V. just hate each other in peace

Okamoto Himeko hated my guts, and, as one often did when loathing somebody, knew more about me than almost everyone else. She knew my tastes when it came to playing characters. Thus, it was of no surprise—though it certainly brought pain—that she’d opt for Sleeping Beauty as the next project upon winning the paper lottery with which we chose these.

I stared at the notice glued on the door leading to the theater. Not too far away, Okamoto stared at me. It’s like she kept waiting for me to react, which was exactly why I didn't. Not until somebody walked by, stopped, followed my gaze, then snorted. "That sucks, man."

I shrugged. "Not really. Dressing up at Maleficent shouldn't be that hard."

The guy dispatched himself as Okamoto came stomping our way, which was a common occurrence. "You can't be Maleficent!" She bellowed. "What is wrong with you?"

Once she reached me, when she tried to jam her finger on my chest, I slapped her hand away. Other club members came to watch. "Why not?" I asked.

“What do you mean, why not?”

“Is the question too hard for you or what?”

One of the club members started beating a drum nearby. Another one hummed. They did this last time a fight broke out. I may or may not have done it as well. With the same person. “Maleficent is a woman,” Okamoto said redundantly.

“Okay, and?"

“Why would you want that role otherwise instead of, I don’t know, anything else?"

"She's the villain," I replied.

"Seriously, what's this obsession with playing antagonists all the time? Is it projection?"

"Yup."

"W-well, I'm glad you admit it."

"I'm also glad. Are you done?"

She nodded, then shook her head quickly. "No! No. What if I wanted to be the antagonist this time? Why can't I do it? I chose the play."

"Because I'm better than you?"

"No you're not!?"

“Guys.” I thought that might have been my demons, but no, even worse: it’d been the club president, Mu... oh dear. Mura... kami? Muramoto? Morrison? “Why don’t you both audition for the role so we can decide that way? All of us. Not just you two. For once. Please."

“Why can’t he just do something else?” Asked Okamoto.

“Well, in this club we pride ourselves in, um. Giving opportunities to everything. I-I mean everyone."

“So what you’re saying is, if I wanted to audition for the prince, then I could?”

Morrison nodded. I was SO close to remembering her name. Had her fans left her alone? Anyway, Okademon seemed to realize, finally, that throwing a fit did not help her case, so she took deep breaths, in, out, adjusting the bows on either side of her head that so closely resembled horns. "Fine," was her response.

“Fine,” I mimicked, which made her give me the finger. I returned the gesture.

Either oblivious or uncaring, Mura$% adjusted her glasses. "All right, then, um. Anyone else want to audition for the role?"

Silence.

“All right. Then, um. I’ll. Um. Nomura has the casting list for those who wants to. Yeah. Thank you bye please don’t fight.”

She byed.

The teacher theoretically in charge of the theater watched from afar, but because it didn’t involve scolding anyone for skipping, she stayed an observer. Democracy or something. That was her favorite excuse.

Okamoto wrote her name first. Once it was my turn, Nomura, who had been the one to employ dramatic percussion, told me, “I went to her same middle school. She used to be the drama club’s ace. In fact, I think she has acted all her life. And she can sing.”

“I can also sing,” I replied, then handed her the pen. “Just poorly.”

“Oh, shut up. But seriously, I'd be careful if I were you.”

“I am.”

“You don’t look like you are.”

Fair enough. My rival assessed me from afar again, sitting cross-armed atop a booth. Seriously, those hair decorations looked like horns. Had no one told her that? Not that I saw anyone talk to her that often. Usually she played games on her phone before practice began, then left as soon as possible. If I thought about it any more, though, I'd start to think of her as a person, and it'd go downhill from there.

Izumi’s girlfriend spawned next to me, gently pushing me aside so she could also sign up. Not for Maleficent, though—Aurora. "Done," she said, then looked back at me. Her eyes mirrored her hair, black, like crows. She trimmed her hime cut and it showed; she didn't cut the bottom part and it also showed, because it didn't look like a seesaw. "Hey, Watanabe, can I talk to you once you're free?"

She'd also asked this once I got to the rooftop. The bell rang around that time, so I ignored her. Like I said, it ran in the family.

I must’ve taken longer to reply than intended, for she added, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad."

Why should she be mad, exactly? I didn't want to know, so I didn't ask. After club activities ended, however, I inquired: “Where’s Izumi?”

“I told him not to wait for me.”

Should've known. 

When she tried to grab my wrist, I pulled my arm towards me, so she just kind of awkwardly brushed dust off her skirt. It's not that I wanted to be rude or anything, just...  seriously, what did she want? Why couldn't people just hate each other in peace? Why did they so often feel the need to recruit others to do so as well? "Let's talk in private," she said.

Still, to decline would’ve been Sisyphean.