Page 22 of Faultlines

On the bus, Brooke navigates the chaos of thirty middle schoolers with a calm confidence. She settles an argument over who dies in Romeo and Juliet with just a raised eyebrow. At one point, she catches my eye over the tops of the seats and gives a small, conspiratorial smile. I smile back, feeling less like a chaperone and more like her co-conspirator.

I glance at Ellie, lost in conversation with her friends. I realize she hasn’t looked back at me once, and the knowledge sits in my chest like something swallowed wrong.

The production itself is far better than I anticipate. When Romeo and Juliet meet at the Capulet ball, even the students who complained during the bus ride are captivated. Ellie remains engrossed throughout the performance. Occasionally, she leans towards Mona to whisper something before catching herself and refocusing on the stage.

As the final curtain falls, I assume we’re heading out. But Brooke stands and addresses the students. “We’re going to take a brief break before we move on to the last segment of the afternoon.” A chorus of chatter fills the theater.

After the break, we’re led to a smaller rehearsal space where one actor from the performance is waiting for us. He explains that as part of our school’s visit, he’ll be conducting a short workshop on performance techniques.

“Hi everyone, I’m Alex and you probably recognize me as the character Tybalt from the play. One of the most fascinating things about Shakespeare is that there isn’t just one correct way to perform a scene. The same words can tell different stories depending on the choices an actor makes.”

Several students nod eagerly.

“We’re going to demonstrate.” His gaze lands on Brooke.

“Ms. Whitmore, would you mind helping us?” Brooke freezes, and the students erupt in cheers.

“Do it, Ms. Whitmore!”

“Come on!”

“There is a reason I direct school plays, and I’m not an actress,” she says, her eyes widening as she realizes what’s happening. “No, no, no.” But she’s already walking toward the stage, covering her panic with a laugh that sounds slightly unhinged. “This is a terrible idea. You know this is a terrible idea.” She climbs the steps anyway, shaking her head at herself. “I’m going to regret this.”

Alex flips through a script and scans the audience once more. “Okay, now we need one more volunteer.”

Before I can even process what’s happening, Ellie points at me. “My dad!”

The students join in.

“Mr. Bennett!”

“Ellie’s dad. Ellie’s dad.”

I look to Brooke for help. Unfortunately, she’s laughing too hard to offer any. “Oh no,” she says. “You’re not leaving me up here alone.” She points to the stage.

“Looks like the students have spoken.” I walk onto the stage to cheers as if I’d just won an award.

Alex hands us both a script. “We’re going to use a portion of the balcony scene.”

Immediate giggles ripple through the students.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Mona announces from the front row.

Brooke casts a warning look at the group, which only intensifies their laughter. Alex waits for the noise to subside before giving instructions.

First, he asks us to read the scene naturally, without dramatic interpretation—just speaking the words. To my surprise, it’s far less awkward than I brace for. Brooke settles into the role, delivering Juliet’s lines with confidence and ease. Whereas, I stumble through Romeo’s dialogue. When we finish, Alex nods approvingly.

“Good. Now let’s see how interpretation changes everything.”

Over the next thirty minutes, he has us perform the same scene in several ways: romantic, angry, suspicious, and overdramatic. The overdramatic version breaks us. At one point, Brooke clutches her chest and staggers backward as if performing for the last row of a three-thousand-seat theater. Before she can fall, Alex catches her, his hands settling on her waist.

At the sight, I have the strange urge to look away, which tells me more than I want to know.

The students’ laughter pulls me back to the stage before I can examine it too closely. I try to read my lines without sputtering, but Brooke keeps breaking character, her laughter echoing in the small auditorium. I keep losing my place in the script because I’m watching her instead of the page.

The workshop concludes with students crowding around to ask questions about auditions, stage fright, and memorizing lines.

As everyone gathers their belongings, Brooke collects paperwork and permission forms scattered across the front row. When she finally looks up, our eyes meet, and a smile spreads across her face.