Become

"Viviana! Stop squirming," my mother commanded, and let a fresh curl fall from the hot iron. "I'm not going to discourage dolling up, but I truly do not understand why you would do so for a play and not for Thanksgiving or Christmas."

"I told you, Mother, it's a disguise," I repeated. "John is going, and I don't want him to think I'm following him."

"Oh, that theater is huge, he will never see you anyway," my mother said, turning off the curling iron and began her work with bobby pins and hairspray. "I'll lend you some of my jewelry, but I had better not see it for sale on the Internet." I had to choke back a snigger. My date ditched me during Junior Prom and instead of going home and eating a pint of ice cream, I took my frustration out on my mother's jewelry. She ended up buying it all back, but it was hilarious at the time.

"Don't worry; if anything bad happens tonight, your jewelry is the least of your worries."

After my mother finished her handiwork, I could hardly recognize myself. The hair I normally wore loose was now curled and in an intricate up-do. My bare face was decorated with makeup precisely painted on so I would look at least five years older than I was. I even wore new perfume and a very glitzy necklace and bracelet so far from my taste, not even my own father recognized me at first. That's all I needed. John was too much the gentleman to ogle other women when he was taking one out.

"I'll have Mr. Ashton fetch the limousine," my father said as soon as it was time for me to leave. "The town car won't do for your...disguise." He didn't approve of disguises. Unlike my mother, my father knew a disguise was meant to deceive, not to hide. If I really wanted to hide, I could have bought a ticket in the nosebleed section, and he knew that. Fortunately, he also knew me well enough to indulge me when I was having a narcissistic streak.

My heart slammed against its cage of bones, creating reverberations throughout my whole body. Nerves before a show, obviously. Theater was my life, but I've never incorporated actual theatrics into my daily life. I breathed deeply and slowly through my nose, deciding on the little habits of the character I meant to play tonight during the drive to the theater. All of my old mannerisms would have to go, hence my decision to leave my cigarettes behind, and I left my phone as well. Soon enough the limo parked by the curb and Mr. Ashton opened my door for me, helping me out with a strong hand.

"I'll be waiting in the lobby for you Miss Cross," he said dutifully, and patted my hand. Mr. Ashton was a very observant man, and no one had to tell him anything for him to pick up on what was going on.

Luckily for me, I wasn't overdressed. Not in the slightest. If anything, a few women outshone me and while it irked me for a moment, it meant I wouldn't stand out. An usher led me to my seat, a perfect place far enough back to see the whole stage yet right in the middle where I could also see the seats in front of me. This close to the stage, it was all puffy chairs and little tables to set drinks. Most of the seats were set up in pairs, and I sat very straight in mine, and took up the offer for champagne. They also didn't check ID this close. My eyes searched furiously for John and Anna, and they didn't fail me. About two rows up and three or four spaces to the right, I spotted Anna in a gorgeous scarlet gown as she sat down. John, in an all black three-piece suit except for the silky-looking gray shirt, sat down beside her and held up two fingers to the man carrying the tray of champagne flutes.

First I felt agitated and I was sure my skin turned green from absolute envy. I should have been sitting there. My feelings settled into a determined and evil mood where I waited in my elegant dress, alone, for the play to start. Constantly my eyes drew to my right, varying degrees of jealousy, hate, betrayal and desperation coursed through me, disappeared as I looked away and started all over again when I looked back. I felt like the villain in a superhero movie; what I wanted wasn't perceived as good. I was willing to sabotage a good relationship, or anything good really, so I could continue to have John to myself. Yes, quite the villain. Thankfully the lights began to dim, and the performance distracted me from the gigantic rearing head of rage that showed its face when Anna cozied up to John.

The set was beautifully made, and I quickly lost myself in it. "A Midsummer Night's Dream" was one of my favorites. Shakespeare always had a sick sense of humor, at least I thought he did, but I still laughed. The actors and actresses were absolutely incredible; the set took none of the glory away from the talent prancing across it. Near the end, I finally tore my eyes away from the stage to see what John's face looked like, and my stomach dropped to the floor as my heart flew up into my throat. He was looking directly at me. I managed a sultry smile, and he looked away bashfully. Crisis avoided, I thought, and let out a short breath I didn't know I held.

The ending of the play distracted me again, and I stood with the rest of the audience to roar applause, but after a few seconds, I turned around. I let my eyes absorb the standing ovation and put myself in the shoes of the actors on stage: the gigantic audience, the sheen of sweat from the hot lights, the exhausted lungs from speaking lines so loudly, and the sheer ecstasy of another show perfectly executed.

A quarter of the crowd dispersed before I returned to my own consciousness. After a long show and being trapped in a tight dress, I needed to stop by the ladies' room to check on my makeup and wardrobe. John and Anna were nowhere to be seen, and my cautious steps were probably the result of chronic paranoia, but it would be my luck to be caught off-guard. The hallways leading to the main theater were dark until the path reached the main foyer. With my eyes momentarily blinded, the sudden and tight grip on my arm was that much more terrifying. My nerves were already running on overdrive, and whoever grabbed me wouldn't have to kill me; I would have died from a heart attack if I saw a weapon. Fortunately and unfortunately, John didn't mean to murder me. My entire facade peeled off in my highly emotional state, and I didn't bother keeping up my badly put together disguise. I was an idiot to think John of all people wouldn't recognize me.

"Hi," I said lamely when he didn't loosen his grip on my arm. "I told you I wanted to see this play." John looked extremely out of character. A mix of panic, pleasure, anger and other emotions flashed across his visage and it made his true emotions difficult to read. Panic because he wasn't prepared to deal with me today; pleasure because I was standing here in front of him dressed up like a queen; anger because I was standing here in front of him dressed like a queen while he was here with another woman, and that woman walked up behind him, giving him a curious look.

"John?" Anna inquired, and he promptly loosened his fingers. "We're going to miss our reservation."

"Yes, you're right," he said, his voice matching the distress on his face. "I'll be out in a moment." She gave him a lasting look of concern before disappearing into the still-crowded foyer. "I've never seen you look so scared."

"I'm not scared," I said immediately with defiance, puffing up my chest. John's eyes flicked down for a moment and returned to my face. It didn't occur to me that action probably looked really provocative. It's not my fault the sparkly thing on my body didn't have a high neck and sleeves. "Your date is waiting."

"You're spying on me, aren't you?" John accused, inching closer to me. I didn't realize I backed away from him until my bare shoulders touched a curtained wall. My face must have been a dead giveaway.

"No," I lied, my personality unable to let him win an argument. "You aren't that high on my list of priorities." He didn't stop inching. We were quite out of sight now, hidden somewhere inside of the wall curtains. In fact, we were in some sort of tiny area with only a chair with an empty water bottle and a half-eaten candy bar on the floor beneath it. This must be where the ushers waited or actors if they needed to make an entrance from the crowd. John gently set his warm hands on my shoulders and traced them slowly down my arms, creating little lines of fire and goosebumps in their wake. My breathing was erratic and my blood pumped furiously. My voice was tiny when I finally spoke. "John, what are--"

In one swift motion, one of John's arms looped around my cinched waist and his other hand brought my unsuspecting face so close to his I could feel his breath, erratic like mine, through his nose on my lips. My entire body stiffened like a board, and he seemed to be caught in another one of his conflicting moments where he couldn't decide which role to play. For a few moments, he lightly tapped his forehead against mine in frustration and finally brushed his lips against mine so lightly it could have been an accident. Judging by the state of the man when he took a step back, it was no accident. I was nearly bent backwards, my spine protesting. John ran his hands through his hair and paced the incredibly small space.

"You are driving me absolutely insane!" he hissed, pausing his pacing to stand me up straight, and continued. "You are a demon from my personal hell come to tempt me!"

"It's not my fault you feel tempted!" I hissed right back, both of us trying to keep our voices down. "I'm not extraordinarily pretty." Pretty; yes, but not extraordinarily so. Not even I was that narcissistic.

"Oh, you know it has nothing to do with your looks," he said, and cupped my face with his hands while his eyes looked directly and unblinking into mine. "It is your mind. It is your passion. It is your very soul, and I am utterly helpless against you."

"What do you plan to do about it?" I asked, still gripping for that shred of fight, that last, rotting shred of defiance I worked so hard to build. It all melted away in the presence of this man. In a moment of thoughtlessness, I did it. I shattered the coy, flirtatious relationship between student and professor. I ended our temporary torture only to open each of us to worse horrors. I crossed a very concrete line and no matter what happened after today, things would never be the same. I kissed my professor and dear God, did he ever kiss me back.