Off Book, On Cue

“You have to go for it,” Theo murmured, nudging my shoulder gently as we stood in front of the school’s bulletin board, his voice alive with enthusiasm.

A bold poster, slightly curling at the edges, screamed its message in dramatic serif font:
“Auditions This Thursday – Romeo and Juliet – Come Write Your Tragedy.”

“Me?” I echoed, my voice cracking like a nervous bird caught in a thunderstorm. Just the thought of standing on a stage, spotlights beaming, all eyes fixed on me—I could already feel the burn of secondhand embarrassment, and I hadn’t even stepped into the auditorium.

Theo leaned back slightly, arms crossed like he was waiting for me to catch up to a conclusion he’d already drawn. “Word is… Jackson Reed’s trying out for Romeo.”

I froze. Jackson Reed.

The name hit like a low drum in my chest.

I’d crushed on Jackson since sophomore year. Tall, poetic, with that permanently tousled dark hair and a voice like jazz, he was practically walking around in soft focus. Unfortunately, I was more like a background extra in his movie—the kind that doesn’t even get a name in the credits.

“You’ve read Romeo and Juliet more times than anyone alive under 60,” Theo teased. “You probably whisper soliloquies in your sleep. You’d kill it as Juliet.”

He was teasing, but he wasn’t wrong. I’d lost count of the nights I’d fallen asleep with a copy of Shakespeare’s tragedies in my lap. Juliet, Desdemona, Cordelia—I knew their lines like prayers. Especially Juliet. Especially that balcony scene. It felt stitched into my DNA.

“You should go for Romeo,” I said suddenly. Theo wasn’t just my best friend—he was a ridiculously good actor. In English class, when others stumbled through Dickens or fumbled at Poe, Theo became the characters. I’d seen him make a room full of rowdy juniors cry during A Christmas Carol.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I’m not really the leading-man type. Not tall enough. Not tragic enough.” He grinned. “Also, I have a different role in mind.”

“Tybalt? Mercutio?”

“Wait and see,” he said, lips twitching with mischief.

I should’ve known right then he was plotting something.

Thursday crept in like a thief, and I nearly backed out.

That morning, my name had been the only one on the Juliet sign-up sheet. Now, seven other girls—each glossier, more poised, and undeniably more confident—had added their names. They were the kind of girls who knew how to pose for photos without being told to. I, on the other hand, barely understood what contouring was.

Mr. Donovan, our drama teacher, clapped his hands and launched into his welcome speech. A wiry man with a perpetual scarf and the intense gaze of a crow, he lived and breathed Shakespeare.

“Why Romeo and Juliet?” he began, eyes sweeping across us. “Because everything in this play still matters. Love. Hate. Family. Chaos. Passion.”

Beside me, Theo whispered, “Actually, Shakespeare wrote it in 1596, not the 1600s.”

“Shut up,” I whispered back, grinning.

Mr. Donovan continued, beaming like a kid with a secret. “We’re doing a traditional version—tights, corsets, rapiers, the works. A fencing instructor’s coming next week to train you in stage combat.”

“Wait, not guns?” someone asked from the back.

“This isn’t Baz Luhrmann,” Mr. Donovan replied, looking mildly insulted. “No Hawaiian shirts. Just steel and heartbreak.”

Auditions began with the balcony scene. Each prospective Juliet was paired with a random “Romeo”—from the pool of guys trying out for all sorts of roles. Mercutios. Tybalts. Even Theo, who still wouldn’t tell me what he’d audition for.

Theo and I rehearsed together in a quiet corner of the auditorium, and I forgot to be nervous. With him reading Romeo’s lines, everything just clicked. He read with tenderness, wonder, and just a hint of mischief that made my heart squeeze. When I responded as Juliet, the words felt natural, like they belonged to me.

“The orchard walls are high and hard to climb…” I warned him, breathless. “And the place death, considering who thou art.”

Mr. Donovan strolled by and paused, arms folded. “Very good. Let’s see how you do onstage.”

My heart started doing jumping jacks in my chest.

One by one, the Romeos went up. Jackson was last.

God, he looked like he’d been designed to play Romeo. Tall, elegant, cheekbones you could cut glass on. When he walked up to the stage, I swear even the ghosts of Juliet’s ancestors would’ve swooned.

Then came the Juliets.

First up was Madison Fields—the lead cheerleader and, as it turned out, Jackson’s current girlfriend. Tall, radiant, a hair flip that defied gravity. She swaggered through the balcony lines like Juliet had just returned from a shopping spree.

“She’s perfect,” a girl behind me whispered. “She and Jackson are a thing, anyway. It’s basically destiny.”

Destiny. That stung.

When my name was called, I nearly tripped going up the stage steps. Laughter snickered through the crowd like static electricity.

My cheeks burned. I spotted Theo in the front row. He gave me a thumbs-up.

“Romeo, Romeo…” I began, but my voice quivered like a cello string. Someone snorted.

I wanted to melt into the stage.

When I finally limped to the end of the scene, I bolted. The girls’ bathroom was mercifully empty.

It was dark by the time I emerged, eyes puffy and heart in tatters. I walked down the hallway like a ghost, only to find Theo leaning against the water cooler, sipping like he’d just been waiting there the whole time.

“You stayed?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t going to leave Juliet behind in the Capulet crypt.”

I almost smiled.

“She got the part, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “Mr. Donovan said it came down to you and her. Jackson picked.”

“Of course he did.” I looked at the floor. “She looks like Juliet. I don’t.”

“But you sounded like her,” he said. “More than anyone else.”

Then he added, “You’re her understudy.”

“What?”

“You heard me. And—” he paused dramatically, “you’ve also been named the official Prompt. Mr. Donovan caught you mouthing everyone’s lines.”

I gave him a weak laugh. “So I’m a glorified teleprompter.”

He gave me a look. “You’re more than that.”

Next day, the gossip mill exploded.

Theo had been cast as the Nurse.

Cue immature jokes. A boy playing an old woman? Drag queen comments. Crude snickers.

But then rehearsal happened.

And damn, he was brilliant.

With a raspy voice, exaggerated hips, and spot-on comedic timing, Theo’s Nurse was a hilarious, motherly powerhouse. He wasn’t just playing the part—he was the Nurse. It wasn’t drag. It was art.

After rehearsal, as he drove me home, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “You were upset. Didn’t want to seem like I was bragging. Besides…” he smiled slyly, “my character gets the most stage time with Juliet. I planned this.”

“Evil genius,” I muttered.

Three weeks later, Madison got mono.

That same afternoon, Mr. Donovan handed me a script and said, “It’s your time, Cassidy.”

I didn’t sleep that night.

Next day, Jackson and I started rehearsing. We began with the party scene—the moment Juliet first meets Romeo. But when our hands touched, my heart stayed still. Nothing. Like shaking hands with a statue.

“You looked… paralyzed,” Theo said after rehearsal, dropping me off.

“I was,” I admitted.

He paused. “Why don’t we rehearse together?”

We did.

And everything changed.

He walked me through the scene, hand lingering on mine, voice low and smooth as melted chocolate. Then he kissed my palm.

I forgot to breathe.

When our lips finally met during the mock stage kiss, it wasn’t acting.

It was electric.

I opened my eyes and stared at him.

And I knew.

It wasn’t Jackson.

It never had been.

My mom came home a minute later and broke the spell.

Theo stepped back. “Play it like that tomorrow,” he said softly. “Jackson won’t know what hit him.”

I blinked. “Theo…”

“I mean, this is what you wanted, right? To finally kiss Jackson?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He left before I could answer.

At dress rehearsal the next day, Jackson kissed me—stage kiss only. Mechanical. Practiced. Cold.

When I delivered Juliet’s line, “You kiss by the book,” the audience clapped.

I wanted to scream: That’s not a compliment.

I glanced at Theo.

He wasn’t smiling.

After rehearsal, I messaged him: “Look out your window.”

When his head appeared, I declared, “It is the east, and Theo is the sun.”

He blinked. “Cass…”

“I thought Jackson was my Romeo,” I called up. “But he was just my Rosaline.”

Silence.

Then I added, “You were always the one.”

Theo disappeared from view.

A second later, the front door slammed and he was bounding toward me, his scarf trailing behind him like a cape.

“You’re asking me out?” he gasped.

“Only if you say yes.”

His kiss this time wasn’t for a scene. It was real. It was perfect.

Madison returned for opening night. I didn’t mind. She and Jackson oozed drama onstage, like they were auditioning for The Bachelor.

I watched from the wings, Theo’s arms around my waist.

“All’s well that ends well,” he whispered, grinning into my neck.

“Wrong play,” I whispered back.

He shrugged. “Still true.”

And it was