The first time Peter said “Macbeth,” Portia tried to get him to perform her routine and he totally snapped at her. He threatened to ban her from the production if she even so much as mentioned it again. After that she operated in whispers until everyone said “the Scottish play” or “Mr. and Mrs. McBee.” Portia even started running out on Peter’s behalf when he said the word, and all the underclassmen followed her, so every time Peter called Macbeth up to the stage, half the cast dropped their scripts and ran like lemmings into the hallway. It was hilarious. Sometimes while we waited for them to do their penance I crossed myself “in the name of the father Macbeth, the son Macbeth, and the holy Macbeth spirit. Amen.” Peter couldn’t help laughing whenever I did it.
After the last rehearsal before break I went over to Portia’s house to hang out for a while. Instead of watching movies like we normally did, she just tried on a bunch of outfits for her Nashville trip and pretended to want my opinion.
“How about this one?” She spun around in a short-sleeve twinset and knee-length skirt that looked exactly like my back-to-school outfit.
“That seems a little too prep school. Shouldn’t you go for more of a southern belle?”
“It’s not a costume, Hatts. I just want to look like me on vacation. Like a me without parents.”
She slid on a pair of sunglasses. Show-off. I lay down on her bed and hung my head over the edge, looking at her upside down. “Très parentless.”
“What are you going to do all week?”
“Work. Run lines.” I threw a jab of my own. At first I thought it was a little mean of Peter not to give Portia any part, but the more she rubbed in her “fabulous” trip, the less mean it seemed. And I really was planning on working on it. Opening night was only three weeks away and I didn’t have all my longer speeches down yet.
“You can call me on Thursday if you need help. We have a free day and I’ll probably be all over the Opry Mills, but I can spare an hour or so to rehearse.”
“We’ll see. I might get Tommy to help me.”
Portia snorted and I couldn’t help smiling, too. Tommy Kinakis reading Shakespeare sounded as wrong as Carrie Bradshaw plowing fields. He’d been bugging me about seeing each other during break, though, and Portia knew why.
“Are you finally going to do it with Tommy?”
I stared at a corner of the ceiling where a small spider was busy making a web. It had been over two months since Peter and I stayed in Minneapolis, and to say we did it was just so middle school. It felt like an ocean had opened up between me and Portia and I would never be on her side of it again. It made me embarrassed for her, and lonely for me.
I hadn’t seen Peter alone since the night we parked at the scenic overlook in February. It was like I was fasting for weeks and weeks before getting these sudden feasts, where I had to eat as much as possible to survive the next fast. Before we drove away that night, he told me the same thing he had before we’d left Minneapolis, that we didn’t have a relationship. I can’t be with you, he said, not the way you want. And I ignored him again. Graduation was only a few months away and then our biggest obstacle was gone. Peter didn’t know that I had plans; I could see how the whole play would unfold.
In the meantime I still had to wear this other life. Part of me had wanted to break up with Tommy since the first night Peter kissed me, but the show had to go on. Everyone thought of us as a couple, a single unit. Every day someone asked if Tommy and I wanted to do this or that and I always answered, “I don’t know what Tommy wants to do. I’ll ask him.” Then during lunch I asked Tommy about our plans until he said what I wanted him to say. I always tried to spend our dates with other couples, especially since he’d started trying things.
“I told him waist up only.”
Portia tucked her jewelry bag into the suitcase next to me on the bed. “You said he wanted to do more.”
“It’s not my problem if he doesn’t listen.”
“It might be your problem.” She put on a jacket and quickly shrugged it off again. “What am I doing? I won’t need that in Tennessee. It’s going to be eighty degrees.”
Then she sat down next to me and got really serious. “Look, Hattie, I know you think you’ve got Tommy wrapped around your little finger, but look at him. He’s a giant.”
She stopped, tongue-tied, which was so not like her.
“What are you saying, Portia?”
“I’m just saying be careful.”
I left her on the bed and stood in front of her full-length mirror. It felt better to have this conversation through a reflection. “You’re saying be careful in case my boyfriend is a rapist?”
“Pretty much.”
“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to ask him to Sadie’s?”
“Are you kidding me? He was just one option. It’s not like I liked him.”
“Obviously not, if you think he’s going to force himself on me.” I started giggling. “Come on, Porsche. Tommy? Really?”
She looked put out by my laughter; she just sniffed and went back to picking out clothes and talking about all the fabulous things she was going to do in Nashville. We didn’t talk again before her trip, but as soon as their plane landed she started compulsively texting me, which was typical Portia. I just replied with stuff like, “Great!” and “That sounds awesome!,” which was typical Hattie.