Standing for Weirdo

Chapter 15

Next day was Friday and judging from looks alone, nothing had changed at all. Stella and I stuck together in our joint classes, tried our best to pay attention in the other subjects, and, generally speaking, ignored the existence of a world outside our own little bubble. The normalcy meant I didn’t talk to Trevor at all, and Stella didn’t bring him up.

Then theater group gathered and there he was, hair curtaining his face and guitar bag slung over one shoulder. He came nearly late and stared out at everyone with a smirk in place, as if daring them to try to get him to back off again. I risked giving him a small smile of encouragement, and I think his eyes widened a bit in surprise, but when he entered the auditorium he stepped past me and went straight to Professor Hedford.

Said professor looked like a fifty-something-year-old child on Christmas morning. “Mr. Bennett! I’m so glad to see you can join us. I had heard that your guitar was damaged during an accident the other day.”

“She was, but still plays just fine. I understand not everyone has the necessary skills to move without bumping into things, so no hard feelings.”

The professor looked startled by Trevor's response and a few of the younger students snickered. I shared an amazed look with Stella.

“Is it me,” she whispered, “or has he just called Jacob an oaf?”

“I think he did,” I whispered right back. “I just hope he knows what he’s doing… Ashley's not looking pleased.”

“You know… I think I want to talk to you later,” she said all of a sudden.

“About what?”

“Later,” she repeated as things settled down and we all moved to our spots to begin the rehearsal.

Most people present didn’t even have lines in the scene we went over that day, but still they stayed. Alex and I were having our little showdown in Act I, over and over again, and those who didn’t get any lines in just watched and threw in their thoughts when Professor Hedford called for a halt and asked the group what exactly hadn’t worked.

It was a good dynamic, but that day we were stuck. At some point, the onlookers got bored and either retired to the back of the auditorium to rehearse their own lines or went outside for a breath of fresh air—or for an illegal smoke, as I knew to be Jacob’s case.

By the time we reached take five and counting, even I started to despair of ever getting it right.

We weren’t getting it wrong, because Alex and I worked perfectly as a leading pair. We had learned our lines for the part, and in general, the performance was fine. But Professor Hedford said that our problem was precisely that this was a performance.

“Don’t we always perform, Professor?” Alex asked the next time he called for a halt. “Isn’t that what theater is for?”

“For the majority, yes,” Mr. Hedford replied. “Any other year, I’d not require more than a fitting performance from you. But this time, children, we can do something more. We can make a difference. So what I want is not a performance, but a rendition of this particular scene where a marriage that has known nothing but love is suddenly thrown into a maelstrom of mistrust and social scandal. I’d not ask for it if I didn’t know you could give it, so let’s go again.”

I sighed. I didn’t even know the difference between “performance” and “rendition.” Either I needed to look at my Merriam-Webster, or it was one of those theater things intellectual directors liked to say to sound cool. I took a sip from my water bottle and decided it was the latter.