Chapter Text
“Miss Swan, what are we going to do with you?” Headmistress Blue looks at Emma with such profound disappointment that Emma can’t bring herself to meet her eyes, instead feigning fascination with her ragged nails. “You’ve been with us a month and this is the third time you’ve been in my office. Fighting, academic grades not up to scratch, anti-social behaviour.”
Emma shrugs.
“Your scholarship conditions are predicated on excellent academic results and behaviour, Miss Swan,” Blue continues. “If you go in front of the board, you will lose it.”
This makes Emma look up, body tense and panicked. “I can’t. Please.”
“You’re from the foster system, aren’t you?” the headmistress asks, and the look in her eyes is not unsympathetic, so Emma nods. “I’d like you to meet with Dr Hopper. He has a slot available now. He’ll help me to decide what is the best approach to take.”
Dr Hopper’s offices are next door, which doesn’t make Emma hold much hope for the prospect of confidential guidance. She’s seen him around before, geeky guy with glasses and a bow tie. Sometimes he brings his Dalmation, Pongo, to school and the younger kids go crazy for it. His smile is kind when he opens his door. “Emma, come in.”
She sits in the chair in front of his desk. Everything at Storybrooke Prep is fancy and it’s taken a lot of getting used to since she started in September. The chair is wide and cushioned and Emma feels herself enveloped in it.
“I’m just looking at your results from the scholarship exam,” he says. “Quite a brain you’ve got there, Emma.”
“Thanks,” she says. He’s got framed prints on his wall; there’s one of sunflowers in a vase that her eye is drawn to. She thinks it’s by Van Gogh, the guy who cut his ear off and then killed himself, which seems an odd choice of artist for a school counsellor but she likes it.
“So, what’s going on?” he asks, resting his elbows on his desk and staring at her intently.
“I don’t fit in here,” Emma says. Everyone at Storybrooke Prep has the right clothes and the right haircut and a car Daddy bought them for their sweet sixteenth and an innate sense of their place at the top of the social hierarchy.
“Why did you punch Mal?” he asks.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Emma says. She doesn’t like many people at this school but Mal is the worst, talking shit about everyone and especially Emma when she knows nothing about her, nothing about her life.
“Will it happen again?” Dr Hopper asks, his voice gentle.
“What I did or what she did?” Emma asks and Dr Hopper nods as though she’s made a fair point even though he doesn’t know what Mal did.
“Do you need help academically?” he asks.
“It’s just,” Emma says. “There’s a lot of catching up. I’ll get there. I’m smart.”
Dr Hopper smiles. “I don’t doubt that. Six high schools in three years, you must have gaps.” They sit in silence a while, Emma studying her nails. “I think we need more kids like you around, Emma Swan, so what I’m going to recommend is that you have weekly sessions with me until such time as they’re not needed. You will take on an academic mentor this semester. I am also going to suggest that you join an activity.”
“That’s not actually a suggestion, is it?”
He shakes his head. “You need people around you, a sense of community,” he says. “I’d like to recommend you audition for the school play. I’m directing and we’re doing Twelfth Night. The drama club kids are lovely, a bit off beat, perhaps less likely to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Shakespeare?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows.
“You know it?”
“Don’t look so surprised, sir. I have been to school before even if it was public school.”
“Well, what do you think?” he asks.
Emma sighs. She knows how lucky she is to be given this chance. “I think it’s a better alternative than my foster parents.”
“Great! Choose a monologue from any Shakespeare play to present. Auditions are on Wednesday. I’ll call for you on Friday during study hall,” he says, consulting her schedule, “for counselling and we’ll set you up with someone to mentor you.”
“I look forward to it,” Emma says and, grabbing her bag, she walks out. She heads down the pristine corridors, trailing a hand along the wooden panelling. She still gets a thrill at the beauty of this place. Back in her dorm room – seniors get single rooms, the better to focus on their studies, and it’s the first time in her life she hasn’t had to share with people – she kicks of her shoes, pulls off the teal school blazer and hangs it over her desk chair, loosens the black tie around her neck and turns on her laptop.
She’ll be damned if she embarrasses herself in front of the drama geeks at this school.
*
The auditions are tedious, Regina thinks. Too much ‘to be or not to be’ and ‘out damn spot’ from mostly untalented freshmen and sophomores who stumble over the language and declaim their words as though reading a speech rather than acting.
There are a few bright spots, the usual suspects. Graham plays lovesick Romeo to perfection and Ruby Lucas is a striking Titania. Both have been in every school production on offer and Regina knows Dr Hopper will be casting them again.
“This last girl,” Dr Hopper whispers. “Be kind, Regina.”
Regina sniffs.
She doesn’t think she’s seen this girl before. She’s skinny, underfed not fashionably, and has blonde hair tied back in a ratty ponytail. She seems ill at ease in her Storybrooke uniform, uncomfortable in centre stage, and Regina suspects this won’t take long.
“Hi, I’m Emma. I’ll be doing a monologue as Rosalind from As You Like It.”
One of the comedies. Brilliant. Regina sits back to cringe at every last unfunny moment.
Emma takes a deep breath and when she exhales there’s a kind of swagger in her stance and her walk. Her face hardens, takes on an expression of feigned nonchalance. “There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind.”
Beside her, Doctor Hopper sits up. This Emma girl is so casually mocking of the invisible Orlando that Regina almost starts to feel bad for the guy. “A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not…”
She’s not declaiming, which is a first. In places she speaks too quickly and she mispronounces ‘accoutrements’ embarrassingly, but, more than anything they’ve seen today Emma Swan is real.
Dr Hopper actually claps when Emma finishes and she flushes, the awkward school girl back, and says, “Yeah, okay,” and leaves out the side door.
“I think we’ve found our Viola,” Dr Hopper says and Regina feels a stab of anger because she wants Viola. She’s earned it, four years at this school, playing the second female lead, the plucky comic relief, the best friend, in every production since freshman year – Frenchy in Grease, Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Liesl in The Sound of Music… She’d auditioned first up with one of Tamora’s monologues from Titus Andronicus and she’d rocked it.
“Surely Maria would be a better role for someone with her limited experience,” Regina says. She imagines what Cora will say – If you insist on wasting your time with this acting business, I fail to see why you cannot be the best.
Dr Hopper sees through this. “Regina, you are perfect for Olivia,” he says. “We’ll do the musical next semester and I promise I'll pick something where the lead role plays to your strengths.”
Regina shrugs, though inside she’s burning up. “You’re the director, sir.”
*
Dr Hopper calls a meeting the next day for all students who auditioned to announce casting. Emma arrives late, having stayed behind to ask her statistics teacher a question, and finds the room full of unfamiliar faces. “Fresh meat,” a girl with red streaks in her hair that are definitely against uniform code mutters to the girl beside her who simply stares. She’s the girl who was present at the auditions, beautiful and terrifying. They’re in the same English Lit class and she intimidates the hell out of Emma because everything she says is on point and intelligent.
Emma almost turns around and walks out but Dr Hopper has arrived. “Excellent,” he says. “Take a seat, Emma.”
She sits.
“Now, I have the casting here. I’ll project it in just a moment. First though, for those of you who don’t know, Regina is going to be helping me direct this year, as well as acting.” The terrifying girl raises a hand, staring coolly around the room. “Kathryn is the stage manager.” The blonde girl on her other side smiles and waves at the group.
He turns on the screen and projects the list. Emma scrolls down for her name and is surprised to find herself disappointed when she doesn’t see it anywhere. She didn’t think her audition was that bad.
“Hey, who’s Emma Swan?” a good looking boy asks. Emma raises her hand. “Nice work,” he says. She must look confused because he adds, “it’s not often that first time auditions get the lead role.”
She looks back at the screen and, sure enough, at the top next to ‘Viola’ is her name. She squints. Surely it’s a mix up. But when she blinks, it’s still there, her name beside the lead role. “Rehearsals are Fridays and Sundays so you’ll need to plan to be here on weekends for the next couple of months.” No one seems particularly bothered by this. The girl with the red streaks, whose uniform skirt is rolled over to display an startling amount of leg, gives Emma the thumbs up as she leaves.
“Dr Hopper,” Emma says. “Can I talk to you?”
“Emma!” He’s so alarmingly cheerful, so happy to see people, that it scares her. “Congratulations. You’re going to be wonderful. Direct your questions to Regina.” And he’s gone.
The girl – Regina – remains, however. She’s small, a few inches shorter than Emma at least, with a river of dark hair held back by a teal Alice band that matches her uniform, full pouting lips and deep brown eyes that are currently staring at Emma with something like distain. She wears her uniform as though it’s a ball gown, shoulders back, chin high, and Emma knows she didn’t have to scrimp and budget for the designer satchel and leather oxfords on her feet. She’s standing at the door, impatiently. “I have class,” she says. “What do you need, Miss Swan?”
“It’s Emma,” Emma says. “I just, I think there’s been a mistake. I can’t play Viola.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Regina says and Emma feels a surge of nausea because this girl was at her audition, she saw her act and she has found her wanting. “Unfortunately, I am not in charge of casting.”
“Okay,” Emma says. “So can I, like, swap with someone?”
“No,” Regina says. “You could quit though.”
“I can’t,” Emma says, and she is embarrassed to hear the hint of desperation in her voice.
“Well,” Regina says, a cruel smile playing across her full lips. “I suggest you start learning your lines.” And she sweeps out of the room.