50 - You're Sitting With Me Tonight, Right?

I got my first chance to play a lead character during my senior year at Riverside High—Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I practiced my lines for hours at home until Mom and Tails both begged me to stop. I’d go out on Episodes and run through the words silently. And on Opening Night, I couldn’t eat anything, even though I knew it’d mess with my energy. I paced the green room behind the auditorium’s stage, back and forth, back and forth. Then…I threw up. And after, I felt better.

I felt almost as nervous tonight. Almost.

Did I know Bee? Yes. Did I think she liked me? Yes. Did I have any experience dating—or even pursuing—anyone who wasn’t Peter? Nope. Nuh-uh. Zero. So I could be reading the situation all wrong. This might not be a date thingie. But she’d replied almost instantly to my text.

<Of course ;) - Bianca 4:13>

So instead of pacing in the green room, I froze my butt off by the fountain outside Doyle Auditorium. And instead of throwing up, I swallowed down my insecurity. Bee was running late; it was 4:40, and the theater opened in five minutes. Where was she?

<On my way. Three minutes! - Bianca 4:41>

“Allllllright, Intro to Drama students, we’re heading inside in four!” Carl shouted. “We’re Row Five. Stay together with your study buddies, have a great time, and think about the elements of drama while you’re watching.”

Bee was cutting it a little too close. I kept fidgeting with Tails’s tails. I’d jammed her into a handbag with my wallet and phone, though that was in my hand.

Then, there she was. Her white dress went to mid-thigh—a touch short for an audience member at a play, but it was college, so that could be forgiven. I could see its lacy hemline peeking out from under her gigantic puffer coat and covering black tights. And she’d curled her already-wavy hair, so it rolled like waves off her head. She’d gone to great lengths to look gorgeous, and her glasses didn’t ruin the effect at all.

It was ruined a little by the gigantic backpack she always carried around.

I gave her a quick hug before I’d even thought about whether that was appropriate for a pseudo-date, but she hugged me back. “Told you I was on my way,” she whispered, grinning impishly.

“What took you so long?”

“Alright, Intro to Drama, weeeeeeee’re going in!” Carl shouted.

“I had to pick up a few things,” she said. “Let’s go. They’re all for later.”

“What are you going to do with that coat? It won’t fit in your backpack.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just tuck them by my feet.”

Outside of my apartment, the auditorium was the first place I’d found on campus that truly felt like home. Sure, the comedy and tragedy masks were much bigger and more ornate than Riverside’s. And yeah, the velvet chairs felt much better than the worn and patched seats back home. And it could hold a few hundred more people, but so what? It was a theater!

Bee sat down at the end, and I sat beside her. As the theater filled up, we made small talk; I figured out what the weather was like in winter here, and she told me it was her first time at a play. We took off our coats, and I caught her taking a peek at me and my dress, which was fine. I was doing the same thing.

This close, her perfume was strong but not overpowering—a green apple scent, crisp and sweet and teasing. It touched on something light in my mind.

“When shall we three meet again?

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

Macbeth started. The curtains lifted as the First Witch began to speak. The lights faded off a moment later, throwing us into darkness lit only by the stage lighting. I heard a few classmates groan, and someone zipped a notebook back into their pack.

“I guess we’re not taking notes?” Bee asked.

“Guess not.”

“Pity.” She smiled. I could barely see it in the darkness, but her eyes still weren’t on the stage. She bumped an arm into mine, and I jumped for a moment before relaxing. We had to share the armrest somehow, after all.

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.”

We couldn’t do much talking. Carl cleared his throat from a few seats over if we said too much. But it didn’t matter, because I loved the show. By the time Macbeth performed the dagger monologue, I was grinning, and so was Bianca. Whoever the Macbeth actor was, he gave a hell of a speech.

And when the witches said their most famous lines—

“Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

—I thought I saw Bee’s lips moving with them. Had she been studying Macbeth, or were those words just that famous?

I looked down. Bee’s hand was in mine. How long had that been there? “Uh…” I started.

“Shhh. It’s fine.” Bianca winked at me. And you know what? It was fine. We meshed fingers at the end of the armrest. She’d squeeze my hand and I’d squeeze hers back as the actors said their lines, like a quiet version of reading lines from Earnest.

“As I did stand my watch upon the hill

I looked toward Birnam and anon, methought,

The wood began to move.”

The messenger said his line. The trees were coming, and the end was nigh. Macbeth was losing, and worse, the witches’ prophecy—that he need not fear anyone born of a woman—had a loophole. Macduff was going to kill him, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Somehow, Bee’s hand had gotten outside of mine. She squeezed it the whole final scene right up until the end.

“So, thanks to all at once and to each one,

Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.”

◄▼►

“We’re gonna fail this assignment,” Bee said as we left the Doyle building. She was right. We hadn’t really paid attention to the craft side of the performance. Honestly, I was shocked I’d paid as much attention as I had.

I was glowing vicariously. The witches, especially, had really broken a leg up there, and it showed. I’d had performances like that, where I was just on. It always made me feel unstoppable, and I could see that feeling in the cast as they came out for their final bows. Some of the soldier actors even bowed with their trees on. That energy was infectious, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

Or maybe it was Bianca.

We were still holding hands. We’d been doing that for a while now, and I couldn’t escape. I didn’t think she’d let my hand go any time soon. More importantly, she was steering us toward Walnut Tower.

“So, I was thinking that since it’s only like nine and tomorrow’s a Saturday, I could come over to your place. I’ve got something to drinky-drink in my pack, and you have a really, really nice TV and couch. We’ll watch a couple of episodes and chill. Unless you’re busy tonight?” Bianca asked.

“Sure.” Why not? It was a Saturday tomorrow, and Bee had packed a drinky-drin—a bottle of booze. Dammit, I was an adult. I could call it vodka, not ‘a drinky-drink. “Let’s watch a Golden Goose episode.”

“That bitch? Really?” Bianca asked.

“Yeah. Love her or hate her, she’s the best.”

“Uh-huh. She’s a loose cannon.”

“She gets the job done.”

“She’s a danger to everyone around her,” Bianca said.

“That’s true.” We rode the elevator up, still arguing about Golden Goose’s pros and cons. As the elevator dinged at the top, Bianca finally gave up. “Fine, I’ll watch one Golden Goose episode. You get one chance to prove she’s not a wildcard who’ll do anything for the limelight. Better make it a good one.”

“Oh yeah?” I snarked, pulling my hand away to fiddle with the door keys. “Or what?”

She ran straight to the couch and dug through her backpack until she found her bottle. “A sip every time Golden Goose commits a war crime? If she commits less than four, you walk me home.”

“Deal.” That bet was as good as won.

◄▼►

“Holy shit, Annie, she just killed Deathclock!”

“I know! Drink!”

We were fifty minutes into ‘Metal Machines IV,’ and I’d solidly won the bet. I hadn’t picked this one because I’d seen it. I’d picked it because it was a rare Episode that featured Golden Goose from the beginning. She didn’t take part in minor league Episodes; she was just too strong. And too ruthless.

Deathclock hadn’t had any business being in an episode with Goose. He hadn’t had her strength, flight, lasers, or ridiculous super-suit. A healer hero was working on him, but it didn’t look good for the villain. He’d probably never walk again, and his days of crime were over.

Golden Goose stared at the camera, a glare plastered on her face, along with a slight mist of blood. She tossed a car over the drone. Someone screamed when it landed. “Villains, cowls, and henches, I’m coming for you. This is my world, and I’m the god-damned heroine. And as for the rest of you, remember who protects you. Remember who drops everything to exterminate every little rat that scares you in the darkness. When you’re scared and the villains close in, remember that they’re morescared of me than you are of them. Golden Goose, out!”

She jumped into the air, a cloud of dust whooshing behind her in a shockwave, disappearing as the credits rolled. The healer hero had stabilized Deathclock. Either that, or he’d given up; he headed for some of the henchmen Golden Goose had annihilated, and the screen went black and asked if I wanted to watch another episode of Golden Goose.

“See! She’s worse than the villains,” Bianca said. She pushed me off her gently and stood up, wobbling a bit. We’d both been drinking too much. “I counted eight war crimes.”

“The bus stop wasn’t a war crime. Bullet Time evacuated it before she hit. It was seven.”

“Oh, hell.” Bianca drank a shot, shivered, and flopped back onto the couch. “But what about the office building explosion? Why’d that happen anyways?”

“Deathclock had a time bomb inside. When Golden Goose tried to laser him, the beam clipped the bomb, and it detonated early. I’m not sure if that counts as a war crime, but let’s do it. Drink.”

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be arguing for less war crimes?”

“Not if I don’t want you to leave.” The words slipped out before I could stop myself. I sat down and drank another shot.

“You don’t, huh?” Bianca smiled. I laughed. She was trying too hard to be cute or sultry or something, but she’d drunk too much to pull it off. She pulled me against her and wrapped an arm around me.

My mind froze. I’d been thinking about this—fantasizing about it—for almost a month. And now it was happening. I didn’t even hear what she was saying. I was too caught up trying not to squeal, cheer, or both.

“It’s quiet in here,” Bianca said. She kissed my cheek quickly, and I felt my face growing warm. “Start the next episode. I’ll stick around.”

◄▼►