Craved

Chapter Six

Scarlet’s first period class was filled with about thirty kids, everyone scrambling to take their seats. The desks were lined up single file in three neat rows of ten, while to the side of the room were long wooden tables, benches beneath them. She scanned the room and saw with relief that Sage wasn’t in it; at least that was one less drama to deal with today.

“Where is he?” Maria asked, dejected. “Figures.”

It was English, Scarlet’s favorite class. Normally, she’d be happy to be here, especially because Mr. Sparrow was her favorite teacher, and especially because this term they were studying Shakespeare and her favorite play: Romeo and Juliet.

But as she slumped into her seat, in the row next to Maria, she felt deflated. Apathetic. She could hardly concentrate on Shakespeare. The class quieted, and she took out her books by rote and stared at the page, in a daze.

“Today’s going to be a little different,” Mr. Sparrow announced.

Scarlet looked up, happy to hear the sound of his voice. In his late 30s, good-looking, slightly unshaven, with longish hair and a strong jaw, he looked out of place in this high school. He looked a bit more glamorous than the others, like an actor slightly past his prime. He was always so happy, so quick to smile, and so kind to her – and to all the students. He never had a harsh word for her, or for anyone, and he always gave everyone As. He also managed to make even the most complicated text easy to understand, and actually managed to get everyone excited about whatever they were reading. He was also one of the smartest people she’d ever met – with an encyclopedic knowledge of world and classic literature.

“It’s one thing to just read Shakespeare’s plays,” he announced, a mischievous smile on his face. “It’s quite another to act them,” he added. “In fact, one could argue that you can’t truly gain an understanding of his plays until you’ve read them aloud yourself – and even tried to act them.”

The class giggled in response, the kids looking and murmuring at each other in an excited buzz.

“That’s right,” he said. “You guessed it. After today’s discussion, we’re going to break off into groups, each of you choosing a partner and act the text aloud to each other.”

Excited whispers spread in the classroom, and the energy level definitely rose a few notches. It managed to shake Scarlet from her reverie, managed to make her forget, for a few moments, all the troubles in her life. Partnering up and reading the lines: that would definitely be fun.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Scarlet turned, with the rest of the class, to see who it was.

She could not believe it. Standing there, proudly, book in his hand, was Sage, wearing a slim leather jacket, black leather boots and designer jeans with a large black leather belt and huge silver buckle. He wore a black button-down shirt hanging loose, and it revealed sparkling necklace – it looked like white platinum – with a large pendant in the middle. It looked like it was made of rubies and sapphires, and sparkled the light.

Mr. Sparrow turned and looked at him, surprised.

“And you are?”

“Sage,” he replied, handing him a slip. “Sorry I’m late. I’m new.”

“Well then you are most welcome,” Mr. Sparrow responded. “Please class, welcome Sage and make room for him in the back.”

Mr. Sparrow turned back to the chalkboard.

“Romeo and Juliet. To begin with, let’s talk about the background of this play.…”

Mr. Sparrow’s voice faded out in Scarlet’s head. Her heart pounded as Sage walked down the rows of seats. And then suddenly, she realized: the only empty seat in the room was directly behind her.

Oh no, she thought. Not with Maria sitting right next to her.

As Sage walked down the aisle, she could have sworn she saw him turn and stare right at her. She looked away quickly, thinking of Maria, and not understanding why he was looking at her like that.

She felt more than saw him walk behind her, heard his chair scrape and felt him take a seat behind her. She could feel the energy coming off of him; it was tremendous.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She furtively reached down, slipped it out a couple inches, and looked. Of course. Maria.

OMG, I’m dying.

Scarlet pushed her cell back into her pocket, and didn’t turn and look at Maria, not wanting to make it obvious they were texting. She then put her hands back on her desk, hoping Maria would just stop texting. She really didn’t want to text now. She wanted to concentrate.

But her phone buzzed again. She couldn’t ignore it, especially with Maria sitting right next to her, so again, she reached down.

Hello? What should I do?

Again, Scarlet pushed her cell back into her pocket. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had no idea what to say and really didn’t want to get into a texting conversation right now. The situation was just getting worse, and she wanted to focus on what Mr. Sparrow was saying, especially as they were on her favorite play.

But then again, she couldn’t completely ignore Maria. She quickly reached down and typed with one finger.

Don’t know.

She hit send, then pushed her cell deep into her pocket, hoping Maria would leave her alone.

“Romeo and Juliet,” Mr. Sparrow began, “was not an original story. Shakespeare actually based it on an ancient tale. Like all of Shakespeare’s plays, he found his sources in history. He recycled old stories and adapted them into his own language, in his own time. We like to think that he’s the greatest original writer of all time – but in truth, it would be more accurate to call him the greatest adapter of all time. If here were alive and writing today, he would not win the award for best Original Screenplay – he would win for best Adapted Screenplay. Because none of his stories – not one – were original. They had all been written before, some many times over many centuries.

“But that doesn’t necessarily detract from his great skill, from his ability as a writer. After all, it’s all about how you turn a phrase, isn’t it? The same plot told two ways can be boring in one instance and compelling in another, can’t it? Shakespeare’s great skill was his ability to take someone else’s story and re-write it in his own words, for his own time. And to write it with such beauty and poetry that he really brought it to life for the first time. He was a dramatist, yes. But ultimately, and most of all, he was a poet.”

Mr. Sparrow paused as he lifted the play.

“In the case of Romeo and Juliet, the story had already been around for centuries by the time Shakespeare got his hands on it. Does anyone know the original source?”

Mr. Sparrow looked around the class, and it was dead silent. He waited several seconds, then opened his mouth to speak – when suddenly, he stopped and looked right in Scarlet’s direction.

Scarlet’s heart pounded as she thought he was looking at her.

“Ah, the new boy,” Mr. Sparrow asked. “Please enlighten us.”

The entire class turned and looked in Scarlet’s direction, at Sage. She was relieved to realize he wasn’t calling on her.

She couldn’t help turning just a bit, too, looking behind her, at Sage. Instead of looking at the teacher, oddly, Sage looked at her as he spoke.

“Romeo and Juliet was based on a poem by Arthur Brooke: The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Iuliet.”

“Very good!” Mr. Sparrow said, sounding impressed. “And for extra points, might you know the year it was written?”

Scarlet was amazed. How had Sage known that?

“1562,” Sage replied, without hesitating.

Mr. Jordan looked happily surprised.

“Amazing! I’ve never had any student get that. Bravo, Sage. Since you’re such a scholar, here’s one final question. I’ve never known anyone – even among my peers – to get this right, so don’t feel badly if you don’t. If you get it, I’ll start you off with an automatic 100 on your first test. Where and when was the play first performed?”

The entire class turned in their seats and looked at Sage, the tension running high. Scarlet looked, too, and saw Sage smile back at her.

“It is believed to have been first performed in 1593, at a small venue called The Theatre, on the opposite side of the Thames.”

Mr. Jordan shouted out in excitement.

“WOW! My Sage, you are good. Wow, I’m impressed.”

Sage cleared his throat, not finished.

“That is the common understanding,” Sage said, “but in truth, it was actually performed once before that. In 1592. In Elizabeth’s castle. In her courtyard, amidst her private orchard.”

Scarlet looked back at Sage, speechless. His eyes had a far-off look, almost as if he were remembering being there himself. She couldn’t understand.