Read Online The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Mangum
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Dante. The transformation was startling.
Chills walked up and down my spine. “I’m convinced,” I said. “Where did you learn to act like that? It was . . . incredible.”
Dante smiled wanly across the table. “Grazie.”
“Does Dave know you can act?” I asked, then quickly shook my head. “Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t know. He’d want to recast Much Ado about Nothing and then there would be much ado about everything. It’s too bad you didn’t transfer back in December when we held auditions. You would have sewn up Benedick’s role, no doubt.”
“I’m happy just being an extra,” Dante said, toying with his toast.
“But to play Benedick? It’s the best role in the play. He has all that great verbal sparring with Beatrice.”
“I’m enjoying the verbal sparring with Abby at the moment,” he said with a smile.
I felt myself blush, and a twinge of guilt wormed its way into me. Seriously, what was I doing? Not twelve hours ago I had kissed my boyfriend for the first time, and now I was having breakfast—and flirting?—with someone else? But this wasn’t a date, I reminded myself. This was a working breakfast. Maybe it was time I started treating it as such before things got out of hand. At least more out of hand than they already were.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my juice. “Speaking of the play . . .” I pulled open my backpack and fished out my tattered copy of Much Ado about Nothing. I set it on the table between us, a shield to deflect the growing attraction I knew we both felt. “I assume you’ve already read the play, but you can borrow my copy if you want to brush up on the story. You may be happy just being an extra, but Dave requires everyone to be familiar with the entire play. Even those of us without any lines.” I pointed at Dante. “Even those of us backstage.” I pointed at myself.
“Abby—”
“I think I’ve got a rehearsal schedule here somewhere.” I dug in my backpack again.
“Abby.” Dante cleared his throat.
I looked up. “Yes?”
“I . . . I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with this play.” Dante touched a finger to the copy on the table.
I blinked. “Really? Oh, well, it’s one of Shakespeare’s easier plays to read—not like Hamlet or Richard the Third . . .”
Dante looked down and aligned the edge of his fork with the place mat on the table.
“You haven’t read Hamlet, either, have you?”
Dante moved his empty water glass a quarter of an inch to the left.
“Have you read any Shakespeare at all?”
Dante didn’t say anything, embarrassment staining his skin like a dark shadow.
“Right. O-kay.” I frowned, confused. “But you’ve read the Aeneid and Homer . . . how did you miss reading Shakespeare in your tour through the classics?”
Dante looked at his hands. “My education has been . . . uneven at times.”
I nodded. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix.” I dug in my backpack again, withdrawing my drama notebook and slapping it down over the copy of the play. “Borrow my notes as well. I had to outline the whole play for Dave, plus do character analyses and plot summaries and identify the predominant themes of the play along with ideas of how to communicate those themes on stage.” I grinned at Dante. “Dave can be a little obsessive about his plays.” I tapped the cover of the notebook. “If you have any questions, just ask.”
Dante gathered up the notebook and play. “ Grazie, Abby. You are a good friend to help me.”
I shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”
“I’m glad we can be friends,” he said. He almost reached for my hand, but at the last minute he curled his fingers to his palm instead.
He kept his fist closed tight the entire drive home. We talked about school—I told him which teachers were the best and which days to avoid eating at the cafeteria. We talked about my family—Hannah’s obsession with Victorian romance novels, Mom’s latest cooking fiasco, Dad’s
Chills walked up and down my spine. “I’m convinced,” I said. “Where did you learn to act like that? It was . . . incredible.”
Dante smiled wanly across the table. “Grazie.”
“Does Dave know you can act?” I asked, then quickly shook my head. “Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t know. He’d want to recast Much Ado about Nothing and then there would be much ado about everything. It’s too bad you didn’t transfer back in December when we held auditions. You would have sewn up Benedick’s role, no doubt.”
“I’m happy just being an extra,” Dante said, toying with his toast.
“But to play Benedick? It’s the best role in the play. He has all that great verbal sparring with Beatrice.”
“I’m enjoying the verbal sparring with Abby at the moment,” he said with a smile.
I felt myself blush, and a twinge of guilt wormed its way into me. Seriously, what was I doing? Not twelve hours ago I had kissed my boyfriend for the first time, and now I was having breakfast—and flirting?—with someone else? But this wasn’t a date, I reminded myself. This was a working breakfast. Maybe it was time I started treating it as such before things got out of hand. At least more out of hand than they already were.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my juice. “Speaking of the play . . .” I pulled open my backpack and fished out my tattered copy of Much Ado about Nothing. I set it on the table between us, a shield to deflect the growing attraction I knew we both felt. “I assume you’ve already read the play, but you can borrow my copy if you want to brush up on the story. You may be happy just being an extra, but Dave requires everyone to be familiar with the entire play. Even those of us without any lines.” I pointed at Dante. “Even those of us backstage.” I pointed at myself.
“Abby—”
“I think I’ve got a rehearsal schedule here somewhere.” I dug in my backpack again.
“Abby.” Dante cleared his throat.
I looked up. “Yes?”
“I . . . I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with this play.” Dante touched a finger to the copy on the table.
I blinked. “Really? Oh, well, it’s one of Shakespeare’s easier plays to read—not like Hamlet or Richard the Third . . .”
Dante looked down and aligned the edge of his fork with the place mat on the table.
“You haven’t read Hamlet, either, have you?”
Dante moved his empty water glass a quarter of an inch to the left.
“Have you read any Shakespeare at all?”
Dante didn’t say anything, embarrassment staining his skin like a dark shadow.
“Right. O-kay.” I frowned, confused. “But you’ve read the Aeneid and Homer . . . how did you miss reading Shakespeare in your tour through the classics?”
Dante looked at his hands. “My education has been . . . uneven at times.”
I nodded. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix.” I dug in my backpack again, withdrawing my drama notebook and slapping it down over the copy of the play. “Borrow my notes as well. I had to outline the whole play for Dave, plus do character analyses and plot summaries and identify the predominant themes of the play along with ideas of how to communicate those themes on stage.” I grinned at Dante. “Dave can be a little obsessive about his plays.” I tapped the cover of the notebook. “If you have any questions, just ask.”
Dante gathered up the notebook and play. “ Grazie, Abby. You are a good friend to help me.”
I shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”
“I’m glad we can be friends,” he said. He almost reached for my hand, but at the last minute he curled his fingers to his palm instead.
He kept his fist closed tight the entire drive home. We talked about school—I told him which teachers were the best and which days to avoid eating at the cafeteria. We talked about my family—Hannah’s obsession with Victorian romance novels, Mom’s latest cooking fiasco, Dad’s
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