TORI
I haven’t seen Val since the dinner with his family. I didn’t go to bed – when we got home, I sat staring at my phone, waiting for him to text, but he didn’t. I didn’t even hear from him once I got back to school on Sunday evening. It wasn’t until Monday, after I’d got a script from Mr Acevedo for the auditions and was rehearsing in my room, that Val wanted to know if we could see each other. That was the day before yesterday, and this morning I told him I’m going to audition after classes today. I hadn’t been expecting him to show up, whatever he’d said. I’d taken his suggestion as a joke.
It wasn’t a joke. Val and his pals have made themselves at home along the back rows of the school theatre in the north wing. Their laughter is muffled by the dark red velvet on the old seats. I’m not here often, but the theatre has an almost magical fascination for me. The light is dim and the rows of seats drop down towards the semicircular stage. Memories of previous years’ performances before the summer holidays come flooding back. I watched most of them sitting somewhere near Sinclair and Olive, eyes riveted to the stage. Sinclair was generally as entranced as I was, and sometimes, after the shows, we’d re-enact our favourite scenes. Nothing serious, but fun.Now everything’s weird between Sinclair and me, and Olive’s not speaking to me either.
My palms are sweaty as I step up a few rows from the entrance. Mr Acevedo’s down below, walking to and fro between various groups of pupils.
I stop as I spot him. Sinclair’s sitting down there. He’s got his back to me but I’m sure it’s him. And sitting next to him on the front row is Eleanor. She’s saying something and her long, dark hair looks so silky as she tosses it back over her shoulder, laughing. It’s not fair. She’s the perfect Juliet, everyone knows. But that’s not why I can’t take my eyes off her.
I didn’t know Sinclair would be here. I don’t see anyone else from the scriptwriting club, but maybe Florence and the others are backstage somewhere.
The warm light falls from one side onto Sinclair’s face as he lifts his head. Like he felt my presence in some magical way and, shit, he’s gorgeous. His blond curls flop into his face in the most ridiculously casual way. I don’t know what it is, but the look he gives me from down there does something to me. He leans his hands on the armrests but just before he has a chance to stand up, I hear my name.
‘Hey.’ I jump as Val clicks his fingers. ‘Over here.’
I look to the side. Does he really think I hadn’t noticed him and his pals? They’re way too loud for that.
‘Really, Valentine, if you please.’ Mr Acevedo’s voice rings up to us as he points towards Val’s feet on the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Furthermore, anybody who is not genuinely intending to audition may now leave the theatre.’
Val rolls his eyes as he swings his feet down. He beckons me over and my treacherous body starts to move. ‘We’re just trying to psych ourselves up to it, sir,’ he declares. ‘And it’ll be good for a laugh,’ he adds, just quietly enough that Mr Acevedo can’t hear him. I suddenly wonder what I’m doing. Val shoves Neiloff the seat beside him so that I can sit down. I guess I should be pleased, but the truth is that my stomach is now grumbling more nervously than ever. I shove the slip of paper with my lines on it into the back pocket of my trousers and squeeze past Val’s friends.
‘Hi.’ Val leans over and kisses me, almost before I’ve sat down. He puts his arm around my shoulders as I sink deeper into the plush upholstery. ‘You OK?’
And he doesn’t seem to have any plans to discuss the evening with his family. Not in front of his pals at least. I’m sure we’ll talk about it later, in peace.
I nod. Sinclair turns back to face the front. Maybe it’s better if I can’t see his face.
‘Yeah, fine.’ I gulp.Relax.
‘He auditioning too?’ Val’s voice sounds mocking as he points down towards Sinclair.
‘I don’t know. He’s in the scriptwriting club.’
‘Fancy.’ Why does Val sound so arsy? And why aren’t I saying anything? ‘Well, then, I guess we’ll know who we get to thank for this freak show.’
Stop it. He has to stop it.
A few fifth-formers slip through the door and sit in the rows in front of us. Mr Acevedo glances at his watch. ‘Good.’ His voice fills the theatre, making the conversations ebb away. ‘Let’s get started. It’s nice to see so many of you. As you know, you’re here to audition for a brand-new play entitledRomeo and Juliet.’ There are a few nervous giggles and Val snorts scornfully.
‘Freak show,’ Neil repeats, on the other side of Val, under his breath. Val just nods. His fingers are drumming restlessly on my left shoulder. I’d prefer it if he took his hand away but I don’t want to be difficult. Or to reject him in front of his friends. Either way, it would just cause trouble.
‘There are sixteen parts to fill beside the principal roles, and they are no less important than those of Juliet and her Romeo,’ Mr Acevedo continues. ‘I don’t want you to be thinking about who you want to play when you get up on this stage in a little while. Show me something of yourselves. In this place, you can be anything you like. This theatre is a safe space in which nobody will judge you. That is very important to me.’
My face flushes as Mr Acevedo’s eyes wander up to the back rows. Val juts out his chin challengingly as he looks at him. The moment Mr Acevedo turns away again, he puts his feet back up on the seat. I want to say something but I don’t dare.
‘So, let’s get started. Who would like to go first?’
‘Man, she’s up herself,’ Val murmurs, as Eleanor Attenborough stands up after a brief hesitation. ‘Always has to steal the limelight.’
I want to say something like ‘Isn’t that the point of an audition? To be in the limelight?’ but my throat is too dry. So I just sit there, watching my self-confidence dissolve into thin air as Eleanor takes to the stage. She’s a huge talent, not that that’s any surprise. She’s so good that she was in last year’s performance too, even though she was only in the lower sixth. Val just fake-yawns disrespectfully as everyone else applauds after Eleanor’s scene. I don’t clap, which leaves me feeling like the world’s worst feminist. Sinclair’s spent the whole time devouring Eleanor with his eyes, and now he’s applauding enthusiastically. Mr Acevedo makes conspicuous notes, as if he didn’t know he’d found his Juliet long ago.
The next hour passes me by like a film. One by one, people audition and everyone’s so good it scares me. Val and his pals make their unnecessary remarks, and with every one of them, I lose a wee bit more of the courage to stand up and go down there onto that stage. I go hot and cold just thinking about it. I shouldhave sat with Sinclair. He keeps looking up to us each time Mr Acevedo asks who’d like to go next.
My heart lurches as Sinclair gets up when Joshua from the fifth form leaves the stage. Does he need the loo? But Sinclair doesn’t climb the stairs to the exit, he takes to the stage. What’s he doing?
Val seems to be asking the same question. He straightens up a little. ‘Uh, guys, this is getting interesting,’ he says, as Sinclair approaches centre stage. His face is a smooth mask, presumably meant to hide how nervous he is just now. I can see through it, though, even from this distance. His shoulders are tense and he looks at his feet.
Sinclair pulls a folded slip from his pocket, unfolds it and . . . does nothing. He just stands there in silence. Mr Acevedo watches him and waits. ‘Start whenever you’re ready,’ he says.
