Chapter 4 #2
I’m on the point of just nodding because she’s bloody well right, but Tori sounds so sarcastic that I can’t move.
She laughs and I’m certain it’s the most painful sound I’ve ever heard.
I can hardly bear it, so I join in. What should I do?
Maybe I wasn’t clear enough, but in this situation I’m amazed at how impossible it is to find the guts to take the words back.
Respect to anyone who can. Evidently I’m a coward because just the thought of telling Tori the truth has me shitting myself.
That I want to kiss her because I’ve bloody well got feelings for her.
That I do care if she kisses Valentine Ward.
No, not care. It drives me insane to stand there and know it’s not me holding her like that.
And every time I imagine saying so, the same thing happens in my head: Tori looks at me, first surprised, then shocked. Then embarrassed, and then we laugh.
Ha-ha, only joking, ha-ha. Good one. Very funny. Course I don’t like you like that. We’re friends. Just friends.
I only notice that I’ve clenched both fists when Tori glances at them. We’re not laughing any more.
‘But you really were steaming.’ She runs her hands awkwardly through her hair. I want to tell her there’s a bit of flour on the balls of her thumbs.
‘It was boring without you so I had to drink.’
OK, no word of a lie for a change. Even if boring doesn’t quite hit the mark. Dire would be closer.
‘So, does that mean you and Eleanor . . .?’ She pauses, as if she wants to give me the chance to finish her sentence. But I don’t, so she continues. ‘You want to kiss her?’
‘Yeah, dunno.’ I avoid her gaze. ‘I mean, she’s hot. But she doesn’t look at me. I’m not kidding myself there.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t know you like her,’ says Tori, slowly.
My mouth is dry. I look at her again. ‘I think she does.’
Neither of us speaks. What’s happening here? Tori doesn’t move.
‘You could ask her out. A date, just the two of you, so you can talk.’
‘Yeah.’ I have to clear my throat – my voice sounds so hoarse. I split the dough and slap a lump onto the work surface in front of me. A little flour whirls through the air. I form little round rolls and feel nothing. ‘It’s not that easy, though. Talking to her.’
‘Maybe you just have to be brave,’ I hear Tori saying.
I nod silently. This is ridiculous.
‘She’ll definitely be auditioning on Wednesday, won’t she?’
I lift my head. ‘Yes, I’m sure she will. Eleanor’s been in the drama club for years.’
Tori pushes her finger over the countertop, leaving a slender trail in the flour. I ignore the shiver that runs down my neck, because I know only too well what that feels like. Her fingers on my skin. Tori drawing patterns on my back or secret messages that I try to decipher as I’m falling asleep.
‘You should have a go too,’ I say. Tori lifts her head. ‘It must be a sign, the auditions being open to lower forms.’
Tori hesitates. ‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it.’
‘But?’ I ask, although I can guess. And Tori can tell as much, so she lies.
‘Dunno. I’ve never acted before. And Eleanor’s bound to get Juliet.’
‘There are other roles. The Nurse, or Lady Capulet, for example.’
‘Yeah. I don’t know.’
‘Did Val talk you out of it?’
‘No,’ she snaps back.
He did then. I hate that bastard.
‘You shouldn’t let him influence you. It’s bad enough he’s manipulated his rugby pals so that there are barely any lads in the drama club now.’
‘I don’t let him influence me.’ Tori glares warningly at me.
Why is she sticking up for him? I don’t get it.
‘OK, I’m just saying,’ I mumble. ‘The guy’s so cringy.’
‘You’re so childish. That’s what’s cringy,’ she retorts. ‘Val hasn’t done you any harm, Sinclair.’
Except that he badmouths me and all my friends, yelled at Henry in front of everyone after his rugby accident, even when he was lying on the ground, and kept snaking on us to his stupid uncle back when he was teaching me A-level English.
Oh, and then he stole my best friend off me.
Yeah, he hasn’t done me the least bit of harm . . .
I press my lips together. Whatever I say now, we’ll end up arguing and I really don’t want that.
The fact that Tori reacts so defensively the moment I dare to criticize Valentine tells me everything.
And I could live with that if he at least treated her decently.
But he’s constantly manipulating her and getting in her head.
I don’t know exactly what he’s telling her, but Tori’s changed since she’s been spending so much time with him.
Sometimes it seems like she’s a completely different person from the Tori of a year ago.
And I know how that sounds. Like I’m the jealous type who wants her all to himself.
But it’s not like that. It would be OK, I wouldn’t interfere, if I had the feeling he was good for her.
But Tori’s quieter when Valentine’s around.
She seems less confident, and you’re meant to blossom when you’re in love, aren’t you?
She doesn’t seem happy, and there are times when I don’t recognize my friend, but I can’t tell her that without sounding petty.
The only way I can keep my voice calm is not to look at her as I speak. ‘All I meant was that I think it’d be a shame if you didn’t audition.’
‘Yeah, we’ll see.’ She’s silent. Then, ‘How’s the scriptwriting club?’
I sigh. ‘Don’t ask. Lowell and Florence got into a fight over the script. Now Lowell’s stormed out. Mr Acevedo’s majorly stressed because we’re so late with the script.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be that much work – isn’t it only a reinterpretation?’
‘Me either,’ I admit. Na?ve of me. Because it’s not so easy to make something completely new out of old material, especially a classic.
‘How far have you got?’ asks Tori.
‘Tybalt’s just killed Mercutio,’ I say. ‘So about halfway. But I’m afraid we’re going to have to start again. Lowell just took over the whole thing and wouldn’t listen to any criticism at all. Nobody’s happy with how it is just now.’
‘Hm.’ Tori leans on the worktop with both hands. ‘How long do you have?’
‘The text was meant to be ready by January. Mr Acevedo gave us an extra month, but he needs the script by February so the rehearsals can start.’
‘Oh.’ Tori looks at me.
Yes, oh. February. The week after next.
‘Mr Acevedo knows we won’t make it. He said we could write large chunks of it during rehearsals.
That that might even be a good thing because it’ll make the script more authentic and help it fit the cast. He wants to spend the first few weeks focusing on method acting and improvisation anyway to get everyone to relax. ’
‘I see,’ says Tori. She looks at me and smiles. ‘You can do it.’
‘We’ll have to.’
My hands knead the dough and ‘No Control’ comes on in the background, a song that I’m embarrassed to like – and it’s so true too. I feel like I’m losing control. Tori doesn’t have to know that, but that’s how I feel.
‘What’s up with Olive?’ I ask eventually.
Bad move. I realize at once when Tori stiffens up a bit.
‘Why should anything be up with her?’ she asks.
I shrug. I just wondered how she was, same as I always did. ‘Have you two talked?’
Tori shakes her head. I don’t know why, but her face softens as she studies the floor at her feet.
She knows she doesn’t have to act like she doesn’t care if she’s fallen out with her best girlfriend.
Because she does. Like I would if I had a beef with Henry.
Which luckily I don’t, but since last autumn things have been weird between Olive and Tori.
Between Olive and all of us, to be honest.
‘No.’ Tori tries to sound indifferent, but her eyes remain sad. I want to give her a hug. ‘She keeps avoiding me, don’t know why. I mean, what am I meant to do?’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say. ‘And Olive knows that.’
‘But why’s she acting like this, then?’
I keep quiet. Although I’ve had an inkling what the problem might be for some time.
Olive’s jealous, same as me. But not of Valentine Ward – she’s jealous of Emma, who Tori’s been firm friends with since the start of the school year.
Which doesn’t mean that Tori has ditched Olive.
But maybe it doesn’t feel like that to her.
And then Emma got together with Henry, who left Olive’s friend Grace for her, which definitely won’t have helped.
But maybe all that is only part of the problem, because I’m worried about how much pressure she’s putting on herself just now.
I happen to know that she’s struggling in both politics and maths, and I remember only too well what it’s like when you’re worried about your grades.
But unlike her, I wasn’t too proud to let Henry coach me through my maths GCSE last summer.
I’ll never be a maths whizz, but at least I scraped through and don’t have to resit this year.
I wouldn’t have the guts to advise her to do the same, though.
Olive Henderson is the undisputed champion of the world at pushing away anyone who has the nerve to be worried for her.
‘You two should talk,’ I repeat, all the same. ‘I’m sure this situation is upsetting Olive just as much as it is you.’
‘But maybe she doesn’t care.’
‘You care, though,’ I insist. ‘And that’s why you have to talk to her.’
‘I’ve missed this,’ says Tori, out of the blue.
I look up. My first instinct is to ask her what she means, but I know perfectly well.
This. This kind of conversation, which I can’t have with anybody else.
I’m about to answer when her phone buzzes.
That toxic feeling is creeping up on me even as she pulls it out of her pocket. Her eyebrows contract and she bites her lips softly.
I don’t have to ask. I know it’s him.