Understudy by Cheyanne Young

totally weird like I’m some kind of children’s teacher or toddler TV show host, I appreciate that they are paying attention.
    Ricky sits on a piece of set equipment, his cell phone balanced on his knee. It doesn’t escape my notice when Gwen yawns all casually, stretches, and sits on his lap.
    “What’s this about, boss?” Derek’s voice hits the back of my ears, making me jump. With the knowledge that he’s right behind me, I can feel his presence in little tingles all over my back and shoulders.
    I turn toward him and whisper, “It’s about how we need to work on this play and stop slacking off.”
    He raises one eyebrow in that oh-so-ridiculously-cute way and if I didn’t know that Margot was giving me an icy glare right now, I’d probably melt into a warm goo right here on center stage.
    I turn back to the crowd, my face flat and devoid of all mushy romantic feelings for when my eyes enviably meet Margot’s, and open my mouth to speak. I’m not sure exactly what to say to everyone, something that will inspire and motivate them would be best, but no quotes from heroic dead people come to mind.
    Luckily, the door at the far end of the auditorium swings open with a loud bang that echoes throughout the rows of empty chairs and saves me from having to make my speech. It’s probably Principal Walsh coming to check on our progress, which means he will scare everyone into working today. My heart leaps for joy, and the butterflies in my stomach from the thought of giving a speech settle back into their houses.
    Do butterflies sleep in houses? Doubt it. But that’s irrelevant.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” someone—a guy—yells from the back of the auditorium. The anger in his words echoes off every surface, making its way on stage and sending a chill down my spine. The newcomer is definitely not Principal Walsh.
    Gwen jumps off Ricky’s lap like he’s suddenly infected with the plague, crawls off stage and runs toward the guy. As he gets closer, I can tell by the muscles bulging from his grey tank top that it’s Gwen’s boyfriend.
    Uh oh.
    “Blake!” She crashes into him, pressing her hands against his heaving chest. “Blake, calm down. There’s nothing to worry about.”
    “Sure as fuck looks like it.” He shoves her to the side and continues his rampage down the aisle and closer to where Ricky sits on the stage. Gwen bursts into tears, covering her face with her hands. Ricky sits back on his heels, his normally pale skin turning stark white.
    “Um, Blake?” I clear my throat. “Principal Walsh will be here any minute so you probably shouldn’t—”
    “I don’t give a fuck.” Blake doesn’t so much as look at me. He stops at the bottom of the stage and glares at my lead male actor, his chest heaving. The veins in his arms bulge as if they too are pissed off. “Who the fuck are you?” He asks Ricky. “Some theater queer?”
    Gwen grabs his arm from behind him. She sniffles through her tears. “Baby, please,” she pleads.
    Movement flickers to my right and a dark shadow leaps off the stage. His movements are quick and precise. Derek maneuvers himself between the pissed off football player and the stage, his back toward us. While Blake stands rigid and shaking in anger, Derek’s hands rest casually in the pockets of his jacket. Derek stands eye level with Blake. “You need to turn around and leave.” His words send chills down my spine.
    Blake tightens his hands into fists at his sides. “Get the fuck out of my face.”
    Derek’s reply is instant. “Get the fuck out of my auditorium.”
    Gwen’s annoying sobbing is the only sound for a few seconds. Everyone on stage watches the scene in front of us. Derek doesn’t move. Blake’s eyes move from Ricky to Derek and back again, as if he’s weighing his options. Gwen tries unsuccessfully to get his attention but he shrugs her off his arm. Finally, Blake takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. He glowers at Gwen.