I reach out, and stroke my fingers across the back of her hand. She shivers at my touch, and it's impossible to keep the smile off my face. "We both know that's not true."
I stand, and as I do, one of the makeup assistants catches my eye and waves me over for touch ups. But I can't help looking back at Amber, who's still on the floor behind the table, scone utterly forgotten, staring at me.
6
Peter
11th Grade
Amber’s house is really nice. It’s not rich, but it’s comfortable and lived in. My aunt’s house doesn’t feel like this. Even though she’s an amazing person, the house kind of feels like a museum. Like nothing should be touched and everything should always look perfect. Country club finery.
I’ve never really been comfortable in that kind of environment, but I wasn’t comfortable in the apartment I shared with my mom either, which was so old and falling apart that you could see the pipes in the walls in some places and cockroaches were my constant roommates.
The Dwyer house is a happy medium. It’s bright and warm, and I don’t see any rooms that look like they’re reserved for the queen in case she pays an unexpected visit.
It’s been a few weeks since we were both cast in the play, and we’ve been in rehearsals almost every day working on the play. We train with Mr. Davidson on how to walk, stand, and sit like the characters would. It’s not natural and I swear my back hurts more now than when I used to play sports. It doesn’t seem like my spine is really meant to be that straight, but everyone swears that it’s not going to kill me, even though they’re complaining too.
The people from Drama Club say hi to me in the halls. I didn’t notice how many of them were in my classes before. Now it almost seems like I have friends. As strange as it sounds, I hadn’t really noticed how lonely I was until suddenly there were people around me. People who were actually talking to me, laughing with me.
And at the center of that group is Amber. I can’t seem to keep it together around her. I’ve never been a nervous person but I feel like I’m constantly tongue-tied and awkward when she’s around. Plus, I always manage to forget my lines.
When she asked me to come over and rehearse with her, I said yes so fast, I didn’t even think about asking my aunt. She said yes, of course, after teasing me for a good five minutes about finding a girl. I think I was still blushing when I showed up here, but she’s not wrong. I think I had a crush on her the minute she walked up to me in the snow, and now it feels like so much more than that.
“So,” she says, flopping into a giant beanbag in the corner of her room, “how are your lines coming?”
I shrug off my backpack and sit down on the floor. “Okay? I’m not really good at this whole memorization thing.”
“Never had to memorize this much before?”
“Never.” I look at the way she’s relaxed and comfortable, loose t-shirt sagging off her shoulder and leggings that make me have to look away or my body’s going to give me away. “You?”
“I’m pretty used to it,” she says, “but still, it’s a lot of lines. I think doing this is going to help. I’ve run some of my other scenes with people, but not ours yet.”
Ours. “Yeah.”
Amber rolls out of the bag and grabs her script, and flops down onto the floor in front of me. “Which scene first?”
“We could go in order.”
She grins, and I look down at my own script, afraid of giving it away. “Perfect.”
And so we start.
We sit across from each other, and I try not to look at my script as much as possible because I enjoy looking at her. It occurs to me as she and I read other cast members’ lines, that she only invited me tonight, when she could have had a few other actors over, too. My blood sizzles with the idea that she wanted to be alone.
After reading through a particularly long scene, Amber throws the script aside. “Have you seen the movie?” she asks.
“Pride and Prejudice?”
“Yeah.”
“No.” I shake my head.
There’s a special gleam in her eye. “There are two different versions. One is a mini-series that’s a little older. Colin Firth plays Mr. Darcy, and then there’s a more recent film version. A lot of people think that the mini-series is better, but I’m not so sure. The film is beautiful.”
“I’ll have to watch it sometime,” I say.
She glances sideways at me. “It’s Friday. Do you have anywhere to be? We could watch it now.”
I grin at her. “Shouldn’t we be rehearsing?”
“We’ll call it research,” she says. “Besides, we can run the rest of the scenes after we finish the movie. It’s still pretty early.”
“Sure.”
“Great. Our TV room is in the basement.”
We take our scripts down to the basement, and start the movie.
I keep sneaking glances at Amber throughout the movie, and she’s engrossed. There are times when her lips move with the film, and I’m not entirely sure that she even knows.
The film reaches the scene we were about to read, and in the film, it takes place on a day that’s pouring rain, under a stone gazebo. Earlier in the film, it was clear that Elizabeth and Darcy have an attraction for each other, a fascination, but this scene changes everything.
I hadn’t thought about what it must be like to want someone so much in a society that barely allows anyone to touch. No wonder the filmmakers took the time to focus on the tiny details like simple touches on the hand.
The chemistry between the characters in this scene is burning, and I could swear that even though they’re furious at each other, that they’re going to kiss. But they don’t. They hold themselves back even though you can tell it’s the only thing that they want to do.
I look at Amber, and for just a second in the dim light, I swear that she’s looking at me, but the next scene is brighter, and she’s just watching the film. The air feels changed now, charged, and I’m far more invested in the outcome of the film than I ever imagined. Even though I already know the ending—after all, I’ve read the script.
The reunion between their characters is romantic and breathless, and I can understand why this story is a classic. Both of these characters have flaws. They’re not too perfect and they both screw up massively, but they still find a way to forgive and find each other.
For a second, I think about my mom. We’ve both screwed up, and I would love it if we could somehow find our way back to each other and start again. But who knows if that will ever happen or if that will ever be a possibility.
The credits roll on the film, and Amber sighs. “Such a good movie.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
She doesn’t move to turn on the lights, so we’re left in shadowy dimness. I’m glad. I think the atmosphere that’s been created would be shattered.
“So what scenes do you want to run?”
There are two that are on my mind. “The last one.”
“Okay,” she says softly, turning toward me on the couch.