“What?” Agatha blusters, but I’m already to the steps and on my way to Calypso.
Excitement runs off her in waves, and she has her script open for Rebecca to see.
I press myself behind her, looking over her shoulder and past a braid, flicking it for good measure.
“Here,” she states, rolling her eyes at me. “Here, at the end of ‘Left Behind,’ all three of us are on stage.” She glances at Rebecca. “Lex and I will be acting silently, watched by you from afar. But what if in this moment we mimic the scene we just did and break that distance for a second?”
Rebecca’s head tilts, her dark curls smooshing against Calypso’s cheek as she rests her chin on Calypso’s other shoulder. “I’m not sure I follow?”
I mimick Rebecca, resting my chin on the shoulder in front of me. “You want Jo to make eye contact with you as her song ends and extend her hand, as though asking you to take it like you just did. You break the scene where Harriet and Kenneth are meant to be distant and oblivious to Jo by having Harriet acknowledge the action, then you want me to extend my hand so you can take it. Song ends. I guide you away. To all appearances, you’ve made your choice.”
“Ohh.” Rebecca breathes. “Ooh. Yes. So much yes. I love that.”
“What are we doing over here?” Mr. D’plume invades the space, and both Rebecca and I glance up at him, refusing to let our chins leave Calypso’s shoulders. Like little perched owls.
Agatha states, “They’re rewritingyourscript!”
I jerk off Calypso’s shoulder, wondering where the heck the she-devil even came from and when she followed me.
“Oh?” D’plume asks.
I frown, ready to defend, but Calypso beats me to it. “I’m going to connect an action in this scene to a moment later.”
I’ve never heard her speak in such definitive terms outside of Harriet before.
“It will deepen the depiction of Harriet and Jo’s bond, display better how it’s changed, and add another level of personality to a climactic scene.”
“Hmm.” Mr. D’plume’s expression doesn’t change. “If this edit is so impactful, do I need to readjust the scripts for everyone?”
“What?” Agatha’s shrill voice stabs through my ears, but every one of us completely ignores her.
Calypso laughs, shaking her head. “No. I’ll make a note here. It only affects the three of us directly, and we’re all agreed.”
Agatha pushes her way into the conversation, stepping forward between Calypso and Mr. D’plume. Calypso steps back into me, hitting my chest as Rebecca moves away from both of us. Calypso looks up when I look down, and a scarlet brush paints across her cheeks. But she doesn’t pull away for the longest moment in my life.
“Excuse me. Whatever affects the leads affects everyone, first of all, and second of all, I’m Harriet’sunderstudy.” She growls the word like it’s an insult to everyone. “This affects Marcus and me as well.” Agatha tosses her brown hair over her shoulders and plants her hands on her hips. “AndI don’t think it’s in character for Harriet todragJo away to begin with. Since when did this girl just looking for love and acceptance become so dark and broody andviolent?”
Rebecca laughs, and Agatha whirls.
I pull my attention up off Calypso the moment our classmates’ eyes meet. Sparks fly.
“What are you laughing about?” Agatha demands.
“I don’t know where you’re getting any of this from. Harriet isn’t violent. She isn’t dark either. She’s more hopeful than Jo is in a bleak world. At no point was sheeverlooking for love or acceptance. She already had both through Jo. What she stumbles upon with Kenneth she actively fights for, like, half the play.” Rebecca’s arms fold. “What have you been reading?”
Agatha’s mouth drops open, then Calypso snickers, and the anger that comes slashing toward her makes her press back against me and go stone stiff, all humor gone.
Agatha’s eyes narrow. And hints of hatred lace deep in them.
“I agree with Ms. Kole,” D’plume states.
Agatha straightens, turning back to our professor.
“Seeing as it’s my play, I get to make that decision. Her depiction of Harriet is portrayed so precisely how I pictured her that it’s almost as though she wrote the play herself. Your interpretation of her still needs work.”
Red crawls up Agatha’s neck, but it isn’t in the warm way blush comes to Calypso’s face. It’s an angry splotching that stretches higher and higher until it even takes hold of her ears.
Without another word, Mr. D’plume turns to call directions to the rest of the students, and Agatha glares at Calypso on her way past.
