ACT 1, SCENE 3

BREAKFAST IN A HAUNTED MANSION INCITED MISFORTUNE.

Of course, no official superstition existed; however, the situation was far from ideal. In Jackie's fantasy rom-com, she lived in a quaint adorable cottage that was warm and welcoming rather than foreboding. Not a spooky haunted house. 

"Better hurry or else the ghosts will devour all your food." With a scoff, Madison sauntered past, red ponytail swishing behind her. At least she could check evil stepsister off her list of movie tropes. 

Although Jackie spotted no spirits floating around the corridors in heavy chains, she refused to relax just yet. Nevertheless, it'd be rude to keep the rest of the family waiting so she quickened her pace.

"Good morning, Jaclyn." With a bright smile that showcased his pearly whites, Mr. Aster gestured to the chair across the table, indicating for her to sit. He neglected to remember, or chose not to care, that she preferred her nickname. As always, he was neatly dressed—similar to his own daughter. 

"Good morning." Stumbling over the chair legs, Jackie slid into her seat. She clasped her hands in her lap and crossed one leg over the other, remaining as stiff as a board. Even now, she was terrified of making one wrong move and breaking one of the expensive crystal glasses or staining the Italian tablecloth.

Jackie proceeded through the motions of delicately cutting her food, playing house with a fake family. Yes 

"How were the auditions?" Mr. Aster reached for a glass of water, a diamond Rolex glittering on his wrist. "Your mother tells me you're quite the actress."

"Alright." Resting her chin in one palm, she poked at her steaming omelet with a fork and grimaced when onions peeked out.

Mr. Aster didn't quite fit the bill of the archetypal wicked stepparent, but he would suffice. All Jackie needed now was a prince. Or a subversion—a love triangle. Yes, a love triangle would be a more interesting romance. 

"Jaclyn?"

Her head snapped up and a flush crept across her cheeks. "Yes, sir?" 

Mr. Aster's cold green eyes settled on her, peering over the top of his cup. "Just alright?"

"Well, I couldn't read the director's expression."

Head snapping up and ponytail swinging, Madison set down her silverware. Her gold charm bracelet jangled and clinked against the edge of her plate. "You're not talking about auditions as in Westminster auditions, are you? The play Aarav is in charge of?"

"Is that a problem?" With a lowered head, Jackie gnawed her lip and trained her eyes on the food.

"Every single play he's directed has been so dull, and he's wasting all his time on theatre."

"Theatre is not a waste of time," she hissed, and her grip tightened on the fork.

"Now, now," chided her mother. "I'm sure that's not what Madison meant."

"I'm just saying that Aarav could devote his time to..." With a dramatic pause, Madison pretended to contemplate an answer while she drummed her fingers against the table. "Hmm, substantial activities?"

"Activities like what?" 

"For example, I'm student council president, class president, and NHS president. Leadership positions are extremely important for a college application. As you know, I'm applying to—"

"Stanford," Jackie finished. "You've only mentioned the school twenty times a day."

At the statement, Madison narrowed her eyes—the same bright green as her father's. "What was that?" 

"Nothing." Hunching over, avoiding eye contact, Jackie twisted her hair ribbon and looked away. Meanwhile, her mother and Mr. Aster had fallen into an animated conversation, too absorbed in each other's words to recognize what was happening. 

Flashing a tight-lipped smile, Madison stood and flipped her ponytail over a shoulder. "Father, I'm heading to school. Wouldn't want to be late. You know how important education is." 

After smuggling a bread roll into her pocket, Jackie followed her out to the Asters' Rolls Royce where the chauffeur, a short elderly man with kindly eyes, opened the door for them. 

"Thank you." The second Jackie climbed in, she scooted as far from Madison as possible. 

Her stepsister scoffed. "He's the help. No one thanks them." 

"Some of us are nice people," she retorted, soft enough so Madison couldn't hear. 

Jackie plugged in her earbuds, turned the music to full volume, and folded her arms. The instant the car pulled up to the school, she shoved open the door and raced to the entrance, weaving between throngs of gossiping students. Pale faces stared back at her like ghosts. Her own had no angelic whiteness, not with her Vietnamese genes. 

Hunching her shoulders, Jackie ducked her head. In some of rom-com fantasies, she too was light like them, taller, with angular European features and full double eyelids. In other daydreams, the schools she attended had more families of color.

Despite the early time, a group had already gathered around the list taped to the theater door. Careful not to bump into anyone, Jackie inched forward, bouncing on her toes. Her entire body trembled in excitement the second her gaze fell upon the list. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. There, next to the lead, was her name in tiny neat print.

"Congratulations," said a low voice. From the crowd emerged Aarav himself in all his dark-eyed, expensive cologne glory. He wore a deep green blazer over a simple white shirt and black jeans. 

With a squeak, Jackie stumbled back and her hands fumbled, sending her books and script tumbling across the floor. Nearby students walked passed, nimbly sidestepping her scattered belongings or stepping on top of them. Aarav knelt down, gathered her materials, and handed over her wrinkled schedule.

"Thanks," Jackie muttered, her eyes meeting his when she stood. 

Without the slightest smile, he waved off her statement and folded his arms, eyes scanning the cast list. "You know, I was unsure about the roles at first, though Mr. Wilson insisted."

Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment? Or both? As usual, he remained unreadable. Jackie bit her lip and stepped back. "Thanks for casting me."

He adjusted his glasses. "No need to thank me for that." 

Her brow furrowed. "Then not-thank you? Opposite thank you?" 

With an eye roll, he maneuvered around her and disappeared into the crowd. For a moment, Jackie studied his retreating form before running after him. 

"Can you at least tell me where B132 is?" She showed him her schedule. Armed with nothing but her poor sense of direction, she was bound to wind up lost. 

Cue additional grumbling and another eye roll. "Whatever, just follow me. It's on the way to my Calculus class." 

She walked a couple of steps behind him, fingers toying with the edges of the books in her arms. The two were silent for a moment before Jackie spoke up, "So… blazers?"

He shrugged and straightened the jacket collar. Never once did he slow his pace. He kept walking before stopping in front of a blue door. "Here we are." 

Jackie's mind swam with jumbled words. Yet before she could speak, Aarav had already disappeared without another sound. 

. . .

Friends were a social construct.

More specifically, friends equaled people to associate with so society wouldn't label him as an anti-social loner. For all intents and purposes, Aarav was satisfied with the arrangement. After all, they'd known each other ever since grade school, and their parents ran in the same social circles. What he didn't like was plastering the fake smiles and mindless conversation.

Similar to the one Liam was currently having. Though, truth to be told, he was more irritated by Liam than he was by most people. Alas, such was the curse of a childhood friend. 

"Remember, if you lose, you streak across the stage in front of the entire school," warned Damien, who pointed a sauce-covered fork in Liam's direction.

With raised eyebrows, Aarav set down his tray at the usual table in the dining hall. "What are you two talking about?" 

Damien shook his head and dug into his alfredo. "Just making a bet with Liam." 

"One I will obviously win." The blond flashed another one of his signature grins. A redhead, most likely Liam's current fling, sidled up against him. When Liam introduced her, Aarav offered a quick hello, then escaped with a brief excuse. Since he often disappeared—similar to a cat, no one batted an eye.  

Aarav made his way to the bathroom, set his glasses on the edge of the sink, and turned on the faucet. The time glared at him in bold white letters on his phone: 11:32. Twitching hands reached under the running water to splash his face, before grappling for the sink's rim. Sallow skin and dark circles on full display, it was clear the unforgiving fluorescent lighting did his complexion no favors. Alas, if only his constant caffeine intake improved his tired appearance.

11:34. With a sigh, he slipped his glasses back on and squared his shoulders. Behind the glare of his lenses, the under-eye bags were near invisible. One reason why Aarav neglected to buy contacts. No one else would be any wiser. As far as anyone else knew, he was perfect. Inexhaustible. He could do anything without the slightest effort. 

For him, everything was easy—including school. In front of the mirror, Aarav repeated the silent mantra to his reflection, not pausing lest he admit he'd reached his limit. And that was something he could never acknowledge. The limit didn't exist, not for something like him.

Finally, Aarav straightened his jacket and with one last glance in the mirror, walked out of the bathroom at 11:35. At 11:38, he entered the library in hopes of cramming in extra study time. First day back at school and already he had an exam scheduled for the week. 

The sound of doors opening made him look up. In the dim lighting stood an Asian girl, tiny as though a strong gust of wind could knock her over. A red ribbon decorated the braid in her long black hair. The light that washed out distinct facial features subsided to reveal Jackie. Sitting upright, he tugged on his green jacket and steeled his face into a plain expression. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I have nowhere else to go." She nodded, eyes falling on Aarav, and moved to stand by his table. "Why are you alone?"

"Working." With a brief glance up, he tapped a pen against his notebook.

"Mind if I eat with you? You're alone and I'm alone, so we can be each other's company."

Although Aarav opened his mouth to refuse, he thought better of it since Jackie was new and didn't have anyone to speak with. 

"Alright, as long as you're not a distraction." 

He pulled up the textbook pdf on his phone and started on the calculus assignment. It wasn't due until Wednesday, but he figured he might as well secure a head-start. He didn't want to worry about it the day before a test. 

Jackie set down her lunch tray on one side and her collection of books on the other. "Are you always like this?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"So... uptight."

Ignoring the statement, Aarav worked his way through assigned problems: a simple review on limits from last year. The first couple of weeks of school were always easy. Only next month would the workload start piling up. He frowned at the paper and started scrolling through his phone for more challenging questions.

"What are you doing?" Jackie's chipper voice cut through his thoughts.

"Math homework." With the tilt of a head, he leaned back in the chair, angling away from her.

"Already? You're not even home yet." She shifted in the seat, causing the chair to creak with her movement.

Cringing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'd rather finish it early."

Jackie flipped through one of her books. After a moment, she commented, "You're like a real-life Hermione Granger, being obsessed with school and all.  

"From Harry Potter?" Only half-listening, Aarav remained glued to his phone. Ah, so negative cos(x) was the integral of sin(x). No wonder his work didn't match the solution—he'd accidentally made cos(x) positive. Quickly, he erased his previous writing before casting a quick glance at Jackie. 

"Are you a fan?" The desk ratted while she drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin in her hands. 

"Nah, I was never interested in the series."

"Me neither. Everyone kept telling me to read it except it was boring."

"The author's also transphobic, so that's probably for the best," Aarav said. "The writing is mediocre anyway."

"Mediocre," Jackie mimicked his flat tone and giggled. "You're pretentious. Who's your favorite author, Shakespeare?" 

"Shakespeare is a cop-out. He's the answer when people want to sound intelligent." Lowering the phone, he met her eyes—bright and clear in the light, an almost golden-brown. "Besides, it's my personal opinion. The Harry Potter series is just like any other magic school novel out there."  

"Actually, what's your favorite work anyway?"

"Hard to choose. I have multiple."

"Oh? Name one." Jackie rested her chin in one hand.

"The Night Face-Up by Cortázar," Aarav answered promptly.

"What's it about?" She leaned forward, eyes widening ever so slightly, her gaze lingering on him. 

"A short story about a man winds up in a motorcycle accident and ends up in the hospital. He then has extremely vivid dreams of being pursued by Aztecs in pre-Columbian Mexico."

Jackie's eyebrows drew together. "Sounds strange."

With a half smile, he leaned forward against the table. "In the end, the reader is left wondering which is real: the modern world or the historical? Are both real or are both dreams? It's never made clear."

"But you probably find that boring." Aarav cleared his throat and folded his arms. 

"No, it's interesting," she was quick to assure. He raised an eyebrow, unsure if she was telling the truth or just being nice.

"How about a play you like?" Jackie asked. She smiled and tilted her head.

"Aria da Capo by Millay. It's set up as a play within a play." 

"Like The Clockwork Town," she commented, referencing the script he'd chosen for the school performance. "A story within a story." 

"Exactly," Aarav confirmed. Perhaps the script he'd chosen was a form of wish fulfillment. There were times when he'd thought it'd be easier to simply follow a given role with a fate set in stone by a written tale. No risks or surprises.

"Pretty ambitious that you're basically directing it. It's not some famous play where you can easily reference other performances."

"That gives me more freedom on where to take it. People have less expectations."  

Jackie toyed with the ends of her red hair ribbon. "Now, why do you prefer directing over acting?"

Straightening up, he adjusted his glasses before answering. "I like planning and organizing, and I'm primarily drawn to the backstage aspect of plays." 

"Now, what do you like to read?" Aarav's gaze steadied on her. He already had a hunch but a part of him wanted an answer anyway. 

"Pride and Prejudice, To All the Boys I've Loved Before, American Panda—" She stopped when she noticed his mouth twitching from a suppressed smile. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Just that I expected romance novels." 

"I'm that predictable, huh?" 

"You could say that." Aarav shrugged and checked the time on his phone. Five minutes till twelve and lunch would be over. He shut the notebook and slid it into his bag. 

"I could say the same for you. It's no surprise you were hiding in the library to do homework."

"I like the quiet." 

"Won't your friends miss you?"

Friends—he almost laughed. Half the time, Damien and Liam would be too preoccupied with their antics to notice. "Sometimes I need a break from them."

"Like alone time?" A sheepish laugh, hunched shoulders. Jackie twisted her hair ribbon around a finger. "Sorry if I interrupted yours."

"It's fine," he reassured with the shake of his head. Not a flicker of emotion appeared on his face. At the muffled ringing of the bell, Aarav stood and slung his bag over his shoulder before heading out.

"See you at rehearsal tomorrow!" she called after him. 

He paused after a couple steps and slowly turned to face her. He nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah, see you."

. . .

Strides low to the ground, Aarav paced himself through the forest, slowing when the ground grew steeper, his sneakers thumping against the well-worn path. Slick with perspiration, his clothes clung to his skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and neck. The occasional refreshing breeze was a nice welcome from the late afternoon heat. He rhythmically breathed in and out the cedar scent, ignoring his heart throbbing in his chest. 

The towering brick building of Westminster Academy gradually grew larger and larger. Aarav pushed himself to run faster, careful to keep his shoulders relaxed and breathing regulated. Up ahead stood the coach with a timer. He broke into an all-out sprint and didn't stop until he'd crossed the line.

"Sixteen minutes and fifty-four seconds. Keep it up and we're on track for nationals."

With a nod of acknowledgment, he slowed into a walk and wiped the sweat from his brow. Aarav ran a hand through his hair which had been plastered to his forehead with sweat. Behind him, Liam followed not too long after. 

"Seventeen minutes and five seconds."

"Thanks, coach." He jogged a bit to catch up with Aarav. "Practice went well today, huh?" 

"You were late again."

"That only happened a couple times."

"You mean the last three in a row? At this point, it's a habit." Grumbling, Aarav wiped off his lenses with the hem of his shirt. "Not to mention auditions as well." 

With a short laugh, Liam rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, come on—"

He whirled around and narrowed his eyes. "Stop." 

"Hey now, stop being so uptight." The blond clapped him on the back and gave him a gentle shove.

Aarav pushed Liam back, sending him off the edge of the path. 

In a flash, Liam lunged at him and tackled him into the grass. His back slammed against the ground as he breathed in the scent of wet earth. Yesterday's rain and the morning's dew seeped into an already sweat-soaked shirt. Ignoring the leaves and twigs poking at his skin, Aarav grabbed a fistful of dirt and flung it at his friend's face. 

"Gross, it's in my mouth!" 

When Liam paused to spit it out and wipe his eyes, Aarav stole the opportunity to grab his shirt and wrestle him to the ground. After socking him in the jaw, he stood and offered a hand to Liam. "We're too old for this."

At first, Liam allowed Aarav to help him up, then shoulder-checked him before breaking into a jog. "Race you back!" 

Rolling his eyes, he wiped off his glasses before slipping them back on. Despite himself, he broke into a sprint after the blond. Ten feet away. Five feet away. Then he was close enough to reach out and touch Liam's shoulder. Pushing himself harder, Aarav closed the distance between them and they ran side-by-side down the path. 

After cool-down routine stretches, he headed into the locker room. He was halfway through unlacing a shoe when there was a sudden throbbing pain in his foot. With a wince, Aarav grabbed his foot, and pressed a palm against the bottom, stretching it back. The cramped muscle was rigid and tense, and twitched under his touch.

When the pain subsided, Aarav changed into his usual wear. Despite dutiful stretches and warm-ups, the foot and leg cramps were happening more than ever. Couldn't be his shoes, which existed in the perfect state of not falling apart but well-worn and broken in. Couldn't be the running, which he'd done everyday since freshman year. Grunting, he slid on his leather boots, and ignoring the untied laces, he grabbed his bag and slung his jacket over his shoulder.