Don't Touch by Rachel M. Wilson

cross-legged on the floor between Oscar’s ottoman and Mandy’s legs, just a few feet away from me.
    â€œHow do we know which scene we’ll have to read?” I ask him.
    â€œFor Ophelia, it’s a pretty good bet you’ll do the one in the hall of mirrors.”
    â€œYou saw the Branagh version.” That’s the one with the mirrors.
    â€œYeah,” Peter says, like that goes without saying.
    It’s my favorite scene in the play. King Claudius and Ophelia’s father, Polonius, think maybe Hamlet’s crazy with love, so they get Ophelia to break up with Hamlet to see how he reacts. Ophelia goes along with it, but then Hamlet turns mean. He might be acting because he knows the king’s watching, or he might really be crazy, but whatever it is, it’s awful. He denies they were ever a thing, says he never loved her, but there’s one part where he lets his guard down. He says, “I did love you once,” and Ophelia says, “Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.”
    That line, “I did love you once,” that’s the part that kills me.
    Livia and Oscar do well. Oscar’s goofiness drops away, and unlike the real Oscar, he seems like he’s actually interested in what another person has to say. I think Livia’s too strong for Ophelia. I guess I could imagine her being played strong until the minute she breaks. It depends what Nadia wants.
    Mandy and Hank are pretty great too. By the time Hank’s ranting at her, Mandy’s breathing has changed, and she’s contracting her whole body with his words. It’s physical, and it makes me feel for her—with her. Maybe I shouldn’t have quit dance.
    Peter and Drew try Hamlet and his friend Horatio, switching off parts. Peter’s better at both in my opinion, but I might be biased. Drew has a huge presence on stage, but the language keeps tripping him up. Shakespeare’s hard even for professional actors, and it’s clearly not Drew’s forte.
    I peek at Mandy, and her lips are a tense line. She catches me looking and whispers, “I offered to practice with him, but he’s too proud to let me help.”
    I give her a grimace of sympathy. Each time Drew messes up, his next words come out sounding frustrated, whether or not that’s how his character should be. On their second time through the scene, Drew ends it early. “That’s enough for me,” he says, and heads back to his tequila, eyes on the floor.
    We’ve been at it for more than an hour when Peter says, “Caddie, you’re up.”
    I twist a pillow in my fist and try to send all my nerves into that squeeze.
    Mandy’s eyes are on me, and she still looks tense from watching Drew.
    â€œI don’t think I’m going to go,” I say.
    â€œOhhh!” Peter sounds like a sports announcer reacting to a boffed play. “Don’t be shy,” he says. “If you’re nervous to do it here, think how nervous you’ll be at the audition.”
    â€œI’m not nervous,” I say. “I’m just . . . I don’t know what I am.”
    â€œYou’re nervous,” Peter says, and he holds the scripts out to me. “Nervous is good. You’re nervous because you care.”
    I don’t want them to know how much I care, but of course he’s right.
    â€œOkay,” I say, “but I don’t know what to read.”
    â€œDon’t be that way,” Peter says. “You’ll read Ophelia.”
    â€œShe can pick whatever she wants,” Mandy says.
    Peter’s clearly going for Hamlet. Maybe he wants me to play Ophelia opposite him, but no, because then he says, “Every girl wants Ophelia.”
    â€œGertrude’s a bigger part,” Livia says. “I might rather do that.”
    â€œCaddie looks like an Ophelia,” says Peter.
    As much as I want to play Ophelia, I don’t love the idea of “looking