‘Oh, no?’ I retort, totally overwhelmed. ‘What’s all this with Eleanor, then? And, anyway, I’m not running around after Val because, unlike you, I’m at least noticed, as you recently remarked so correctly.’
What the hell?I ask myself, the second I’ve said the words.
Sinclair looks at me. Disbelieving at first, then full of disappointment. He’s seen through me and I hate myself for that, but instead of admitting to it, I had to go and hurt him back, just so he’d finally shut up.
Looks like I’ve succeeded.
He opens his mouth, as though he wants to say something else, but then he just snorts disdainfully and shakes his head.
‘Mr Acevedo’s announcing the cast,’ someone calls.
Sinclair turns away without looking at me again.
I should go. I really should just get out of here, but it’s like the theatre doorway is magically drawing me in. So I follow everyone else but stop near the door. Sinclair’s already gone down. I want to run to him and tell him I didn’t mean it. That I said things I wish I could take back, but now it’s too late. And, let’s be honest, if there hadn’t been the tiniest scrap of truth in them, I wouldn’t have had the desperate urge to say those words.
Does that make it any better?
Hardly . . .
SINCLAIR
This is the thing: if I feel unfairly treated and I’m pure raging, I can’t keep discussing things, I just want to cry. That’s how it is. Ilose every last scrap of self-control. It’s shit, and I have no choice but to go back down the stairs, working at keeping my cool. Because I can’t be certain whether Tori actually left or is coming back into the theatre as Mr Acevedo announces the cast.
I can’t stand conflict. No, worse than that, I hate it. Seriously. There’s nothing worse. Especially when it’s Tori I’m telling things I don’t mean. And the problem with knowing someone so well is being perfectly aware that she feels the same. I saw it in Tori’s eyes, even while she was hurling insults at me. The instant regret.
All I can do is to force myself to stop thinking about it as I come to a stop down near the stage. I don’t even hear Mr Acevedo’s first few sentences. My head is full of rage at that fucker Valentine who’s making Tori go against her own wishes and principles. I don’t get it. If you love someone, you should want the best for her or him. And either Val really is as empty as he seems or he’s deliberately putting her down. I don’t know which would be worse. The latter I guess, because he does it in this creepy way where he persuades her it’s what she actually wants. But it isn’t. I know that. I saw the light in her eyes when she talked about the theatre and this opportunity. God, she was the whole reason I came here. But, no, Valentine had to go and sit there with her and fuck everything up.
Fifth-former Ismail cheers, which makes me jump, and his friends crowd round him. I’m guessing he got picked for Lord Montague because Mr Acevedo goes on to say that Heather in the upper sixth will be the lady. This is followed by Friar Laurence, Tybalt, the Apothecary, Paris . . . I glance up at the door and Tori is actually there, arms crossed. She looks at me and I instantly tear my eyes away.
Unlike you, I’m at least noticed.
She can get tae fuck.
Besides, Eleanor does notice me. Not that I’m reading anything into that. She’s cool and pretty sound. She seemed genuinely friendly and pleased for me after my audition just now. But Tori always has to go and make something of the whole shitshow with her – which is entirely my own fault seeing as I was the one who mentioned Ellie’s name last time. Obviously, I wasn’t talking about her on the night of the New Year Ball. And obviously she isn’t the person I want to kiss. Tori knows that. Doesn’t she?
I jump as Mr Acevedo speaks again. ‘Juliet’s Nurse will be played by . . .’ He pauses for a moment here because he’s a sadist. Then he looks up from his notebook. ‘. . . Grace Whitmore.’
Grace squeals quietly and actually hops up and down with excitement. I have to smile. She deserves it. If it weren’t for Eleanor, I’m pretty sure she’d have been Juliet. But we’ve got next year’s play to look forward to, when our form will get to shine in the main roles. This year, the stage belongs to the upper sixth.
To Grace’s joy, Mr Acevedo announces Gideon as Benvolio. Louis Thompson in the upper sixth is Mercutio, causing some obvious confusion. In my mind, it had long been settled that he and Eleanor would be the leads. Mr Acevedo seems to see things differently though. It’s all up to him. And this means that only the two protagonists are yet to be cast. The realization hits me unexpectedly hard.
Damn. I might only have auditioned for Tori’s sake, but I was surprised by how much I enjoyed being on stage earlier. I’d never have expected to get such an adrenaline rush as when you’re standing up there, knowing everyone’s listening to you. That it has an effect on them if I drop all my inhibitions and turn myself inside-out. And that it does something tometoo. Because it did. Hey-ho. Maybe at least Mr Acevedo will let me be one ofthe servants or some other walk-on role. And I’ll try again next year.
‘So, we come to the two main roles,’ says Mr Acevedo. There’s a solemn note in his voice. ‘I can’t exactly say that this was a difficult decision. So let’s make it quick and painless.’ Eleanor clenches her fists tightly, but God knows whose name will be called if it isn’t hers. ‘Our Juliet will be played by Eleanor Attenborough. Congratulations, Eleanor. You gave me goosebumps.’
The relief escapes Eleanor in a little scream of joy. Two seconds later, she’s got herself back under control and is smiling her unapproachable Juliet-smile. I’m smiling too, and the others clap. She’ll rock this, no question. ‘And now, there’s only one role remaining,’ Mr Acevedo declares. ‘Romeo Montague: Charles Sinclair.’
I’m all set to clap again, when I realize that everyone’s eyes are suddenly fixed on me. And then Mr Acevedo’s words make it to my brain.
Hold on . . .
HOLD ON.
I can pretty much feel every scrap of colour draining from my face.
I misheard. I misheard, didn’t I?
‘Yes, Charles, really you,’ says Mr Acevedo, which must mean that the shock is written on my face. ‘Your audition was compelling. You were genuine and you’ve got an incredible stage presence. And I’m sick of all these neat and tidy Romeos. Your interpretation was interesting. You’ve got personality. It’ll be great. We’ll let your hair grow a little for a more rakish touch. I’ll clear that with your mother.’ He sounds genuinely thrilled, but I’m not sure if he knows what he’s letting himself in for. I’ve got no idea how to act. I can’t do a thing. Not a thing. Seriously. Shit,I wanted to play a bloody tree or something, to be close to Tori, not the fucking lead role. Romeo? Me? This has to be a joke . . .
