Become

The auditorium echoed the quiet voices of my classmates, theater professors and other theater students as we practiced lines for the first round of auditions for "Romeo and Juliet", much to my dismay. Apparently Mr. Arthur was on a Shakespeare kick, and he hadn't seen it performed in a few years. My eyes flicked up in irritation to see Mr. Arthur talking to a couple other students a year or two older than me. Of course he would torture me like this, I thought, reading the lines of my least favorite play. Another student sitting in a small cluster not far from where I sat stood up and began walking toward me. At first I thought he was leaving, but he drew to a pause next to me near the aisle, toward the back.

"Viviana, right? Viviana Cross?" he asked, and I took the time to look up at him. The young man must have been nearing the end of his college years, with short brown hair, brown eyes and a few freckles speckling his cheeks and nose. He tilted his head and simply looked at me for a few moments, and just before I said something, he finally spoke up. "Not bad. Everyone says you'll be playing Juliet, so I wanted to make sure I wasn't going to end up kissing a troll." With that, he trotted back down the steps to sit with a couple of other students. I scrambled to my feet and went after him, leaving my script behind; I knew the lines by heart anyway. His friends saw me first, but his back was turned, so I cleared my throat. My arms folded across my chest and the turned-up collar of my coat made the lines of my face more severe.

"I didn't introduce myself, did I?" he asked, his back still turned to me. In one motion, he stood, turned and bowed with obvious mock flattery. "James Hart, John's other favorite." One of my eyes twitched involuntarily, and I glanced over at Mr. Arthur, who just noticed the conversation going on and quickly began to dismiss himself from his other students.

"Other favorite?" I asked wryly. "I'm not his favorite. He might say so, but I think I irritate him more than anything."

"Oh, you're his favorite," James said, winking. "I'm glad we're finally meeting. John doesn't normally pick out a favorite until at least sophomore year, so you must be intriguing, but I can't quite see it yet. Shall we run through a few lines? I want to see if you can keep up."

"Viviana! James!" Mr. Arthur exclaimed, his face telling an entire story. The vein near his temple was throbbing again, his eyes wide in panic and shifting in anxiety. The nervous way he plucked at his purple button-up shirt, tugging it away from the pits of his arms said he started sweating. My best guess was he knew how volatile I could be and didn't want his two favorites clashing, but anyone who was willing to issue me a challenge was bound to interest me.

"We're going to run through a few lines up on the stage," I said casually, unfolding my arms and stuffing them in my pockets. "Is that okay?" He turned his head so he could look at me sideways, narrowing his eyes.

"I suppose," he answered slowly, and James held out his elbow for me to take. Mr. Arthur rounded up a few other professors and shared a few words with them, turning their attention to James and I as we went up to the stage. In all of my acting experiences, never had I been on such a large stage with so many seats in the audience. School plays weren't exactly the biggest ticket-sellers. We drew the attention of nearly every student in the room thanks to James. Everyone seemed to be aware of where he was in the room and I have to say it irked me a little.

"Where do you prefer we start?" he asked, rolling up his sleeves. James adopted a very Mr. Arthur look, wearing slacks, a nicely-fitted gray button-up shirt unbuttoned enough to see the hollow between his collar bones and polished black shoes. I let out a quiet "hmph", partially because no one could quite pull off that style as well as Mr. Arthur did. "Alright, have it your way." James specifically chose a very obscure part of the play toward the end, and forced me to play dead at first.

I couldn't see him, but I didn't have to. James performed well, if not as well as Mr. Arthur, but close. We made it to where Romeo has killed himself and Juliet wakes up to see him dead. This part of the play is where you can really sell it; you can make or break "Romeo and Juliet" with this scene alone.

After performing Juliet's dying scene, James and I stood up and bowed at the rounds of applause from our peers. I wiped the fake tears from my cheeks and looked down at the front of the stage to see Mr. Arthur--no, right now he was John--looking at me with the same rapt wonder as he did on Thanksgiving. I didn't recognize it for what it was then, and now my cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. To avoid any more attention, I hopped to the floor from the front of the stage to stand next to John.

"Look at you, adequately embarrassed for how you toy with the feelings of everyone in the room with your performances," John teased, leaning to bump my shoulder. "Everyone agrees. The part of Juliet is yours if you want it and James will play Romeo. Well, we have to let everyone try out for the parts, but no one will beat you."

"Now I see why they won't let you choose the cast," I said, half smirking, and John draped an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, I'll buy you a coffee for taking my bad acting and turning it into something worth while, and we can drop one off for Raine, too." I turned and walked away from his arm toward the stairs, but he didn't follow me. When I realized he wasn't right beside me, I looked back and saw him glancing around at his coworkers and his other students. "Well? Are you coming or do I have to carry three drinks by myself?"

* * *

Viviana asked me that question as if the answer should be simple. The professor in me told me to let her go off on her own, but the man, the performer, the artist in me told me to cherish every second this creature wanted to spend with me. Internally, this was the final straw, the fork in the road, whatever you want to call it, yet it was a simple question of whether I'd like to join her for coffee or not. If I said yes now, there was no turning back. If I said no, it all needed to stop. No more favoritism, no more extra assignments, no more challenges and no more meeting up outside of class.

One more suffering look, I thought, looking up to the teenager dressed in her mother's clothes. What teenager wears Burberry and Christian Louboutin? Vivi told me how she wore the red bottomed shoes to spite her mother, but I knew it for a lie. She liked them. She's hardly a teenager. She's in college. James seemed impressed with her and watched her like a hawk, and I would say she didn't notice, but she noticed nearly everything. Oh, I'm already going to hell, and to hell with my reputation!

"Well?" Vivi prompted again, two more steps up the staircase. If I hadn't made up my mind to come with her, her outstretched hand would have convinced me. Her cold fingers grasped my wrist and dragged me out of the auditorium and into the snowy weather outside.

* * *

John had some kind of internal struggle for a solid three minutes before finally letting me lead him outside. We both stood under the covered area just outside while we donned gloves, scarves and hats. Little snowflakes flurried around us as we walked to the coffee shop on the other side of the campus in silence. Most classes were in session, and students didn't like to study outside when it was nearly zero degrees.

"James isn't too bad," I said when John remained dead silent. The sound of snow hitting the ground became overpowering. "It's obvious you trained him."

"Yes, James has already been invited to join one of the most prestigious theater companies in the country," John said stiffly, and now that I inspected him closer, his entire stature was stiff. "I'm sure you'll receive a similar offer. Scouts always come to performances here."

"I see," I said, eyeing him sideways. It took him a moment, but he finally slumped his shoulders. "Somebody's tense. Is it another woman? I keep telling you they're assholes."

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Tell me who she is, and I'll give her a nice beating, how does that sound?"

For some reason, John found my threat extremely hilarious, and wouldn't stop laughing until the barista asked him what he would like to drink. He laughed again after we left the coffee shop and wiped a tear from his eye before taking the second coffee from me to carry.

"I'm going to miss you when you graduate, Viviana," he said, and I smiled.

"I think we both know you're going to quit and be my acting coach when I graduate," I accused, and he shrugged. "It'll be better money and you would get to deal with my antics every day until you're a toothless, bald old man."

"Don't count on it," John said, but his small smile said otherwise. "Your antics will kill me long before I'm toothless and bald." We shared a laugh, and something sounded different in his voice. It sounded less constrained, and almost flirty. Well, I made that mistake once and I won't do it again. John was the perfect example of a gentleman and he would never allow a professional relationship to be anything but that. The thought may have crossed my mind every now and again, but definitely not his.