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

We had little time to perfect our scene. I could tell James was trying his best, but the part of my brain that wanted Jenna's hopes and dreams to shatter was crying out that his best was not good enough. Another part of my brain did not mind so much that his best was not amazing. That part of my brain just told me to tolerate him and maybe he will still be friendly towards me when this whole thing was over.

That part of my brain seemed to grow bigger and bigger by the second.

"Matt!" I heard a familiar voice. I jumped in surprise and looked over to James. His brow was furrowed.

"Sorry, what?"

"You weren't even paying attention."

"Sorry. What is it?"

"Forget it," James said. He stood and began walking towards the front door of my house. I followed him and began begging for him to stay so we could get the scene right. He simply ignored me and wrapped his fingers around the doorknob. I was not thinking straight when I grabbed his wrist. I felt a cliche jolt of energy in my fingers and blushed. He turned and glared with his fierce blue eyes.

"Please stay?" I asked, timidly.

He kept glaring and opened the door, walking outside. I looked down at my feet as the door closed behind him. I slowly began walking into the kitchen, hoping some sort of comfort food (meaning something my mother had not made) was in the refrigerator. I found some leftover pizza and pulled the cellophane-covered plate out. Then I noticed cascading smoke in front of my window. The sight was familiar, but not in the setting. I stood on the tips of my toes, hoping to see James's messy black and blond hair, and I did.

I smiled to myself and pushed the pizza back into the refrigerator, walking outside to stand next to him. He rolled his eyes as I shivered. It was far too cold not to be wearing a jacket. Unfortunately, mine was covered in spaghetti sauce and Polish sausage, thanks to the combination of Mable and my mother's concoction.

"Cold?" he asked, after blowing smoke from his mouth in a sensual fashion.

I gulped and nodded. He chuckled and threw his cigarette butt on the ground stomping it out with his shoe before removing his hooded sweatshirt and handing it to me. I blushed at the cliche offer and put it on. He smiled at me and lit another cigarette.

We stood in a comfortable silence. James finished his third and final cigarette and we went inside. Mable greeted us at the door, but made a face when she smelled the tobacco. I ruffled her hair before going to my room with James. I closed the door behind us and sat on the bed next to him, still wearing his hooded sweatshirt. I took it off and handed it to him, a little embarassed I had forgotten I was wearing it.

"Keep it. It's cold up here."

"Then don't you need it?"

He shook his head. I smiled a little and put it back on before sitting down next to him. For the first time, I did not feel like running through lines. Being near him was enough. For the first time, I did not care about whether I out-acted Jenna Coalman. I was simply enjoying James's company. Bizarre as it seemed, it was true.

"I don't know much about you," I said, trying to make small talk. He made a face.

"I don't know much about you, either. We're equal."

"You know more about me than I do about you, though. I know what you look like, how you act, and that you smoke. You know my family, where I live, my interests, and all of that."

He twitched a little.

"Touchy subject, then," I said, awkwardly, trying to find something else to talk about. I made my way over to my computer and asked him what he wanted to listen to. He did not say anything so I turned around and asked again. He shrugged.

I sighed and looked down at the zip-up hooded sweatshirt I was wearing. I figured he probably would like the band that adorned his clothing, so I found them on my computer and let them play. A small smile came to my lips when I looked at his ice blue eyes and realized they were actually enjoying the music. I walked back over and sat next to him, feeling the awkward silence coming on.

He broke it, "You're hiding something."

I cocked an eyebrow, "Am I?"

His ice blue eyes bored into my own brown does. He nodded.

"Well I don't know what your talking about," I answered, honestly.

"There's something about you that you don't want me to know," he said.

"Reading too many psych books, eh?" I said, trying to avoid the subject. Maybe he was beginning to see what that part of my brain was saying. Maybe I was expressing it too much.

He did not seem to find it funny, but he continued, "You may be a good actor, but eyes don't act."

I was taken aback by his sudden philisophical take on things.

"I suppose," I answered, "but I still don't know what I'm supposedly hiding."

He shrugged, "I'll find out eventually."

I made a face, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like I said, eyes don't act."

That was all he said before pulling out his script, setting it face down on the bed, and attempting to say his lines from memory. I took my part, but could feel myself messing up. I could not stop thinking about what he had said. I was so frightened he already knew I was slightly attracted to him.

I was spared, however, because it was five minutes to six, and he always left for work at this time. His work was important to him. I tried giving him back his sweatshirt before he left, but he would not allow it. He pushed it back toward me and said, "Keep yourself warm," before departing.

I slowly ate my yogurt-topped clams, horrified by tonight's concoction. I had asked several times if I could eat pizza because I was unsure if the seafood would agree with me today. My mother kept saying it was nonsense and there was no need to be frightened because the meal was going to be spectacular.

It proved to be something, but I am not sure spectacular is the right word.

"So how is James?" my mother asked, knowing he had been here before she arrived.

"Good," I said, though I was probably lying. He was never just 'good'. There was always some sort of complication to his emotions, though I'm not sure what they ever were.

"Just good?" my mother asked, again.

I shrugged, "I don't know, Mom. I don't stalk the fucking kid."

"Language," my mother warned, looking from me to Mable.

I rolled my eyes and looked at Mable, "Don't say 'fucking', okay, Mable?"

Mable nodded, her curly blonde mane bouncing around. My mom shot me a glare, but said nothing as she continued eating her yogurt-topped clams. I looked down at my plate. I wished so badly to be excused from the meal, but I had four more clams left to force down. My mother would never believe I was already full, and I would hurt her feelings if I didn't finish the meal otherwise.

I scooped out the contents from the clamshell and put it in my mouth, feeling my eyes water from the torture being done to my taste buds. I hid my face so she would not see my reaction to the horrid taste.

When I finally regained my composure, I looked up to my mother who was smiling at me. I felt relief wash over me, thankful she did not see how disgusting I thought her meal really was. She was bound to stop her chef phase soon and move onto something else, so I was willing to wait for another week or two.

I was sitting next to James in drama class. We were in the very back of the auditorium, so having a conversation was not as difficult for him. He was in a rather nice mood today, and his ice blue eyes were sparkling. I loved it when he was like this. His perfect pout was accessorized with two silver studs. I noticed when he was in a good mood in the mornings, he generally wore those. I wondered if he did it so smiling was easier. I was not really sure, since I had no piercings. It would make sense, but I was scared to ask. He did not like it much when I pointed out his moodiness.

"I'm going over to your house tonight, right?" he asked. I nodded. It had become routine for him to come to my house until 5:55.

"So when do I get to go to your house?" I asked.

His good mood was turned around. He looked sad and ashamed for a moment before muttering in a more angry tone, "We'll see."

He stood up and began walking to the front of the auditorium, seating himself at an end, very far away from the other students, but even further away from me.

I knew better than to chase after him, even though I desire more than anything to do so.

He turned and looked at me, anger in his eyes. Then they softened and he smiled at me. I smiled a back and his smile grew wider. Then he mouthed, "Eyes don't act."