❝ THERE'S A REASON
SHAKESPEARE IS TAUGHT ❞

–

Five hundred eighty steps. The ringing of the bell sounded as I took my last stride through the door. The glistening white tiles almost blinded me as I stepped over the threshold. Mr. Hanson shot a fleeting glance at me, a smile plastered on his dry lips. I had broken the schedule yet again. It was early Monday morning. Night prior, I had gone home only to find a note left by Steve saying he was out at a party and wouldn't be home until late night. Thankfully for myself, I had woken up before he did, and didn't have to face a second of his scolding for being all beaten and bruised. So, I took the book Mr. Hanson had given to me and scurried over to the small shop an hour before school started.

"Holly, you're early," he observed, taking his glasses from the top of his head and placing them on his eyes. He squinted at the book in my hands. "You've finished?"

"Yes, and I've got to say, Mr. Hanson," I approached him and leaned against the counter, "it wasn't my favorite."

He raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips. Sighing, he took the book from my care and observed the front cover, flipping it over and looking at the back.

He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed me, "I wasn't expecting it to be your favorite, Holly. One of them, perhaps. What is it you didn't like?"

I glanced up at him, an innocent smile tugging at my lips. "You've done be good, Hanson. But this one got me. I didn't like any of it, really."

"Holly, it's a masterpiece! Crafted by Shakespeare himself!" He exclaimed. I laughed at his outburst and leaned my hands against the plastic counter cover.

"I just-" I sighed, biting down on my lip, "I don't see the significance, is all. I find it overrated."

He raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "Overrated? Shakespeare? Holly, I thought of all people, you'd understand."

"I understood it," I rolled my eyes, "but it's stupid, don't you think? Is there a great big overall message I missed, or something? Because all I see is a couple kids in love," I put my fingers up, mimicking quotation marks, "and killing themselves because of some bad planning and dumb decisions."

"You're right. They were impulsive, but that's all part of the story, is it not? To show what adolescence can do when their feelings consume them, when it seems like there is no more to life than such?" Mr. Hanson paused, squinting down at the book and taking it into his hands, "this was my favorite book when I was your age, Holly. I think it thoroughly shows how strong one's feelings are, especially when they are being reviled just as Romeo and Juliet's had."

My lips parted. I thought deeply about his words. I had been stuck on the fact that Romeo had never loved Juliet, but was simply lusting. Nonetheless, lust was a feeling, and just as Mr. Hanson had explained, feeling's could control your every whim.

"Feeling are not meant to be put away," he continued, "if they are, or are pushed on by others, bad things will come."

I tilted my head to the side. "You're right. That's a good insight on the book. Even when I hate it you make me love it," I glanced at him, a gravelly chuckle emitting from the back of my throat, "I mean, they were young and stupid, but so was society, I guess."

"You understand." he smiled, leaning his body weight against the counter. He cracked his wrinkled finger. "Feelings have the ability to move us. To make us cry, laugh," he sniffed, a hearty chuckle coming from under his breath, "and, well, impulsively get married, and even end our lives, although that's not the case for most. Feelings consume us and control our every move. Unfortunately," he held up the book, "in this story, they were made to conceal what they felt, which ended in their demise. And that is why I see it as a masterpiece."

"Well, Mr. Hanson," I smiled up at him, shaking my head, "you could change my views on damn well anything."

He pointed his trembling finger at me, "that's because you're smart enough to understand." He winked, his lips tugging upward. "Now, let's get you a new book, shall we?"

-

"Kids," my teacher's voice echoed throughout the classroom. A couple kids gave me the side eye, trying to get a good look at my battered face. Rumors were already spread around and we weren't even ten minutes through homeroom. Something having to do with James, I supposed, as he was the only reason I had any significance in the social ladder of the school. To my luck, Steve wasn't in first period, and I assumed he had stayed home with a hangover. However, Two Bit was in my class and he was giving me funny looks every time I turned my head.

"There's a reason Shakespeare is taught. And no, it's not to bore you. To allow you to drone off as we read in class, all so you can go home and watch the movie and barely pass on your final essay. No, there is a deeper meaning as to why we teach Shakespeare, kids. Specifically, Romeo and Juliet, as that is was we will be reading. What I want for you guys is to tell me. Tell me what the significance is. While we are reading this, I want you to really think. Perhaps you may find, there is no significance. And at the end, you can explain to me why you feel such a way on your final essay. But this is something I'm hoping you guys will put your hearts into, all of your effort."

A couple kids around the class snickered. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the blank desk. I read the scribbled notes that sat atop it as I listened to my teacher drone on in the background.

"This isn't something you can skim over and try to understand. This is something you need to feel." Mr. Jones dropped a copy of the book on my desk, then rested his hand on top of it, staring down at me. "It is something you must pay full attention to, every detail, every feeling. Put yourself in their shoes, and think, why did they end their lives like they did? I'm hoping you guys will take what I have said into consideration, as I am very much looking forward to reading your essays come September."

He theatrically spun around, facing the class. Clasping his hands together, he sent a side glance to me, and then trailed his eyes over the front row of the class, all the way to the back. "You present yourself as quite the bunch of apt pupils, and perhaps you will take this opinionated essay seriously, and earn the mark you deserve. I hope this is what you will strive to do. Now, open to act one, scene one. We've got some reading to do."

Normally, I would have been excited to do such a project. As reading was one of the only ways I passed time, other than writing, it was reasonably something I'd like to do in class, to save me from other boring lectures that could have been occurring. However, having already read the book, I found my lids start to get heavy after no more than five minutes. The teacher had picked Two bit to read the part of Mercutio, which I found to be a rather fitting role for him. I caught myself chuckling ever so quietly every time he read a line. Quite like Mercutio, Two-bit was out there. He didn't care what others thought of him.

From my peripheral vision, I saw a figure in front of the door, leaning against the lockers. He approached the window slowly, shooting glances into the classroom, his eyes scanning over the crowd of students, before landing on me. His lips twitched upward as he took the chain around his neck and lit a weed. He held his finger out and curled it toward him. My eyes winded, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Until finally, I raised my hand up and asked to go to the bathroom. The teacher sighed, closing his eyes. "If you must. But I hope you understand the importance of this, Holly."

"Clear as day, sir," I wanted to curse at him and tell him nothing was that important, especially his theatrical speaking and strutting around the class, acting as if he ran the world. Needless to say, I didn't favor that teacher. So, I settled with a roll of the eyes as he faced away. Ambling out of the classroom, I secretly slipped my books into my hands.

"Dallas," I pursed my lips. He was smirking at me. He was dressed as usual, with his brown leather jacket. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," he squinted, running his eyes along the length of my body. "You wearing a skirt?"

I glanced down at the silky bottoms that fell right above my knees. "No, Dallas. These are leather tights."

He jerked his head back, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "I sense sarcasm?"

"None of that here. Now, why are you kidnapping me from my classroom?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. I had placed my books into my locker, which was right across from my homeroom.

"I got bored at home," he twisted his jaw, taking a drag from his cigarette. Licking his lips, he smiled down at me, moving in closer.

"Hm," I sighed, glancing up at him, "well, I'm sure you've been given a schedule. Perhaps I could show you your way to homeroom if you'd like?"

"Nah," he shook his head, a hoarse chuckle coming from the back of his throat, "let's do something fun."

I sighed, running my tongue along my bottom lip. "Last time we did something fun, or in other words 'got me out of my comfort zone,' I ended up with this," I pointed to my black eye. Dallas took in a sharp breath of air.

"But it was worth it," he grinned.

"Yeah, I rethought that when I woke up this morning feeling like a pile of crap," I grinned sardonically. "Luckily, Steve hasn't seen it yet. I'm thinking about running away to Missouri, come with?"

"Hey, as long as you're there," he grinned, snaking an arm around my shoulder. He pulled me in close. I rolled my eyes and jokingly pushed him away.

"You got a car, Winston?" I asked, placing a hand on my hip. He grinned and pulled out car keys, holding them in the air with his two front fingers. Snatching them from his grasp, I shoved them in my pocket.

"Well, have fun riding shotgun."

Dallas snickered, shaking his head. He gazed down at me as we walked through the school doors together. I hoped my brother wouldn't find out about me skipping, only to add onto the trouble I was already in. I figured there was no way he'd find out unless Two Bit decided to snitch.

"Fair play, Randle."