This is a one-shot. First person as Jazz.

I walked up the steps of Casper High on Monday the third week of school. Today was the day I'd have my new class schedule. This was only the third week of school, so it wasn't that unusual the have a schedule change at this point, but the class I really wanted, that I'd balloted for just a few months ago, I hadn't received. That's why I'd been talking to the theatre teacher and councilor. They finally agreed to change my schedule, since I was a senior.

As I walked through the halls to my first class--Calculus, one of the ones that was still in the same place--I looked at my other classes. The new theatre class was at the end of the day, 7th period, and my new English class with Mr. Lancer was 2nd period. He hadn't been my original English teacher for senior year. All my other classes still had the same teachers but most were at different times during the day.

"Ah, Miss Fenton, please come in," the theatre teacher prompted me forward. I had been caught off-guard when I opened the classroom door and found, not a regular classroom, but instead risers and a small stage. This new class was in a theatre!

I walked up to the teacher and handed him my new schedule. He was a tall man with shoulder-length black hair bound back loosely with a piece of string. He had the dark skin of the peoples of India with black eyes and a slightly bent-looking nose--I later learned that his nose had been broken and set back in place not quite the right way.

"I am Mr. Klause, teacher of Drama and Theatre Design." I wondered at his last name which was distinctly German in origin.

Unable to withhold myself, I said questioningly "Klause?"

This was not the same theatre teacher who'd I'd been meeting with, along with my councilor. Her name had been Mrs. Thompson and she was petit with green eyes and red hair. I suddenly recalled hearing from the councilor and Mrs. Thompson that I would be placed into a different class since my schedule would not work with any of Mrs. Thompson's available class periods. I had been too distracted by joy that I had not paid much attention to what was said afterwards and quickly forgot the detail of a different class as well.

"My wife's name. When we married, we had decided to take on her family name instead of mine," Mr. Klause explained.

He handed back my schedule and I looked at it, at the column that listed teacher names. I saw Mr. Klause's name in the line of information about the 7th period class.

"You may take any seat you wish, Miss Fenton; there is no seating assignment here."

I took a seat in the second row, near the aisle between chairs. As I looked around, I realized there weren't many students in this class. When I counted, I came up with just 18, including myself.

Today's class was a lecture about Commedia Dell'arte, which is a kind of expression of the foundations of theatre with all the character forms invented by the Greeks. I learned that none of the characters people create nowadays are truly original because the core idea already existed.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class and the end of the school day, Mr. Klause took me aside. "Due to the circumstances, you're in a rather awkward position. I accepted you into the advanced class due to recommendation from Mrs. Thompson. You don't have the prior experience that the other students do, so you'll get a bit of a crash course in everything they've already learned, but Mrs. Thompson convinced me that you have the potential to handle it."

"Yes Mr. Klause."

"If you don't understand anything, please ask me or any of the other students here."

And with that, I was a theatre student. I auditioned for the fall production, Christmas Carol, which would be held later than usual so as to 'go up' closer to Christmas. I didn't get a part but did get offered a place as a techie backstage, which I eagerly accepted.

All the theatre classes worked together--of which there were only five--to put on the play. When we started working in the auditorium, what we all think of as the big theater, one of the things that struck me almost immediately was the stage itself. Most of it was painted a uniform black, but in the backstage areas where the audience couldn't see, that area was a rainbow of colors. There was a very distinct line where the many colors ended and the black began and the difference struck me as interesting. I didn't get long to stare at it though, since Mr. Klause started directing everyone to take down specific flats of the back wall. Flats are sections of wall that are painted however they're needed. They can be actual walls or cut into specific designs to look like trees or windows, whatever the director wants.

Rehearsal started as opening night loomed near and everyone involved with the production split into two groups. Half the people were actors and half were techies. I remembered the painted line between on stage and off.

As a late-comer, I wasn't really 'in' with all of the other techies, but I was backstage with them and got the chance to watch. I witnessed the ridicule, snide remarks and offhanded insults techies would aim at actors, though never in the presence of one. Whenever techies were in the presence of actors, it was almost always in a working capacity. The techies avoided to actors at just about any other time.

The cruelty depressed me, especially at this time when we're meant to create a play and work together in order to do so.

The play went on with success and the audience saw what they were meant to see. As one of the invisible people back stage--honestly, I thought This is how Danny must feel when he's really invisible because, as a tech, all the actors ignore us for the most part, the only exception being when we hand them props--I got to see the drama behind the curtain.

One girl was so unfortunate. She was the ghost of Christmas future, the one that looks like Death personified. The Grim Reaper without his scythe. Her grandmother died a few hours before opening night. But you wouldn't know it as an audience member. She always wore a mask on stage, a veil-thing, so you wouldn't have seen the thin wet tracks her tears made before and after the show.

Another case was when a boyfriend and girlfriend had a violent breakup during one of the rehearsals. They glared hatred at each other while backstage but that conflict never made itself evident on stage either.

On the final night the show was up, my brother had to come save us from a ghost that was terrorizing people backstage, but even then the audience had no idea because the show went on as if everything were normal.

After the show we 'struck the stage'--took apart the set and put everything away--and the split between techies and actors seemed to go away. At home, Danny tried not to mention having to save everyone backstage from a ghost attack in the middle of the show, instead acting indifferent. My parents both enjoyed the play though Mom had to bring pieces of fudge to keep Dad in his seat.

There were assorted smaller productions, all in the Box, which is how we all refer to the theatre classroom, between the fall and spring productions, the only two productions that go on the big stage. Even our talent show is in the Box.

During Talent Show, I worked as a techie again, this time on the sound board. I got my own headset to communicate with the others and heard again the rude remarks about the students' acts. It was even worse this time because I had a headset and could hear everything. It was sad, and I felt guilt that I was part of the techie group even though I myself was not cruel to the actors. I went to extra efforts to be kind to them, in fact, and was an outsider among the techs because of it. In fact, some of my friends were actors, and none of them techs.

For the spring production, I auditioned to be an actor again and this time got a small part. We were putting on 'The Scottish Play'--otherwise known as Macbeth, which, according to theatre tradition, isn't allowed to be said in a theater or during rehearsal at all.

This time I got to witness backstage from the actors perspective. Actors usually give the techies no thought, just leaving their props around or bits of their costume that the techs have to go through extra effort in order to find and put back in their proper place. Actors take the techs for granted. I tried to put my stuff back where it's supposed to go as a kindness to them, which they did notice but didn't want to acknowledge.

I found the psychology of the whole situation extraordinarily interesting. After striking the set, when I walked across the stage one last time that night, I was struck again by the painted line, now with just a few more colors on the backstage side and a fresh coat of black on the audience-visible stage than when I'd first seen it. It made me think of the fourth wall of theatre between the audience and the stage.

The audience sees only what we present for them to see. The fourth wall hides so much from them. It made me think of the wall between actors and techs, which I then labeled as a 'fifth wall'. This fifth wall is always in place during the rehearsals and the production. It is an insurmountable wall, impenetrable while it exists. While it doesn't people are free to move across where it would be; people like me who've been an actor and a techie. There are other people who change sides like I did but they are very few in number and never try to cross while the wall is in place.

As I stared down at the painted line, I thought of the girl who'd been the ghost of Christmas future and that she always wore a mask. I realized that her mask is like a wall of its own; the public sees what she puts out there for them to see, but under the mask so much more is hidden.

Then I saw that everyone has a mask, even me. Sometimes several masks. People will wear masks when their working or with their family or friends. Honestly, I don't tell everyone everything about myself, not even my family or closest friends. I wear a mask, too. Masks make people feel safe because they don't like being completely, emotionally, psychologically vulnerable. Everyone wears a mask of some kind; everyone has their own fourth and fifth walls.

Even the teachers.

Senior Showcase is the last production of the year put on entirely by seniors. Techies don't have to be seniors, but only senior actors are allowed and techie seniors get priority. On the day of opening night, before preparation for the show begins, there's a kind of graduation ceremony for all the theatre seniors. I was given an invitation, as a senior, but wasn't sure why, so I asked about it.

"All the theatre seniors are invited, Jasmine."

"But I haven't been here three or four years like everyone else."

"You are still a senior."

The bell rang and I had to go to my first class, but as I thought about what Mr. Klause told me, I decided to talk to him again after school, to clarify the matter for myself. It was like I was getting this reward just for being a senior and that I hadn't really earned it, despite all the work I'd done. I'd worked on every single show this year in some capacity. I'd done everything I could possibly get my hands on because this was my senior year and I wouldn't have this opportunity ever again. I wanted to know if Mr. Klause thought I had earned it, because it was a reward he was providing.

"Was I invited just because I'm a senior, or did I really, truly earn it?" I asked once I'd gotten Mr. Klause relatively alone after class that day.

"We honor all the seniors who worked for the theatre this year," he told me. I thought about it. There were a few other first year theatre seniors like me, but they were in other classes. They were also getting the honor.

I continued to think about his words after he left. He'd never really answered me, never picked one of the two options I gave him, instead avoiding the question like he had earlier. That still gave me an answer as clear as day because I'm not a complete idiot. I recognize politicians' tactics when I see them. For all of his words, he might as well have told me that, no, he didn't think I really earned it. I was only invited to the theatre graduation ceremony because I was a senior in the advanced class. I had worked so hard for the theatre, but I'd only been there a year so I didn't really earn it in Mr. Klause's eyes.

I decided not to accept the invitation. Why should I go when the person who gave it to me doesn't really think I earned it? He only gave it to me because it isn't really socially acceptable to exclude non-three/four year seniors just because they weren't with the theatre long enough.

I had given my best effort for the theatre and, in my own eyes, knew in my heart that I deserved it, but I would not stoop myself to accept the invitation from someone who doesn't think I do.

Having the theatre class this year had been amazing. It was an excellent experience from the perspective of a student who hoped to become a psychology major in college as well. But I'd also had experiences with the less pleasant aspects of human nature as well and come to some realizations about the human condition. My eyes had been opened, and they couldn't be closed again, not to truths like these.

Based on a true story.

I claim the 'fifth wall' idea as my own and no one is allowed to use it without asking and referencing me. Normally I wouldn't mind but I developed and used this idea specifically for some of my IB Theatre Arts reports, so…yeah.

That's all. Please review.