Enter: RomeoMature

A tale of Shakespearean drama told through four highschoolers

Chapter  1: Starring…

Enter: The Girl

“Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Why didn’t you bring a ladder you twit?”


The director glowered at Emmy La’Beau, who, standing on the unfinished scaffolding, looked more like a girl contemplating suicide than the leading lady in the spring play.

“Take five everyone,” said the director, “and when we get back, I need everyone to focus. There’s two months before opening night, and we don’t even have our scenery yet. Where’s the stage manager?”

The cast and crew walked off the stage to sit in the darkened auditorium as the director pulled the stage manager aside for a private tongue lashing. The poor kid had enough to deal with already, what with two of his crew being arrested just last week for smoking pot in the boy’s room.

I was standing by the stage going through some of my lines when Emmy walked up to me, slowly and seductively.

“Hello Romeo,” she whispered in my ear, “I can’t wait for us to rehearse our kiss. I bought some new peach lip balm just for the occasion. Want to get a taste?” She laughed and pinched my butt as she walked away.

Yep, I was Romeo. But I wasn’t her Romeo.

Enter: The Girl’s Boyfriend

Emmy ran up to D’Artagnan White, jumped into his arms, and squealed as he carried her away. D’Artagnan was the light guy, only here because he was given the choice between this or detention. They said he cut so many classes that he was technically no longer a student at South Brook High. Still, D’Artagnan had two things I didn’t: a six pack, and Emmy La’Beau.

Emmy La’Beau was ‘that’ girl. The girl every guy wanted and every girl hated. She was only in drama to get out of English class, and she made sure all of us knew it. The director didn’t say anything, because like all of us male cast members he was unable to resist her deep blue eyes that seemed to say, “Sex? What an intriguing idea.”

Emmy had been dating D’Artagnan for almost six months now, much to the chagrin of every guy at South Brook. Earlier in the year, they had been caught in a janitor’s closet, Emmy missing some key articles of clothing and in a rather compromising position. D’Artagnan had been suspended for a month, but Emmy had worked her magic with the principal and got off without a single mark on her record. There were many jokes at her expense about this, but she didn’t care. Emmy relished the attention.

As they disappeared off into the wings, I put down my script and stared after them. “D’Artagnan White,” I muttered to myself, “What kind of name is D’Artagnan anyways?”

A voice next to me answered, “I believe it’s French, possibly Anglo-Saxon in origin. In fact, I believe the exact English translation is ‘Douche bag’. I could be wrong, seeing as how I’m not taking into account the years of linguistic modifications to French slang.”

Enter: The Best Friend

I turned around to see Saul Sinclair standing next to me. He was leaning against the side of the stage, sipping a cold energy drink, and generally looking cooler than anyone should ever legally be.

Saul and I had been friends since we first met at freshman orientation. Saul Sinclair was everything I wasn’t. He was good looking. He played sports. He was popular. He had a current year car. He wasn’t working a dead end job at a lousy fast food joint.

In case you were wondering, Saul wasn’t always this awesome. When I first met Saul, he was overweight, had an acne problem, and was living with his aunt after his parents got into a serious fight. However, unlike most high school kids, Saul didn’t turn to drugs, or alcohol. Saul does smoke a little, but only once in a while, when it makes sense to.

Instead, Saul started working out and eating right. He joined a gym, got onto some sports teams, and wham: Saul became cool. Just like that. Makes you wonder if anyone can do it, with the right motivation.

Yeah, right.

Anyways, we stuck it out. Saul and I have been best friends for the past four years. Despite his popularity, Saul has always shared my love for ‘the theatre’ and we’ve been in the play together every year. Sometimes I think the only reason we have a decent audience is because of the girls who come to see him. This year he turned down the lead role because he’s been doing extra work in the gym as a physical trainer, and took the role of Tybalt instead. So, it fell to me. Joy.

Saul finished his can and effortless tossed it across the room where it neatly swished into the waiting trash can. I swear he must practice that when he’s alone. I’ve never seen him miss a shot.

He clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about her bro; she’s not your type anyways. Trust me. She’s way too hot for you.”

We laughed and started to walk back to our spots on the stage. “How would you know if she’s not my type?”

Saul winked at me and said, “Cause she’s a chick.” He walked off stage as the director beckoned everyone to their places to begin again.





It’s so lame. It’s not even in English.

Whatever. As long as it gets me out of Ms. Reinhardt’s class. That old hag never liked me. She’s just jealous of my breasts. That dumb old broad is as flat as her whiteboard. She’s always going on and on about a bunch of dead old white guys who wrote ridiculously long books about whales and boats and stuff.

When I heard about the stupid play, I knew I had to do it just so I wouldn’t have to go through the last two months of my senior year in that damn class. Ever since I started dating my precious D, she’s been giving me dirty looks in the hallways. Like I need her approval. I’d never give up D, and no one, not my teachers, not my parents, can ever change my mind.

Of course, my parents don’t know about D. If they knew they’re ‘precious little girl’ was getting her world rocked on a daily basis, they’d flip out. D and I have been doing it since our one week anniversary. We’re being safe, I’ve been on the pill since October and he still uses a rubber every time, even though I know he hates it.

I love D’Artagnan so much. He’s my world. Sigh.

And those washboard abs certainly don’t hurt.


Where was I?

Oh yeah.



D and I snuck off in a closet for a little make out session during a break, but we had to go back before anything serious could happen. I was so worked up by then the rest of practice was a blur. I kept sneaking glances over at D, standing in the wings, doing his light thing, and looking damn sexy.

Every once in a while, he’d wink at me, and I’d feel my body quiver.  My mind raced with thoughts of what we would do after, and I felt hot all over.

The last ten minutes of practice, it was so bad I had to take off my jacket. Standing up on that stupid scaffolding, all I wanted to do was tear off my tank top and leap into his arms and, well, you know.

Practice didn’t end fast enough, but when it did, I broke into a run at my man. He knew exactly what I wanted, and as we raced to where he parked his motorcycle, I took off his shirt and undid his belt. D always parked his bike behind the building where no one ever goes.

Afterwards, we put on our clothes and he drove me home. I wrapped my arms tightly over his muscular chest as he drove, and I could feel the vibrations from the motorcycle through his hard body. We got to the corner of my street, and he kissed me one long, hard time. I planted a quick kiss on his forehead before he drove away. I like doing that. It’s like my little signature.

Luckily, dad was asleep by the time I opened the back door and went to my room. He was sitting in his recliner, two empty bottles on the floor next to him. Only two? Must’ve been an easy day. Good, I wasn’t in the mood for him right now.

I opened my door, and stared at my tiny, cluttered space I called my room. Old posters of long un-cool boy bands hung from the walls, the edges starting to come up where the tape was wearing off. I swept dirty clothes off my bed and fell backwards onto it.

My head hit something sharp, and after swearing a bit, I felt around and found my old I-Pod. I’d cracked the screen. Great. I fiddled around with the buttons and it burst into life. At least it still worked.

I sighed and plugged in the headphones. I blasted some rap music and closed my eyes as I slowly drifted off to a deep sleep, filled with dreams of my boy and his rather talented tongue. Something told me tomorrow was going to be a good day.


The Best Friend:

I threw on faded white jeans and a black V neck tee after a long, hot shower. School was starting in 20 minutes, so for breakfast I grabbed a chocolate protein shake and hopped in my car. My baby, my 2011 Vette, purred to life like jungle cat waiting to pounce. Taking the back roads and going far over the suggested speed limits, I made it to school with 5 minutes to spare. Nice.

As I walked through the front door of South Brook High, I winked at a few of the cute sophmore girls. One winked back, and I made a mental note to say hi during lunch. You never know what could happen until you try.

My best friend always makes fun of my taste in, shall we say, ‘fresh meat’, but he’s been chasing after his precious Juliet for the past three years without any results. You can’t argue with results. Especially if the results are currently wearing a low cut band tee and black skinny jeans. Damn.

Like every morning the past three years, he was waiting for me by my locker.

“Did you see her at practice last night? She was all over me,” he said.

Assuming he was referring to his precious Juliet, I replied, “In your dreams. I heard her in the closet during break, and it wasn’t your name she was moaning.”

I closed my locker and started walking towards first period Calculus as he said, “What does D’Artagnan have that I don’t?”

“I assume that we’re ignoring his chiseled body and perfect hair?” I casually asked.

“Dude, you’re so gay,” he answered, “yes, not counting physical features.”

 “Maybe she’s just not meant for you. Maybe you’re meant to find a girl who didn’t flash the principal at the last pep rally or pass out in the boy’s locker room” I replied.

I knew what he was going to say even before he said, “I don’t know man, there’s something about her that I just can’t get over.”

Not like we had this talk every day before class.

We both walked into the classroom and sat down at our seats. As the bell rang, I leaned over and said, “It’s definitely not her sparkling wit or intellectual prowess. Maybe it’s her giant-“

The teacher cut me off before I could finish. Apparently, today we were learning about more exponential functions. God I hate math, but my aunt says it’s important for college. All I know is the girl in front of me is ridiculously cute, and via a complex note passing system I had almost succeeded in getting her to go on a date with me.

When I left for a drink of water, I noticed Emmy La’Beau and D’Artagnan White sneaking out a side door. How did they get away with that on such a constant basis? The only time I ever tried that I got caught and they made me clean the hallways for a week.  Not that I mind cleaning, of course.

I came back to find a little note neatly folded and lying on my desk chair. The note had two things written on it: 2035787894 and 9:00PM. The girl in front of me turned around when the teacher wasn’t looked and smiled at me. Not the type of smile that says, ‘Hello, isn’t life lovely’ or ‘How are you doing on this fine day?’ It was the type of smile that says ‘I’m not wearing any underwear’. Looks like tonight was going to be very interesting indeed.

The rest of the day went by very quickly. I held on tightly to the little note with her phone number and time until my knuckles were white. A few minutes after nine o’clock, I called her up.

When she picked up, she softly said, “Meet me at the park in five minutes.”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “The park? At this time of night?

The voice that answered melted in my ears like honey, “So no one else will see what we are doing. Bring a blanket”

I smoothly answered, “Of course, I’ll-“

She cut me off and said, “Be quick, just thinking about you is getting me so, so, hot.”

She whispered the last word into my ear and then hung up.

I ran to my car like the whole track team was chasing me.

It was going to be a good night.


The Boyfriend:

I pulled up to the side entrance of the school that morning at ten.  I parked my beautiful bike behind the shed and took a moment to clean up a patch of dirt on the side. I take good care of my baby.

Class had already started, but I wasn’t here for class. I was here for Emmy.

She was in gym, so it was the easiest thing in the world to sneak into the girl’s locker room from the backdoor. Like Emmy promised, she was waiting for me with her bag, all ready to go. She leapt into my arms and I kissed her, hard.

We broke the kiss just long enough for me to ask, “What’d you tell the teacher?”

She kissed me on the forehead, god I love it when she does that, before answering, “I told him I had to go to the nurse, now let’s go before someone comes back here.”

I held her hand as we ran out to my bike. When we got behind the shed, Emmy said, “I can’t wait any longer, take me, now” and she started to pull off her shirt.

I stopped her and gently pulled her shirt back down; as much as I wouldn’t mind doing it here, we were already on probation after getting caught earlier that month. I put a finger to her lips when she began to protest, and said, “Don’t worry; we’ll have plenty of time back home. My mom is out on a business trip till tomorrow night. You know what that means.”

She smiled as I climbed onto my bike and said, “Fine, but you can’t stop me from doing this.”

As I started the bike, her hands quickly moved around my sides to grab my…um…gearshift.

God I love this girl.

The motorcycle roared to life as Emmy began to slowly work her hands over my gearshift. I could hear her moaning in my ear as the vibrations from the road traveled through the bike to her soft skin. If we weren’t careful, the fun would be over before it even began. Luckily, my house wasn’t far.

It was a very good afternoon, to say the least.

The night was even better.

The End

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