‘Now you tell me!’
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘Your business, not mine.’
‘God, you’re impossible, Bennington.’
‘I thought you knew that I knew.’
‘No, why would I?’
‘I don’t know. Anyway, now you do.’
‘OK, wow.’ I look up to the sky. ‘But I meant something else just now.’
‘Huh?’
‘We kissed again.’
‘You kissed again? Man, Sinclair, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because it was only today. This afternoon.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Henry murmurs. He sounds way too excited. Happy and excited. Like there’s hope when there isn’t. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘There’s not much to tell. We were going through my lines before the rehearsal. It was a kiss scene, she was playing Juliet. And somehow . . . yeah.’
‘Oh, God,’ Henry repeats. ‘So then what?’
‘Then the others walked in and we didn’t see each other again because she walked off hand in hand with Valentine Ward.’ However hard I try, I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
Henry hesitates. ‘I see,’ he says in the end. ‘That’s clearly suboptimal.’
‘It’s fucking shit, Henry.’
‘You could put it like that. Why don’t you ask her if you can talk?’
‘I can’t talk to her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s definitely with Valentine just now. Which tells me everything.’
‘Do you think she didn’t like it?’ Henry contracts his eyebrows as if that would be seriously weird. But I think he’s wrong there.
‘She . . . kissed me back. Well, as long as we were alone together. But I have no idea. Shit, Henry. Why is it all so difficult?’
‘It always is, I’m afraid. Because you two really need to talk.’
‘Why is she with him and not here?’ It’s surprisingly painful to ask that aloud. ‘What does she even want with that fucker? It makes no sense. She’s way too good for him, you know? He treats her like shit but she keeps going back to him. I don’t get it.’
‘She probably doesn’t get it herself,’ Henry suggests. I don’t reply, so he goes on: ‘I only know that you’re the person here she trusts most of all. Anyone can see that.’
‘Maybe she used to. We’re hardly talking. I hate it, because it feels like I’ve lost my best friend.’
‘You have to talk,’ Henry repeats. ‘Seriously, Sinclair. What if she’s thinking the same as you? She sees you with Eleanor the whole time. Maybe that’s making her insecure.’
For a millisecond, I’m tempted to tell him about Eleanor and Sophia, but I don’t. It’s Eleanor’s secret. She told me in confidence and she asked me not to tell anyone else.
‘She knows we’re only acting partners,’ I say instead.
