Before the Morning [BEING EDITED]

01 | Cold Pizza

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"Okay, so Andy's playing Hamlet, I'm playing Polonius, Caitlin is playing Gertrude, and Nolan is playing the curtain."

Nolan leaned back in his seat. The dread he'd been feeling for the past fifteen minutes—since Mr. Sison announced it was time to separate into groups, then plan and perform an assigned scene from Hamlet—was fading away. Did he have any interest in any of this? No, but at least he wouldn't have to summon the energy to pretend to be someone else. He barely had energy to be himself.

"Righty-o," Andy said. He wasn't exactly who Nolan would have pictured as Hamlet, with his deep red hair and face full of freckles, but he made up for it with his enthusiasm.

"Righty-o?" Max, the guy playing Polonius, asked. He rose dark brown eyebrows.

"Shut up."

"I still think Max should be playing Hamlet," Caitlin said. "I mean, he at least looks like him. Or Nolan."

Nolan tensed.

"Hamlet can look however he damn well pleases," Andy said. "Am I right?"

"Righty-o," Max mimicked. Andy slapped him lightly upside the head.

Caitlin didn't get her wish, but she was the one who actually cared. They went through the lines, discussed position and movements, and how they would make Gertrude's bed as a prop (apparently, four chairs would do the trick). It took about ten minutes.

They had about five minutes left before performances were to begin. The others talked about summer plans, and Nolan listened without contributing. Max and Andy would occasionally attempt to tug him into the conversation, asking him if he had any plans, but he just shrugged and said, "Not really," and that was that.

"Okay, okay!" Mr. Sison clapped his hands. "Attention, performers."

The room quieted, all five groups coming to attention.

"Let's get group one up here, shall we?" he asked. When a few kids groaned, he rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You're going to have fun. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I said so and you don't have a choice in the matter."

That got a few laughs. Nolan didn't join in, but he appreciated the humor. Mr. Sison was one of his favorite teachers—one of the best since the move to Greeley two years ago. He had a laidback air about him that put everyone else at ease, always joking around in an actual funny way instead of the forced way that made kids cringe. He was the kind of guy who counted down the days until Friday so he could wear jeans to school instead of khakis, and sometimes "forgot" and wore jeans on Tuesdays.

Group one performed their scene—the opening, where Hamlet saw his dead dad. The guy playing the ghost of Hamlet's father had decided to take a dramatic approach, elongating every word.

Maybe it was the fact that Nolan had seen his filming equipment this morning, or maybe it was Caleb's comment in the car, about going to church with Sam on Sunday. But as Hamlet spoke to the dead king, Nolan saw the news broadcaster standing in front of Fletcher's. "...two gunmen threatened the cashier...shots fired..."

He'd been eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at the time, having nabbed the rest of the milk. When the dots had connected, the bowl had slipped from his hands, porcelain shattering, milk and cereal spewing across the hardwood.

He'd raced out of the house before Greg could stop him. He ran all the way to the gas station—a three-minute drive, but a ten-minute run. By the time he rushed through the media, into the parking lot, and fought against the guarding police officers, he was a heaving mess. "My parents!" he'd screamed. "They were in there! I have to get to—"