bardolatry

~ three

"The Earth has music for those who listen."

- William Shakespeare

MUCH TO JASE'S SURPRISE, the next play practice was even less bearable than the first. He thought that it might increase in enjoyment with time, but obviously that was not the case. Admittedly, he wasn't a great - or even acceptable - actor. He spoke in monotone, his gestures were stiff, and whenever he was supposed to joke - humor the crowd, and everything - no one laughed.

After a failed renditioned monologue, Mrs. Lancaster finally came to the conclusion that all of her efforts to help Jase were futile, she sat down with him while Titania and Oberon were rehearsing.

"Now, Jase," She began, and he felt a finger of hope bloom in his chest, thinking she would say something along the lines of: You're terrible and vaguely displeasing to the eye, get out of my class. Though this might bruise his ego slightly, he'd get over it. But, unfortunately, that was not what she was planning.

"I believe you just need a push - someone who can guide you on the right path to enjoy the play a bit more. And we have just the right person."

"Mm?"

Mrs. Lancaster smiled. "Harley. Quite truly, she loves Shakespeare more than - than a lot. This would be a perfect opportunity for you, eh?"

"Uh . . . It's just, she's - she's my neighbor, and, and - ugh, um - we don't really associate, almost like an agreement." Jase feels an immediate regret for his word diarrhea. He can't get out a single sentence, ever.

The drama teacher, now profoundly less of a softie than Jase had once thought, raises an eyebrow disinterestedly. "I can't revoke that problem. However, I can arrange a meeting for you two - "

"Oh. . . Yeah, Mrs. Lancaster, that is absolutely unnecessary. I'll take care of it. Don't you worry."

Jase stood, nearly flipping over the chair he sat in, nodding, turning to Harley, anxiety tightening the knot in his stomach. Treading cautiously, he -moderately aggressively - jabs her shoulder. Her brown-blonde hair hangs in a tangled, loose braid, when she turns, she nearly makes his squirm with her halo of dark/light locks and large, starry eyes and wide rosy lips.

She smiles brightly. "Good morrow, sweet lord."

Jase blinks.

Harley waves away his blank look with a hand - all of her fingers are stacked with metal rings that Jase never noticed. "You'll learn in time, but for now, I'm the singular one in this relationship who comprehends Shakespeare references. S'okay."

"What happened to hey?" Jase voices his thoughts.

Harley shrugs. "I don't think that was a norm in the sixteenth century. Besides, regarding someone as sweet lord has various - often amusing - effects."

Rocking back on his heels, Jase mumbles, "Right. Well, it's apparent you're supposed to - to teach me to love Shakespeare? Or whatever?"

Tucking a flyaway from her braid behind her ear, Harley laughs. "You're spectacularly awkward. Like, so many people take gracelessness as a turn-off, but it's super relieving because you'll never be as embarrassed and - and I swear I'm not hitting on you. Um, not intentionally."

Jase, slightly startled, replies with the first thing he can think of. "Are you not awkward?"

The girl in question lifts and drops her narrow shoulder. She has a discernible habit of wearing shirts a size too big, her navy sweater swamping her upper half, dark-washed capris rolled up just below her knees, grey socks peeking out from the top of her peachy Converse high-tops.