Chapter Text
When she is fifteen years old, Becky finally gives in to her penchant for dramatics and joins the Eden Theatrical Club. She is by no means the least talented member even in her first year, but it is only in her second year that her hard work and practice pays off.
“It’s so exciting, Anya!” she gushes for the umpteenth time as she flips through the script. “I’m playing the lead! The lead!”
“Yeah, it’s great, Becky,” Anya responds with waning good-nature. Becky has been over the moon about this for a solid week and she can only take so much rampant enthusiasm.
Becky ignores her friends’ disinterest and continues to review her lines, her lunch pushed to the side and growing cold.
Eden’s Theatrical Club is not a professional troupe, but the students who make up its ranks are still the sons and daughters of the elite. This means that any production they put on gets a significant amount of attention both inside and outside of the school. As a result, the productions put on by the Theatrical Club are treated more like world premieres than regular school productions, and getting the lead – especially at the young age of sixteen – is a life changing event.
Or it would be for anyone other than Becky Blackbell, socialite, trust fund baby, and lovable egocentric that she is. She just considers it her due.
“Still… I wonder who will play the male lead?” Becky thinks out loud. “I thought they had decided on Daniel but they’re going to do auditions again tomorrow afternoon.”
“Too bad for you. I know how much you loved the idea of working with Daniel.”
Anya grins and waggles her eyebrows while Becky blushes. It is true that she had been happy (or, in Anya’s vulgar phrasing, “fucking ecstatic”) to be playing the opposite romantic lead with Daniel Davies, the most handsome and talented senior in the school. She had admired his abilities ever since she first joined the club and her looking forward to working with him had nothing to do with his looks, god-like physique, or the way her knees knocked together when he said her name. Absolutely nothing at all.
The fact that she had been looking forward to the more risqué scenes between them was purely incidental. And the additional fact that Becky has been saving her first kiss – not just on stage but also in life – for a man who fits Daniel’s description to a tee is also a complete coincidence.
But now Daniel has been dropped for reasons still unknown and she could end up working with anyone, a fact that makes her more than a bit nervous.
She sighs and closes the script just as Emile, of all people, joins their table. The girls share a look of surprise. Not only is it rare for either of Damian’s friends to be seen without Damian, it is even more rare for them to be seen on their own.
Emile looks around quickly to see if they are truly alone (or as alone as three people can be in a crowded dining hall) and then leans towards Becky conspiratorially.
“Is it true they’re doing open auditions for the play tomorrow afternoon?” he whispers without preamble, his round face red with embarrassment but still determined.
Becky is too surprised to do anything but answer truthfully. “Yes, at four in the West Theater. Are you going to--?”
“Thanks, bye!” he says, and then rushes away before the two girls can do anything else.
“Um….” Anya begins, but doesn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence. Becky is similarly confused and also feels a mounting horror.
“You don’t think… he isn’t going to…” she stutters, and turns to look at Anya.
“Oh, I think he is,” Anya pats her friend on the shoulder, “but cheer up. What are the odds he gets the part?”
That afternoon she sits in the auditorium and watches the hopefuls with a frown on her face and her arms crossed. There are a surprising number of boys trying out for the part – and where were these would-be actors when they did Spring recruitment, she wonders? – but they are all, to be frank, terrible. Disaster looms like a cloud over the club members even as they clap politely after each audition, and Becky glances around until she spots a familiar blonde head.
Emile sits a few seats away and is feverishly looking over his prepared notes. Becky watches him for a moment and then moves over and sits down, startling him.
“Let’s hope you’re better than this lot,” she greets him. “I don’t know how you could be worse, anyway.”
Emile grins but looks sick. “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be here.”
Becky rolls her eyes. “Well, you are here so you may as well try.” She gestures to the stage where George Glooman is stuttering his way through a monologue, “If nothing else don’t do that and you’ll get the part.”
“Encouraging as ever,” Ewen chimes in, appearing in the row behind them. Damian follows not far behind. “Aren’t you supposed to say “break a leg?””
She is about to correct him but Emile, round eyed, interrupts.
“What are you guys doing here?” he looks panicked. “I told you not to come!”
“Fuck that,” Damian responds succinctly and sits down in the seat directly behind Becky. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Yeah, man!” Ewen grins and thumps Emile on the shoulder. “Friends support each other and stuff!”
This is apparently encouragement enough because Emile takes the stage at his turn looking pale and nervous, but with a gleam in his eye that Becky has never seen before. The director sits in the front row with hands steepled under his chin as he eyes Emile. Emile gives his introduction with a quavering voice and is about to read his prepared monologue when the director – a senior named Robert – calls for his attention.
“Actually, Mr. Elman,” he intones. “If you could run through the lines of Act 1, scene 5 with Stefan for me, please. Take your time.”
Becky raises her eyebrow as Stefan jumps onto the stage and shakes Emile’s hand. Ewen leans over to whisper, “What’s going on? Isn’t he supposed to read something he already prepared?”
“Yes, usually,” she whispers back, “I’ve never seen this before.” Then she quiets as Emile and Stefan begin the scene.
Emile is shaky at first and holds the script nearly up to his face as he reads the lines and Robert has to tell him to lower the pages. The scene is a comedic one with Emile’s character, “Roger”, bantering back and forth with Stefan’s character, and it is one of the most popular dialogues in the whole play. The actors who play the parts must have real chemistry and a sense of timing, and it is not a skill most amateurs even realize they need. Becky is fully prepared to watch Emile crash and burn but to her utter surprise, the opposite happens.
The scene progresses and he seems to transform in front of their eyes. As he reads and plays off of Stefan, he gains confidence and the words come easier. His posture relaxes, and his smiles seem less forced. He is still obviously nervous and much too raw, but there is something there that glimmers like real, undeniable talent and makes her sit up straighter.
By the end of his audition even Becky has to genuinely applaud, and Damian and Ewen shout and whistle so loud that it echoes to the rafters.
“Did you two know he wanted to act?” Becky asks them when they finally calm down. Ewen is grinning as he shakes his head.
“He never said anything! What an asshole!” But his tone is fond as Emile makes his way back to them on shaky legs.
Damian punches Emile in the shoulder, hard. Emile grins in response. “Thanks, Bossman.”
Becky smiles at Emile – a true smile, and therefore very rare – and claps softly as he takes his seat.
“You did really, really well, Emile! I’m impressed!”
“Thanks, Becky. Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick…”
His face is lit from within with a happy glow and Becky blinks. Now that he isn’t scowling or munching on an ever-present snack, she notices that his front teeth are smaller than she remembers. Cosmetic surgery? Braces? She doesn’t know, but it dawns on her that he looks almost handsome when he grins in such a sheepish way.
“Hey, so,” Ewen interrupts her thoughts and leans over the seat back to rest his elbows on it, “do you think he’s got a shot?”
Becky frowns and considers.
“Well…”she begins slowly, and all three boys listen attentively, “he’s no Daniel Davies – sorry, but it’s true – but he’s definitely the best I’ve seen so far. You have natural timing for the comedic parts and you have good stage presence. You need to get more confidence, but you can work on that.” She looks him up and down. “Do you think you would be comfortable having sex with me, though?”
“Haha, what?” Ewen yelps, and Damian boggles at her. She ignores them. If Emile gets the part, then whatever happens will concern only them and no one else.
Emile squares his shoulders and nods. He, unlike his friends, has read the play to the end, it seems.
Becky thinks for a moment and then sticks out her hand. Emile shakes it.
“I really hope we work together, then,” she says, and means it.
He lands the part, to general and unflattering amazement among the student body. The only ones who don’t seem surprised are the ones who saw his audition, and Becky finds herself having to fend off condolences almost as soon as the announcement is made.
“What a bunch of pricks,” Ewen grumbles as he highlights his Chemistry notes. “Don’t listen to them, you hear?”
He speaks to Emile, who is lying face down in the dirt beneath the tree where they are all gathered.
“I can’t do this!” Emile whines, his voice muffled by the grass. “I must be crazy to think I can play the lead!”
Becky snaps her English book shut and glares at the back of his head. The boys had come to her and Anya because Emile was desperate to read lines with Becky, but her co-star has spent most of the time having a panic attack instead.
“Alright, get up,” she orders, and stands. “Get up, I said.”
Emile raises his head and looks at her mournfully. Becky feels no pity.
“Come on, Elman. You wanted to run lines? Well, let’s go.” She holds out her hand for him to take. “I’m not going to let my first time in a starring role be wasted because you lack confidence. We’re going to practice until we drop, you pathetic excuse for a man.”
Damian (who is sitting next to Anya in a way that desperately wants to look casual) glares at her.
“Show us more of that famous Blackbell charm, why don’t you?”
“Oh, be quiet,” she retorts as Emile gets to his feet without taking her hand, “this is between me and him.”
She looks him square in the eyes which, she notices, are a unique shade of green, somewhere between fresh olives and the color of the deep ocean.
“Listen up, Emile, because I am only going to say this once: You. Deserve. This. Part,” she pokes him in the chest (broad, she notes, and nicely muscled) with each word for emphasis. “You have talent, okay? And I’m not just saying that because I don’t want you to be awful for my sake. On opening night, I want you to be the best you can be, so stop whining and get confident, stupid.”
Emile nods slowly. “I-I’ll try…”
“Not good enough!” she barks, and he jolts. “You are my co-star, got it? And I do not waste my time acting opposite to people who aren’t worthy.” She tosses her hair. “You’re the lead and my love interest. Hold your head up high and be grateful.”
Emile chuckles and looks embarrassed. “Yeah… Thanks, Becky.”
Anya sighs happily.
“I love watching Becky give pep talks to other people. It’s always fun to watch them squirm.”
“If that was a pep talk then I’d hate to see what she’s like when she’s being mean,” Damian snorts. “Oh wait, I know what that’s like because it’s every single damn day.”
Ewen throws a pen cap at Damian and frowns at him. Damian shrugs in response.
“Okay, we’re off,” Becky grabs Emile’s wrist and drags him away. “Prepare yourself, Elman. We have a lot of work to do.”
True to her word she makes it her personal mission to get Emile up to standard, and that means they spend almost every waking moment together from that point on. The show is still weeks away but the director and crew are already in high-gear and rehearsals are every day after class and run into the evening.
To his credit Emile works and works at his part like a man possessed. He is never late to rehearsals, never forgets a line, and takes direction with good grace even when Robert has him practice a single reading over and over again. He asks intelligent questions and reads the novel that the original play is based on, peppering Becky with notes about his character and motivations until she is exhausted. Becky is also diligently rehearsing herself, and between the feverish work on the play and their own schoolwork, she and Emile barely seem to sleep.
The more time they spend together the more Becky is surprised by how little she knew about Emile just weeks before. He is funny in a quiet way, so at odds with the boisterous males of their year, and there is a gentleness about him that touches her heart, like when he plucks a flower from the courtyard during one of their many between-class meetings and says, “For you, as a thank you.”
He’s smarter than she realized, too. He is by no means an Imperial Scholar but he’s wonderful at Math and helps her study for a test she forgot she had because she is so busy with rehearsals. He buys her coffee in the mornings and grows more comfortable with her as the days go by, and soon enough Becky realizes that she is comfortable with him, too.
She isn’t quite in love with him, but it’s beginning to be a very close thing.
They don’t always meet up just the two of them, of course. The club still has rehearsals with the full cast and Anya, Damian, and Ewen usually join them for lunch at least, so while she and Damian still bicker the group of five solidifies little by little. It soon becomes second-nature to steal Damian’s juice when he isn’t looking or to borrow Ewen’s Econ notes to copy, and when she leans against Emile’s shoulder as they share a script during rehearsals, his warmth is not the strange thing it might have been.
Everything is running smoothly, except—
“You don’t want to kiss me, do you?” she asks him after class one day as they walk to rehearsal. Emile falters and stares at her, caught red-handed.
“I… um, it’s not… it’s not you,” he asserts, too used to her by now to try lying. She regards him coolly, daring him to call her unattractive.
“You’re amazing! You’re, you know, hot,” he grimaces as if the word tastes strange on his tongue. “I just never thought my first kiss would be like this, with someone like you, that’s all.”
She can sympathize a little, even if it stings that he does not regard kissing her as the pinnacle of his teenage existence. Just a month ago she would have jumped into the nearest river instead of willingly kiss him, but now here she is, looking forward to it more than she cares to admit.
“It’s my first kiss, too.”
He gapes at her.
“Really?” he asks with unflattering surprise. “I thought because it’s you that… well, what I mean is--!” He flounders as he realizes how he sounds and Becky tilts her head back haughtily.
“Do go on,” her tone is smooth and coiled with menace. Emile wisely shuts his mouth. She pauses to let the insult hang in the air and then lets it go.
“Is there someone else you would rather be kissing?” she asks instead, curious. It’s certainly true that he’s never seemed responsive to her physically, a friendly arm around the shoulder or a ruffle of her hair being the only times he’s initiated any sort of contact.
Emile blushes so deeply she can feel the heat from where she stands. “Uh…”
His eyes drift involuntarily past her shoulder and she turns to look. All she sees is a group of boys sitting in the courtyard, a magazine in Connor Hume’s hands as they chat and joke with each other, and she has a moment of confusion. There aren’t any girls in sight, and—
Oh.
“Oh,” she looks at Emile in surprise, and his eyes go wide with panic.
“That’s not--! I mean, no no, it’s nothing like that!” He flaps his hands as if to ward off the accusation that she did not make.
Becky stands there awkwardly and shifts from foot to foot. She feels her not-quite crush turn to dust and experiences not-quite heartbreak because of it, but quick on the heels of disappointment is a calm acceptance. She did not love Emile by any means, so this is not even a setback in the grand scheme of things, she reasons. Besides, she does like Emile quite a lot, and seeing him so upset because of this stirs all the protective loyalty of her heart.
She reaches out her hand and squeezes his arm.
“Let’s get to rehearsal,” she says with a soft smile, “and you can tell me what it is like, if you want.”
He looks at her with such unguarded gratitude that she can’t help herself. She grabs him up in a fierce hug and he returns it, squeezing her so hard that her ribs ache afterwards.
“Thanks, Becky,” he whispers, “I’m really glad that we’re friends.”
“Me, too,” she whispers back, and they break apart with stupid grins on their faces. “Does it make you nervous to do the kissing scene in front of other people? We could practice it now, if you like.”
Emile seems more resigned than anything.
“I guess we should. I don’t entirely dislike the idea, by the way,” he quickly adds, and she wonders if that is for her sake or if it is the remains of his denial making him say it.
“It’s okay. We can take it slow and get used to it. We’ll have to, anyway.”
The school board had made them remove all the love scenes except for one where their characters kiss, but it is still a hurdle they will have to cross eventually.
They find an empty classroom nearby and slip into it, the warm light of the afternoon sun streaming through the high windows and making the wooden desktops gleam.
Emile breathes deeply a few times and then takes his place. He slips into character with ease, and Becky feels a swell of pride at how much his skills have improved. No matter what he once thought, he absolutely deserves this part, and she feels a new determination to help him shine so that everyone in the school knows it too by the time the play ends its run.
“Emily, you know that… that it’s only you I—" Emile begins in a choked voice, and takes her hand to pull her close. She allows Emily to be drawn in reluctantly, and places her hands on his chest. She looks up at him sorrowfully, trying to remember that Emily thinks Roger no longer loves her and needs his reassurance with both words and deeds.
“But Roger…” she breathes, and parts her lips in unconscious invitation. Her chest rises and falls like a bellows building up heat, because Robert had told them that those sorts of actions raise the passion of a scene. Emile looks tortured and runs a hand through his hair, and Becky tries to convey that Emily longs to reach out and bury her hands in the strands.
“How can I show you?” he murmurs, and then seems to understand what her body language is telling him. He moves his hands to the sides of her face and tilts her head further back, and she leans into him so she is pressing all along his front. She closes her eyes in rapturous anticipation and after a breathless moment, Emile brings his lips down onto hers.
She can taste the chips he ate during their afternoon break and the saltiness tingles on her mouth as she returns the kiss as best she can. They are both still stiff and awkward but the warmth of his body lulls her senses and comforts her. As far as kisses go, she knows this one lacks the passion she had dreamed about with Daniel, but in a way, she is glad it is Emile who gets the honor instead. After all, he will never abuse the privilege or press the advantage, and she believes that he deserves this shining moment of her youth over any other boy she knows. They will keep each other’s first kisses safe, and Becky knows that he will cherish the gesture even if he will never love her in the way she once wanted.
Emile breaks away and continues the scene as if kissing Becky Blackbell is nothing special, and her ego takes a hit even as she admires his professionalism.
“Do you understand now?” Emile-as-Roger asks, his eyes full of worship as he looks at Becky-as-Emily.
“Yes,” she responds, and her smile of affection is not all acting. “Yes, I understand it all.”