Sage, and as she did, she saw him staring right at her.

“Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” he read, right to her, with perfect intonation and the deepest meaning.

There was no mistaking it: he was staring at her when he said it.

Scarlet’s heart raced. She glanced over at Maria, wondering if she’d seen it. Luckily, Maria, nervous, had her head buried in her book, looking down, too nervous to look up at Sage. She hadn’t seen it. But Scarlet had. Sage was reading his lines to her. Scarlet.

“Saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,” Scarlet read. She couldn’t help it: as she read the lines, she found herself looking back at Sage, reading them to him.

“That’s not the line you’re supposed to read!” Spencer corrected loudly. “You’re reading the wrong line!”

Scarlet looked over at him, her face turning red. What a pest. He was beyond annoying, and ruining her moment.

“My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” Sage read. Again, as he read it, he stared right at Scarlet.

This time, Maria looked up, and saw. She realized that Sage was not looking at her, but at Scarlet. And as she did, her face turned red with anger.

The bell rang, and suddenly everyone rose from their seats. Maria grabbed her book, stuffed it into her backpack, and stormed past Scarlet.

“I thought you were my friend,” Maria hissed at her as she passed.

Scarlet was so flustered, she hardly knew what to do, or how to respond. She went to talk to her, but Maria was already gone, storming out the room. If possible, Scarlet felt even worse now than ever.

“Hey Scarlet, that was like really cool!” came the nasally, chipper voice.

She looked over to see Spencer standing way too close to her, grinning, his braces in her face, and his breath smelling like Salami. “We should like hang out more often!”

He stood there, grinning, leaning in even closer until he was just inches away—and Scarlet finally turned her head away, revolted. She conspicuously bent over and gathered her books, and finally, to her relief, Spencer disappeared.

Scarlet was even madder, wondering if Spencer had now also managed to scare Sage away.

But then suddenly she heard a voice—a soft, gentle, mature voice.

“Your friend is upset,” Sage said.

Scarlet looked up and saw with relief that he was still there.

“But you did nothing wrong. I never wanted to be with her. I want to be with you.”

Scarlet stopped as she looked into his eyes. As she did, she felt her whole world melting. She had been thinking the same exact thing.

“I’m sorry,” Scarlet said, breathless. “But she’s my friend. And she likes you.”

“But she’s not the one I like,” Sage replied.

Scarlet was overwhelmed with the desire to ask him why. Why did he like her? How was he so sure? How was all of this possible? Especially when they didn’t even know each other?

She desperately wanted talk to him, to ask him questions, to stand there and be with him. She didn’t want to leave this room.

But it was all too much for her. She was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, and she couldn’t help feeling disloyal to Maria for even talking to him.

So despite every bone in her body, she turned and hurried from the room, out the door and into the never-ending stream of kids, feeling her heart tearing into a million little pieces.