Chapter 9 #2
Sinclair looks at me for a wee while, straight in the eye. He nods, he turns away, he leaves, and I don’t do a thing about it. Instead, I wait as Val intercepts me – after a minor staring contest between him and Sinclair.
‘Hey,’ he says, and my heart sinks even further as I realize how frosty he sounds. ‘Still in the land of the living, then?’
I’m confused for a moment, and then I’m boiling up as I remember I never did text him at the weekend. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry,’ I say at once. ‘I meant to message you. I went home for the weekend and then—’
‘Went home?’ Val interrupts. ‘Funny that Neil saw you in Ebrington yesterday morning with that Emma.’
I fight back the urge to shut my eyes. ‘Will and I got back on Saturday evening,’ I explain.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Uh-huh, what?’ Hot rage boils up in me but I try to keep my voice down.
There are people everywhere at break time and the walls have ears.
And I can very much do without being the number-one topic of conversation at Dunbridge right now.
‘Val, please,’ I beg quietly, as my irritation seems to bounce off his stony face.
‘I would have told you, but I totally forgot we were going home until right at the last minute. I’m sorry for not texting, but I wasn’t on my phone very much while I was with my family. ’
‘But you still had time to upload two TikToks?’
I gulp. ‘They were pre-scheduled.’
He actually rolls his eyes. ‘I can bust my own balls, Tori.’
‘Val.’ I reach for his arm and feel his hard muscles under my fingers. ‘I really am sorry, but—’
‘No, come on, drop it. I can’t be arsed to fight with you.’
I open my mouth, but lose the nerve to say anything. Because I know perfectly well that, whatever I say, Val will turn it against me.
‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ I ask, in the end.
Val groans, then shrugs. ‘I dunno. I kept wondering if you were with him . . .’
‘With Sinclair?’ I ask, in disbelief. ‘Why would I be with him?’
‘I don’t know. Why was his name the first thing that occurred to you?’
Shit. So that was a trap. ‘Val, I was with my parents,’ I repeat. ‘I didn’t see Sinclair all weekend.’
He stares at me so long that I’m about to start explaining myself again, but then he sighs.
‘Fine, I mean . . . you’re the only person who knows if you’re telling the truth.
I can’t check up on you. But forget it.’ He pushes me aside into one of the alcoves in the corridor.
‘Friday evening, in the Dungeon?’ he asks, out of nowhere.
I feel the mood plummet again. ‘I’ve got plans.’
‘Then cancel them.’
I don’t answer and he huffs with irritation. ‘OK, what about Saturday?’
I nod hastily. ‘That would be better.’
‘What plans, anyway?’ he asks.
Oh, please, no. You really don’t want to know . . .
I sigh, and seriously consider lying, but there’s too much gossip at this school – Val’s going to hear about it sooner or later either way. And I don’t want to think about what would happen then.
‘I’m going to the scriptwriting club.’
Val laughs. He actually laughs. My hot rage returns.
‘Wow, OK, you seriously mean that?’ He goes silent as I pull away from him a bit. ‘Why? Does Sinclair need help with his script for Eleanor? Don’t worry, she doesn’t usually take too much persuading.’
Enough is enough.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I snap.
Val laughs, like he cracked a real funny.
‘You can’t say things like that, Val.’
‘Why not? It’s true.’
‘Sorry, but do you actually listen to yourself?’ I mutter, and I want to pull away but Val gets hold of my wrist.
‘Hey, it was a joke, OK?’
‘Not a very funny one.’
‘God, come on . . . What are you allowed to say then?’
‘Not stuff like that.’
‘Tori, she’s my ex.’
‘Yes, and it says more about you than it does about her if you talk about her like that.’
All I get for that is a glare.
‘Don’t you think it might give me something to think about?’ I ask.
‘Why should it give you something to think about?’
‘Because there’s a possibility you’ll be saying stuff like that about me one day.’
He laughs. ‘Tori, please. You’re not like the others.’ He presses me softly against the wall.
‘Val, it’s no compliment to tell a woman something like that.’
He groans. ‘Jeez, do you know how hard it is to pay you a compliment? That’s problematic, you can’t say that . . . So maybe I’d better just never say anything, but you don’t like that either.’
I open my mouth, but I’m too confused to reply.
‘Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually trying to take everything I say the wrong way.’
‘When you slag off your ex-girlfriend and I ask you not to?’
‘God, you took that the wrong way too.’ He leans down.
‘Val, stop it,’ I say, as he tries to kiss me.
‘You’re in a mood, got it.’ He pulls away. ‘The scriptwriting club is sure to help. Nice chatting to you.’ The mockery in his voice is like a stab to the chest as he gives me a sarcastic salute and vanishes into the throng.
I have to force myself to take three deep breaths before I head to my own classroom. I’ve got Mr Acevedo for English. He took over the A-level course when Mr Ward left.
The class just crawls by. My thoughts are circling around my argument with Val, and with every passing minute, my aggravation gives way to a guilty conscience. What if Val’s right and I’m oversensitive? But the stuff he said really isn’t OK.
Mr Acevedo’s teaching is way more interactive than Mr Ward’s was, but I’m still finding it hard to concentrate. When he keeps me back after class, I’m sure he noticed and wants to talk to me about it.
‘I have no desire to keep you from your well-deserved lunch break, Victoria, and I am aware that this is something of an ambush,’ Mr Acevedo begins, as soon as the others have vanished into the corridor.
He emerges from behind his desk. ‘I was surprised that you didn’t audition for any of the parts. ’
Oh, no . . .
‘I didn’t really feel up to it,’ I prevaricate.
‘That’s a shame,’ he says. ‘But it’s your decision. Now, what I wanted to ask you was this: could you see yourself as my assistant director? I need someone reliable to help me out.’
Assistant director? Me?
My lips are frozen, but Mr Acevedo goes on: ‘You’d be at all the rehearsals and the performance, and you and I would be responsible for making sure everything runs to plan.
It’s a lot of work, of course, and you’d get merits for taking part, just like the cast. It wouldn’t do your university application any harm either. ’
Mr Acevedo smiles and I’m sure he knows how much I’d like to agree. Because I threw away my chance of being on stage myself, and this way I can at least get a sniff of the theatrical air. And it would be experience, which would definitely come in handy for our play next year.
But: ‘Florence Swindells asked me to join the scriptwriting club, now that Sin— ah, Charles is playing Romeo.’
‘Oh, that’s excellent news! You’d be the go-between between the script and the cast.’ Mr Acevedo looks delighted. ‘But it would be a great deal of work, of course . . . So it’s entirely up to you to decide.’
‘You don’t think it would be a problem for me to do both, sir?’
He shakes his head. ‘Quite the contrary. You’d know what was going on and you’d be able to tackle problems directly.
This year, I’m seriously considering encouraging closer cooperation between the writers and the main cast anyway.
A lot of the script usually gets cut during rehearsals and we’re so short of time this year that we really can’t afford any other delays if we’re going to be ready by the summer. ’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Think it over,’ Mr Acevedo says. ‘I’m calling a joint meeting of the script group and the actors for tomorrow evening. You’d be very welcome to come along.’
‘I will,’ I say firmly. I might not have thought this through entirely, but I don’t care. I only know that it’s a chance to get closer to Sinclair again so I have to take it. ‘I’ll happily take the job. If you really think I can do it.’
Mr Acevedo looks at me with that smile. ‘I certainly do, Victoria.’
SINCLAIR
I knew what to expect the moment Henry turned up in my room the evening before my eighteenth birthday and said I should hurry up and get dressed.
Soon after wing time, we reached the old greenhouse, which was completely dark – at least it was until we’d walked in and I could see what the others had organized.
The greenhouse had been transformed into a miniature cinema, with a screen on which we watched a Sherlock Holmes film before the party started.
They’re all here: Henry, Gideon, Grace, Omar, Emma, Olive, Tori’s brother Will, and Kit, who he’s been dating for a while now, a few others from our form and some fifth-formers too.
And, yes, Tori, and the only thing I can think of, as we sit on blankets and watch the film, is that horror night back in the second form.
I don’t know if she’s thinking about it too.
If she even remembers. Or if she knows that that was my first and last kiss.
Even now that I’m eighteen; somehow that fact bothers me more than it should.
I wish I could convince myself that age is just a number and that I shouldn’t measure my experiences against other people’s, but everywhere I look, I see my friends, who’ve managed to do something I can’t.
Henry, with an arm around Emma, unable to stop looking at her.
Gideon, who keeps absentmindedly staring at Grace.
Will and Kit, who seem so comfortable together.
And then there’s me. Eighteen, a virgin, pretty much never been kissed, in love with my best friend, who’s with the biggest arsehole in the school and isn’t talking to me now because I always have to go and screw everything up.