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1
Juliet Capulet was a blonde.
At least, according to St. Judith's drama club she was. Their Juliet was also seventeen and starry-eyed. She was thin with wide hips and a sparrow tattoo hidden underneath her skirt. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, Marty though, as he watched the stage ahead of him. She was the type of beautiful that grown men go to war for. They carve their hearts out of their chest and split themselves in half for her attention.
Even in her Juliet Capulet costume—a red velvet dress that hung loose from her pointed shoulders and pooled around her feet—she managed to look beautiful. It clashed violently against Juliet's beauty. It was uncharacteristically cheap looking for such a prodigious private school like St. Judith. It was cheap and ugly and looked like it itched at her pale skin.
But Marty was too busy watching Romeo Montague lick his lips to admire Juliet's beauty.
"O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," he said, with a boisterous smile tugging at his mouth, "They pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
Romeo—or, better known as Warren Boyd: the boy king of St. Judith—was smiling brightly as he read his lines aloud to the attentive crowd. It was an infectious sort of smile.
He was so fucking lovely: with his golden sunset eyes, perfectly ruffled chestnut hair, and high cheek bones. He looked like a painting. His looks demanded the attention of everyone in the room and he always got it.
If he wasn't so kind eyed and soft-spoken Marty would have hated him.
In that moment, Romeo was dressed in soft billowy period clothing: his brown pants hugged his narrow hips, being held up with a pair of leather suspenders that rested against each of his slender shoulders, atop of his half buttoned white silk shirt.
He was stunning.
Juliet replied, "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
They were so perfect for each other, it almost made him feel sick. They could have been a pair of siblings ripped out of the cover of a magazine that he used to find in the corner store. With their matching lips puled into soft smiles, exposing a row of straight white teeth, and slippery pink tongues. They're looking at each other like they mean to devour. Or maybe that was just Romeo. Or maybe that was all a part of the play. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Romeo stepped forward.
The heels of his boots clicked against the wooden stage.
"Then move not while prayer's effect I take," said Romeo, as his large hand cupped her soft cheek. He leaned forward. It was a tender action that caused goosebumps to ripple down Marty's back. His bottom lip was hovering above hers, so close, they almost touched. He paused, running his thumb over her smooth flesh, "Thus from my lip, by thin, my sin is purg'd."
