Page 80 of Pride High 2: Orange
“Isn’t it worth trying?” Ricky asked. His face was flushed as he swallowed and averted his eyes. “To prove them wrong, I mean. All the people who think you’re just a bully, or that you’ll go out there and fail. You can do this, Diego. I’ve seen you. Not only can you do it but… You’re good. I know you are.”
Those last two sentences contained way too much meaning for his comfort. Couldn’t he see that none of this mattered? It was just a high school play that nobody would remember or care about in the near future. And yet it was obviously important to Ricky, judging from the way he kept gulping down air, as if fighting off tears.
“Fine,” Diego growled. He huffed and walked over to the curtain, peering out at an audience of sinister shadows. He couldn’t see their judgmental eyes, but he could imagine them well enough. It might feel good to frighten them, to make them wonder if they were truly safe, because of course they weren’t. Nobody was.
“You’ll do it?” Ricky asked. “You’ll stay?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Diego grumbled.
“Thanks.” Ricky nudged him gently. “I meant what I said a second ago. I really like you.”
Diego clenched his jaw. He didn’t respond, even as the scene change took place and Belle began creeping through the woods at night. Only when he heard his cue to take the stage did he murmur, “I like you too.” Then he took a step forward, making himself a target for all those unfriendly gazes. At least he had a great opening line.
“Go away!” he boomed.
The audience gasped. A few people tittered nervously. That felt good! Belle didn’t take the hint, and after exchanging a few lines, he rushed at her and heard a scream. Not just hers but someone from the audience as well. While chasing Whitney, Diego paused at the front of the stage, feinting like he was going to leap into their midst. This caused more gasps of concern. He noticed Keisha giving him a thumbs up. Diego bared his teeth, hoping it disguised his smile, because this was fun!
His own personal cheerleader was waiting for him when he retreated backstage.
“Yes!” Ricky said, leaping around him joyously. “That was amazing!”
“Not bad, huh?” Diego said, grinning back at him.
Ricky’s response sounded like something lame a parent would say. “I’m so proud of you.”
Diego made a face and peered out at the audience again, scanning the rows for a tall woman’s silhouette, but his mother wasn’t out there. He’d told her about the play, and when it would start. Only so she’d have proof that he wasn’t making it up. He had a good reason for not working in the shop lately. That’s the only thing that mattered. He didn’t care that she wasn’t here. At all.
“Ready for the next scene?” Ricky whispered. “Let’s go over the lines. I’ll be your Belle.”
That was a funny way of putting it. Not that he minded. Diego checked the audience one last time. Just in case. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s practice.”
His next scene went just as well, and by the third, he wasn’t thinking of the audience as much. Instead he focused on the other actors, Whitney especially, since they tended to play off each other instead of sticking to their lines. And it felt kind of nice, working with the others instead of against them. Of course this wasn’t real life. But for now, it was okay.
The play was nearing the final act when everything went wrong. Diego was seated at the end of a long dining room table. The servants of his castle had arranged a romantic meal for him and Belle—who was seated on the opposite end—since they wanted to break the curse that had turned them into stuff you’d find at a garage sale. And of course the Beast wasn’t having it.
“This is my home,” Diego snarled at his dinner guest, “and that means I make the rules!” He slammed his fist on the table for emphasis, even though Cameron had warned him a million times not to. And sure enough, the legs on his side of the table buckled, plates and cups sliding down the surface to land in his lap or clatter noisily to the floor around him. Everyone laughed, like he was the butt of a big dumb joke. He felt blood rush to his ears.
“Goddamn it!” Diego snarled, standing and sending props flying everywhere. Which was just fine with him. He grabbed the stupid table and tried lifting his end, only for it to tear away from the rest. He flung this to the side and began kicking at crap on the ground. A plastic cup flew across the heads of the audience and disappeared into the darkness. The entire auditorium went silent, aside from a nervous cough or two, as Diego stood there and huffed. He could already imagine how disappointed Ricky would be and hated himself for caring.
“You see?” Whitney said, breaking the awkward silence. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
The audience laughed again. But notatthem exactly. Diego watched warily as Whitney stood, walked to the middle of the stage, and pulled two of the chairs close together. She sat in one before patting the other.
“Forget about it,” Diego grumbled. “It’s over.”
“I’m not giving up on you that easily,” she said. “Come. Sit down.”
Diego eyed her a moment longer. Why the hell not? It would show everyone just how few fucks he actually gave. He trudged over and plopped down in the chair.
Whitney placed a hand on his arm. “Why are you so angry?”
That was the next line. Did she really expect them to keep running the scene? “I’m not angry,” he responded. “I’m just… moody.”
The audience laughed again. Like they thought it was good stuff.
“Then why are you so moody?” Whitney asked.
“Lady, you must need glasses. Can’t you see what I am?”
