Mr Acevedo is now reassuring the people left over and casting them as servants, townspeople and musicians. I still can’t move. I don’t go over to him until he’s explained when the rehearsals start, dismissed us and packed his notebook into his leather satchel.
‘Sir, I . . .’ My voice is hoarse. He lifts his head. ‘I don’t know if I can do this. Play Romeo, I mean . . . I’ve got no experience at all.’
Mr Acevedo waves this away. ‘Nonsense. You have talent and we’ll winkle the rest out of you by the time of the performance, you’ll see.’
‘I’m in the scriptwriting club,’ I manage to say.
‘Yes, that’s true.’ He eyes me, head on one side. ‘Your fellow scribes won’t like this, but you’re one of us now. I’m sure they can find someone to stand in for you. They must see that we need the best for this play. And that includes you, make no bones about it. Eleanor and you, you’ll make a breathtaking couple.’ He claps his hands. ‘And now it’s time to celebrate a little. Not many actors get the chance to play a great role like Romeo.’
Yeah, I get that. It’s pretty much the biggest role I can imagine. And nothing that a total beginner like me should be attempting. Shakespeare would be turning in his grave if he got wind of this.
‘Sinclair!’ Eleanor hugs me. ‘Congrats, this is going to be so cool.’
Help, she’s genuinely pleased. She doesn’t look at all fazed that it’s me playing Romeo and not Louis in her form. Or Terry, who got stuck with Tybalt.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble. ‘Congratulations to you too.’
She smiles. ‘We’ve got this, OK? Don’t worry about the fact that you haven’t acted before.’
I force a confident smile. To my surprise, Louis gives me a friendly clap on the shoulder. ‘Well done, mate.’ He sounds unexpectedly cheerful.
‘Sorry,’ I say, on instinct. Louis might hang around with Valentine Ward sometimes, but he’s actually all right. I can respect him. Unlike Valentine. ‘I thought you’d be Romeo. I didn’t want—’
‘Hey, relax,’ he says cheerily. ‘To be honest, so did I, but Mr Acevedo’s the boss. There’s some kind of chemistry between you and El, no denying it. And Mercutio’s a cooler role, to be fair.’
I make an effort to smile, but the corners of my mouth are aching.
‘And we get to fight a duel! Awesome, huh?’
I nod, but not very enthusiastically. Louis is in the fencing club. And so’s Terry, thinking about it. I have to fight him too, don’t I? Fuck, I’ve forgotten half this stupid play already. All I know is that it doesn’t turn out too well for me. How ironic.
I congratulate Grace and Gideon, who are looking really happy and excited. I honestly wish I felt that way too. But all I feel is panic. Which tips slowly over into defiance as I look over the rows of seats straight into Tori’s incredulous face as she shakes her head, turns and leaves.
7
TORI
There are few aspects of boarding-school life I hate as much as the morning run, but table duty definitely comes close. It must be some kind of bad joke that I’m paired with Olive of all people to get to the dining room ahead of everyone else this week and set the tables for our year group. And, sadly, at breakfast time, that doesn’t mean you’re let off the morning run, you just have twenty minutes less for a shower and getting dressed.
Olive simply nods as I mumble hello, and proceeds to ignore me. I can’t stand it, and the worst part of this whole thing is that I don’t understand how things got like this between me and her.
I can positively feel Olive’s anger. She’s putting the cups and plates down on the long tables with more of a slam than necessary. Normally, we’d be chatting and working so slowly that Joseph would have to yell from the kitchen several times for us to get on with it, but today it’s the exact opposite. We set the tables in silence and collect the bread baskets, teapots and coffee jugs from the kitchen in silence. Olive stares at the floor every time we come close.
I’m not totally certain, but it looks like she’s been crying.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask quietly, once we’ve finished, and Olive stops by the table for a moment.
She doesn’t answer, just sighs barely audibly. I see her roll her eyes in irritation and it’s a stomach punch.
‘Livy,’ I plead.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Tori.’
‘Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me, Olive. Please. Can we just talk about whatever the problem is?’
‘There’s no problem.’
‘Do you really not care?’ I can’t help raising my voice. ‘About anything? Your friends, your classes . . . me?’
