Emma’s looking as baffled as me, but Tori just ignores us.
‘Oh, God, that would be wild. I’ll die if it’s really true.’
‘If you haven’t already died because he’s reposted your Instagram story,’ I say.
Tori grabs my arm. ‘That’s true. Oh, God. That means he’s seen it.’
‘Or his social media people have seen it,’ Emma mumbles.
‘Hey, no. Leave me to my illusions.’ Tori laughs and Emma lifts her hands apologetically. ‘Either way, it’ll get us way more attention.’
‘I saw a camera team talking to your mum earlier,’ says Olive. I raise my eyebrows, although I shouldn’t really be surprised. Over the last few days, loads of different media have been reporting on the mini-revolution at our school. Most have interviewed Henry and Tori together, as school captain and the instigator of the campaign. You could say it’s been a success, and as much as I’m pleased about the change we’ll hopefully bring about, it’s just as satisfying that this is the ultimate kick in the teeth for Valentine Ward. I really hope Mum can push the new uniform policy through, but I’m actually pretty sure that, ifit happens, it won’t be until the next academic year. After the initial backlash, she sent out an official letter to all parents, and apparently loads of them have got in touch to tell Mum they support us. Even Gideon’s family are OK with our aims now.
The Maeve Revolution is a total success, and helps me to forget – at least in the short term – how nervous I am about my stage debut, which is just around the corner. The last few weeks have passed me by like a film. Once the exams and last pieces of homework were out of the way, Tori and I, and the rest of the cast, were free to spend all our time in rehearsals. Everyone else has been watching films in class or going on trips in the local area.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen less daylight than I’m experiencing at the moment; while the others are sunbathing in the grounds or down at the loch, we’re almost permanently inside the dark theatre.
Despite my protests, Tori forces me to spend the little free time we have left doing fun stuff to distract me from panicking. We go for a ride to celebrate Mum having finally bought Jubilee for the school. I’ve never seen Kendra as relieved as she was just now in the stables when Mrs Smith told her she can, of course, still ride Jubilee like before. It’s no secret that Kendra would rather do pretty much anything else.
It actually feels a bit like I’m out on my own horse when Tori and I set off. I’ve picked Stanley for Tori, one of the best-natured school horses. She loves him with a passion, and gets on very well with him out in the grounds too.
We chat about the play as we ride down the wide forest path towards the sea. It was Tori’s wish, so of course we have to go to the beach, like we always used to do. It’s almost uncanny the way all the stress of the last few weeks drops away from me the moment I get into the saddle.
Tori gives me a look of satisfaction, but whenever she thinks I’m not watching, the anxious expression creeps back into her face. I know why. Because however much we’re all longing for the summer holidays, Tori’s worried about such a long time with her parents.
‘Are your folks coming to the first night?’ I ask casually.
‘They want to, but I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know if you’re OK with that?’
She nods slowly. ‘That makes me a really crap daughter, doesn’t it?’ she says in the end.
‘No, Tori,’ I say. ‘It’s perfectly understandable.’ After a short silence, I ask: ‘Do you know how your mum’s doing?’
‘She was devastated when Will told her and Dad that he probably won’t come to France.’
It’s tricky, because I can kind of see all sides. Tori and her brother who can’t bear to spend the whole summer holidays watching their mother get worse. And Charlotte Belhaven-Wynford wants to go away with her children because she barely sees them during term time.
‘We can go with them if you want,’ I say, but Tori shakes her head.
‘I think it’ll be better if we have our own plans.’
Which we do. Four weeks’ Interrailing, halfway across Europe. I don’t know what we’ll do the rest of the time. Mum and Dad would like me to go on holiday with them, and they’d be happy to take Tori. I’d rather not think about what that would mean for her parents.
‘I’m sorry everything’s so complicated,’ I say.
Tori smiles despondently and I bring Jubilee to walk a little closer to Stanley so that I can lean down to her from the saddle. It’s only a wee kiss, but afterwards, she looks more cheerful.
I sense how hard it is for Tori to talk about this, so I change the subject. For a while we discuss European capitals and whichroutes will help us get the most out of our trip, until the trees thin ahead of us and we reach the coast. Tori smiles, she’s positively glowing, and I can’t stop looking at her, even as we gallop along the beach. Eventually we have to turn back so that we’ll be in time for study hour. We see each other later, in the theatre, where my tension immediately dissolves into the air. It’s been nothing but chaos for days. We’re rehearsing in costume now, which doesn’t ease my nerves, but does help me slip into character even more easily.
In the week before the performance, we manage our first complete run-through, which is a total disaster. I forget my lines in four places, Eleanor almost breaks her ankle stumbling on the steps in the baggy trousers, and our mics pack up in the middle. Tori’s a bundle of nerves as she and Mr Acevedo try to salvage what they can. These days, she seems to know Eleanor’s and my lines better than we do. At any rate, she doesn’t have to look it up any time we need to be prompted – mind you, she wrote a lot of the script.
The night before we open, I don’t sleep. I toss and turn, asking myself why I ever thought it would be a good idea to take the lead role in a play that the whole school will see – parents and teachers too. I’m going to make a total tit of myself, but at the same time, I just want to get it over with.
Tickets for the first night sold out in days. Mum and Dad will be there, Tori’s parents too. I can barely eat a bite of lunch.
As we begin on our make-up around five, I don’t know whether I want to boak from fear or because my stomach is completely empty.
