boston {h.s.}

quinze.

"'IF E'RE THOU wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline. And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then:' Margeaux, there's someone at the door," the sound of my name from the student's mouth forces me to look up from my copy of the book.

"That's not—"

"The door," the student whirls and points, their finger an accusing gesture towards the sliver of window that exposes an easily recognizable finger through the pane of glass.

"I—" my lips dry and I wet them immediately. "Excuse me for one minute." I look down at my watch as I cross over the room to the door. There's only a few minutes left in class, and this interruption is certainly not welcome. Already, this class is a couple of scenes behind. I find it hard to be annoyed. Though they are taking the play a bit slower than my other classes, I do find their understanding to be the most in-depth. Punishing them for a cohesive understanding of the text is hardly my goal as a teacher. "What are you doing here?" I hiss, the second that I open the door.

Harry stands opposite me.

This is the first that I've seen him since we went camping. Halfway through the week, I've managed to avoid him since. It hasn't been hard. Mostly because I've spent the majority of my nights at Asher's instead of my house. As soon as I got back, I buried myself in my boyfriend. I was searching for absolution. Regardless of how much I enjoyed that night together—no matter how desperately I want it to happen again—I am grappling with the knowledge that it can't.

Still, I can't help but think back to the way that he had all but commanded me to think of him while I fuck my boyfriend. I'd be lying if I said the thoughts of him—the way that he had taken control of me and dominated my body—hasn't been material for my seduction.

His eyebrows dip low in confusion. He glances down at his watch. "I—sorry, Jack told me you didn't have any classes right now."

"Margeaux?" The voice of my Friar Laurence asks me. Every year when I initially propose acting out Romeo and Juliet by assigning each class member a character, there is always some push back. By this point in the unit, I can tell that the students are starting to get more interested in their roles. They are taking things more seriously and losing that self-consciousness.

I release a concentrated breath. First, answering Harry I say, "you're going to have to wait. Jack got my schedule wrong. I have one more period after this. If you want to wait a couple of minutes we can talk in between. But, right now, I want to finish this scene before the bell rings." I don't even wait for him to answer, I just swing the door open wider. "Yes, honey?" I say, turning towards my Friar Laurence.

"Should I continue?"

"Please." I clap my hands together, heading back over to my desk. Harry, shockingly, takes a seat of his own. He looks oddly comfortable here. There's an obviously thrifted jacket on his shoulders. He's wearing casual shorts and worn vans. The clothing looks good on him. It's obvious to me that he has a good fashion sense and that he cares about the clothing that he is putting on his body. "Start at 'pronounce,' honey. Sorry."

"'Pronounce this sentence then: Women may fall when there's no strength in men.'"

Before my Romeo even has the chance to speak his line, I'm holding my own hand up. Several other students are, as well. Personally, I am a firm believer that Shakespeare is meant to be performed. Hearing it—with implied tone and stressed words—does half of the work in helping clarify meaning. Though, there are just some phrases that don't make sense. People today think that Shakespeare is a bit complex to read, and I always like to remind my students that people in Shakespeare's day thought that about him, too. It's only just a matter of taking the time and ensuring that there is an understanding.