Beneath the Shadowlanders

Chapter Thirteen: Calista

I hate him. I really do. I hate his stupid guts. I know he's up there again. On the surface. After everything mom said this morning. After dad.

I can't even concentrate in my history class. I have no idea what we're studying today. Something about a war, probably. That's all we ever talk about anyway.

I obsessively check my phone for word from Ri. I'll take anything. Just something to let me know there's a chance he'll be home for dinner this time. Not that he'll get any, I'm sure. The school has probably called mom by now to let her know he's not in class. She's probably worried sick.

Dammit, Orion, why couldn't you behave just this one time?

I decide to push it out of my mind just in time to hear Mr. Corquen say, "test." Crap. I make a mental note to look up the syllabus so I can study tonight.

I manage to force myself to focus in English class. It's a little easier – we're studying Shakespeare's sonnets, which I'd studied already at my old school, before the migration. Today, it's "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun." I wonder just how insulted I would have been, had I been the unfortunate recipient of this particular poem. It's not exactly flattering.

Our assignment for today is to partner off and read the poem to one another as if we're madly in love. To understand how this is truly a love poem or something like that. I've been paired up with Soren O'Malley. He's a sort of plain guy from my grade, with mousy brown hair and thick black-framed glasses. He listens intently as I read him the sonnet, as though I were really in love with him or something. It's a tiny bit creepy.

If I remember correctly, he went to my old school, too. I think he was into drama, so he was probably also a Shakespeare buff, which makes it all the more surprising he'd be interested in this particular assignment. I make a point to overdramatize my reading, concluding it with a pointed eye roll. He raises his eyebrows and gently takes the sheet of paper from my hand.

"Let me try."

I relinquish the sheet, folding my arms across my chest.

He leans in close, gently holding the paper in one hand, but not looking at it.

When he begins to recite the poem, it's obvious that he not only has it memorized, but feels very strongly about it. I listen a little closer.

His voice is soft and smooth, the words dripping gently like honey from his tongue. He seems to taste each individual syllable, rolling it around in his mouth, before delicately releasing it into the air. Even though the individual phrases are almost insulting, he whispers them reverently, as though they were the highest form of praise he could ever offer a woman. When he reaches the final couplet, I'm almost sorry to hear it end. He emphasizes each letter as though they were notes in a symphony. The rise and fall of his voice drowning out any other stimulation in the room. I'm so deeply entranced, I almost don't realize the poem has ended. I inhale sharply and sit back in my seat – I moved to the edge without even realizing it.

"Now, that is how Shakespeare is meant to be read," he announces, grinning smugly.

"How did you do that?'

"It's simple, really. It is a romantic poem, even though most people find it insulting. It's all a matter of context. He's not pointing out his mistress' imperfections. He's pointing out that describing her as the proverbial perfect woman is an insult to her already perfect features."

"I've never thought of it that way." I haven't. It completely blows my mind. "Where did you learn that?"

"I didn't." He smiles. "Well, not really, anyway. I guess you could attribute it to my theatre training. I've been involved in drama since I was little – my father was a prominent director. I learned interpretation early on. It allows me to create deeper, more multi-dimensional characters, making me a much better actor."

When the teacher asks for volunteers at the end of class, I don't even hesitate to nominate Soren. Honestly, I'd do just about anything to hear that again. He reluctantly agrees, and I'm pleased to see that the rest of the class is as enchanted as I was. No one volunteers after that.

After class, he catches up to me at my locker. "Hey."

"Hey," I respond, surprised to see him.

"So, I was wondering..." he trails off. He looks much less confident than he did in class.

"Yes?" I offer.

"Would you maybe be interested in going to the homecoming dance with me?" he blurts out. He blushes, but manages not to break eye contact.

I think about it for a second, then smile. "Only if you'll read me more Shakespeare."

He grins like he's just won the lottery. "It's a deal!"

It's so cute I almost forget about Orion.