Page 11 of Taking Care of You
I fight to keep my groan to myself. Group projects are the worst. I usually get one of two types of group members; they either make me do all the work and don’t participate, or they’re like me and find it hard to talk to other people, which makes it hard to get the project done at all.
Mr. Redding pulls up directions on the smartboard. “You’ll be paired off, and if there’s an uneven number, one group of three. Here is your first project.” He uses his red pointer to highlight the directions. “You’ll have to write a screenplay as if you were a playwright in the Shakespearean era. That’ll be due in ten weeks.”
He moves down to the next set of directions. “Your first draft is due in four weeks. You will have full creative control. Whatever you want to do, you can. As long as it aligns with the Shakespearean era. Any questions?”
No one asks anything, so Mr. Redding changes the slides, bringing up other instructions. “Your second project is to direct said screenplay.” Grumbles and complaints go up all around the room. I think about joining, but I never do. I don’t complain about schoolwork most of the time, but I’m not feeling this one.
Mr. Redding allows it to go on for about thirty seconds, until everyone quiets themselves down. “Now that you’re finished with that,” he says pointedly, making a few people chuckle, “this portion is due four weeks after your first draft is due. I should have changes and corrections back to you by then. There doesn’t have to be any fanfare, but as this is a class project, it will be acted out in front of the class. I set aside a week for that to be done. The only requirements for the play is it has to be more than five minutes long. Costumes are not required. You can have your actors wear their normal clothes if you want. You can also star in the play yourselves. Extra credit will be given to those that find their own actors.”
Several students perk up at that. Extra credit during senior year isn’t something that will make or break me. I already have my scholarship and I don’t think I’ve gotten anything lower than a B since middle school. But some people barely pass certain classes. Having a chill year and being offered extra credit on top of that will ensure that some people graduate.
“Now,” Mr. Redding announces, walking back to the front of the classroom and flicking the smartboard off. “You have the rest of class to do an outline. I’ll let you pick your own partners, but if you can’t act like you have any sense,” he stops and eyeballs the tables in the back, full of the jocks and their groupies, “I’ll assign partners. You probably won’t have as much fun if I do that.” Thetables in the back get more subdued under Mr. Redding’s gaze. “Okay, find a partner.”
I really hate group projects. Crystal is my only friend, and we only have two classes together—AP Calc and AP Biology; two classes that don’t require group projects. I want to be a physicist, so I don’t take any other AP classes besides those. Only the necessary ones that would look good for any college I’d applied for.
Which means, while Crystal is taking AP English, I’m stuck in standard senior English. There was no reason to reach for the stars when I already have a 4.3 GPA.
However, that also means the people in a class like this will only want to partner with me because they know I won’t complain when they dump all the work on me. It’s been known to happen in other classes. We’re only a month into school, so I’ll have more of that to look forward to in the months to come.
Instead of looking around for a partner, I stay in my seat. I figure someone will be left without one and pair with me. Or, if I’m lucky, there’ll be an odd number of people. I can ask Mr. Redding if I can work alone instead of making a team of three.
That’s not what happens, though. I hear the chair beside me scrape against the floor and Ethan plops down beside me. “Hey, creepy partner,” he says with a wide grin. I try not to, but I smile back at him. “Will you look at that? His lips can actually tilt up into a smile.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me a creep,” I breathe out, not really meaning it. It’s really grown on me over the past few days.
“I didn’t. I said creepy,” he points out helpfully. “There’s a subtle difference. One is a verb, the other is an adjective.” I raise an eyebrow at him, a bit stunned. “What?” he asks smugly. “ThisisEnglish class, creep.” I hide my laugh behind my hand, not wanting him to see how funny I think he is.
“So,” Ethan slaps a beat against the table. “A play, huh? I think it’ll be fun. What do you want to do?”
Shrugging, I twirl a pencil between my fingers, thinking. Who writes plays these days? I mean, I know people do screenplays, but from the Shakespearean era? We’ll have to do some research to get it right.
Surprising myself, I raise my hand. Mr. Redding looks surprised too. He was my sophomore English teacher and I barely spoke in that class, let alone raised my hand. I don’t think I’ve asked any questions or answered them in years.
Mr. Redding schools his expression. “Yes, Jakoby?”
“Umm,” I stammer a bit. I thought he’d come over to our table instead of standing in the front of the room, waiting for me to speak. I hate talking in front of people. “Are we allowed to use the library during this period? For…research?”
Mr. Redding smiles at me and nods. “Sure.” He turns to the class and announces, “If anyone would like to meet in the library, make sure you come to class first and I’ll write you a pass.”
Ethan bumps my shoulder. “What are you thinking?”
“We could always look online, but I think it would be helpful if we had hard copies of some of Shakespeare’s plays. That way, we can use those as guides.”
He looks thoughtful, then nods. “I like it. Good idea. Let’s go.” He stands up and starts to pack his things. I hurry to pack my bag and follow behind him.
Mr. Redding writes us a pass and we head to the library. There aren’t many people in there this early, a few people at the computers typing away, and the media center assistant is meandering around.
Walking over to the computer stands, we use the school’s library system to find where Shakespeare’s plays would be and head to those shelves.
I keep sneaking looks at Ethan, still not believing he wants to be my partner, and that he’s actually doing work. Granted, we’ve only been at it for twenty or so minutes, but that’s more than when I’d partnered with anyone else.
He sees me looking and raises an eyebrow. I rub a hand over the back of my neck and answer his unspoken question. “You sure you want to be my partner? I mean, you have friends in class that wouldn’t mind partnering with you.”
Like he did at his house, he places a hand on his chest and staggers back, making me chuckle. “Damn, creep. You really know how to hurt my feelings.” I give him a flat look and he laughs. “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll be fun. Plus, this means we’ll have more time to hang out, and I can get to know you better.”
“Why do you want to get to know me?”
“Why not?” It seems like Ethan doesn’t like to answer questions when I ask them straight out like that. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I drop it. Maybe he’ll tell me in time.
