Page 46 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“What are you doing here?” I whisper harshly to the air, pushing fear into my voice to fit the scene where Juliet finds the stranger on her balcony. “You shouldn’t be here.” I take two steps back as required, ramble some more lines, gesticulating and moving around the stage. Soon, I forget where I am as I am drawn centuries back into the frame of a seventeen-year-old Juliet. “Romeo!”

A cheer erupts from the audience at the end of the last scene. I tear my eyes away from the script clenched in my hand, and my head dips in a bow. The adrenaline wears off. I hide my trembling hands behind me and take in the proud smile on Ms. Jota’s face. The corners of my lips twitch. She stands to clap for me, causing me to become more uncomfortable as I walk down the stairs.

The only boy present hasn’t stopped clapping. I can’t remember his name. The only people who aren’t so impressed with my acting are Whitney and her friends. I walk past them and drop to my seat.

“Great job, Theresa,” Ms. Jota says. I wince. “What is it?”

Making circles on the floor with my foot, I answer, “I prefer to be called Tessa.”

I look up to understand the reason for the sudden silence. Ms. Jota has a weird smile on her face. Teachers never listen when I tell them to call me by that name, but it’s always worth a shot.

Ms. Jota sits. “Okay, Tessa. Great job.”

Heat creeps up my neck. She called me Tessa. Ben also did. Not like it matters since it was only Asher who spoke for the entirety of the ride to his house. Murmurs break out from somewhere behind me. I roll my eyes without giving those three ugly witches the satisfaction of turning to confirm my suspicions. They must be talking about me. They always do. Last I checked, they didn’t care to be here. They were more interested in the set: set designs, boy talks, and makeup.

The three combinations are not bad, but if they don’t want to be here, they shouldn’t make the rest of us who enjoy the club feel like we are wasting our time. Besides, it’s not their fault I can’t apply makeup beyond a not-so-winged eyeliner and red lipstick. Still, they are super annoying.

The boy—Curt is his name, I remember now—strolls to the stage to audition. I tune out the girls and focus on his bulky frame. With that height, he can’t pass for Romeo, but none of us says a word as he gets into his role. Within minutes, the auditions end. Chairs are pulled back, and Ms. Jota claps once so we can gather around her. She’s all smiles as her eyes land on our faces, and I find myself smiling back at her. For the first time, I feel seen by a teacher. It’s a great feeling.

“You did great today,” she says. Curt whistles. I grin. The three witches giggle. “I’m impressed.”

Her smile wanes as she arranges the pile of unused scripts on her table. A pang of guilt hits me. The time she took to rewrite the play shows, and it’s a shame we don’t have enough people to appreciate her efforts. We might have to cancel the play if our numbers don’t increase soon.

“We will meet again tomorrow, okay? Same time, same place. Be early.” Our heads bob in reply, and she gives us a thumbs up. As we are about to file out, Ms. Jota clears her throat. “Whitney.”

The rest of us pause to hear what she has to say, but Whitney steps forward. A part of me wishes she wants to tell Whitney that I’m the one taking the role of Juliet, but it won’t matter since we don’t have a full cast. “How’s it going with the set designs? Have you informed your friends?”

“Yes,” Whitney replies.

Ms. Jota spares all of us a glance, and then she picks a script from the pile to wave it at us. “We need the numbers,” she says in a pleading voice, “these scripts won’t read or act themselves.”

Whitney’s hand shoots up. “My friends will be here tomorrow.” She throws me a pointed look, and I wink. So what if I don’t have friends to invite? Maria has other engagements as it is. I sigh as she pulls out her phone to show Ms. Jota what I assume will be set designs. They converse in hush tones for a moment. In a loud voice, Whitney asks all of us, “What do you guys think of this?”

We cross over to them. Whitney hands over her phone, so we can take a look and pass it around. A picture of a stage done with cardboards and colorful cut-outs fills her screen. I pout, unwilling to admit the design looks good. She did her homework right. Ms. Jota crosses her arms over her chest, foot tapping into the floor in impatience as we take our time to analyze the designs. Our eyes meet, and she smiles softly at me. My chest swells with pride, and I look away. I think I might be her favorite student. She just might be my favorite teacher if she makes me Juliet.

“I like the design,” I say and return the phone to Whitney. “It suits the play.”

The others mutter their agreement, and Ms. Jota dismisses us for the final time. We exit the hall in pairs. Curt sticks to my side because we are easily the perfect misfit. We are quiet as we speed down the hallway and out the backdoor. I shiver at the cold and skip down the remaining stairs.

“You did a great job back there,” I tell him.

“Not as great as you did,” he replies in a voice similar to my character. I laugh, and he flashes me a grin. His hands slide into the pockets of his gray shorts. “I don’t think I’ll get the role. I should have auditioned for someone else,” he says with a forced indifference, and I keep mute.

He might be correct, but we don’t have the numbers or options to pick who we want.

“Never say never,” I mutter.

“We both know it’s the truth. But you, Tessa, you killed it. Damn. You did a great job, Juliet.”

A strangled sound escapes me. Curt looks at me and chuckles. I am not used to being praised this often. “Thank you.” As we continue to the parking lot, I kick pebbles out of my way. I stop by my car, expecting him to walk past me, but he stops, and I am prompted to ask, “Need a ride?”

“If you don’t mind.” His reply reminds me of the last person I gave a ride, and my heart flutters. Curt snaps a finger in front of my face. I offer him a sheepish grin. He’s far different from Ben. Short, cute and chubby. Why am I thinking of Ben? He’s a bitch. Is he? I don’t know if I can hold onto the anger. Sure, he hasn’t apologized or shown remorse, but… “Back to earth, Tessa.”

I hit the red button on my car fob, and a beep follows. Curt winks at me, and I stifle the urge to puke all over myself. Granted, a lot of guys don’t talk to me because I spend most of my time in Maria’s shadow, but I have a type, and it’s not Curt. I don’t know what my type is. Maybe blue eyes? No. Definitely not that. I join Curt in the car to see he has already raided my cookie stash.

The fuck?

“This tastes so good,” he says, revealing teeth stained with chocolate chips. He digs into another cookie, munching loudly. He didn’t even ask for my permission. “Did you make this yourself?”

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