ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

22 - break a leg

Amy and I duck our heads into the sleek gray automobile after a daunting wait in the cold, roughly two blocks away from Maxine Hall. The paint job and detailing of the car are clearly loved and intentional, but the dark night and flurrying snow dull its luster. We slide into the middle row with Meeks. A grin breaks out onto his face as we scoot in. I fasten my seatbelt; Amy doesn't even reach for hers.

We exchange pleasantries with the boys, notably lacking two: Neil and Knox. Neil wouldn't be riding with us, obviously, because he was already at the theater. But Knox?

"Something came up," Meeks says, as if reading my mind. "With Chris."

I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs, interlacing our fingers in the gap between us.

"Now, men," interrupts an unfamiliar voice from the driver's seat. "Where are your manners? Will anybody introduce me to our new passengers?"

Todd, in the passenger seat, clears his throat. "Sorry, Captain. Ivy is in the middle and Amy is to her right. Girls," he gestures to the driver's seat, "Mr. Keating. Keating," he gestures back to us, "Amy and Ivy."

The man turns back and smiles at us. Deep-set lines crinkle around his eyes, worn into his skin from years of joy and amusement. On anyone else, his get-up of a gray blazer over an unassuming black turtleneck might have read as pretentious, but the man exudes a sort of certainty that makes me feel as though he's earned the right to wear it. Even while sitting, he's noticeably shorter than Todd, who watches him expectantly from his side of the vehicle. Meeks watches him, too; it's clearly important to them that this interaction goes well.

"It's great to finally meet the women I've heard so much about," the teacher continues.

"Likewise," Amy responds, straightening in her seat. I consider mocking her before realizing I had, subconsciously, done the same. I nod instead.

Mr. Keating hesitates for a moment, a minor enough gesture that an ill-timed blink would have caused you to miss it, but present nonetheless. He continues regardless, shifting the car's gear and departing with a hefty, "To the theatre, gentlemen!" (and, as an afterthought,) "... and ladies!"

-

The twinkling landscape of Montpelier navigates the car through the night. I find myself gazing out the window for most of the trip with my head rested comfortably on Steven's shoulder.

Steven. I feel like I should start calling him Steven. It feels more personal, I think. Intimate. But Steven isn't the boy I fell in love with; Meeks is.

I can test out both.

Blinking lights of different warmth dot the scenery outside the car. Some emit from windows, illuminating whatever ongoings proceed in the cramped apartments stuffed on the city blocks; others come from street lamps, headlights, peoples' cigarettes, the few stars brave enough to dip below the night sky and into the bustling city life, etc. Cars scatter along the street intermittently and without regard to what is legally considered a spot. The swarm of vehicles begins to grow as we approach the venue. 

The turnout isn't shabby for local theatre. After securing a spot and unloading the car, we walk through the parking lot towards the ticket booth. Even from a distance, the gleaming marque greets us with a lop-sided and strangely spaced transcription of the play's title: A Midsummer Night's Dream. People bustle throughout, chatting excitedly about the play and their involvement.

"Why, Sabrina has been running her lines all month! I can't wait to see her work pay off..."

"...made a sizeable donation last year. The front row seats were just a perk..."

Parties blend yet still maintain a distinct divide, tending to face inward to the group and away from the other patrons. Even within our group, I notice some natural migration. Todd, Cameron, and Pitts lead, Meeks trailing behind them slightly. I stand in the middle, overhearing Amy and Charlie's gossip from a few feet back. Charlie yelps and bolts off once he sees Knox at the ticket booth, though, likely eager to give Knox hell for leaving us.

My observation is interrupted by a polite cough. I snap my head to the left to see Mr. Keating with his arm outstretched.

"I apologize for the informal introduction earlier, Miss..." he starts.

"Albrecht."

"Albrecht. German." He smiles. "I apologize, Miss Albrecht. I just take a lot of pride in being... punctilious, especially in regards to my students' affairs, and Mr. Overstreet's scene was pushing us behind schedule."

I shake his hand. "It's fine. The fact that you'd seek me out afterward speaks enough to your character. I've heard great things."

"As have I." He pauses for a moment, then adds quietly, "...Although, I'm not sure if they know it."

"Hm?"

His eyes twinkle at my confusion, like a fisherman hooking his first fish of the day. "You see, that's the beauty of art. We draw inspiration from everything around us. I've noticed an ongoing theme of... let's say, adventure. A new appreciation for the mundane in a different light. Now, I know how cliquey these boys can be, so, by process of elimination, I've narrowed their subject matter down."

I play along. "And what might that be?"

He glances back at Amy, walking contently by herself in the back, then back to me. "You're a muse, Ivy. That's a special title to hold. Don't forget that."

"How could I ever forget such touching words?" I say, dramatically holding my hand to my heart.

The man chuckles. "Do me a favor, though. Don't tell them about this conversation. Once they become aware of what they're doing, it's all out the window."

I drag two fingers across my lips, mimicking a zipper. "My lips are sealed, Mr. Keating."

"Oh, please," he says, placing a hand delicately on his chest, "call me Captain."

"Ok, Captain," I say, suppressing a laugh. The words roll off my tongue awkwardly but the teacher seems pleased nonetheless.

As we reach the ticket booth, Mr. Keating leaves my side to buy our tickets. Knox, Chris, and Charlie rejoin the group, passing back the cardstock slips and trading seat numbers. Steven intercepts two and briefly exchanges with Cameron before handing me one.

"Row G, seats 8 and 9."

I smile. "Sounds like a date."

He considers playfully. "Something like that."

I interlock my arm with his, filing in behind Todd and Pitts as we cross through the theater doors.

-

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i got in such a bad writers slump writing this i genuinely almost gave up on the story. like it was bad. count your blessings people.

the story is only getting messier from here. but you know that already. stay tuned.