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going to have private rehearsals with Matthew.
    “Every week, rehearsals will run Tuesday through Friday. I’ll need everyone’s availability to work out scene schedules. Be forewarned, those of you with active social schedules, the last month of rehearsal will be full cast. The schedule was posted at the time of audition, so I don’t want to hear any complaining about it. You’re all big kids, reading is a cakewalk now, am I right?”
    A snicker came from the back of the class.
    “Exactly. Okay, I’m going to call you one at a time to come up here and discuss availability for individual scene rehearsals after school. And before anyone gets any crazy ideas.” Matthew pointed to all of them in a sweeping motion. “All of the monologue scenes will be rehearsed on the same night. Don’t think you’re going to be able to monopolize my time, excessive good looks, and endless pool of career-jettisoning advice from the other students.”
    “Awww man!” Brad Smith piped up from the back. “I was hoping for some sweet hair care tips.”
    Matthew ran a hand through his hair. God, how she loved when he did that. It was ridiculous, this little motion getting her so hot and bothered, but it did. She focused on keeping up her mask so no one else could see her melting at the sight of him. But god, it was hard.
    “Conditioner, Mr. Smith. It’s not just for women. Now, I’m going to start with my choral members and go from there. Please come see me at my desk when I call your name. In the meantime, feel free to catch up on homework for your other classes, or, if I’m being a realist, discuss Homecoming with your neighbors. Just keep it down, or I’m going to assign a paper on the underlying themes of self-harm in Romeo and Juliet, got it?”
    The class mumbled in response. He called up small groups at a time, diligently filling his calendar with scheduling conflicts and listening intently to any questions the newly casted actors had. Lynn loved watching him work, the way his whole body poured into whatever he was doing. Be it schedules or directing a student to a particular passage in the text, Matthew seemed to come alive whenever theater was involved.
    Emily Bronte’s words filled her mind: “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” Was he also her Heathcliff? Probably not; the tragedy of that path was enough to turn anyone away. Nonetheless, she understood Catherine. No one else shared her passion the way Matthew did.
    Theater was all of him, theater was all of her.
    The way his features illuminated reminded her of the way her heart leapt and how joy filled her breath whenever she was waiting in the wings of a darkened stage, waiting to come alive under the hot lights.
    Now she had this amazing opportunity to take someone as iconic as Juliet and breathe life into her, to metaphorically slice her open and take her craft to new heights. Working one-on-one with someone as talented and experienced as Matthew was a gift. She had learned so much from him during their audition over the summer, but to actually be coached and directed by him, someone who had graced the stages she dreamt of, was an experience beyond her wildest desires.
    That they would be spending time together, alone, was the sweetest icing on her cinnamon bun. Even if Romeo was forced to be with her—whoever he was. After seeing her name in the coveted role, she had lost all interest in the rest of the cast—she would still be in close proximity to her soul’s mate. And surely Romeo would need bathroom breaks, or have a conflicting schedule on certain days. Lynn would ensure her schedule remained wide open.
    As wide open as she was willing to splay her legs for him.
    Lynn swallowed back the arousal and flipped absentmindedly through her tablet, looking over the latest math homework she knew she would not turn in. Anything to pass the time until his beautiful lips finally called her name.
    “Miss Viggiani, our Juliet. My desk,