Rehearsals

Kailee Bennett

I didn’t sleep a wink last night.

Partially because I was still mortified about being pranked into wearing a sausage-tight Juliet dress in front of half the school.

And partially because every time I closed my eyes, Ryder’s voice echoed in my brain.

“Hope you’re ready to practice kissing scenes, Juliet.”

What kind of freak says that and then just walks off like he didn’t just rearrange your entire emotional stability?

Still, I dragged myself to drama club the next day. Script in hand. Hoodie zipped up. Hair shoved in a bun so high it gave me a headache.

Just make it through rehearsal, I told myself.

And then I saw him.

Ryder.

At the back of the auditorium. Leaning against the curtain rig like he belonged there. Clipboard in hand. Black hoodie. Smugness practically radiating off him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I muttered under my breath.

“Morning, Juliet,” he said without looking up. “Try not to fall off the stage today.”

Ms. Langston clapped her hands together. “We have a new volunteer working backstage! Ryder Vale will be helping with props, lighting cues, and rehearsal coordination.”

Of course he would.

I shot him a glare. He gave me a wink.

The audacity.

Rehearsal started. Noah wasn’t there yet, which both disappointed me and gave me a weird sense of relief. At least I could mess up my lines in peace.

We read through Act 1. My voice was shaky. My posture hunched. And every time I made eye contact with someone, I immediately regretted it.

Ms. Langston smiled kindly and told me I had “great potential.” Which was teacher code for: you’re not good, but you didn’t die up there, so yay!

By the end of rehearsal, most of the cast had cleared out. I was about to do the same when Ryder’s voice stopped me.

“Stay behind.”

I turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

He set the clipboard down. “You were stiff up there.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He ignored the sarcasm and stepped toward me. “Your eye contact is weak. Your stance makes you look like you’re bracing for a tornado. And your voice sounds like you’re apologizing for existing.”

“Okay coach,” I snapped, backing up a step. “I get it. I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” he said, annoyingly calm. “You just look like you’re terrified.”

“Because I am!” I threw my hands up. “I’m not a freaking actress, Ryder! I have no idea what I’m doing here”

His smirk disappeared, replaced by a soft look of concern. But it was gone as soon as it appeared “You are now. So we fix it.”

I crossed my arms. Why did he even care??

I wasn’t buying that whole crap of making his ex jealous. I knew there was something else and I was going to find out

“First let’s fix your posture. The reason people have the audacity to bully you is because you stand like you already hate yourself.” He pointed out, stepping closer to me

I dropped my head, circling imaginary lines on the floor with my feet. “Maybe I do hate myself” I muttered

Ryder stilled.

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the stage lights and the ache in my chest I couldn’t shove down fast enough.

Then he said, softer than I expected, “Well, stop. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

I snorted. “Wow. Deep. I’m healed. Thanks”

But instead of snapping back, he stepped behind me. Too close. Way too close.

“Shoulders back,” he said, and his hands gently touched my upper arms. “Not like a soldier. Just enough to look like you belong here.”

I tensed instantly. “Don’t touch me.”

He ignored that. Typical.

His hands didn’t linger long, but the heat of them stayed behind like a stamp.

“And chin up,” he said, fingers brushing under it to tilt it slightly. “Confidence is ninety percent faking it.”

“So I pretend I’m the hottest girl in the room.” I chirped

He blinked, holding eye contact. “You don’t have to pretend”

What?

Did he just give me a compliment?

Who cares? He is probably saying it so I don’t back out of the deal. He still needs me to make his ex jealous

He circled back in front of me and studied me, eyes narrowing like he was trying to crack a code.

“Touch me again and I’ll stab you with this prop sword.”

He grinned. “Now that’s the energy I need for Act 3.”

I rolled my eyes and started collecting my things, trying to ignore how my skin still buzzed from where he touched me.

“This is pointless,” I muttered. “I’m going to bomb this play no matter how many posture lessons you shove at me.”

“You won’t,” he said, voice low and certain. “Not if you stop fighting yourself.”

That shut me up for a second.

But only for a second.

“Why do you care, anyway?” I asked, eyes narrowing. “Is this still part of the whole make-your-ex-jealous plan? Because newsflash—I’m not exactly your typical bait.”

He stepped closer again, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You’re better.”

I blinked.

He didn’t smirk this time. Just looked at me like he saw something I didn’t.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, backing up toward the curtain. “I’ve had enough therapy from Mr. Lip Ring for one day.”

He caught my wrist gently before I could escape. My heart tripped over itself.

He glanced at me and cocked his lips. “One more thing,” he said, voice softer now. “Next rehearsal, wear something that makes you feel good. Not something that hides you. Just try it. And you should let your hair down”

“What?”

“You always wear it up. Pull it down sometimes. It frames your face better.”

I stared at him. At the way his fingers lingered. At the way his gaze briefly dropped to my lips before snapping back up like he hadn’t meant to.

The air crackled between us. Sharp. Unspoken.

“I still don’t like you,” I whispered.

“I’m counting on that,” he replied, letting go of my wrist

I stormed off, heart pounding so hard I was afraid it might show through my hoodie.

What was worse—that Ryder touched me without me completely hating it?

Or that part of me wanted to ask what else he thought I should change?

Screw him.

Screw this whole drama club disaster.

And especially screw the stupid way my stomach fluttered when he touched me.