*Nadya's POV*
I absolutely HATE my drama teacher. I mean I know he is a drama teacher but he takes everything WAY too seriously. If her were to have to put the pressure on the very disturbance of an insect to put its soul to another place he would require the entire whole of a class to put forth the task of writing a play based off of the so called ‘daring’ task he just proceeded. I mean that’s just not correct of a gesture for any teacher to pursue, drama teacher or not. Anyways, TODAY was SUPPOSED to be like every other time period from the start of the suns arrival to the time of its end but instead we were covered in the aura of hell. So yesterday we started our romance unit for drama and, just as most of us students figured, he was more excited for this than the average girl is about their schools dance. Until we actually tried it out. No one preferred to take this into perspective of action so they all stood around like a bunch of childish immature middle school students at a formal dance, cowards and idiots. I was not a part of this, for I did NOT want to do the stupid exercise so instead I practiced for my audition. He let it slide, since the play we were preforming was a love story. Romeo and Juliette to be precise. Any way. Apparently our drama teacher, Mr. Scartin got furious with all of my fellow students having a fit larger and more painful than a baby’s forcing us to do this exercise today. I didn’t know what it was till now and now I wish that we just rocked the romance thing and moved on. But NO...now all of us have to do this stupid thing that honestly, isn’t going to do ANYTHING. They never do.
"So here is what we are going to be doing." Mr. Scartin starts. “All the girls will be separated from the boys while they do this so don’t worry.” He adds. Do WHAT? I want to yell but instead I stay in the corner avoiding people’s eyes. All the girls seemed excited for this, which I thought was stupid, it’s obviously going to be a match up thing and we have to partake in the actions of false love with the participant of the opposite sex, don’t they understand how this Is just a test of idiocy and humiliation? I mean I guess not, they seem oblivious to all the facts. I shift my position a bit so I can hear better and wait for further instructions. “All the girls will pick the guy that they have a ‘crush’ on and write their name on a card. Then, on the same card you will write your own name and then I will give that card to the corresponding boy, and hopefully you will understand what REAL love is.” He says. I knew it. It was some stupid match making test. A stupid piece of torture that teacher can press upon the lesser stature civilians known as students, who come to this cage of a school to put their giving privileges known as talents to a higher elevation of use, and we are brought down on our knees locked up under their will, being forced to do things like this. Mr. Scartin looks directly into my eyes as he says the next line. Like it was for me only. “Because sometimes acting, isn’t always acting, sometimes it is real love on stage.” I look at the ceiling above me pretending not to notice anything but a passing glace of a fruit fly on its merry way not having to endure the slowly demeaning death of one entire reputation and heart that won’t ever be able to replace or repair because you keep sinking into all this, DRAMA. I slide my eyes down like water dripping long the lonely chlorophyll soaked pad of the leaf after the fight of rain sky attacks. To see if he is peering at me anymore. He isn’t so I get up to practice for my audition when he calls my name. I mean what could he want? “You’re a part of this you know.” He says. I press my fingertips into my forehead. Aggravation pours upon me and I want to just disappear into thin air as the mystical characters of a fantasy proceed in. I wait here instead of leaving like I was dying to do. The boys exited the room leaving me here with all of these Barbie doll figureheads who think that their life is a fairy tale just because they get to introduce their dying love to the one and only Harry Styles. It’s not as easy as they expect it to be. Don’t they understand that?
“So are YOU going to write Harry Styles like the rest of us Nadya?” says a girl, Sally. I nod.
'“I may not act like it, but yes I am is that weird to you?” I ask. She shakes her head. Disapproving my put forth statement.
“Well he is going to get a lot then, almost every girl is going to write his name down!” she says. Mr. Scartin walks in front of us looking down at me like a hawk trying to decide if I am a meal.
“Only Nadya will be writing Harry Styles down. For she is the only girl I have ever seen in this institute that doesn’t drool over him. I don’t even think he KNOWS she likes him, unlike you others. And it is not fair to the other boys for they aren’t famous or in a singing group as he is. Only Nadya.” He says. That just did it. Every girl is going to HATE me. I think they already do. Because the amount of groans and whines were so over whelming it was as if he just announced that the band One Direction itself was breaking up. To me it was worse than the eerie screech of the metallic thorn of a drilling nail being pressured in a lesser elevation of the black top of a chalk board. But I don’t feel the pressure of being the only girl until I actually GIVE the note to Mr. Scartin. Then I dismiss myself to the far end of the room where I will pursue in the partaking of deepening thoughts corresponding to my actions today and what I will put forth for the next. After the other girls give their cards to Mr. Scartin he leaves, leaving us to wonder, what kind of mishap did we just partake in? How will getting let down by our male teammates in this production enhance our theatrical performance when heartbreak soaks us in?
