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Boggs stared down at her.

"What happened?" he demanded gruffly.

"She's upped and fainted," Mrs. Chester told him.

He glanced at her, at me, and then charged forward, kneeling at Mary Margaret's side.

"We'd better get the doc," Mrs. Chester said.

"I'll take care of 'er," Boggs replied, slipped his arms under Mary Margaret and lifted her as he stood up. He held her with little effort and walked out of the kitchen, her head against his chest. At the door he turned to us.

"Jist finish up in 'ere," he ordered and was gone.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked.

Mrs. Chester shook her head and returned to her work.

"What did he mean, he'll take care of her? What's he going to do? He's not a doctor, is he?"

" 'E'll take care of it," she replied stoically.

"I'll bet," I muttered. "He'll probably slap her awake and make her dust the piano."

Mrs. Chester said nothing more. I completed my work as quickly as I could. When I stepped out of the kitchen, the house was quiet. I went down the corridor, looking into rooms to see if Mary Margaret was resting on a sofa. Neither she nor Boggs was anywhere to be found.

"Where did he take her?" I muttered to myself.

I hurried back to my own room and went to his door to see if he had taken her to his room, but it was deadly quiet there, too. There was nothing else for me to do but get ready for school. With all that had happened, it was nearly impossible for me to concentrate on anything when I got there. I know I performed poorly in speech class and was so bad in dance, I could have been dancing with two left feet. I was probably the only uninspired student, too, because there was a great deal of excitement about the upcoming auditions for the school's production of The Taming of the Shrew

There had been a rumor that one of London's most prestigious theater directors, Taylor Harrison, was going to do our production. Every year a prestigious director produced one of the school's shows. It was a clever way to give the school respect and draw attention to the production. Before the end of the day, Mr. MacWaine came around to announce that the rumor was indeed true.

"Auditions," he declared, "will be held this corning weekend. Anyone interested should stop by the office for cut sheets to prepare," he said.

Anyone interested? Who wasn't going to be interested?

The school quickly turned into a beehive. The excitement carried into drama class where Mrs. Winecoup asked us to perform some improvisations. Randall was in this class with me. Although we hadn't spoken since I'd found him with Leslie, I did stop glaring back at him with disgust. I think he took that for my forgiveness. In the scene we were to do, he ended up playing opposite me and suddenly turned it into a love scene. Before I could object, he rushed at me in front of the others and embraced me so tightly and so fervently kissed me that I pulled away, overwhelmed with his emotions.

"I can't live without you," he cried.

I saw Catherine and Leslie laughing.

"Well," Mrs. Winecoup said, "that was somewhat over-the-top, as we say. Drama is about restraint. I thought that was a lesson well understood, but apparently not."

"Sorry," Randall said. He looked at me. "Sorry."

"Stick to singing," I told him. That brought laughter and relieved the moment. Even Mrs. Winecoup looked grateful and continued the lesson about subtlety and dramatics.

After class Randall tried to start a conversation.

"You're going to the auditions this weekend, aren't you?" he asked.

"I don't know yet," I said. I really didn't. It was a major commitment and I wasn't sure I was ready for it yet.

"You should. You'd be a great Katherina."

"What's that supposed to mean, I'm a shrew?"

"No, no," he said quickly. "You'd just be great because you can act better than any of the girls here. Sorry about what I did in there. I guess I made a fool of myself."