The man hands us each another stack of papers. When I look at mine, I am relieved to see the same words from my previous round. I sneak a glance at the two scenes on either side of me and realize they have given us each something different. The younger girl from the lobby has a scene from Hamlet, with the lines from Ophelia highlighted, and my neighbor to the right is reading Olivia’s lines from Twelfth Night.
A graceful woman crosses the stage, the one who had until now sat in the middle of the table, and at once I know it must be Ms. Kent. She meets each of our eyes with an encouraging smile, and though I have lost feeling in both my fingers and toes, the act of support bolsters my spirits.
“Ladies, this round we would like to see how you interact with other people. The chemistry you can create with another actor, one you probably have no relationship with or have ever seen before. In addition, depending on the scene we have selected for you, we will be looking for a particular trait or skill. Since the male casting call won’t be held until tomorrow, a few brave volunteers have stepped up to help.”
She tilts her head, acknowledging a group of people sitting in a nearby row. I squint, but can barely make out their vague outlines in the darkness.
“Don’t worry. We’ll only be judging you in your scene, not how well our good-natured assistants perform. They are simply here to give you something to react to and play off in your scene. Sound good? All right.” She glances at a clipboard in her hands and then back up, directly at me. “Miss Forlani, you’re first.”
And just like that, my bolstered spirits plummet.
First?
With everyone watching?
In the small part of my brain that is still thinking logically, I realize that the four other actresses and the handful of volunteers seated in shadow are hardly an audience. But I am still terrified.
I hear a snicker and know without having to look that it is Kendal.
Ms. Kent motions to someone in the wings, and I hear footsteps approach. This must be my Romeo. I scan my page and see a much larger section now highlighted. As my eyes skim the wildly romantic banter, my cheeks start to warm. And when I glance up to see the volunteer step out of the shadows, my blush turns into a full-on inferno.
“Austin?”
Bathed in the glow of the overhead light, Austin’s bright blue eyes look deeper. His gaze bores into mine, and my heart begins pounding against my breastbone. My body tenses. Heat pools in my stomach. My breathing escalates. Again, I am overwhelmed by the wealth of foreign sensations and am shocked to discover this is what rage feels like…strangely, it is almost pleasant.
“Miss Forlani, this is Mr. Michaels. He will be your Romeo for this scene, reading the highlighted section on your pages. This is an extended sample, so for this round you will be allowed to use your script when needed. You have five minutes to familiarize yourself with both the lines and your partner. Good luck.”
The first time she expressed the sentiment, I had been gratified. This time, however, I find myself a touch annoyed, as I will need far more than luck to salvage this audition.
I sidle up to my so-called partner and whisper tersely, “Are you here just to vex me? I assure you, you did quite a thorough job earlier today. There is no need for you to follow me so.”
Austin blinks. “Vex you? Did you really just say that? Damn, you take this Shakespeare stuff seriously, huh?”
He smirks, and my gaze is inexplicably drawn to his mouth. I shake my head and move it back to his eyes, berating myself for my verbal weakness. His continued presence today has me so disconcerted, I am forgetting to watch my language.
“But no,” he continues, “I’m not here to vex you. I’m here for my sister.” The muscles in his stubble-covered jaw clench as a rapid-fire series of emotions washes across his face: affection, anger, sadness, and then back to cool aloofness. “My dad’s assistant got stuck on the freeway, and Jamie needed a ride. So here I am.”
Struck by the surprising insight his facial cues gave me into this perplexing boy, I follow where he points—past Kendal, who is visibly incensed—to see the young girl from the waiting room. Now the tickle of recognition from earlier makes sense. Their dark hair and soulful blue eyes are almost identical.
Jamie smiles and waves, and Austin gives her an indulgent smile in return. The sardonic angles and strong features of his face soften. He transforms.
And in this moment, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Then his gaze shifts to me, and aloofness wins again.
“Please take your places and begin,” Ms. Kent calls out.
My body locks in fresh fear. Impulsively I reach out, grabbing Austin’s arm. Muscles flex beneath the firm, warm skin, and my mouth goes dry. His free hand closes around my fingers, giving a quick squeeze before removing them from his body. Then, in a loud voice only slightly laced with arrogance, he says, “I’m ready.”
I shake my head and take a hurried glance at the pages in my hand. The highlighted section begins with two words from me and then a short speech from Austin—er, Romeo. I should be able to read the material ahead while he says his lines. I look out into the crowd and straighten my shoulders. “So am I.”
Inhaling through my nose, I watch Austin from the corner of my eye. Outwardly, he appears calm, but I can see the worn toe of his boot scuffing the floor. The action somehow reassures me and with a smile, I turn to him and say, “Ay me!”
My plan had been to read my next speech as Austin reads his, but that is not what happens.
Because Austin does not look down at his page.
“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven….”
Although Austin is but a volunteer and has no need to be familiar with the script, he recites Romeo’s speech as though he wrote the words, as if he believes them…and as if I am truly his bright angel.
Reyna’s confusing riddle from the tent springs to mind, disrupting my romantic musings as I realize I have just met the first marker.
An angel speaks.
Two more markers remain until I am sent back to my own time. My pulse pounds in my ears.
Austin stops speaking, and I snap back to reality to see him wiggle his eyebrows, indicating it is my turn. Flustered, I tell myself to focus as I look down and read my next part. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”
And as I read those lines, I leave behind the tent, the riddles, and even my own identity. And I become Juliet.
So we continue, each reciting in turn, and with each line uttered, I become more enchanted. Yes, my faithful blush rises at the talk of Romeo taking me and at his being left unsatisfied—much to Austin’s distinct enjoyment—but somehow as the scene unfolds and Austin stares into my eyes, I forget the audience. I forget the fight we had earlier in class.
I stare at Austin, and he is Romeo.
And I am in love with him.
Offstage, another volunteer acts as the nurse and calls for me, yanking me from my imagined world where I stand on a balcony in my Verona courtyard. I stumble on my next line. I look around, see the darkened theater and the director’s table, and then glance back at my page.
“I hear some noise within,” Austin whispers, giving me my line.
I glance up, grateful, before finding my place and beginning again. But the magic is gone. I say the next few lines, and Ms. Kent calls, “That will be all.”