April Jones

 

Unless some magical wizard swooped down from space, kidnapped my teacher, flew her to Hogwarts and held her for ransom, the spring play was going to be an utter disaster. Miss A, the Dramatic Arts advisor, who was--like--my age, had no idea what she was doing.

She never did.

To be frank, theatre really wasn’t my thing. This was partly due to my occasional symptoms of Momentous Speech Impairment and near-crippling stage fright, a rare but severe condition that only showed up when I tried to speak in front of an audience. There was also the fact that the kids in there were either elitist theatre snob or way-over-the-top attention-seekers--like a bunch of autistic Miley Cyruses.

And it creeped me out.

A lot.

So I actively tried to avoid them. Except that was impossible now that I was stuck in this useless, brainless drama class until further notice, thanks to some idiotic jerk who created the list of graduation requirements for my private school.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Miss A had asked us to each write our own plays for the show--and I complied. Writing--that was my thing. And I really wanted a good grade.

I mean, it was still a class. What was the harm in just another A plus?

Anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose. By the time the results came, I surprised myself by being disappointed and furious.

I trusted her. I trusted her to make a wise, conscientious decision that would reflect her professional expertise and she turned around and spat in my face.  Miss A had made the worst, most awful mistake that it was probably an even bigger mistake than, like, the George Bush presidency. And that was the worst thing that’s ever happened to anyone!

In all actuality, I would’ve forgiven her for rejecting my play, if it weren’t for that.

You know, eventually.

But when the word ‘winner’, followed by two other words that sounded like Leo Zachary, escaped her lips, my jaw swung open and stayed there as I desperately tried to comprehend what had just happened. Even after I saw his gloating face stand up in front of the class that afternoon to receive the applause…I still--couldn’t---quite---send--the information to my brain, so I just continued to stare with my mouth open for a little while longer.

Let me tell you a few things about Leo Zachary. He who I had valiantly endured for the past three years, just so happened to be the most arrogant, malicious, metro-sexual waste of air I’d ever met. His only talents consisted of total ego-maniac-acy and compulsive instigation--which was almost always directed at me.

He couldn’t go three seconds without seeking attention for himself if he tried. There were just so many things wrong with the kid that I couldn’t see him succeeding in anything because he was too busy being a jerk.

Too many times in the past has he bullied me, called me names with his equally despicable friends, and made me feel inferior in every sense of the word. Too many times has he deliberately and maliciously exposed every bit of insecurity I’d ever had and threw it up in my face just for some laughs.

I mean, I was a freshman back then. Everyone was at least a little awkward and barely into their teens.

But he used to target me so monstrously that there were times that I thought I really hated him.

Like legit.

And even though it was it like, forever ago, and I’d grown and matured a lot since then, he was probably still the same worthless scumbag he’d always been.

Quite honestly my anger at Miss A wasn’t rooted in prejudice. That’d be extremely unethical of me as a writer, and also just plain wrong. The real problem--or at least one of them--was that his play was, to put it simply, crap. His plot was crap. His characters were crap. And his title was just plain stupid.

Shadows the Sun??

That�"that didn’t even make sense!

 “So proud! So, so proud,” Miss A continued over the roar of the classroom. “And now if everyone’ll get settle down I’d like to get straight to work.” She stood at the podium in the front of the classroom, the setting sun spilling through the shades. Leo was being showered with high-fives and cheers on his way back to where he was sitting, just a couple of rows behind me.

Her stance erect and eager, Miss A appraised the class. She lived in a world of perfection. She was petite and cheery, with childish, round eyes and long, blonde locks. When she went to work, I bet it didn’t even feel like work to her because everything was so fun. And when she was done, she most likely skipped home as she sang for birds and the rats on the street because she was just so freaking awesome.

“We’ll need volunteers after school every day of the week,” she continued animatedly, “and from now on this class will meet in the auditorium where we’ll work on costumes and set design, okay?”

I had to hold myself back from groaning out loud. She was beginning to really convince me that this was actually happening. She was really going to go through with that god-awful play.  

The large class murmured a nonchalant affirmative, through nearly half of them were absorbed in their own whispered conversations. Miss A, not much accustomed to absolute silence, happily passed out set construction safety worksheets. For the rest of the class the students socialized and answered comprehension questions.

Well, they socialized with each other. I never really fit in with drama kids, and didn’t pretend to. They were intimidating, ostentatious and took great pains to make sure everything from their hair to their shoes were perfect. Even though everyone wore the same indigo and grey uniform, they made sure it looked better on them than on anybody else, as if by law.  

I, by contrast, was simple and glad I never had to worry about any of that stuff. Since I couldn’t afford to live in the dorms, I took the bus to school and couldn’t be bothered with time-consuming activities like fixing my hair. Chin-length and sandy blonde, it was fine the way it usually was, thrown up in a bun or something. And trying to put on makeup would be a failure from the start, since I was practically blind without my glasses.

For the most part they simply ignored me. Even the kids who, like myself, were only in this class because it was required�"which I found slightly disappointing. Even Leo, admittedly, who thankfully had barely spoken to me at all since the beginning of the year.  Our senior year.

Still, it was extremely difficult to forget one’s conduct and character just because that person suddenly decided to treat it as if it’d never happened. I certainly did not.

They sat huddled amongst each other as I sat quietly and worked. Diane, a heavy-set girl the next seat over with soft red hair who rarely ever said much to anyone, surprised me by whispering, “Sorry she didn’t pick your play. I think Miss A has some favorites in the class,” she made a show of discreetly pointing at Leo, who was apparently saying really funny to the group of people behind me. They all laughed in way that made obvious they wanted to be heard so the rest of the class could tell what a wonderful time they were having.

I shrugged, though I appreciated her comment and smiled despite myself. “Well, that is a valid point. But it’s no big deal. I’ll get over it,” I replied kindly, realizing the second I said the words that they were true. I would get over it. Nothing besides my ego was really damaged.

She seemed to be encouraged by my answer and added after a moment’s pause, “I heard she’s planning on giving us a lot homework this semester.”

At this I had to groan out loud, shooting daggers at the culprit, who was currently sitting at her desk concentrating hard on something.  “As if I didn’t have enough homework from my other classes that are actually important.” I sighed, massaging my eyelids.

“So why don’t you just quit?” said a voice behind me. I started, and my eyes flew open to find Leo staring right at me, his body relaxing into the chair. He was lean, with pointed features and dark, tousled hair and fell into his eyes. Not that it was any of my business, but his looks generally seemed benefit him well enough with other girls. Remarkably so--I bet--considering his want of character couldn’t be helped.

But it didn’t work with me. Seeing him recalled some of the ire I’d been repressing for the duration period.

Surprised and a little confused, I responded. “I can’t quit, it’s a class.”

“So quit the class,” he shrugged.

“How ‘bout I quit talking to you?” I turned away and faced forward again. Didn’t he have better things to do, now that he’d had his little victory? I mean, seriously. If he was in such desperate need of attention why couldn’t he just go get it somewhere else? On a scale of zero to none my eagerness to be in his company was at a negative ten thousand.

He groaned. “Yep. Still annoying as hell. Remind me to never be nice to you again.” His tone was now exceedingly derisive, familiar.

I rolled my eyes, Diane frozen into to silence. “Oh, give me a break. May I suggest a dictionary? Since you obviously don’t know the meaning of the word ‘nice’.”

“May I suggest you drown yourself in the sewage? Since you’d obviously be doing the world a favor,” he returned in a mockingly.

I blinked at him, mildly surprised. Then I composed my features, making a considerable effort not to sound nasty. I’d forgotten how volatile he was, somehow. “Look, I didn’t take this class to bicker with you�"

“--and I didn’t take this class to actually try and be civil with you, but I did. Clearly that was a mistake.”

“If you had just left me alone in the first place, there would be no mistake. Now shoo,” I said.

“As a matter of fact, it turns out b***h isn’t really my type. Excuse me while I use this very sharp pencil to stab myself for actually trying to have a conversation with you. At least that’ll be less painful.”

“Still not nearly as painful as was reading your god-awful play,” I couldn’t help but add, smiling to myself.

His face betrayed no emotion, but I could see that that had got to him. Faint color had risen to his olive-toned cheeks, and his next works came out in a harsh, acidic tone.

“Between us two, remind me again which one was denied? Oh, wait. Don’t tell me. April Jones, right? Glasses, bossy, wears the same hairstyle every day? Supposed to be really good at writing and yet failed at winning a writing contest? Well, I guess I gotta go. Better not keep you from all the guys lining up to date ya. Have a nice life. ”

With that he turned away, not noticing Diane whose eyes were wide with alarm at witnessing the hostile exchange.

I shook my head, and tried in vain to try to refocus on my sheet. He was just so uncouth and rude. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen that coming--that I actually started to wonder somewhere in the back of mind if he’d somewhat improved on his character.

I snorted to myself.

Like that was ever going to happen.

But still. You’d think that the guy would have at least gotten some manners over the years. I shook my head, disappointed in myself for how much I actually cared. Insufferable prick. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I’ve never seen him that mad before,” she whispered in awe, even quieter than before as if not to attract his attention again.

I sniffed, having already forgotten it. “Yeah…well…he still sucks at writing.”

And then we both snickered, later lapsing into comfortable silence till the class ended. I released a huge sigh of relief at the bell, signaling the end of a long, arduous week. Just a couple more days and it would be the beginning of another, long and arduous week. Strapping my backpack onto my back and heading out the door with the rest of the students, I heard a soft, soprano voice from behind me.

“April, can I talk to you for a sec?” Miss A called to me.

My initial reaction was apprehension, though I didn’t quite know why. Her mannerisms annoyed me, yes. That couldn’t be helped. But there had never been a time that Miss A tried to deliberately wrong me�"that I knew of, at least. I made my way over to her desk, watching her closely.

She smiled at me almost apologetically, “Don’t feel discouraged, April. Your play was really good and you’re a very talented writer.”

Whatever, I thought as I prepared myself for an unwelcome pity spiel.

“I hope you didn’t get too upset,” she continued, a small, unnatural crease on her forehead.

“No--really. It’s okay.” I said almost naturally.

She beamed again. “Atta girl! I knew it’d work out! That’s why I wanted to ask you something.” Miss A jumped up from her seat, and came closer.

I frowned, curious, but at the same time slightly uncomfortable with the proximity. “Sure.”

“April…would you be interested…in directing the play this season?” she said, nearly bursting with excitement.

Silence.

“You talkin’ to me?” I pointed to myself.

“Uh…yes.”

Silence.

“You want me direct?”

“Well, co-direct,” she allowed.

“…Why?” I said finally, the pitch of my tone rising at the end.

“Because you’re intelligent, hard-working and someone I’d love to have on the team.”

“Well…uh. I--I...thank you," I said, blinking like an idiot. "I mean, I’ve never...done anything like this ever,” I let out an awkward laugh. “I’m not really a team player as you can see,” I admitted, referring my lack of relationship-building skills which usually caused me to sit alone in most classes including hers. I was hoping she’d understand but she just kept smiling as if not having heard me. I realized she had never even noticed that or anything else about me. No wonder she was always marking me absent even when I was sitting right in front of her. I refrained from rolling my eyes.

“Trust me, you’re perfect for it. So what do you say?” Her bright blue eyes were wide, and for the first time ever I felt like she was actually looking at me.

I frowned again, “I�"I mean, I guess. Sure,” I said, surprising myself.

She clapped her tiny hands together, “Wonderful! We’ll need to start right away, so be in the Fine Arts building straight after school on Monday so we can begin the audition process. You have a copy of the play, don’t you?”

I nodded, feeling a tiny bit of excitement bubbling inside.

“Good. Bring that, pen and paper, and some coffee. It’s going to be a long day.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“Bye, April.”

“Wait a second. Before I forget…” I said, turning back around. “Who will I be doing it with again?”

She had sat back down on her desk and was writing something down. “The author of the play, of course. Two great minds think alike, right?” she said happily.

My head spun. I stared at her. “What.”

“I still can’t believe how well this all worked out!” she clasped her hands together, dazed.

“What.”

She was rubbing her chin with her thumb and her index finger, “You know, now that I think about it, you two will be spending a lot of time together. Here, I’ll give you his number. Why don’t you two grab a bite to eat this weekend and get to each other better?”

I was horror-struck into silence.

“It’s okay. I know you’re shy. But make an effort, April. He’ll be happy to do it. He’s the sweetest little thing.”

I stared at her. What a sick, twisted thing to say.

I shook my head. Forget the play. Forget him. I just wanted to get out of there. But what could I say? I had already agreed to my own demise. Suddenly I wanted to be invisible again.

“I…gotta go…”

“See you Monday!”

All the way home I numbly repeated the same question to myself over and over. “What have I done?”

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[TheMadnessWithin]

wow this was really good! i mean i was reading intently the whole time, i really like how you described the characters and the plot, you really laid out the story well and described everything perfectly, good read:)