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You could have sworn the calendar said tonight was a rehearsal, after school, at five in the auditorium. And maybe you should have come to the conclusion you were wrong when all the lights down the hallway were off and only a faint glow emerged from the open door of the small auditorium. Maybe that’s when you should have stopped walking, headed out and called your friend to double-check, and just head home. But your curiosity was peaked and it would eat at you if you did not appease it.
Walking closer to the door you began to hesitate, you felt the pace at which you walked slow as if some sort of tar had appeared on the ground the closer you got. Gripping the door frame, you peered inside. Definitely not a rehearsal day. A long tackle took up most of the space, set pieces from your show moved towards the back of the stage, and the stage lights dimmed to blues and reds and greens to set some sort of ambiance. Seeing no one there you continued to walk in, taking the steps up the sides of the stage to get closer to the table. A board, a few dice ranging in sides, an open notebook blocked by a folder, little figures placed in different spots on the board, and a grand throne sat at the head of the table. The same one used in last year's play, you had sat in it. You smiled at the memory as you ran your hand over its intricate details carved into it by some students in the other art classes.
“I think you are in the wrong place,” you practically jumped out of your skin at the voice turning to see the boy leaning against the door to the theatre. “Unless Hawkins High Theatre Star has a sudden interest in the intricate world that is Dungeons and Dragons.”
“So that’s what this is,” you said, mostly to yourself, as you glanced back at the board, before looking back up towards the boy. “I haven't seen one of these boards in forever.”
“I was joking… you play?” he asked, the look of clear confusion on his face and in his voice as he made his way towards the stage.
“Yeah, well, I used to,” you explained, rolling one of the dice around in your hand. “My cousin is like the biggest nerd on the planet and used to bring his board over during Christmas dinner and make all our cousins play a small campaign. I was always an elf princess named Samantha who was tired of her life of royalty. They stopped coming after everything started happening in Hawkins these past couple of years.”
“An elf princess?” a stifled laugh following his words.
“Hey! I thought it was cool at the time,” you countered, a smile growing on your face you hadn't even registered until that moment. “We thought we were so cool. I mean, it was cool, making up stories and pretending to be different people for a little bit. My mind was blown!”
The boy had this sort of awestricken look on his face when you looked up at him, some sort of trance that had caught his tongue in his mouth as he just stared. You were never too great at eye contact, averting your gaze back to the board.
“I didn’t know there was a D&D club,” you added, trying to break the growing tension in the theatre.
“Yeah, uh, yeah last one before the break,” The trance was finally broken, and yet the tension did not leave, remaining like a thick blanket over the two of you. “You interested?”
“What?”
“Well, I just thought that you were here because-”
“Oh! Oh no, I just, I thought we had a rehearsal today. I guess I was wrong…just a mix-up,” not a single person would be able to miss the way in which the boy seemed to deflate.
“Oh, yeah, no duh,” he said, trying to straighten himself up, running a hand through his unruly hair. You couldn’t help but notice how it fit him so well. “I forgot the spring play was coming up.”
“You know about it?” you asked, now your turn to be surprised. No one really cared about the shows, too busy at sporting events or whatever they deemed more important and enjoyable on their weekends. You guess you didn’t really blame them. “I guess I just don’t know a lot people who actually care to keep up with that sort of thing.”
“I mean, Dungeons and Dragons isn’t so different from theatre,” he offered, though even he looked uncertain by his explanation, your eyebrow quirking at his comment as he continued. “You play a character, tell a story, escape the real world outside for a while as you pretend to be someone else entirely, you know?”
Silence met the room, “Was that as stupid as I thought it sounded?”
“No!” you almost yelled, before taking a deep breath. “No, it made sense. You're right, they aren’t that different. Maybe that’s why I liked it so much?”
Another silence fell over the room as if you two had run out of things to say. You didn’t, you just weren’t sure what to say next. He was funny and interesting, and a little odd but in a charming kind of way. You had seen him before, always trying to piss the basketball team off in the cafeteria, or had heard the rumors of the drugs he had been selling to some kid in your show. Or at the middle school talent show with his band, him absolutely shredding his guitar like there was tomorrow, and he wasn't just in the cafeteria. He was different, different than what growing up in Hawkins usually produced and that’s what interested you most of all.
“You were the girl who did the Shakespeare monologue at the middle school talent show, weren't you?” He spoke up, as if it was a question he had been waiting to ask, one that caught you off guard. You had hoped everyone forgot, you knew everyone hadn't, and you got made fun of it for weeks after. While some kids danced or sang or played piano, you had decided to do a reciting of a monologue from Shakespeare's, Othello.
“You remember that?” you had to ask, running a hand over your face, a grain escaping you, unable to look at the boy in front of you.
“How could I not, you were-”
“Bad, embarrassing, a little too passionate about Shakespeare?”
“No,” he said, all amusement leaving his face for a slight second as if he was serious. “No, you were good. Not many seventh graders can say they understand Shakespeare. And I mean, I had no idea what you were saying, but I could tell you did… and I thought that was cool, defiantly different. Like you were speaking some entirely different language.”
“Then let them use us well: else let them know, The ills we do, their ills instruct us so,” you mockingly recited in your worst Shakespearian accent. “I am never living that down am I?”
“Probably not,” he admitted honestly.
“My fault for thinking the students at Hawkins Middle would be interested in a Shakespeare monologue,” a laugh escaping you at how ridiculous it sounded. “My mom did not do me any justice by encouraging it. But thank you, for you know, thinking it was good.”
“Just being honest,” he said. “I mean, you're still like crazy talented! I see like all the shows.”
And you were once again caught off guard, surprised, you needed to start keeping track of how many times it would happen within the time with the boy, “You do?”
“Shit, that sounds weird, I didn't mean it-”
“No, no it's sweet, I just didn’t think it really was your scene,” your turn to interrupt him.
“Kinda comes with the whole terms and conditions of using this room,” he explained. “Your teacher said we could use it if I came and saw all the shows with the club…no one else really would let us use their space so I just agreed.”
“That sounds like her,” you laughed, your drama teacher was the definition of what came to mind when one thought of a drama teacher. And any chance she could talk someone into seeing the shows, even if it was slightly against their will, she would.
“They are good though, so I don’t really mind,” he said. “What’s the next one? The one you had rehearsal for?”
“Oh, uh it's this modern take on, “As You Like It” by William Shakespeare, set in a roller skating rink and everyone is on skates,” you sounded crazy saying it, he stared in some sort of amusement that he wasn't sure if he could openly express. “You can laugh, it's weird, I know.”
“Let's just say my curiosity is piqued,” he admitted. “I'm interested, a little confused, maybe the tiniest concerned, but interested. Got a preview for me?”
A laugh involuntarily escaped you as he lounged back into the throne, kicking his legs up onto the table. Gesturing his hand towards the middle of the stage for you to begin, you hesitated for a second before realizing he was not joking. Or maybe he was, waiting to humiliate you for something you loved, but he was not that kind of person, you knew that from the minute he walked into the room.
“Okay, uh, let me think,” you thought, searching your mind for any singular line from the show, and with a deep breath you started, never having had someone other than your theatre watch you so closely, so unrehearsed. “Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it, which I warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees wherein Rosalind is so admired?”
And before you could start again he began to speak, and you were caught off guard… again, “I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.”
“What are you doing-”
“I am pretty sure that’s not the next line,” he cut in. “I thought you were the expert?”
You rolled your eyes playfully, not entirely sure what was happening, but a giddy kind of churning had not stopped in your stomach and it took more power than you would ever like to admit to suppress the growing smile on your face.
So you continued, albeit hesitantly, “But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?”
“Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.”
“Love is merely a madness” you finished, as he began to clap, a slow dramatic kind of clap, you playing along taking a few bows. “You know Shakespeare? Like really know Shakespeare?”
“I don’t know, some girl in my middle school talent show got me kinda interested,” he said as if it was something one could say so nonchalantly. “I dabble here and there. A little bit of comedy, a few tragedies in there.”
You just smiled, you couldn’t help it, it was impossible to stop. “You are good! Oh my gosh!”
“Hey hey, I am not that good,” he tried to counter.
“Yes, you are! You should audition or something you would be insane,” you continued. “My teacher would love you, we have-”
“I don’t know if that’s really my scene,” he stopped you, standing from the chair and making his way over to you. “I am more of an audience kind of guy. Where you, you are like made for that stage, I mean look at you, you probably have the whole audience in love with you in the first few seconds.”
“Shut up,” you groaned out.
“What? I mean it! I mean, ‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?’, right?” he quoted, like it was second nature.
“Yeah, yeah I guess so,” you replied at a sort of loss for words, a smile shared between the two of you, a soft one, one of mutual understanding.
The sound of voices coming from down the hall woke you both from whatever Shakespearean trance had caught hold of you.
“I should probably get going, your club is starting soon I am guessing,” you speak up, looking anywhere else but the boy. “Thanks for sharing your knowledge of Shakespeare with another Shakespeare lover.”
“Yeah, anytime,” he replied, a soft smile still covering his face, as you grabbed your stuff and began to walk out back through the audience of the auditorium.
“Hey!” he called, causing you to turn around. “We are missing one of our players tonight if you, you know, wanted to give D&D a try again?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t played in a long time, I wouldn’t want to hold you guys back-”
“They won’t be here for a while, I wouldn’t mind teaching you,” he offered. “Give you a little crash course. You know I am pretty knowledgeable about things other than Shakespeare as well? We could revamp Samantha the elf princess? What’d you say?”
You stifled a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at yourself and where you had ended up that Friday night, shrugging, “Okay!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said with a smile, throwing your backpack into one of the auditorium chairs, and racing back up to the stage.