Dancing in a Crowded Room

Lilly Busatti | she/her/hers

DANCING IN A CROWDED ROOM | SHORT PLAY

A SCENE OF DIALOGUE FROM THE ORIGINAL YA NOVEL

CHARACTERS

William Greenwood

     6’2. Blonde hair, striking green eyes that shine at least three different colors when the light hits them just right. A basic black turtleneck that hugs his waist, jeans, Doc Marten boots. Smart, quiet, sarcastic with people that he knows.

Phoebe Collins

     5’4. Deep olive skin, black and curly hair, brown eyes, circular jaw. Dresses in pastel pinks and frilly bows. Style is very “coquette”, but lenient. Short tempered, snarky, quick witted.

PROP LIST

Appears to be in a hotel room.

Bed, dresser, rug, etc. could be used. Up to interpretation, really.

WILL, LEANING CASUALLY AGAINST THE DRESSER: What’s your problem?

PHOEBE PURSES HER LIPS TIGHTLY: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

WILL: Bullshit. One second, you’re admiring my body and the way that I look in this fucking turtleneck, and the next second you can’t even fucking look at me and hold a conversation with me? What the hell is up with that, Collins? Tell me.

PHOEBE: It’s not your fault.

WILL, LOOKING DUMBFOUNDED: It’s not my fault? One minute you’re in love with me, and the next moment it’s like I don’t even exist to you! I think I at least deserve some sort of an explanation.

PHOEBE: It’s supposed to be an act. It always has been. But I can’t keep going on pretending like I’m not in fucking love with you, alright?

WILL’S LAUGH IS MANIACAL: Oh, really? When I’m wounded and hurting. That’s when you decide that you’re in love with me? Make it make sense.

PHOEBE: I can’t make it make sense for you, Will. It doesn’t even make sense to me—how could I possibly make it do so for you?

WILL TAKES ONE STEP FORWARD.

PHOEBE TAKES THREE STEPS BACK.

PHOEBE: Don’t do this. Don’t you fucking dare do this.

WILL: Talk to me.

PHOEBE: You really don’t make this easy. I’m in love with you, alright? And not in the little yay, happy fake relationship wayThat we’ve been pretending that this is. I am so in love with you that it physically fucking hurts me.(PHOEBE BEGINS TO STEP TOWARDS WILL, FIDGETING ANXIOUSLY WITH HER RINGS) And I’m sorry if you hate me after this, but I can’t keep living my life pretending that I haven’t completely fallen head over heels for someone who couldn’t possibly love me back.

A STUNNED SILENCE FOR A MOMENT. THE TWO CHARACTERS FACE EACH OTHER, NOSES CENTIMETERS APART.

WILL: Then do something about it. You can claim that you love me, and that’s amazing, but I don’t believe it unless I see you do something.  

PHOEBE’S EYES ARE THIN SLITS WHEN SHE SPEAKS NEXT: What the hell am I supposed to do about it?

WILL: Kiss me. Kiss me like it’s real, and maybe then I’ll believe that there’s something in your heart besides just a small infatuation for me.

PHOEBE’S LAUGH IS LOUD AND GENUINE: This has never been about infatuation. I have loved you since the day that I laid eyes on you at the Presidential Inauguration, and it has only grown since then. Fifteen months of knowing of you, seven months of knowing you, and two months of knowing you. I have not stopped thinking about you. It’s a type of love that consumes me, eating me alive. Every detail about you makes me want you more than I did yesterday. Your sweet infatuation with every single thing around us that draws me closer to you. I love the way you nerd out over the most random things. I love how you’ll listen to a song that I sent you and then days later, I’ll see that you’ve added it to your playlist. I love the way your voice sounds when you’ve just woken up. The way that your body slots against mine when we kiss, and it feels like you were created for me and only for me.

WILL: Then kiss me and make it real.