Page 150 of Fraternizing with the Enemy
Outside of the bogus Christmas performances we used to do in elementary school, I’d never gone to a school play. Brentwood didn’t have a theater department for the high school, and I wasn’t about to rock up to a middle school performance ofRocky Horror Picture Show. Besides, the idea of sitting crammed up alongside overzealous parents to watch choppy dialogue exchanged on a stage had always been nothing short oflame.
And now, I hated that I’d ever thought that way. I wasn’t sure if it was my own opinion or Jade’s, but I decided to find out.
There was a row of boys standing near the table, the one in front slightly familiar. “Hi, um,” I said to the lady, my heart picking up its pace. “I’m… Noah Park’s plus one.”
I’d been fearing she’d blink at me, having no idea what I was talking about—Noah’s revenge to embarrass me—but instead, her grin deepened. “Oh, how lovely,” she replied. She checked off something on her clipboard before picking up a playbill from her table’s surface. She offered it out to me. “Curtis, here, will escort you to your seat.”
I looked at the boy closer, realizing that was why he’d looked so familiar. Curtis. The boy Logan and I had gone to see play football. He looked even lankier without his shoulder pads on, and in a dress shirt that was buttoned up to his throat.
“Follow me,” he murmured in a lower voice than I expected, and promptly turned on his heel.
I trailed after the boy, running the pad of my thumb over the playbill’s cover. They had designated seating? It seemed so fancy for a high school performance, but I refused to look at anything through a biased lens.Interestingwas the only word I was allowed to use.
Except the further we walked, the more tense I became. “W-What row are we going to?”Dear God, please not the front row.
Curtis glanced back. “The fourth.”
When we got to the fourth row, Curtis told me I needed to go to seat 8, which meant I had to awkwardly shuffle past people to get to the middle. Seat 8 was right beside a middle-aged man who was busy in conversation with a dark-haired woman seated right in front of him, so I settled in wordlessly.
The playbill was intricately done, with a dramatic illustration of two silhouetted figures reaching for each other across a starry sky. The title was even foiled, and I traced my fingertip across it. Flipping it open, I scanned until I found the one name.
Logan Castle.
Paris is played by Logan Castle, senior at Jefferson High and quarterback of the Jefferson High Bulldogs football team. This is Logan’s fifth performance with the JeffersonHigh Theatre Troupe.
Hisfifth. And to think, one of those performances was the one that’d scarred him from singing forever.
“Oh.” The blond man sort of jolted in his seat when he finally realized someone had sat down beside him. His blue eyes were wide. “You’re not Danielle.” His voice was pleasant enough, though, not accusatory.
“Oh, um.” Was this Noah’s dad? They didn’t look alike, but he still planned to sit with Danielle. Had Noah given away her ticket without telling the people he was sitting with? “Well, Noah actually?—”
“He had two tickets,” a voice on the other side of me said, and I turned to find Danielle shimmying her way down the aisle. She sat down on the seat beside me, leaning around to smile at the man. “This is Madison’s first play, so she needed a good seat.”
“Did I take Noah’s seat?” I sucked in a breath. “I can?—”
“Noah’s in the play,” Danielle told me with a small chuckle. “So I think he’s got the better seat.”
The blond man looked at me closer. “You’re Madison?”
The recognition in his voice startled me, so much so that I hesitated before nodding.
His soft blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, the glint so familiar that it almost stole my breath. Realization hit me only half a second before he spoke. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Logan’s father.”
Logan and his father looked alike, but not in the way where they were the spitting image of each other. His father’s face was rounder, nose larger, but they both had the same eyes and smile. His father’s hair was lighter, whereas Logan’s was more of a golden color.
I’ve heard a lot about you. “Logan’s talked about me?” My voice was meek.
Mr. Castle gave a laugh. “All the time. And, really, I hear him talkingtoyou quite often. Every night before bed, in fact. You’re the girl who’s got my son smitten, huh?”
My cheeks burned as I ducked my head, feeling both giddy and embarrassed. “I—I guess so.”
I now understood why Logan had grinned so widely when I’d told him that my mom knew about him. If things between us weren’t so uncertain, I was sure I’d be grinning like an idiot, too.
The theater teacher came out onto the stage then, her cream-colored dress in stark contrast against the red velvet curtains. She introduced the play warmly, excitedly explaining how, due to popular demand, they were bringing back the Jefferson High rendition ofRomeo and Julietfor one weekend only. She bragged up the performers for being so easily able to fall back into their old roles, to remember their old lines, and the theater applauded in response.
And as the teacher slid off backstage, the lights dimmed, plunging the auditorium into darkness. A quiet hush fell over everyone, and I could almost feel the buzz of anticipation dance around the room. In my lap, I picked at the playbill, a weird buzzing in my chest, too.
A spotlight cut through the dark as the curtains peeled back, revealing Verona’s streets. For a school performance, the props were quite intricate—the stone-painted buildings seemed to be made out of plywood, with arched windows set into them. They were outlined with fairy lights that looked like ivy licking up the boards. The backdrop shimmered faintly, a watercolorwash of sunset pinks and golds that made the whole scene feel dreamlike.
