Holden and I exchanged glances in the back seat. It was the sort of thing that would have been extremely normal for us to do in the presence of Wynonna doing her usual crazy shit. Except this time, I was Wynonna. I had to remind myself of this. Had to remind myself that—because I was Wynonna—the look could mean something else entirely.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, Holden could see through my disguise.

That, somehow, he could see I was actually me.

Ziggy didn’t waste a moment with this Shakespeare business. At two-oh-five sharp, he set us on a crash-course performance of the five scenes that—in their entirety—composed all of Act 1 of Twelfth Night.

Script in hand, of course. He wasn’t insane.

Scene 1 began with Duke Orsino and his servants/best bros, Curio and Valentine. Curio suggested they go hunting for hart (male deer), and boy did that set Duke Orsino off.

“Why, so I do,” said Holden. Shockingly, he didn’t stumble over a single line. “The noblest that I have. Oh! when mine eyes did see Olivia first, methought she purged the air of pestilence. That instant was I turned into a hart, and my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, e’er since pursue me.”

Wynezra, sitting beside me, made a face like a little kid being force-fed cough syrup.

“It’s a play on words,” I whispered into her ear. “Hart—h-a-r-t—is a deer, but it sounds like heart, and Duke Orsino is saying his heart is the thing being hunted, metaphorically, by his desire for Olivia—”

“I know what it means, assclown,” said Wynezra. “I just didn’t realize I was signing up to watch Holden swoon over Imogen every day.”

We didn’t have to worry about Imogen eavesdropping. Olivia wasn’t in this scene. Imogen had relocated to the farthest corner of the warehouse to read her lines in some semblance of quiet. She wasn’t up until scene 5, and she was determined to have something memorized.

“Duke Orsino ends up with you, remember,” I said.

“Maybe,” said Wynezra. “Or maybe he ends up with you.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters if there’s any kissing in this play.” She looked at me, expectantly. “Is there?”

Oh shit. Was there?

I frantically flipped to act 5 of my script, scouring for any sign of “romantic” stage directions.

“If Holden kisses you first,” said Wynezra, “I will be so pissed.”

The scenes progressed. Rather haphazardly, but they progressed nonetheless.

A shipwreck left Viola stranded and believing that her twin brother, Sebastian, was drowned. Then, for reasons, she persuaded the ship captain to dress her as a man and present her as a servant to Orsino.