I take Jubilee by the bit ring and start moving, aching feet and all.
‘Why are you still here?’ Tori asks, and I glance over my shoulder to her in surprise. ‘It’s your birthday.’
‘Stable duty,’ I answer, as if she couldn’t tell. ‘But I’ll head home later.’
‘Doing anything nice?’
‘Mum and Dad are taking me out to dinner.’
‘You’re tense,’ Tori says, out of the blue.
Yes, I really am. And it doesn’t exactly make it any better to think about last night and her hands on my chest. Her eyes wander over me. From my jacket to my tight-fitting jodhpurs, and her looking at me like that does something to me.
‘I’m just tired,’ I say. Which is true. ‘I started your book last night.’
‘Really?’ Tori’s expression brightens, almost like she’s genuinely surprised that I’ve even looked at it.
‘Of course,’ I reply, sounding a little offended.I’m not Val, I add in my mind, but I bite the words back, along with the irritation that’s trying to rise up inside me. Juby’s a sensitive horse and I don’t want to risk anything with Tori on her back. She’s not as safe in the saddle as I am.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ Tori says.
I like everything you do.
‘About the other day,’ I say instead. ‘I didn’t mean to have a go at you like that after the auditions.’
‘I know, Sinclair. And you might have had a point. If Val hadn’t been there, maybe I’d have been braver.’
‘You could always ask Mr Acevedo,’ I begin, but Tori shakes her head.
‘He’s already spoken to me and asked me if I’d like to be assistant director.’
‘Oh.’ I gulp. ‘And . . . would you?’
‘I think so. He said I can just come along to the next rehearsal and then we’ll work everything out.’
‘That would be so cool,’ I say. ‘We’d get to spend more time together again.’
I’d forgotten how Tori’s smile warms me. ‘We would.’
‘And about Eleanor . . . I really don’t want anything more than friendship from her, OK?’
‘Sinclair, it’s fine. Best friends support each other in everything.’
And, yeah, what can I do but nod?
TORI
Things have been better between Sinclair and me since I apologized to him on his birthday. You’d never believe it, but apparently just talking to one another really does solve problems. Even so, there’s still a bit of tension when I turnup to the joint drama and scriptwriting club meeting on Friday evening.
Florence sent me the script as it stands at the moment, and I was up until the wee hours reading it. And now I understand why the others are unhappy. The language is old-fashioned and the dialogue feels unnatural. Perhaps it really isn’t a bad idea of Mr Acevedo’s to get the cast and the writers working on the text together.
Florence, Amara, Ho-wing and Quentin don’t look exactly thrilled when he tells them about it, but they don’t dare complain because Mr Acevedo’s arguments make sense and time’s running out. He introduces me to everyone as this year’s assistant director and then lets us get on with reading through the current script.
Sinclair, Eleanor and the other actors have it up on their iPads. Sinclair’s settled down cross-legged on the stage and it seems to me that he looks in my direction fairly often. Since his birthday, I somehow haven’t been able to think straight. There was something between us, even if I don’t know how to describe it. But there’s no way I’m imagining it.
I scroll forward a page as Florence jumps to the next section, and force myself to turn my concentration back to the text.
Romeo: She’s unlike anybody else I ever met. I never saw true beauty till this night.
