The ACT...Part 1

The light flutterings of my stomach suddenly intensified as I entered the familiar English Room. I was scared and excited, disheartened and blissful, losing my mind and staying sane; all the while my heart beating a wild rhythm in my ears. I try to compose myself, and I stood for a moment, staring off into space smiling slightly, and pulling my long grey woolen overcoat about my middle. Cam gave his ever-present goofy grin and a thumbs up, wishing me luck, which I returned. I looked about for one of the numerous bags I had brought over the past week or so – ones of autumn leaves, costume pieces, scarves. I at last found the one with my black skirt in it, and slipped this on over my black corduroy pants, feeling very silly as I did so. Grant waltzed over and took his clothing from the rack, avoiding my eyes all the while. I watched him as he left the room, finding that I liked the way he carried himself ; with a different sort of confidence, that set him apart, but did not make him proud, or arrogant. I pressed my cool hands to my neck as the fierce drum of my pulse began again.

At length, I found my seat and watched the rest of the class chatter. They were nervous too – I could sense it, and I was inflicted heavily by it. I tried to put up my own walls of calming colors, but the atmosphere won over, and my hands started to ever-so-slightly tremble. Grant returned, still aloof, in black slacks and worn dress shoes. In moments, as the rest of the costume was pulled together, he transformed into Reverend Dimmesdale, and his dark eyes, usually sparkling with distant thought, grew melancholy as the spirit of this broken minister descended upon him.
Mine happened too, though not in so beautiful a fashion. I couldn’t let myself go; I was reluctant to yield to the wearer of the Scarlet Letter. I hopped about the classroom, making sure the rest of my team members were properly outfitted and had their scripts. I forced myself to take another long breath, and slowly crossed the rows of desks to my own seat, the black skirt billowing around my pant legs. There, I took out my own Scarlet A, and placed it upon my breast, pinning it in place. It was strange, then, that a weight, hardly noticeable at first, settled upon my bosom and only grew in intensity the longer I wore it. I suddenly masked my face, realizing that I was exhibiting my strongest emotion: fear, and sorrow. Hester, with her gentle hands, was lifting me away from myself.