“CLASS!” Everyone stopped what they were doing immediately. Their drama teacher could be extremely scary. She was only about five feet four inches tall, but she was southern AND a redhead. Not a peaceful combination by any means. She stood on the small stage built into her classroom, clipboard in hand, making sure she had each and every person’s attention.
   “Sqwid!” Fangs hissed. Sqwid looked up, realized what was going on and promptly sat upright, looking like a choir girl.
   “Now then. As you all know, the local drama competition is only a few weeks away. I hope that those of you planning on competing,” she said this as though she thought the ones who weren’t entering were a waste of genetic material, “have got your scenes, monologues, et cetera, all picked out if not at least partially memorized.” She paused, adjusting her glasses. “The next few weeks will be entirely yours to practice. Those of you not entering,” again with that tone, “will be in the computer lab writing a five page report on your favorite work of Shakespeare.” There was an audible groan from the class at large. Apparently there were quite a few people who were opting out of the competition. “Now go practice. Find me if you need me.” She paused. “Don’t need me.”
   Ashes, Sqwid, Fangs, Wolfe, Spirit, and Shades all gathered in a corner of the classroom.
   “Guys! I don’t know what to do-o-o!” Spirit was creating a commotion. “I want to do musical theater, but I’ve had a monologue in mind for a while, too.”
   “Go for musical,” said Wolfe.
   “You think I could do that?” Spirit asked, eyes shining.
   “I don’t know whether you can or can’t, but monologue is my territory.” He grinned wolfishly and lay on his back on the hard classroom floor.
   Spirit made an offended sound and began to argue the point but was stopped by Shades. She shook her head, curly brown hair bouncing back and forth.
   “We should do a Shakespeare scene,” Sqwid said. “Another comedy.”
   Wolfe opened one eye and looked over at the girls. “Shakespeare? Again?”
   “We get to dress up, Wulfie.” Ashes poked him in the side causing him to jolt, almost knocking a desk over.
   Fangs spoke. “Okay, Shakespeare. But which one? Oh, and one of us is going to have to be a guy. No way is there going to be a scene for four girls.” She looked automatically at Sqwid, whose short curly hair gave her a somewhat less feminine look than the other girls.
   “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do it.”
   “Why don’t we all do a one act?” Shades asked. Everyone turned to her. “I think we should do something all together. It’s Wolfe’s last year, after all.”
   “Thanks for reminding me,” Wolfe muttered, eyes closed.
   Shades ignored him. “Depending on what we pick, you can dress up all you want. There might be a singing part—”
   “Where the rest of the characters tell the singer to shut up?” Spirit kicked his leg. “Ow.”
   “This way, we’re all involved.” Shades smiled brightly at the others. It was a good idea.
   “I like it,” Fangs said. The others agreed.
   “I’m still doing a monologue on top of this,” Wolfe said.
   “Why?”
   Wolfe looked over at Ashes, who had asked. “It’s what I’m good at.” He turned to Fangs. “Where’s Storm? Didn’t he transfer in today?”
   Right on cue, the door to the classroom burst open revealing a panting Storm. He gasped for breath and staggered into the room, flopping down next to Fangs after ditching his bag on a random desk. “I couldn’t-gasp-find-gasp-the room.” He brushed his reddish hair off to one side with a sweaty hand. Wolfe was laughing quietly to himself. Almost immediately, Fangs kissed him in greeting. Shades looked away. She didn’t care for the male sex as a whole.
   “Speak of the devil,” Sqwid said.
   “No, that’s for Mrs. Merchant,” said Ashes. The group nodded gravely in agreement.
   Storm had regained his breath. “So what’s everyone doing for the competition. Going with comedic mono again, Wolfe?”
   “You bet your ass. Dramatic?”
   “Sure thing.” The boys did a fist bump. How two people as opposite as Storm and Wolfe could be on such great terms was a question for the ages.
   Spirit was visibly upset. “Wolfe, I thought you said monologue was your territory.”
   “I did.”
   “But Storm’s doing one, too.”
   “You didn’t ask whether I was doing comedy or drama.”
   Spirit composed herself. “Well I don’t see how someone with no sense of humor can do comedy.” The group pulled oh-no-she-didn’t faces.
   “I’ve got a sense of humor, it all just goes over your head.” Spirit fumed not so silently. Fangs came to the rescue.
   “We’re doing a classical scene.” She indicated herself, Sqwid, Ashes and Shades.
   Storm didn’t look too surprised. “Which one?”
   “They still have to figure that out,” Shades said.
   “What!? You’re not doing it with us? Why not?” Sqwid was wide-eyed and insistent.
   “I think that the one act will be enough for me to memorize, actually.”
   “What’re you doing, your bounciness?” Storm asked Spirit.
   “Musical theater, I guess. I’ve gotta find a good one.”
   “That fits. So what about this one-act? Do you think we can find one with the right genders?”
   Sqwid spoke. “It’ll be kinda hard, but we can always mess with it a little bit. Combining characters and stuff.”
   “I’m not giggling,” Wolfe said, eyes still closed.
   “Please,” Ashes said with about fourteen e’s in the middle.
   “No!” You could tell Wolfe’s amused yelling from his angry yelling because his voice went higher by roughly an octave. “You said yourself that I fail at giggling.”
   Storm backed him up. “Guys don’t giggle. They chuckle.”
   The girls all shook their heads. “Shadow giggles.”
   “That’s Shadow. Doesn’t count.” The boys spoke in unison.
   “So,” a loud, female voice washed over the seven friends. They all froze immediately. “Have you all decided on your pieces?” Mrs. Merchant was standing over them (which was new for everyone) with her arms folded. Her short red hair seemed ablaze, lit from above by the fluorescent classroom lights.
   “Yes ma’am,” everyone said. Wolfe was sitting up now and even Sqwid, who was normally very self-assured, seemed cowed by the presence of the drama teacher.
   “Good.” Mrs. Merchant made a few checks on her ever-present clipboard and said, “I’ll expect to hear them in a week or so,” and walked off, leaving the Peeps shivering with dread.