Princes

Fourth

HUGE thanks to rexthepetdino for helping me create the character of Kevin! -FFC

Mrs. Harper slammed her hands together, startling me out of my inconsequential thoughts.

"Okay, my Rosebuds!" She said, I supposed she came up with that affectionate nickname for the hopeful play cast. "It is time that you choose which play part you would like to fulfill." She tapped the first table. "If you wish to conduct Aurora, sit here."

A handful of girls, including Tiff, flocked over, and sat with pointed grace. I expected Mrs. Harper to move along, but she gazed into the crowd, taping her foot. "Come along, Caroline Pike."

Carrie, who I didn't realize was next to me, stiffened. Her dolomite skin flushed, she began fiddling with her flowing ebony hair nervously. She was the one who would be a shoe-in for Maleficent, her elegant darkness would've added the perfect innermost to the character. Carrie took a deep breath and shuffled to the Aurora table. Tiff smiled at her, and scooted over, patting the space next to her. Carrie gave a weak yet genuine smile and sat next to her.

Mrs. Harper paused, her thick, maroon-painted lips in a smile, then clapped her hands again. "Those conducting Prince Phillip, sit here!"

My skin rocketed to a broil, my face shading into a deep scarlet. I took a heaving breath, stood, and sat sheepishly where Mrs. Harper implied. There were a couple confused snickers, but I pretended not to hear them. Wes narrowed his eyes, yet not in hostility. More like he felt like a challenge had been presented to him. Proudly, he stood, winking at me. My skin crawled in such surprising, ferocious annoyance, that I almost shivered.

He walked over, sitting directly across from me. He bit his lip, in a flirty manner that came out as a bit try-hard. I cocked my eyebrows, as if to say "Really? Try harder next time." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

I paused, waiting for more guys to come over, but the four guys that remained must have been interested in other roles. Really? Only five guys trying out for the play? What, is being in a play "not manly"?

Mrs. Harper directed the rest of the roles, and to my horror, I realized that the four guys that remained were Terrible and Horrible (the hipster twins who always hit on the Callahan twins), and Bert and Karl (their new nickname was The Gorilla Cousins). Terrible and Horrible went to the King table, and Bert and Karl went to be backstage crew table.

Wes stared at me the entire time, even throughout Mrs. Harper's instructions. "Your entire group will assist each other, revising each other, polishing each other, to make sure that you are all perfect. If I hear that there is greediness involved, or that you are hindering the other's performances for personal gain, you will be removed. I have you all for Theater class, so I know your acting ability up to this point, and if you're ability is hindered, I will find out why, and it will be fixed."

I pretty much tuned out of Mrs. Harper's strict rules, knowing that I would never break them, despite the temptation. Wes and I never lost each other's eyes. I tried to project anger, telling him to back off, but all I got back was intensely amused. I realized that I probably look like a rabbit having a stroke.

Mrs. Harper gave us a thin script, no more than four pages long. I leafed it, and realized it was only one scene, and the Prince Phillip lines had been highlighted in radiant pink.

"Let's get one thing clear," I said as Mrs. Harper broke off to let us work among ourselves. "I am not in the mood, nor will I ever be in the mood, for your straight boy antics."

"My what?"

"Your straight boy antics," I sighed. "Your jock-ish oddities. Your heterosexual male idiosyncrasies."

"My whatta whatta what?" Wes asked.

"Idiosyncrasies." I said, rubbing my forehead with my hand, "Plural form of idiosyncrasy."

"Ooohhh," Wes nodded, even though I could tell he still didn't know what I was saying.

I groaned, knowing this was gonna be tough. "Are you a quick study?"

"Am I a what?"

"It's a theater term-- y'know what, never mind." I sighed again, shifting uncomfortably.

"I'll let you run through the scene first." Wes said, and before I had a chance to read his expression, the door opened.

"Hello, Mrs. Bernadette Harper!" Sang a hilariously fake cockney British accent, and I instantly knew who it was, and my stomach dropped, and pure dread filled its place.

Kevin Wallace strut through the doorway, to my extreme displeasure, and I just prayed that he didn't attempt some dramatic dance move he saw on RuPaul's Drag Race, or the custodian would've had to mop him off the floor. Kevin was the type guy to set gay guys back half a century. I don't like to compare people to the stereotypes that people associate them with, but Kevin Wallace was the epitome of a gay stereotype. Kevin had limp blonde hair (the product of a horrible bleach job), which was always covered by a bedazzled newsboy cap. He had a horrible overbite, he was scarily lanky, and he had dull, beady brown eyes. His skin was spotted with scarlet acne, which was eye-poppingly distracting, and he always wore T-shirts under flamboyantly colored vests, and he would be sourly upset if you didn't call them "waistcoats".

Mrs. Harper winced at Kevin's loud, annoying, sudden burst of energy and sighed. "Hello, Kevin Wallace." She tried, and failed, to stop the irritation from leaking into her voice.

Kevin was also kind of racist, though not intentionally. He was one of those gay guys who act around black women the way that most straight girls do around gay guys.

"Goorrlll, I love your weave!" Kevin let out a witch cackle and picked up one of Mrs. Harper's dreadlocks.

"This isn't a weave." Mrs. Harper said, with such vexation it stunned me, and swatted Kevin's hand away. "Take a seat, Kevin."

I closed my eyes. Please don't choose the Prince, please don't choose the Prince, I chanted mentally. Kevin strutted over to the fairy table, which was taped off in three smaller sections, and I barely stopped myself from bursting into laughter. Kevin was just too much gay to handle.

In addition to trying to convince everyone he moved here from England, (even though everyone knows he came here from Milwaukee), and in addition to being a total stereotype, and in addition to being moderately racist, Kevin was also obsessed with me. Royally. A couple years ago, when he first moved here, he would literally follow me around like a lost puppy.

Wes cocked an eyebrow at my expression, which I assumed was twisted into a grimace. "You know him?"

I nodded, looking down at my script.

"Do all gay guys know each other?" Wes rested his hand in his hands. "Is there, like, a secret fight club, but instead of fighting you just throw Chardonnay at each other like in Real Housewives?"

I blinked at him, not sure how I should feel about the sentence that just left his mouth. Surprising myself and Wes, I laughed. I covered my mouth with my hand, laughing into it. Wes smirked, as if proud of himself of making me laugh.

"Let's just read the scene, asshole," I said through my snickering.

"I can't believe you laughed at that." Wes chuckled, "I thought you wanted to smack me."

"Well, I do." I said, still snickering. "But that's like a constant thing. My hand is always twitching to smack you, but I don't get offended at jokes. If they're funny."

"That's good to know." Wes smirked at me. "I'll try to make you laugh some more."

"Don't push it."

Wes gazed at me for a second. The look in his eyes, combined with the bulge of muscle under his blue sleeved baseball shirt was incredibly sexy. But I pushed the thoughts out of my head. If I wanted to make this audition as best as I could, I couldn't get the hots for the douchebag senior who was apparently my only competition.

My smile drooped, and his smirk faded at the change in my expression. "Let's just run through the scene."