Page 15 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

eleven

Vespera

Halloween decorations had appeared overnight across Northwood's campus.

Carved pumpkins grinned from dormitory windows, fake cobwebs draped across the library entrance, orange and black banners fluttered in the late October wind.

The festive atmosphere felt surreal considering the tension that had settled over the theater department since midterm grades were posted.

I clutched my coffee cup tighter as I hurried toward the mandatory department meeting, the warmth seeping through my fingers doing little to calm my nerves.

The past week had been surprisingly quiet since our confrontation in the rehearsal studio.

Too quiet. Dorian's pack seemed to have vanished into strategic retreat, which worried me more than their direct harassment ever had.

"You're running late," Stephanie observed, falling into step beside me as we approached the lecture hall. "That's not like you lately."

"Couldn't sleep," I admitted. "Something about this meeting feels important. Like they're planning something."

"They're always planning something," Robbie added, appearing on my other side with his usual impeccable timing. "The question is whether we're ready for whatever it is."

The three of us had grown closer since the recording incident, our alliance deepening into genuine friendship built on mutual protection and shared goals. We'd spent hours strategizing, documenting, and preparing for the pack's next move.

"Any word on what this is about?" I asked as we climbed the steps to the lecture hall.

"Fall Showcase," Robbie replied. "Final project requirements, partner assignments, the usual administrative torture disguised as opportunity."

My stomach tightened. The Fall Showcase was Northwood's premier evaluation event. A chance for new students to prove themselves worthy of continued investment. For scholarship students like me, it wasn't just an assignment. It was a referendum on our right to remain.

The lecture hall buzzed with nervous energy as students filed in, clustering by year and social hierarchy.

I scanned for the pack, finding them in their usual territory near the center of the room.

But something was different about their positioning today.

More spread out, more strategic, like chess pieces arranging themselves for an opening gambit.

Dorian sat in the third row, his dark hair catching the overhead lights, his posture radiating casual confidence.

Corvus occupied a seat several rows behind him, positioned to observe the entire room.

And Oakley... I frowned, finally spotting him near the front, close enough to the faculty section to suggest he'd been invited there.

"That's new," Stephanie murmured, following my gaze.

"And not good," Robbie added grimly.

We found seats in our usual defensive position near the back exit, close enough to hear everything but far enough to avoid direct confrontation.

As the room filled, I noticed other subtle changes in the social geography.

Students I'd previously counted as neutral avoided eye contact with me, creating small buffers of empty seats around our group.

"The isolation campaign is working," I observed quietly.

"Let them," Stephanie said fiercely. "Quality over quantity. The people who matter know what's really happening."

Professor De Scarzis entered precisely on time, her silver hair immaculate, her presence commanding immediate attention.

At sixty-five, she'd been the backbone of Northwood's theater program for over four decades, with enough clout to resist most outside pressure.

But even she wasn't immune to institutional politics.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she began, her crisp accent cutting through the murmurs. "Today we'll be discussing the Fall Showcase—your most significant evaluation opportunity this semester."

I pulled out my notebook, determined to document every detail. After the recording success, we'd adopted a policy of comprehensive evidence gathering, treating each interaction as potential ammunition for future battles.

"This year's theme is 'Power and Vulnerability,'" De Scarzis continued. "Each student will present a scene exploring the dynamic between strength and fragility, dominance and submission."

The theme sent a chill down my spine. After months of being systematically targeted for my Omega status, the choice felt pointed, deliberate. I glanced toward the pack, noting Corvus's satisfied expression and Dorian's intense focus on my reaction.

"This year we will be doing monologues," De Scarzis announced. "Assignments have been carefully considered to challenge each student's artistic growth and push beyond comfort zones. As always, first year students will be paired with more experienced thespians."

My hands tightened on my pen. Assignments meant forced proximity, legitimate reasons for isolated rehearsal time, official permission for psychological manipulation disguised as artistic exploration.

"The evaluation committee will include full faculty as well as several distinguished alumni donors," De Scarzis continued. "Their assessments will determine spring semester casting opportunities and may impact scholarship renewals for applicable students."

There it was. The implicit threat wrapped in academic language. Perform well, submit to whatever your assigned partner demands, or lose everything you've worked for.

"Ms. Levine and Mr. Ashworth, will be her director," De Scarzis read from her list, her voice betraying no awareness of the bombshell she'd just dropped.

The room went dead silent. I felt every eye turn toward me, some curious, others pitying, a few openly anticipating the entertainment value of my destruction.

Dorian turned in his seat, meeting my gaze across the crowded room. His ice-blue eyes held something I couldn't identify. Not triumph, exactly, but a kind of hungry satisfaction that made my skin crawl.

"Your assigned scene is from 'Taming of the Shrew,'" De Scarzis continued, oblivious to the psychological warfare she was orchestrating. "The submission scene, Act Five, Scene Two."

Of course. The most controversial scene in all of Shakespeare, where Katherine delivers her speech about wifely obedience. The ultimate expression of female submission to male dominance, packaged as classical literature.

I felt Stephanie's hand find mine, her fingers intertwining with mine in silent support. On my other side, Robbie's jaw clenched with barely contained fury.

De Scarzis continued reading assignments, pairing other students with surgical precision.

Every partnership seemed calculated to maximize drama, create artistic tension, or in some cases, reward social connections.

All of the technically skilled students, like Stephanie and Robbie, would prepare the sets, lighting, and costumes.

When she finished, the room erupted in excited chatter. Everyone comparing their assignments, celebrating favorable pairings, or commiserating over challenging ones.

Everyone except me. I sat frozen, staring at my notebook where I'd written "Dorian Ashworth - Taming of the Shrew - Submission Scene" in increasingly unsteady handwriting.

"This isn't a coincidence," Robbie said quietly, his voice barely audible over the surrounding conversations.

"No," I agreed, watching as several students approached Dorian with congratulations or condolences. It was hard to tell which. "The question is whether De Scarzis is complicit or just being manipulated."

"Does it matter?" Stephanie asked. "Either way, you're screwed."

Before I could respond, a shadow fell across our row. I looked up to find Professor Williamson standing beside our seats, her expression professionally neutral but her scent carrying undertones of discomfort.

"Ms. Levine," she said, "could I have a word?"

I followed her to a quieter corner of the room, aware of the curious glances from other students. Williamson had been one of my more supportive faculty members, but even she seemed nervous today.

"I wanted to discuss your showcase assignment," she began, her voice carefully modulated. "The Petruchio-Katherine dynamic is complex, requiring significant trust between scene partners."

"I understand," I replied, though my mouth felt dry.

"Mr. Ashworth is an... intense... scene partner," Williamson continued, choosing her words carefully. "Very committed to exploring the full emotional range of his characters. I trust you're prepared for that level of artistic collaboration?"

The coded language was clear. She was warning me, as much as she dared, while also establishing plausible deniability for whatever happened during rehearsals.

"I can handle whatever the scene requires," I said, injecting more confidence into my voice than I felt.

Williamson nodded, but her expression remained troubled. "Remember that faculty are available if you need guidance during the rehearsal process."

As she walked away, I rejoined Stephanie and Robbie, who'd been documenting the conversation from a distance.

"Well?" Stephanie asked.

"She knows," I said simply. "And she's either too scared or too compromised to do anything about it."

The meeting concluded with administrative details about rehearsal scheduling, costume requirements, and technical support.

As students began filtering out, I noticed the pack's coordinated movement.

Corvus positioning himself near the exit, Oakley engaging several faculty members in animated conversation, and Dorian.

.. approaching our seats with determined purpose.

"Ms. Levine," he said, his voice pitched for public consumption but carrying undertones meant only for me. "I look forward to working with you. Katherine is such a complex character."

"Yes," I replied, standing to meet his gaze directly. "Women often are."

His expression shifted briefly with an appreciation for the subtle challenge in my response.

"Yes," he agreed. "I think we'll create something memorable together."

The way he said "memorable" made my skin prickle, but I held his stare without flinching. Around us, students continued their exodus, but I was aware of the growing circle of observers, drawn by the tension between us.

"I'm sure we will," I said. "When do you want to schedule our first rehearsal?"

"Tomorrow," he replied immediately. "Seven PM, Studio C. We have a lot of ground to cover."

Studio C. The same small, isolated space where Corvus had cornered me before the midterm.

"I'll be there," I agreed.

"Good." His smile was sharp-edged. "Don't be late."

As he walked away, I felt the weight of curious stares and whispered speculation. Several students approached with offers of sympathy or advice, but their concern felt performative, social positioning disguised as support.

"Come on," Robbie said quietly, guiding me toward the exit. "Let's get out of here."

We escaped to the relative privacy of the quad, where Halloween decorations fluttered in the autumn wind. The festive atmosphere felt surreal after the psychological minefield of the meeting.

"Okay," Stephanie said, once we were safely away from potential eavesdroppers. "What's our strategy?"

"Document everything," I replied automatically. "Record rehearsals, note every inappropriate comment, build the case."

"That's defensive," Robbie pointed out. "What about offense? How do we turn this assignment into a weapon against them?"

I considered the question, my mind racing through possibilities. "The submission scene is controversial for good reason. Katherine's final speech can be played multiple ways. Sincere submission, bitter sarcasm, strategic manipulation."

"You could subvert the entire power dynamic," Stephanie said, catching on. "Make Katherine the one with real control."

"Exactly. Shakespeare gives her the longest speech in the play. She dominates the scene, even while supposedly submitting." I felt the first stirring of genuine excitement since hearing the assignment. "If I play it right, I can make Petruchio look like a fool."

"Dangerous," Robbie warned. "If you humiliate Dorian publicly, there will be consequences."

"There are already consequences," I pointed out. "At least this way, I will go down fighting."

I had planning to do. If Dorian Ashworth wanted to explore power and vulnerability, I'd give him a masterclass in both.

The only question was which of us would emerge victorious when the curtain fell.