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Everything that is good in his life ends on the first day of school.
Neil stands uncomfortably in front of a receptionist desk in a stuffy, unairconditioned room, the word ADMINISTRATION painted in bright orange on the cinderblock.
“When you register too late, you don’t always get the classes you want,” the secretary tells him snidely.
Neil chews on his lower lip. His eyes flick down to the personalized office name plate that sits cockeyed at the edge of her desk.
Mrs. Henderson
Claremont High School
“Is there anything else?” he asks. In the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t exactly want to be in an art class, or one of the music ensembles either, but anything would be better than–
“Theater is it, kid,” she says. She doesn’t even look at him, just types away at her laptop–extra long, tangerine painted nails clacking away. She presses a button. A moment later, the decrepit printer next to her whirs to life and spits out a page. “Here,” she says, pushing the paper across to him. “All set.”
Neil sighs. It’s just like his mom to spur-of-the-moment decide his education is lacking and move him across the district to the ‘smart kid school’.
She obviously hates him, because now?
He’s enrolled in some honors program with Advanced Algebra, and AP track Biology, and Government, and Advanced Literature, and…
Theater.
Neil Josten is officially enrolled in theater.
Groaning, Neil crinkles up the schedule, stuffs it in the trusty blue Jansport backpack he’s had since first grade, and trudges out of the office building, into the bright sunlight of his brand new school.
Claremont High School.
Where nightmares are made.
#
Day 2 finds him sitting in the back of an enormous auditorium, on a plush red velvet seat, wondering with dismay how much money was siphoned off of taxpayers for this swanky building.
His old school had a sagging stage in the middle of the cafeteria that no one went on because the boards were so rotted you might just fall through.
His old school had so few teachers that sometimes the 9th grade class combined with the 10th grade class and no one really cared because it didn’t matter what they were learning, at least there were butts in desks.
Not Claremont.
Neil picks at the velvet as Mrs. Delotte (their drama teacher, coach, something or other) spins across the stage monologuing about the wonders of the theater. There’s a clump of kids up front who are all watching her avidly. They cheer and applaud during her exaggerated, pregnant pauses, they whisper excitedly, heads together upon every mention of the end-of-semester production.
That apparently Neil’s been committed to from the moment dumb Mrs. Henderson typed THEATER onto his dumb class schedule, because being in the production is the only way you earn a grade.
Delotte claps her hands together cheerfully and everyone stands up.
“Small groups!” she shouts, then holds a piece of paper close to her nose. “Abercrombie, Wilds, Boyd, you’re group 1, Boyd directs. Walker, Hemmick, Minyard, you’re group 2, Hemmick directs.”
“Which Minyard?” one of the tall boys in the front shouts.
Delotte studies her clipboard for a second. “Aaron,” she answers.
“Greatttttt,” a sullen looking blond mutters, but he high fives the taller kid and they move off to the side with another girl.
Delotte lists off another three groups, then:
“Reynolds, Minyard–Andrew this time, and Josten, you’re group 6!” she announces cheerfully. “Reynolds, director!”
Neil grabs his bag and slowly slinks to the front. Another blond–apparently the Andrew of the which-Minyard twins–strides to the front and leans against the stage. “We meet again, Reynolds,” he says, feral glint in his eye.
A girl in a pink sports top and blindingly white jean shorts bounds up beside him and winks. “You know you love me.” She turns, eyes widening as she takes in Neil. “Oh my god, a newbie! And he’s pint-sized too!”
“Adorable,” Andrew drawls, fixing Neil with a glare that reads anything but.
Maybe Neil could run. Drop his bag, take off down the aisle, blast out the auditorium door and never come back. He’s got good legs, he could easily make it ten miles without stopping. He could hitchhike to Arizona. Hell, he could hitchhike to Mexico, grab a new name, new papers, live on the grid for the rest of his life and try on all the aliases he wanted, anything to avoid whatever this is.
“Alright, directors, you know the drill, actors, listen to your directors!”
Neil does not know the drill, but apparently Neil is the only member of the class who’s never been here before. He looks around the auditorium. The groups of three are all clumped together, some mumbling, some gesticulating wildly.
“Earth to new kid,” the girl in his group says.
Blinking, Neil looks back at her.
“What’s your name?” she stresses. “Unless you wanna go by Josten for the remainder of the term which, good by me, you do you.”
“Neil,” Neil mumbles.
“Delightful,” Andrew grunts.
Reynolds elbows him. “Play nice.” She looks back at Neil. “I’m Allison. You’re cute, anyone ever tell you you’re cute?”
Neil flushes, and stares at his tennis shoes. Maybe he could get fifteen miles out of them…
“Anyway, welcome to theater, we’re totally a blast so obviously you’ve made great choices in your scheduling life.”
Neil wants to tell her that no, no one ever told him he was cute, that he very much did not make great choices in his scheduling life, he made the opposite of great choices and did she happen to know the bus schedule because he was trying to get to Mexico. Except Andrew steps up real close on his left side and blows into the shell of his ear, making him jump out of his skin.
“What the hell?” Neil chokes out.
Andrew’s lips quirk up in a sly grin. “Looked distracted there. Like you were about to take off running.” He reaches out and flicks Neil’s arm.
Neil ducks away, swearing under his breath.
“Play nice, boys,” Allison says.
“Is that an order, oh great director?” Andrew deadpans.
Allison winks. “Consider everything I say an order from here on out.”
Rolling his eyes, Andrew sinks down in one of the chairs. “Fine. Hit us.”
Neil has no idea what’s happening, but he sits down also. Three seats from Andrew. Just to be safe.
Allison rifles through her bag and comes up with a notepad and a hot pink pen capped with feathers. “Alright, I’m thinking a wedding.”
“Fuck that,” Andrew growls.
Allison kicks at his chair. “It’s a directorial order Mr. Minyard,” she said, in what Neil considers an awfully authoritarian voice for someone with a pink feather pen.
“Can someone explain to me what we’re supposed to be doing,” Neil mumbles.
Andrew leans back in his chair, bringing his knee to his chest. He’s wearing thick black combat boots.
Not good for running , Neil thinks. Couldn’t catch me even if he tried.
“Yeah, Alli,” Andrew says. “Tell Neil what we are supposed to be doing.”
“Oh!” Her grin grows. “Sorry, Delotte isn’t always the best at providing direction…ironic given that’s literally our assignment today, she just gets a little spacey and forgets, but she’s great, you’ll totally love her–”
“So…” Neil interrupts, trying to get her back on track.
“Right!” Allison twirls the pen between her fingers. “We’re putting on a mini-play. It’s an exercise we always start on at the beginning of the week. We’ll switch groups all throughout the semester. It’s totally fun. So right now, I’m the director, you two are the actors, you kind of half to do what I say otherwise we fail the assignment.”
“Within reason,” Andrew says blandly, picking at a stray thread on his hoodie.
“Within reason,” she agrees.
“And we…” Neil swallows and looks up at the stage. “We have to perform?”
“Obviously,” Andrew smirks.
“Yeah I mean, that’s kind of the deal. It is a theater class.”
Neil’s stomach sinks. “Right,” he says weakly.
“So what are we doing?” Andrew asks, still picking at the thread. “As delightful as this meet and greet is, we are down to thirty minutes of class to come up with a plan.”
“I already told you.” Allison beams. “We’re doing a wedding. We’ll quick write vows right now, seal the deal with a kiss, voila, another banger Allison production, best part, it will take us all of five minutes and then we can spend the rest of the time doing whatever we want. Ready go!”
Neil looks at Andrew. Andrew looks at Neil.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Andrew says, eyeing Neil with something bordering hatred.
Which is just fantastic, he’d been at school for two days and apparently already has a mortal enemy.
“You don’t get a choice in the matter,” Allison says, waving her feather pen at them both. “I’m the director.”
And that is apparently that.
#
Day 3 schedule does not include theater so Neil is happy, happy, happy, and only thinks about Mexico once–when he sits down in the cafeteria, unwraps his peanut butter sandwich, takes a big bite, and looks up to see Andrew glaring at him from a table away.
Andrew puts his pointer finger against his throat.
Draws it slowly across.
Neil flips him off, then ducks his head down and finishes his sandwich in peace.
#
On Day 4 it all goes to hell because of course it does.
“You’re supposed to put feeling into it,” Allison stresses.
Neil shuffles between the balls of his feet and looks down at the piece of lined notebook paper, filled with Allison’s penmanship.
And I vow to love you for the rest of my days , it said in bold, loopy letters. For ever, and ever, you will hold my heart, this I so swear..
Their lines.
That Andrew is all out refusing to say, leaving Neil stuck on the stage uselessly, wishing for death.
“What the fuck kind of movies have you been watching, no one talks like this,” Andrew grumbles.
Allison crosses her arms. “And how many weddings have you been to?”
“Exactly enough to know that no one talks like this.”
“I’m the director-”
“Next time, when I am the director, I am going to make you die on stage,” Andrew says. “Tragically. Every time. You." He points to Allison. "Perishing."
Allison’s head cocks. “Psshhhh.”
“Hit by a bus. Struck by a meteor. Accidental drowning. Not-accidental drowning–”
“Murder, that’s nice,” she interrupts.
“Pecked to death by birds,” Andrew continues, completely unrattled. “Snake bite. Poisoned by a deadly jellyfish. Sat on by an extremely obtuse and possibly blind hippopotamus.”
“Increasingly original.”
Neil turns his attention to the rest of the class while Andrew continues listing impossible causes of death. The group with Andrew’s twin seemed to be doing something involving a chair, tap shoes, and a mop (poised on top of a girl’s head.) They are laughing. The next group over sports someone singing opera. They are also laughing.
“Could we just get this done,” Neil says, turning back to Andrew and Allison. He steps closer to Andrew, cheeks burning. “And I vow to love you for the rest of my days. For ever, and ever, you will hold my heart, this I so swear.,” he mutters so fast it’s almost unintelligible.
“Banger,” Allison gasp, eyes going wide. “Destined for the stage, Neil. Now if you could just slow down, annunciate–” she says this word clapping with each syllable: a-nun-ci-ate, “--and we’re going to be golden tomorrow. Now you, Andrew.”
Andrew’s mouth pinches tight. “For ever and ever you will hold my heart, this I so swear.,” he grinds out, every single word laced with venom.
“Oh you two,” Allison squeals. “So cute I could cry.”
Andrew balls up his paper, throws it at her face, then stomps off the stage.
Rolling her eyes, Allison picks up the crumpled page. “Great job, newbie. Can you say easy-A?”
“Why exactly is he in theater anyway?” Neil mused.
Laughing, Allison throws an arm around Neil’s shoulders, guiding him off the stage.
Which is completely uncomfortable because Neil is not a hugger. “I mean, I just…” Neil chews his lower lip, trying to extricate himself from her hold, but she just grips him tighter. “He doesn’t seem the type.”
“Neither do you,” Allison grins at him.
“Yeah, well I got stuck. They didn’t have room in any of the other filler classes.”
“Ohhhh.” Her eyes widen, then she nods. “Okay, that totally tracks. Matt bet that you were actually a rising theater star who transferred here just for the program which is total bs.”
“Matt?” Neil asks.
“Him.” She points at one of the groups, towards a tall boy who is doing an impressive handstand.
“You…bet on me?”
“Obviously.”
She ruffles his hair like he’s five which is incredibly demeaning but also gives Neil exactly enough motion to duck out from under her arm. “Right,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag and heading up the aisle. “Well. See you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Allison calls after him.
Neil pauses, looking back.
“Andrew is here, also because of a bet. Him and Aaron both. We bet them that they couldn’t go 24 hours without speaking to each other which they totally laughed at because they like to think they’ve got this petty-hatred thing down pat, but turns out they're both completely co-dependent, who would have guessed.”
Neil looks back at the big doors at the back of the auditorium. Andrew waits there, tapping away at his phone. Moments later Aaron walks up the aisle. Neither says a word to the other, yet they both turn and walk out the door together.
“See?” Allison says. “Anyway, they lost, big surprise, and losers had to take theater. Join the cool kids. Truth be told, he likes it. He’s always been dramatic as heck.” She winks at Neil, then bends over her bag, digging for her phone.
“Right,” Neil says slowly. “Uh…bye I guess.”
“See ya, Neil!” Allison says.
The bell rings, and Neil trudges up the aisle, thinking less about Mexico, and more about how tomorrow he’s going to have to get up on stage, pledge his heart, kiss a guy who clearly hates him, and try not to die of humiliation.
#
The fifth day. The day that Neil finally accepts Mexico is never going to be a reality, he won’t live long enough to get there, Claremont High School Auditorium is where he will die.
Probably.
Neil slouches in his seat, watching Group 5 perform a truly weird piece involving no dialogue at all, just slow, languid movements with their hands, and a lot of stifled laughter.
Basically they’re mimes.
Which he didn’t even realize could be an option, why did he have to be in Allison’s group, why couldn’t he be a MIME.
The group finishes on stage, and everyone claps.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Delotte gushes. “Absolutely brilliant, so unique! Group 6, you’re up!”
“Ohhhhh!” Allison shrieks, jumping out of her chair and running to the front of the stage.
Neil follows much less enthusiastically.
It’s only two lines.
And a kiss.
And a kiss.
He could turn around now, except for the fact that Andrew is at his back, practically shoving him up the stairs.
“Okay, okay, this piece is called The Wedding!” Allison announces.
“How original,” Andrew mutters.
Neil manages a shaky grin. They take their places on stage, facing each other. Allison claps her hands and the stage lights dim, leaving a single spotlight where they stand.
“Oh Neil,” Andrew said. “My one true love.”
Neil’s brow furrows. This is not the one line Andrew’s supposed to deliver.
“Oh glorious love, to what do I owe these feelings that course through my veins, you are a rose, a thorn, both because love is beautiful and also painful, though right now it’s exceptionally painful.” He grins dangerously.
Neil looked over at Allison who was frantically mouthing STOP, STOP, STOP !
Neil does not feel inspired to stop. Neil feels inspired to trainwreck the whole thing because this entire week has been a disaster and Andrew might actually be onto something. “Oh Andrew,” he starts.
The curve of Andrew’s grin crawls up his cheeks.
“Had I not met you this week, my life would be in shambles. Uh…you are the jelly to my peanut butter.”
Someone titters in the audience.
Andrew’s eyebrow quirked. “And you, dear Neil, are the spelunking to my cave.”
“That makes no sense,” Neil hisses.
“At least it’s more original than peanut butter and jelly,” Andrew hisses back.
Which, fair enough. Neil chews his lower lip. “Ummm, I think of you every waking moment. I dream of you and…uh…”
Someone else catcalls in the audience, and Neil’s cheeks go hot.
“I dream of you too, dearest Neil, how I long to hold you, and sing to you, and get down on one knee–”
“Think you already did that,” Neil smirks. “I mean, if we’re going to be particular here, we’re kind of already at the altar.”
He looks back at Allison who now watching them, mouth wide open.
“And oh, I am so glad I am at this very altar with you!” Andrew cries, dramatically throwing a hand across his chest. “Neil, I vow to love you for the rest of my days. For ever and ever you will hold my heart, this I so swear..”
“And I, Andrew, vow to love you for the rest of my days for ever and ever you will hold my heart, this I so swear..”
“And that!” Andrew announces to the audience. “Is how you hold a fucking wedding!”
Then he steps up, grabs Neil by the back of the neck, and forces their lips together.
#
Everything that is good in his life starts on the sixth day, in the back of his Mom’s station wagon as she drives them to the grocery store, Neil's phone alight in his hands.
Not bad theater boy, the incoming text reads.
Neil grins. Allison told me you were dramatic, he types. She was right.
Never claimed otherwise. Hey, we’re getting together at Nicky’s for pizza later. I’m only inviting you because I see you at lunch and you have no friends.
Nice, Neil types. I’m so flattered to be the pity invite.
“Making friends?” his mom asks as she parks. “I knew that new school would be good for you!”
“Sure,” Neil says distractedly as his phone buzzes again.
You should be. I don’t invite just anyone.
Only the ones who vow their unending love at a fake altar? Neil types.
Only the ones who are good kissers.
Neil’s entire body goes hot. He sneaks a look at his mom, but she’s grabbing her purse and wallet.
Text me the address , he writes. I’ll be there. This I so swear.