Tuesday
12:10 PM
drama class
"Love me, Elizabeth..."
She smells like daffodils and vanilla extract. It's not the best combination, but I deal. My nose grazes her cheek and she breathes out quietly, holding back the big breaths I know she wants to let out. "Love me," I whisper, dipping my head lower into her neck as Anna sits there in the chair, center stage. My lips become just as curious, wondering how the garden on her neck really tastes...
I move in even closer, my lips beginning to explore the space behind Anna's small ear, but Mrs. Langdon sighs from the first row of seats, and she lets out an exasperated, "Mr. Beckett..."
I smirk and slowly exit Anna's personal space, leaving her there to breathe in, breathe out. Until she regains the composure I stole from her the second we started our scene. Mrs. Langdon stands up. I know this before looking because she's wearing those shiny black heels today, and they make that same clicking sound with every step she takes. "I need to run these papers to the office. Travis, you rehearse your scene with Chelsea while I'm gone," she says, and then she looks at me tiredly. "Try to behave, Mr. Beckett."
I grin and flick my hair out of my face. Teachers just don't get it. They just can't be strict with me. Beckett? What kind of a last name is that to be strict with? If my name were William Johnson, or something sophisticated like that, then sure. But my name, it's just another one of my secret weapons.
I go to sit down in the seats, and Anna follows. Travis gets up as soon as I sit. I watch him follow Chelsea onto the stage. He's being my exact opposite. And it's interesting.
Chelsea sits in the same chair that Anna had been occupying. She sits up much more straight, knowing that she's a much better actor than Travis and that she is almost appalled to have been paired with him. Her crossed legs are a bronzey color from her skirt down, and if I stared any longer, the name of her tanning spray might just pop into my head. But what I'd rather be paying attention to is Travis. He stares at his script and reads straight off it, without looking up, "Elizabeth, your father is looking for you."
Chelsea rolls her green eyes and says, "Travis, you can't just fucking read it."
"Hey, hey," I intrude. "Keep it civil. Here." I take it upon myself to rise from the audience of the rest of the class and step back onto the stage. "Travis, you're way tense," I say to him and he looks at me awkwardly but in interest. I stand close behind him, my hand wrapped around his back and held firmly on his upper arm, kneading his muscles softly. In some way, he seems to tense up more. "Look at Chelsea... Isn't she beautiful? Read the line and then look at Chelsea. It'll come naturally."
And Travis clears his throat a little. He's used to me giving him these little tips. He's my little project and in time, Travis McCoy will be my most beautiful masterpiece. He may still just be an extra when the school play rolls around (as if I'd let anyone thief my position as leading male), but he will be a masterpiece. The most poised and choreographed extra in the production. I'll put money on it.
Travis looks at gorgeous Chelsea Hardy, and I can see his skin blush a little. This time, I have yet to know why...
"Elizabeth... your father is looking for you."
Chelsea seems pleased enough and she stands up as she has been dying to do. "Tell him I am asleep," she states accordingly, practically walking on her toes around the stage floor, anything to get her nose higher in the air.
And Travis stares at her dumbstruck, waiting for more of my assistance. I move closer to him, my lips closer to his ear, higher to reach his intimidating height. That was what Travis had on me. A few mere inches. "Now go over to her, slowly," I whisper, pushing him a little, and I stay right by his side. By the time we reach Chelsea, she's already given up, and Travis decides if she has, he must too.
"It's useless," he mutters, gently shaking my arm off him.
"Yeah, it is," Chelsea says irritably.
The beautiful ones are the most arrogant ones. Good thing they're not the only option.
"Shut up, bitch," I say tiredly and her jaw drops so that her cheap lipstick seperates and clumps together when she purses them together again. I turn back to Travis. "Just be natural, Trav. Chelsea's a good actress, especially in bed, but-"
And the loudest gasp I have ever heard issues from behind me and I'm turned around by the force of over-moisturized hands, and one of those hands reaches up to slap me in the face, but I stop her. I inhale some breath, pretending to think. But there is not much to think about. She is a whore. Every person in this room knows it. And like most whores in this high school, I had her once. All the prudes and virgins, I had them too. Like poor little Anna that I had shaking in her untouchable skin only moments ago. The entire female population of this high school is under my control and frankly? It's gotten boring. Good thing they're not the only option.
I don't release my firm grip on Chelsea Hardy's wrist, and I say, "I wouldn't."
With one more prominent purse of her lips, she releases a loud sound of emotional impatience, and I'm reminded of junior prom night. I laugh to myself as she runs out of the auditorium. I turn to Travis, who doesn't look quite as amused. His brown eyes are stray and distraught. I step toward him. "Hey," I say quietly. "You're a good actor. You don't deserve to work with one-shot, talentless stars like Chelsea. She's like Jessica Simpson, without the morals. Know what I mean? You and me, we'll take on Hollywood."
He sighs and his distinct breath blows onto my lips. He runs a finger down my chest and what, what is that feeling in my knees? "Try taking on high school first, Beckett," Travis says, and he walks off backstage, leaving me alone in the spotlight for quite likely the first time in my life.
Everyone's got their chains to break -->
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