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Hina Ebina’s musical is homoerotic, as expected.
…Lovely story.
Definitely not.
Silently, I finished reading the presentation proposal and set it down on the desk. The rather thick stack of paper exuded an indescribable, unique aura, not unlike the one you might expect from the Necronomicon if it were real. Written on the cover of the proposal was The Little Prince: The Musical. With a title like that, I was expecting more over-the-top tennis matches.
The season was fall, and with fall comes cultural festivals. The whole class bands together during this time, which is tiresome for those with a policy of proud independence. I don’t fit in with Class 2-F enough to call it “my class,” but today was the day they started buckling down for festival prep.
After much ado about the project for 2-F, the class decided that we would put on a play. When things are decided by majority rule, it’s not my place to speak up. I’m always in the minority.
They put out a call for ideas, and one story in particular was submitted as a potential topic: The Little Prince.
I figure a lot of people have heard of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s classic, even if they haven’t read it. You might assume that Prince of Curry is a related product, but that’s completely different, just so you know.
The story can be summarized thus:
The protagonist/narrator, a pilot, makes an emergency landing in the Sahara desert, where he meets the eponymous prince, and the two of them discuss a variety of topics and discover what’s really important in life. It’s an appropriate choice for a high school theater production, and it’s fair to call the tale a world-famous masterpiece.
But the one thing that was different about this script…was that Ebina wrote it.
Right from line one, the characters, setting, and outline of Ebina’s version of the story nearly broke my spirit. But even so, I willed myself to go on. Once I reached lines like “I’ve been to eight hundred different varieties of stars!” and “A certain pilot and a pervert prince,” I gave up.
What does that girl think about her life? I fearfully glanced over at Ebina and discovered she was acting oddly coquettish and shy.
“This is a little embarrassing…”
“A little”? No, no, no, it’s mortifying! Without a word, I folded up the printouts and decided to wash my hands of the whole thing.
A heavy cloud descended over our long homeroom period.
“Are we about done?” Hayama called out, scanning the room when most of us had finished reading Ebina’s proposal. Typically, this task was in the class rep’s purview, but since he was a naive and artless sort of boy, he hadn’t built up a resistance to these topics and was now frozen.
“U-um…so what do you all think? If anyone has any questions or sees any problems…,” Hayama said.
What wasn’t a problem here…?
One of the girls in the class raised her hand. “Are there no girls in the play?”
“Huh? Why would there be?” Ebina tilted her head in bafflement. Hold on there, Miss Naughty.
There are no human women in The Little Prince, but the Rose is drawn to look feminine, so a girl could play the role, in my opinion. And they could consider how they wanted to portray the Fox or the Snake, too. They’d probably end up doing an anthropomorphized version, like that Shiki Theater Company production of The Lion King.
Another classmate raised their hand. “Is this even morally acceptable?”
“It’s rated for all ages, so it’s okay!” Ebina chirped.
Who mentioned ratings?
Most of the others seemed to be struggling with how to take this, too. Oda and Tahara were smirking, along with the other guys who knew a thing or two about fangirls, while most of the girls were perplexed.
Meanwhile, a certain someone was waving his hand around obnoxiously as he tried to get our attention. “I think it’s a good idea, though.”
Oh-ho, do I spy a desperate bid for Ebina’s approval, Tobe? It was weird, whether you called it the guilelessness of a boy in love or an attempt to be cute. But, well, I guess that’s universal. I mean, like, back when I was in middle school, I had a crush on this one girl, so I always found a way to make it so we happened to be walking home together, and so people ended up calling me a stalker behind my back until I almost cried… E-everyone does that, right? It’s not just me…?
The reception was still decidedly lukewarm, so Tobe pushed even harder. “This stuff can be fun! I think it’d be more popular than a normal play!” An effective argument, apparently; the others all looked at one another as they began considering it.
Well, he had a point. This wasn’t a BL novel, and a musical wouldn’t hit the audience the same way as text on the page. A bunch of boorish high school boys professing their love to each other in weird costumes onstage would feel more like a sketch comedy.
Cultural-festival plays were judged most heavily on humor and originality. This script had both in spades. Leaving aside the pros and cons of the BL-esque elements as well as Ebina’s proclivities as the author, I thought it would probably end up more or less okay.
“Yeah, I think we could take it a little in that direction. Besides, I wouldn’t bring out the real deal here at school. Give me some credit!”
So Ebina is self-aware… If anything, the fact that she had arrived at this conclusion only added to my horror.
“Well, for now, we can ignore the character descriptions… So are we okay with emphasizing the comedic elements?” Hayama asked. No one raised any objections.
Well, it was a play for our school festival. It was the right choice to make it comedic rather than taking the whole thing seriously. Not only would a sincere take be awkward, with comedy, you can forgive a flub or two since it’s just for laughs anyway. It’d be preferable to include those elements and just have fun with it.
“All right, then it’s decided,” Hayama said, and there was a smattering of applause right when the bell rang.
It had taken the entire long homeroom period, but the class had finally settled on what to do. There was still a lot left to decide, but now we could get things started.
There was just about one month until the festival. Yet another boring iteration of the yearly event.
Feeling a bit melancholy, I stood from my seat.
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