Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(19)
Author: Leisa Rayven

We continue chuckling as we make our way into acting class. Erika is already there, sitting on her desk.

As the class settles around her, she says, “So, that was one of the most highly respected avant-garde theater troupes in the world, ladies and gentlemen. What did you think?”

The class babbles excitedly. Phrases like, “Oh my GOD, it was AMAZING!” and “SO unique! Really powerful!” and “The most stunning piece of theater I’ve ever seen!” fly around the room, overlapping.

My mouth drops open.

They loved it. They all loved it.

They saw the same collection of embarrassingly obtuse scenes as I did, and they all came to a completely different conclusion.

God, I’m such an uncultured idiot.

“Their use of stylized movement was so precise,” Zoe says excitedly. “It was incredible!”

Next to me, Holt scoffs, and Erika turns to him.

“Mr. Holt? Did you have something to say?”

“Nothing good,” he says and raises his chin defiantly. “I thought it was a pile of shit.”

Erika tilts her head. “Really? And why did you think that?”

“Because,” he says, exasperated. “There’s supposed to be a difference between random noise and movement, and theater. Even experimental theater is supposed to represent ideas and emotions. It’s not supposed to be a bunch of idiots walking around the stage like they have sticks up their asses.”

“You don’t think the performance achieved communication on an emotional level?”

He laughs. “Not unless they were trying to communicate that they were all enormous jerk-offs.”

Zoe rolls her eyes, and there are murmurs of disagreement from other members of the class.

Holt looks at them with disdain. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t think it was crap. Did you all see a completely different show? Or were you blinded by their ‘reputation’ because you’re a bunch of fucking sheep?”

I hear several murmurs of “Fuck you, Holt,” until Erika shushes everyone as she turns to me.

My stomach convulses.

No, no, no, no, please don’t ask me.

“Miss Taylor? I haven’t heard your opinion yet. What did you think?”

Oh, God.

Holt is looking at me.

I don’t want to look ignorant. I want to be accepted and say the right thing.

“Well…”

“Come on, Taylor,” Holt says. “Tell them what you think.”

“It was…”

They’re all staring. Him. Them. Erika.

“I thought it was…”

So many expectations. My head hurts.

“Yes, Miss Taylor?”

Holt’s gaze is piercing. “It’s not a hard question. Just give them your opinion.”

No matter what I say, I’m screwed.

“I thought it was amazing,” I finally mutter. “Really incredible. I loved it.”

The silence is broken as everyone mumbles their approval.

Everyone but him.

I can almost see Holt’s anger shimmering like a current in the air.

“Well, that’s very interesting,” Erika says. “It seems you’re all of the same opinion about it except Mr. Holt, and I have to say”—she gives him a surprised smile—”I agree with him.”

There are gasps of surprise.

I feel like crap.

Wrong again. Of course.

“Just because someone has a reputation for excellence doesn’t mean you should view everything they do as tacitly good. Even the finest actors in the world have had terrible performances. Just look at Robert De Niro in Analyze This.”

Everyone laughs.

Erika crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve seen Benzo Ra perform many times over the years, and I have to say, this performance was disappointing in the extreme. It was comprised of unimaginative theatrics that, in my opinion, alienated the audience rather than drawing them into the experience.”

She keeps talking, but I’ve zoned out. I feel sick.

After being at each other’s throats for weeks, Holt and I were starting to get along. Then I go and throw him under the bus because I want people to like me.

Idiot.

“So, ladies and gentlemen,” Erika says, “your assignment tonight is to write a thousand words analyzing the Benzo Ra performance and why you did or didn’t like it, citing references to other experimental theater practitioners, including people like Brecht, Brock, and Artaud. I look forward to reading your thoughts.”

She dismisses us, and before I can stumble through an apology, Holt is striding out of the room. I scramble to my feet to follow him, but he’s so damn fast I have to run to catch up.

“Holt.”

He ignores me.

“Holt, wait up.”

He keeps walking. I get in front of him and put my hand on his chest to stop him.

His face is stormy. “What?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, that little thing back there where you completely screwed me over? Yeah, I do know what. Take your fucking hand off me.”

He steps around me and keeps walking while I stumble after him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to say. I thought I must be defective because I didn’t get it. They all thought it was great. I didn’t want to seem like I was too ignorant to have the right opinion.”

He stops and turns to me. “So you think I’m too ignorant to have the right opinion?”

His expression is so intense, he’s almost scary.

“No! God, you said exactly how you felt, and I should have. I just—”

“For fuck’s sake, Taylor,” he says as he throws up his hands. “An opinion isn’t right or wrong. It’s your interpretation of a subject or situation. You can’t be fucking wrong!”

“So, if I look at the sky and have the opinion that the clouds are pink, I’m right?”

“Yes! Because it’s an opinion, not a fact, and maybe to you, the clouds are pink because you’re nuts. An opinion doesn’t need to be true for anyone else in the world but you. Stop trying to fucking please everyone, and just say what you think.”

I feel like he’s slapped me.

“And you know what makes me even crazier?” he asks, poking his finger at me. “Whenever you’re with me, you’re the most opinionated person on the fucking planet, and you constantly browbeat me with your opinion, whether I want to hear it or not. But the moment you get around those dicks in our class, you have zero fucking backbone. You’re so damn paranoid about being accepted, you turn into a sheep, just bleating along with the herd. It makes me want to slap you, because you forget about everything that makes you cool and fun and … Cassie, and you become some sort of people-pleasing autobot who tries to be whatever the fuck people expect instead of just yourself.”