Page 5 of XO

“Prosciutto is a ham. I think you mean…”

Oh shit! My own realization dawns on me as I search for Ms. Zagwich. “Him!” I demand. “Jacob’s playing Petruchio?” My blood starts to boil. I’d be more than happy to have him cast in the role if it meant I didn’t have to put up with his constant stream of personal jeers.

My teacher steps into view, looking a little rattled. I suppose she is non-the-wiser about the type of relationship Jacob and I share. “Well, we didn’t have much in the way of options. In fact, options were non-existent. Jacob needs to do an extra-curricular for losing a subject line due to football, and this is it.”

“Ms. Zagwich, Jacob’s here simply to meet subject point expectations, I’m here because I need a chance at a scholarship. In other words, I’m taking this very seriously, and hewill not.”

“What’s the play called?” Jacob asks seemingly unbothered by the conversation happening in front of him.

“Taming of the Shrew.” I sigh, feeling defeated.

“And what’s it’s about?”

My teeth grind. “A man who takes it upon himself to tame a woman with a bad attitude for his own narcissistic purposes.”

Jacob raises a brow and smirks. “Seems fitting then, don’t you think, Posie?”

Of course, he would say that. I consider pushing him off the stage.Oh, how I’d love to.

“Are you saying I’m a shrew?”

“You’re not exactly the friendliest.”

Is he for real?Has he conveniently forgotten everything he’s put me through? Or is he simply feigning innocence?

“Funny how I only seem to turn into a jerk when you’re around. It’s the effect you have on me,” I retort, dryly.

This seems to inflate his ego. “And why is that, Posie? What do I do that makes you so…” he eyes me up and down, and I shiver under his gaze, “… heated? Nervous? Uptight?”

I can list over a dozen reasons, but that would be taking the bait which he’s so eagerly fishing for. That, and the most irritating reason at this point in time, is his smug smile which I could slap right off.

“No reason,” I lie sweetly.

“You know, you should harness that anger,” he starts as if he’s a well-rehearsed thespian, instead of a moron giving unsolicited advice. “And put it into your character, you know, if you want it to be believable. You could use a little more believability.”

“Fuck me, you’re a dick.”

“Rosie!” Ms. Zagwich reprimands while Jacob bites his lip to stop his smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I said that out loud,” I reply, wryly. “Lucky I didn’t say the rest.”

“Jacob’s right,” she says, trying to placate the situation, but I still hate her for saying it. “Whatever has happened between you two could be harnessed into good energy on the stage, especially given the relationship between the main characters. You both need this class for your own reasons, so I simply ask you both to give it a hundred percent for each other’s sake.”

I have no choice in the matter. It’s not that Ineedthe scholarship per se. It’s just that I was hoping to alleviate the financial stress from my parents. And now, it all hangs in the balance.

“Fine,” I agree.

Jacob wears a wide grin. “I’m all in.”

“Great!” Ms. Zagwich claps her hands together in an excitement I don’t share. “Every Wednesday and Thursday we’ll meet here after school. But you must also promise to do private rehearsals outside of school hours.”

This has to be some form of punishment.What have I done to this world to make it so vindictive?During school hours, I make it a personal mission to stay as far away from Jacob Lynch as humanly possible, for the simple reason that he takes it upon himself to humiliate me in front of others. And we have quite the history of it. It all started in Art class in freshman year.

Mrs. Phillipo had ordered a seating plan, and I was the quiet, studious girl stuck between the two most popular boys of my year. It couldn’t have been any worse for me. Not only were they the most popular, but they were also both mega assholes. After tolerating their immature commentary for too long, and having dodged their jostling with me sandwiched in between for over half the class, I finally begged my teacher to be moved. I didn’t care where, just away from Jacob Lynch.

How could I possibly paint when my elbow would purposefully be knocked every minute.

When I returned to my table, the boys had fallen strangely quiet. I eyed them suspiciously wishing I had taken corrective action sooner. Climbing back onto my black art stool, the boys burst out laughing, doing their best to cover their mockery but failing miserably. I turned my head, left to right, right to left, waiting for one of them to admit what they’ve done. Neither did and for the rest of the lesson, they remained unusually quiet.

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