All The World May Be a Stage, But We Can't All Be the Best of Actors

I pulled at my collar, attempted to let in some cool air. It was beginning to snow outside, so the school turned the heating on. Of course, every teacher thought it necessary to keep their classrooms at ninety degrees Fahrenheit. I looked behind me at James and sighed. He was staring just below the chalkboard, a crease of focus in his forehead. I knew he felt my eyes on him when he looked up at me, his icy eyes boring into my own brown ones. I smiled, weakly. This only earned a fiercer glare.

Mr. Dill handed began handing back our tests. Once mine was on my desk, I looked at it and smiled. When I saw Jenna recieve hers, I peered over and smirked to myself.

"How'd you do, Jenna?" I asked, coolly, as though I hadn't already seen her grade.

"I didn't do horrible," she said, only half lying, "How did you do?"

"I got an A," I said, showing her the paper marked with "97%" written largely in red ink at the top.

"Oh," she said, and leaned forward, hiding her score with her arms in a casual manner.

I smirked again and turned around to look at James. His test was lying in the open on his desk, with a large "31%" and an "F" that practically covered the entire front page. He did not seem to care whether or not people thought he was unintelligent. I looked at him, intently. He seemed so focused on everything but his schoolwork. I sighed.

"How'd you do, James?" I asked, trying to start a conversation.

"Look for yourself," he said in a rude tone, pushing his paper toward me.

I glanced at it for a moment, pretending I hadn't seen his score and nodded, "Well, Chemistry is a tough subject."

He merely rolled his eyes and slouched in his seat, crossing his arms and looking for something new to stare at. He chewed, thoughtfully, on the current rings in his lips. I had the impulse to ask him about practicing for our Shakespeare scene again, but I held myself back. I knew if I bothered him too much, he'd never comply to my multiple requests.

Jenna's friends began giggling uncontrollably. I looked at them and they all stared at me before giggling again.

"You can say it to my face, you know," I said.

They began laughing again, before Mr. Dill called the class to order.

"Okay, settle down, kids. We're not in junior high," he said, looking around the classroom, a bored expression on his face, as he shuffled some papers around.

We all stared at him as he passed out worksheets. When I got mine, I began to busy myself immediately with it. I heard the scratching of pencils from everywhere around me, except behind. I turned around and there sat James, staring at his desk, the worksheet sitting carelessly aside.

"Do you want help with that?"

His head shot to look at me and he narrowed his eyes. This action was followed by a noise.

"I'll take that as a no..." I said, turning around, and looking at my own paper. I continued working, going through the answers at a rather quick pace.

I heard Jenna whispering to her Fifth Hour Drama friends and I looked up. Gina Tunney turned around and looked at me, quickly turned back around when she realized I saw her. She began whispering to Jenna again, looking at me from the corner of her eye.

"I know he does!" Jenna said.

"It's so obvious," said Ami Schultz.

"I do what?" I asked, looking at the groop, interestedly.

"It's not about you," Jenna said, quickly.

"I'm not stupid," I said.

"It's really not," Gina said. She was a poor actress, though. She couldn't pull off the lie. I just shrugged it off and continued doing my work. I knew the rumor would be spread throughout the school and I would know about it, eventually. It seemed thespian rumors spread almost as quickly as prep rumors.

The intercom made it's beep sound and Miss Hathaway, the secretary, said, "Mr. Dill, do you have a James Borden?"

Everyone turned to look at James. He had a scowl on his face and was glaring at his worksheet, still sitting back with his arms crossed.

"I do," Mr. Dill said.

"We need him. We're not sure if he'll by the end of the hour, but he's not leaving school," Miss Hathaway said to assure Mr. Dill didn't mark him absent.

"Okay," Mr. Dill said and looked at James, "take your things, Mr. Borden."

James rolled his eyes as he collected all of his things (besides the worksheet) and left class. Mr. Dill picked up the worksheet and began to follow James, but I imagine he was gone, for Mr. Dill's parted mouth fell back into it's regular downward curve. James always did make great haste.

James did not return to Chemistry. Secretly, I had hoped he would, for some reason. I wanted to ask him about practicing sometime. His actions were all so strange, so foreign. It was as if he did not wish to exist, as if it was a mere scene in a play that didn't matter much to the plot. He did not seem angry or sad. His actions all seemed so frustrated, but cold at the same time. It was all so bizarre...

I pondered James's ways as I sat in Algebra II. Mr. Hoover knocked me out of my thoughts when he asked if I finished my quiz. I nodded and he collected it, walking by me to look for others who had finished. I raised my hand, all of a sudden needing some fresh air.

"May I go to the bathroom?" I asked. I didn't have to go to the bathroom, but I needed to go for a walk, and Mr. Hoover would never give me a pass to go for a simple stroll.

He nodded, "Don't forget your hall pass."

I grabbed the laminated blue hall pass from the lip of the chalkboard and began walking out of the classroom and down the hallway. I took in the fresh air, since the front doors of the school were always open. It was far too hot in the classroom.

In the distance of the long corridor, I saw a familiar black and blond-haired boy, hands in his pockets, walking quickly, looking around with wild blue eyes.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" I joked, trying to make small talk. It didn't take very long for him to reach me with his fast pace. He stopped and blinked a few times before giving me a harsh glare. All of a sudden what I always thought was just his way turned into something different. He looked much more dangerous. His icy eyes had a glint in them. I wasn't sure of what the glint really was.

"I-I was only kidding," I said. No matter how good of an actor I was, it was difficult not to stutter when he looked at me that way.

He didn't look so dangerous anymore. The glint in his eyes faded and he stared at me for a moment before shaking his head and creasing his brow.

"We shouldn't talk anymore," he said, conclusively, and walked away.

I tried to go after him, but his legs were much longer than mine, and my jog was no comparison to the speed of his regular walk. I watched after him as he exited doors of the school. I sighed and slowly walked back to class. I did not understand why he acted in such a way.

Mr. Hoover looked up at me as I silently sat in my seat. The rest of the class was still working on their quizzes. Several of them kept looking at the clock, busying themselves trying to solve the problems faster than they had been. I started going over lines in my head for my scene in the play. Focusing was proving difficult.

I was visiting the mall, again. My mother was dying to force some monstrosity down my throat again, and I preferred the food court. I was drinking a soda and eating my calzone when I saw smoke cascading from a lit cigarette just outside the food court exit. I peered past the giant Christmas tree and saw that the owner of the cigarette was not who I had hoped. I sighed and continued eating my calzone, mentally smacking myself for getting so obsessive over him. I mean, if he acted poorly, people would realize I got stuck with a bad partner. It wasn't that big of a deal if he didn't want to practice.

Several girls with too much hair spray in their wavy hair walked by with a certain bounce in their step, announcing they were going to some brand name store. I rolled my eyes and I noticed someone snort out of humor not too far away.

I turned to see who the culprit of the snort was. There stood James Borden, leaning against a wall, covered from head to toe in his usual black attire featuring some white band logo on his shirt. That wasn't visible, though. His arms were crossed and his zip-up hoodie was swaying with the breeze from the heaters above him. His hair was in its usual spiky style, too drowned in product to move with the breeze as well.

I approached him with caution and he simply watched me.

"Can I talk to you, yet?" I asked, slowly, as I got closer.

He shrugged and began to walk away. I followed him, and somehow, his usual fast step got faster. Eventually, I fell into step behind him as he traipsed throughout the mall. He left at the west exit and I tried to follow him, but when I got outside, he was nowhere to be seen.