The Darlings in Love Read online

  Jane nodded.

  Mark went on. “And, Simon, I want you to see that moment, okay? You see her fighting with herself, and you feel like it’s only a matter of time before she loses and does what you want.”

  “Got it,” said Simon.

  “Good,” said Mark. “Let’s take it from the top.”

  As they went through the scene, Jane played up Medea’s attraction to Jason. Rather than screaming her lines, she imagined she was saying them to Simon, to someone she was completely in love with. Just thinking about being in love with Simon if he wasn’t in love with her made her voice quiver, and a couple of times she actually thought it might break.

  Toward the end of the scene, Mark called out from where he was pacing in the shadows at the edge of the performance space, “Keep going, but, Simon, I don’t want you to yell your final lines; I want you to speak them. Be confident. Almost cocky. And right at the end, I want you to put your hand on Jane’s shoulder.”

  Following Mark’s new direction without missing a line, Simon walked toward Jane, reached out his hand, and rested it on her shoulder. “‘Well, then, I ask the gods to be my witness: I only wish to serve you and the children in every way; but you do not like kindness; you willfully push the help of friends away. Because of this you are going to suffer more.’”

  “Okay, hold it there,” called Mark from offstage. “Stay just like that.”

  Simon and Jane stood there, Simon’s hand on her shoulder, his smile condescending, like he knew Jane was going to fall for whatever crap he dished out to her. They stayed that way for what felt like an eternal moment.

  “And…now!” Mark shouted. “Jane, get rid of this bastard!”

  Jane stepped away from Simon, speaking sadly to him, “‘Go, go: I see you’ve been so long away from her. You’re itching with desire for your new-broken girl. Get on with being married while you still can. Because I prophecy: Your marriage will be one of horror and regret.’”

  Slowly, Simon walked offstage. Jane watched him go as Mark applauded. “We’re really getting somewhere now. Let’s try it again. But Jane, I want you a little bit angrier, not quite so sad.”

  They took the scene from the top, and this time, Jane tried to imagine she was furious at Simon. She made her words clipped, and furrowed her brow, but it felt awkward.

  When they got to the end, Mark told her she was doing better. To Simon he said, “Don’t be quite so cocky. You’re sure of yourself, but you’re not a total idiot, and you know how dangerous Medea is when she’s mad.”

  They ran through the scene three more times. Each time Mark said something complimentary, but Jane felt like she was speaking her lines more and more awkwardly, as if she was getting worse with every attempt, not better.

  Finally, Simon glanced at his phone. “I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta run. I’m meeting my mom for brunch.”

  “No problem,” said Mark. “I’ll let you know when we can have the space again. Probably not till Thursday.”

  Simon waved good-bye to both of them, then left the theater.

  Alone with Mark, Jane finally blurted out what she’d been thinking more intensely with each run-through. “I suck, don’t I?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Jane dreaded Mark’s reply. She thought of how mean she’d been to him about his directing. What if he took advantage of this moment and got back at her by saying something brutal about her acting?

  Mark had been carrying two chairs across the stage, but he stopped and put them down. “What? No. Why would you say that?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

  “It just…” She groped for the words. “It feels pretty forced.”

  “It’s new,” Mark said calmly. “But we’re on the right track. I can feel it.”

  Jane gave a slightly bitter laugh. “Maybe you and Simon are on the right track. I’m, like, not even on a train.”

  Letting go of the chairs, Mark studied Jane carefully. “You’re on a train.”

  Jane shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “You know what I think?” Mark sat down in one of the chairs.

  “You’re not going to say, If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, are you?” she demanded. “Because if you do, I may have to pummel you.”

  He chuckled and shook his head, but then turned serious. “Have you ever wanted someone really, really badly? I mean so badly you thought you would die if you couldn’t have the person?”

  “I…I don’t know.” She’d liked Mr. Robbins so much. But had she thought she would die if he didn’t like her back? Now it was hard to remember.

  Mark held up a finger, indicating he wasn’t done. Then he continued. “Well, you need to imagine it. And then you have to imagine wanting someone that badly, only hating yourself for wanting it. And hating the person you want for it.”

  Jane was enthralled by what Mark was saying and by how quietly and passionately he was saying it. He sounded so…real. More than anything, she wanted to be able to act what he was describing.

  “Come here,” Mark said. Out of habit, Jane found herself following his direction. When she was standing in front of him, he took her hands in his.

  “You’re doing great.” His voice was still quiet, but it had an intensity about it, and he squeezed her fingers gently on great. “You’ll find the right tone for this scene. I know you will.”

  For a second, Jane remembered that when she’d first met Mark, she’d thought he was cute. So much had happened since then that she rarely thought about that. But suddenly, just for an instant, she saw him again the way she’d seen him then. The memory was almost a physical sensation, and it surprised her.

  “Anyway,” Mark said teasingly, letting go of her, “you have to get it right.”

  “Oh, yeah, why’s that?” As she matched his teasing with her own, the feeling faded and he was just Mark again.

  “Too late to recast the scene,” he said simply. Then he gave her a wicked smile. “See you at rehearsal.”

  “See you at rehearsal.” Walking out of the theater, Jane felt a million times better. It was amazing how much confidence she had, all because of his confidence in her. She played over their morning, how little she’d improved, how clear his direction had been, how poorly she’d translated it into action.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized how wrong she’d been. Mark had all the qualities a good director needed to have: He had ideas. He had patience. He wasn’t petty or mean. And he had the ability to make his actors feel like they were doing a good job even when they really weren’t.

  Halfway down the block she had a realization so intense it literally stopped her in her tracks. All this time, she’d felt like Mark was lucky to be working with her.

  But really, she was lucky to be working with him.

  NATALYA COULDN’T BELIEVE she was standing in front of the Prewitt mansion again. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since she’d rung this bell the night of Morgan’s party. All she had wanted that night was for Morgan to like her, to find her acceptable and cool.

  Now all she wanted was for Morgan not to be home.

  She wasn’t actually sure what she would do if Morgan were home. The idea was disconcerting enough that it distracted her a little from her nervousness about Colin. What would she do if Morgan opened the door, scowled at her and sneered, What are you doing here?

  But if she did that, wouldn’t Colin march down, take her by the hand, and say, Back off, Morgan! It was cool to imagine Colin defending her, almost cool enough that for a second she found herself hoping Morgan might actually be there. The image gave her the courage she needed to finally ring the bell.

  She listened to the melodious chimes of the Prewitt bell and waited for what seemed like a long time before Colin opened the door. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a faded gray long-sleeved T-shirt with the black dog written on the front. His hair was wet. Natalya wondered if he’d just taken a shower, and, if so, had he done it because she was coming over?

 
“Hey.” He smiled.

  “Hey.” She couldn’t admit to Victoria or Jane that she cared what she wore to Colin’s, so she’d had to put her outfit together herself, and she thought she’d done a decent job. She was wearing her second-favorite pants—vintage green corduroys that Jane had picked for her at a store on lower Broadway a few months ago. She’d paired them with a pale yellow sweater that she thought looked good with her hair.

  It was a good outfit, but objectively, it was nothing you wouldn’t normally wear to hang out with your friend for the afternoon.

  Which was what she was doing.

  She followed Colin up the wide staircase. It looked radically different from the way it had looked the night of the party, when dozens of people had been clustered there as if it were yet another room in the Prewitts’ enormous mansion. The house was empty, but Natalya imagined she could hear the ghosts of guests laughing and chatting.

  “Hungry?” asked Colin as they passed the kitchen.

  “Oh, no,” said Natalya quickly. She was exceedingly nervous all of a sudden. Was there really no one else in the house? She hadn’t expected that.

  As they climbed the second flight of stairs, Colin answered her unasked question. “Everyone’s up at our country house.”

  “Got it.” Natalya had been introduced to the concept of The Country House during her first weeks at Gainsford, when she’d heard the phrase as often as she’d heard, Take out your notebooks, please.

  I’m going to my country house this weekend.

  I’m sorry, Ms. MacFadden, I did the homework, but I left it at my country house.

  We got home from my country house really late last night.

  Natalya Petrova, you don’t have a country house?! Wow, you really are poor.

  When they reached the top floor, Colin turned down the hallway, and Natalya followed him to his room, remembering how she’d gone exploring the night of Morgan’s party. She’d been so embarrassed when Colin had discovered her after she’d crept in to study the screen of his computer with its online chess game.

  And here it was, just a few months later, and she was walking in as an invited guest.

  His room looked the same as it had that night, only now there was an actual chessboard, as opposed to a virtual one. And it was on his bed, not the desk.

  On his bed. They were going to be playing on his bed.

  Colin walked to the bed and sat down at the pillow end. Clearly Natalya was supposed to sit down on the bed, too. She’d never sat on a bed with a boy before. It seemed so…intimate.

  Hoping her awkwardness wasn’t obvious, she made her way over and sat down on the very edge, reaching over to set up her pieces.

  “You can put your feet up, it’s cool,” Colin assured her, apparently misunderstanding the reason for her awkward position.

  “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Colin.

  It was a long game. It had been clear from their previous games that they were well matched, but it seemed to Natalya that they were both playing more fiercely than they had before. Every piece was sacrificed reluctantly; not even pawns were surrendered without a fight. There was none of the casual banter they’d exchanged during past games. At some point, the words fight to the death popped into Natalya’s head, and after that, she couldn’t stop thinking of the phrase.

  Neither of them suggested taking a break, not even when the game moved into its second hour. To Natalya, it felt as if there were nothing in the world but her, Colin, and the chessboard on the bed between them.

  There was a moment when Colin was taking such an especially long time to make a move that Natalya found herself wondering what would happen if she just leaned forward and kissed him. They were sitting so close, separated only by a foot of space, or at most two. His chin was in his hand, and he was hunched over, studying his options. She would barely have had to move to place her lips against his. It was scary how powerful the idea was; the more she thought about doing it, the less she felt able to fight the urge. She stood up without saying anything and walked down the hall until she found a bathroom. Then she stood, washing her hands in cold water for a long time.

  What did she owe Alison? She leaned her hip against the sink, toying with her necklace.

  Natalya thought of herself as a good friend. The one time she had lied to Victoria, she’d felt awful about it, and she’d promised herself she’d never again do anything to hurt her friend. But were she and Alison really friends? They were friendly. Okay, Alison had invited her to her birthday party. But for all Natalya knew, she’d invited hundreds of people. The invitation didn’t necessarily make Natalya special to Alison. True, they hung out at school. But they’d never hung out at each other’s houses or anything. She thought of the study session she’d had at Alison’s. But that hadn’t been like hanging out at a friend’s house. It had been a random choice; if Jordan lived as close to Gainsford as Alison did, they might have had the study session at her house, and Natalya would, therefore, truly never have been to Alison’s. So it was almost as if she had never been to Alison’s.

  Even though she had.

  And did any of that even matter? What if Alison were someone she’d never met, a faceless girl who lived in…Nebraska or China? Would that make it okay for her to want to kiss that girl’s boyfriend? Was it different to steal something from a friend rather than from a stranger? Or was stealing from anyone wrong, simply because it was stealing?

  Grrrr. It was all so confusing. And she liked Colin so much. And Colin seemed to like her. They were so perfect for each other.

  But what if he was perfect for Alison too? What if he was more perfect for Alison? In which case, Natalya was plotting to steal Alison’s soul mate.

  Natalya was developing a headache. She splashed some cold water on her face and headed back into the hallway.

  The bedroom had grown darker in her absence, or maybe the bright light of the bathroom had just made her more sensitive to how dimly Colin’s bedside lamp lit the room. As if he could read her thoughts, Colin stretched out his arm to turn on a row of overhead lights. Then he hunched back over the board and moved his queen several spaces to the right.

  Whether it was the room’s getting lighter or Colin’s move, Natalya didn’t know, but she suddenly saw what she had to do to win. She was so shocked she almost gasped, and she continued to study the board, not quite believing what she knew was true. She worked out every countermove Colin could make, then the moves she would make to counter him. As far as she could see, if she did what she planned, nothing could prevent her from winning in fewer than three moves. Four at the most. Not wanting to reveal her confidence that victory was hers, she slid her rook forward to its vulnerable position reluctantly, as if she weren’t convinced it was a good idea. Colin was clearly puzzled by what she’d done, but it wasn’t until he’d swiped her castle that he realized how thoroughly he’d fallen into her trap.

  The game moved swiftly after that. Colin was beaten, and they both knew it. The final moves took almost no time, and then Natalya spoke the first word either of them had spoken in hours.

  “Checkmate.”

  “Damn, you’re a good chess player.” In Colin’s voice was a mixture of awe and frustration. He looked at the board for a long time, then stood up. Natalya heard his knees crack.

  All her life Natalya’s father had drilled into her the importance of being a gracious winner, and her response to Colin’s praising her was almost automatic: “I think I play better when I play with you.” The words sounded suggestive somehow, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have spoken them. But he didn’t seem to think her compliment was weird.

  “Thanks.” He crossed the room and stood by the door, waiting for her. “Come on. Let’s get some grub.”

  They sat in the kitchen, Natalya at the enormous glass table, Colin sitting on the equally enormous white marble counter, eating reheated Chinese takeout and talking over the game they’d just played. Natalya felt better now that they were n
o longer sitting together on his bed. The impulse to kiss him had passed, and she really did feel as if she were just hanging out with a friend who happened to be a boy.

  It made her wish there were a way for her to e-mail Jane a video of this portion of the afternoon with the subject line I TOLD U WE WERE JUST FRIENDS!

  “My mistake was falling for your rook.” Colin studied the open carton of lo mein on his lap as if it contained an instant replay of the game they had just played, rather than an afternoon snack.

  “I can’t believe you don’t mind talking about this,” said Natalya, swallowing a bite of General Tso’s chicken. It was decent, she decided, but nowhere near as good as Ga Ga Noodle’s.

  Colin hesitated, his chopsticks, laden with lo mein, hovering just before his lips. “What do you mean?”

  “I just…I hate talking about a game if I didn’t win.” Natalya didn’t mean to rub in the fact that Colin had lost, and as soon as the sentence was out of her mouth, she realized she was kind of doing that.

  He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. “But, I mean, isn’t that how you get to be a better player?”

  Natalya made a face. “I guess. The truth is, I’m kind of a sore loser.”

  Colin threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, I kind of noticed that, last week in the park.” His phone buzzed and he checked the message, then typed back, speaking the words out loud as he wrote them. “Yes. Mom. I. Did. Remember. To. Go. To. My. Fitting.” He pressed one last button and said, “Send.”

  Natalya thought she’d heard wrong. “Fitting? Isn’t that, like, a wedding thing?” When her cousin had gotten married, Natalya had gone with her for the final fitting.

  “Tuxedo,” Colin lobbed his empty carton into the garbage. “Got my grandparents’ wedding anniversary next Friday. I guess I’m finally going to put all those years of dance class to good use.”

  “You take dance classes?” Natalya was shocked. She knew objectively that boys studied dance—Nana had taken the Darlings to The Nutcracker when they were in fifth grade, and there had been guys dancing in it. But Natalya had never met an actual live boy who’d taken dance classes.