I should have seen it coming.

I've always been a sucker for John Updike's early stories. You know the ones: "Friends From Philadelphia," "In Football Season." English class standards. They're safe, clean, classroom-friendly. But at the same time, they nail the experience of youth: that lingering innocence, the intensity of emotion, those rippling longings, and the warp-speed transitions between them all. Updike's characters in those early years — usually earnest, well-intentioned boys in Rust Belt towns — have always been the sorts of boys I wish I'd met in high school.

So I suppose, when I had the chance to adapt my favorite of those old stories, "A&P," for the college fringe festival I was coordinating, I shouldn't have been so surprised to find myself falling for my main character.

"A&P" is the title piece in a 1962 collection. It's a simple story about a teenage cashier, Sammy, who works at the local supermarket. One quiet afternoon, three girls walk in, wearing nothing but bathing suits.

The bulk of the text is filled by Sammy's descriptions of the girls as they wander the aisles, their feet "paddling along naked over our rubber-tile floor." The girls — one in particular — seem damn-near-perfect to the young cashier, so when I decided to adapt the piece for the stage, I knew no real live actress was ever going to fit the bill. Instead, I had Sammy and Stokesie, the other cashier, stand alone on the stage, looking out at the audience and following the imaginary girls' progress with steady play-by-play commentary. I hardly had to provide any dialogue myself; it's all vintage Updike, basically a seven-minute monologue about Sammy's dream woman.

Casting the girls would have been impossible, but casting Sammy was bad enough. I wanted someone who was soft-spoken, gentle, innocent — but who could carry the eroticism of the moment as well. I needed someone who could express the keenness of adolescent lust, while still seeming pure. After an end...