Page 15 of Beasts

“Hello,” he greets warmly. “And who might you be?”

I approach him, noticing his keen, observant eyes behind his glasses. “I’m Amelia. I was wondering if the drama club is still accepting new members?”

The room falls silent for a moment as everyone’s attention shifts to me. I can feel their curious eyes assessing me, the new face amidst their familiar crowd.

“We’re always happy to welcome anyone with a passion for the arts,” the teacher replies with a smile.

“So, I don’t need to audition?” I ask, surprised by the open-door policy.

“No need for auditions here,” he chuckles. “The theatre has a role for everyone, whether you’re front stage or behind the scenes. But tell me, what are your talents?”

I think back to my experiences in the drama club in L.A. “I’ve done a bit of everything – acting, singing, designing costumes. I’d like to think I’m decent at all of them.”

A girl in the front row, with striking red hair and a confident demeanor, pipes up, “Just decent? Or are you great?”

Her face seems familiar, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen her. Maybe around campus? Her question, though challenging, is tinged with a playful curiosity. The girl’s challenging question lingers in the air, her playful smirk indicating a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “I’ve been singing for a while, so maybe somewhere in between,” I respond, trying to strike a balance between confidence and modesty.

She seems intrigued but quickly returns to her conversation, leaving me standing there with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

The teacher’s voice cuts through the chatter. “We have new members this term, so we’re holding auditions for the upcoming play – a modern twist on Snow White.” The mention of Snow White stirs a memory in me, an ironic parallel to my current life where I’m aware that some housemates have contemplated my demise. “Now, before our new addition to the club arrived, we were discussing our Prince Charming.”

As the teacher discusses the role of Prince Charming, a familiar voice catches my attention. “Not doing it.” My eyes scan the room, landing on a figure slouched in his chair, phone in hand – Oliver. The room’s focus shifts to him.

“Oliver, you’re perfect for the role,” the teacher insists, met with nods of agreement from others.

Oliver remains steadfast. “I’m here for sound and music, not for performing.”

The teacher pleads, emphasizing the time crunch for the play’s preparation. “Voices and faces like yours shouldn’t be hidden. Please, do it for the team.”

The room erupts with encouragement for Oliver to take the role. I’m puzzled by the intensity of their reactions – what’s so special about Oliver’s past performances? Sure, he’s undeniably attractive, but I’ve yet to hear him sing.

“Shut up,” he finally says, silencing the room. “I’ll do it, but on two conditions.” Everyone leans in, eager to hear his terms. “I write the ending duet, and she plays Snow White,” he declares, pointing directly at me.

My jaw drops in shock. Why would Oliver want me, a newcomer, to play such a pivotal role opposite him? Is this his way of reaching out, or does he have another motive?

The teacher’s quick acceptance of Oliver’s conditions sends a ripple of surprise through the room. The students, clearly unsettled by his decision, voice their concerns.

“Why does she get to be Snow White? We don’t even know if she can sing,” a student protests.

Peter Fasoli, our teacher, addresses the class with a firm yet fair tone. “You all respect Oliver’s talent and have enjoyed his performances. If he believes Amelia is the right choice for Snow White, then we should trust his judgment.”

The room falls into a reluctant silence, and I feel a mix of gratitude and apprehension. Mr. Fasoli then directs the others to choose their roles while asking Oliver and me to work on the final duet in a separate area. I sit next to Oliver, flipping through the modernized script of Snow White set in a high school.

As I read, I can’t help but feel a spark of excitement. This isn’t just any role; it’s a chance to step into a character in a story I’ve known since childhood, yet with a fresh perspective. I glance at Oliver, who’s absorbed in his script, his expression focused yet unreadable.

I stop at a scene towards the end, realizing why Oliver might have chosen me. “Did you want me as Snow White because our characters touch a lot in the script?”

Oliver responds without looking up. “Yeah. And kiss, apparently.”

My surprise is evident. “What?”

He points to the script. “It’s Snow White. The kiss is crucial to the story.”

I flip to the page, finding the scene he mentioned. “I just thought, being a modern version, it wouldn’t rely on the old trope of the girl needing the guy to save her.”

Oliver chuckles lightly. “Mr. Fasoli is quite the romantic. He loves the classic elements.”

Oliver’s revelation about the script’s deviation from the traditional Snow White tale catches me off guard. “You’re telling me it says ‘she wakes up and continues to kiss him passionately’? I always thought Snow White was a children’s fairy tale.”

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