The Princess of Las Pulgas by C. Lee McKenzie

with the
most disturbing Las Pulgas dwellers.
    I still can't remember why
Anthony is so familiar. He catches me looking at him and quickly, I
thumb the playbook, scouring for the first mention of my
character.
    Mr. Smith takes the seat
next to mine. “This afternoon we are reading and discussing Act I.
K.T. please note any props for this act and use the copy I gave you
to begin making your Prompt Script. “You have a challenging first
act, Chico. Even with this abridged version Iago has a lot to
say.”
    “Got it covered, Mr.
Smith.”
    “So let us begin. Jamal,
Roderigo has the opening lines.”
    I follow the dialog,
avoiding anymore eye contact. When Chico gets to ‘damn’d [by
having] a fair wife’ I feel his stare, but I refuse to look
up. How am I going to get out of this
part? How am I going to get out of this school?
    I’m buried in my own plots
of escape when Mr. Smith taps my arm. “Desdemona? That was your
cue.”
    “Sorry.” I flip the pages
searching for my place.
    “Give Brabantio’s line
again, Pavan.” Mr. Smith signals Pavan Gupta who plays my
father.
    Pavan reads my cue. “‘Where
most [do] you owe obedience?’”
    “‘ My noble father, . . .’”
My voice cracks. I can’t read this, not facing K.T. and Chico, not
facing anyone. I don’t want to hear those words out loud. Desdemona
is telling her dad goodbye in this scene. I’ve already said goodbye
to my dad. I can’t do it again, not here.
    Pressing my fingers against
my eyes I wish I could escape. It’s the same wish I made over and
over in that hospital room last October when all I could think
about was getting away from my father’s dying. That wish to escape
still thunders in my head and makes guilt rain down inside
me. I’m a terrible daughter.
    “Is there a problem, Miss
Edmund?”
    I shake my head, keeping my
eyes on my script and willing the tears in them not to trickle down
my cheeks. “I need some water.”
    “This is a good time to
take a break anyway,” Mr. Smith says.
    “Yes!” Jamal is the first
one up. Dolores follows him out the door to the hall and I hurry
after them.
    I wait in line at the water
fountain, then drink long and deep.
    “You got the jitters?” It’s
Dolores.
    “No. Just
thirsty.”
    Dolores steps up and takes
one more sip of water. “It’s K.T. Don’t look at her and you’ll be
okay.” She never raises her voice. It’s as if she has one low
volume setting for everything she says. She’s already down the hall
and entering the classroom as I realize how relieved I feel that at
least one person besides Mr. Smith hasn’t leered, glared or growled
at me.
    At the door, Jamal holds it
open so I can enter behind him. “Thank you,” I stammer. I’m
beginning to appreciate the smallest act of kindness.
    When we start again
Brabantio stabs Desdemona with words as deadly as any dagger. “I’d
rather to adopt a child . . .” Then he says he doesn’t want her in
his home ever again. I stumble through the scene, focusing on Pavan
Gupta, trying not to hear my real dad who I imagine might say these
things now that he can see into my heart, now that he knows those
secrets I’m ashamed to admit.
    I take Dolores’ advice and
don’t look at K.T. I don’t look at either of her bookends, Chico or
Juan. Anthony had to leave early, so I have one fewer pair of eyes
to avoid. It helps to make fists and hide them under the
desk.
    Every time Juan speaks I
force myself to concentrate on the page. “Honest Iago, My Desdemona
must I leave to [you].”
    How can he sound so, so Othello-ish? I don’t
have any lines here, and I wonder what I’m supposed to do while he
talks to me.
    “Come, Desdemona. I have
but an hour
    Of love, . . . To spend
with [you]. . .”
    When Juan says this last
line before our exit the temperature in the room shoots to boiling.
My face is on fire. Then I glance at Chico and gasp. His sneaky
evil look is perfect Iago and it’s leveled at me. I hate this play.
I hate that creep