Chapter 14
TORI
Getting over someone means acting like an adult around them.
No more ignoring them or looking away. I notice I’m confusing Sinclair by being perfectly ordinary instead of huffy.
And, lo and behold, after French he asks if everything’s OK.
In a slightly guilty-sounding way that’s probably meant kind of as an apology.
Normally I’d tell him to piss off, but as I’m over him now, I pull myself together and offer to listen to him learning his lines again if he likes.
We agree to meet up in the theatre at the end of the school day and head off to our own classes. I’m early for history, and can’t see Emma anywhere, but the door to the English classroom is ajar. I pause as I hear voices from inside.
‘What’s wrong, Olive?’ Mr Acevedo. I hold my breath. ‘I thought your last test result was just you having a bad day, but the latest one was worse, I’m afraid.’
There’s a long silence. Part of me wants to creep away as quietly as possible, to wait somewhere else.
‘I don’t know.’ Olive’s voice sounds thin. ‘I didn’t do enough revision.’
‘I’d be happy to believe you, Olive, but all your teachers are concerned about you. It’s not just in my subject where you’re struggling. I know A levels are a big step up, and we all want you to do as well as you possibly can in your exams next year.’
My throat clenches. I’d noticed that Olive’s grades haven’t been amazing lately, but I hadn’t known quite how bad they’d got.
‘I’ll do better.’ I hear her quiet voice. In the ensuing silence, I can practically see Mr Acevedo’s serious, worried face. ‘It’s just that everything’s kind of difficult just now.’
‘I’d like to help you, Olive, but you have to tell me what you need.’
‘Nothing,’ she says at once.
‘Let me make a suggestion. As you know, we’ve started rehearsals for our end-of-year play now.
We could always use some help behind the scenes, with costumes and make-up and so on.
Would you like to get involved in that? I’d be very happy to have you and it always looks good to have taken part in this kind of activity – I can mention it when I write your reference. ’
‘I’m not sure if it’s really my thing,’ I hear Olive say.
‘Having something to take your mind off your troubles, whatever they are, might be beneficial, Olive. I can’t emphasize enough that we want to help you get the grades you deserve.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Please do. And you can always come to me for personal concerns as well as schoolwork. And if you’d rather speak to a woman, Ms Vail’s door is always open, as you know. So is Mrs Sinclair’s. But I don’t have to tell you that, Olive. You’ve been at this school long enough, hm?’
‘Yes, thank you, I do know.’
‘Good. Well, be off with you.’
I step back hurriedly as I hear approaching footsteps. The door opens and Olive sees me on the other side of the hallway. She hesitates as Mr Acevedo follows her out of the room and hurries away.
‘Hi,’ I say, before Olive can vanish too. She eyes me doubtfully. ‘It would be fab if you were in the drama club too.’
Her face instantly hardens. ‘You were listening in?’
Shit . . . My cheeks start burning. ‘No, sorry, I . . . OK, yes. I was early for history and I couldn’t help overhearing, but I . . .’
‘Why do you always have to stick your nose into other people’s business?’ Olive snaps. There’s no hint of brokenness in her voice now. ‘We’re not friends any more. What part of that is so hard to understand?’
I flinch. ‘I thought—’
‘Stop it. Just stop it, OK?’
There’s so much I want to say, but Olive doesn’t let me.
She turns away. I watch as she shakes her head, and I feel grim.
Because she’s right, it really wasn’t OK to listen to her conversation with Mr Acevedo.
And my stomach churns when I think about what he said.
It’s out of character for Olive not to give a shit about anything.
Something must have happened and I can only hope she’s got someone to talk to about it.
It never even occurred to me that Olive might be finding the work so hard.
She’s always done well at school – no more of a straight-As kind of person than I am, but always good enough.
I find it hard to concentrate on my next classes.
I’m not with Olive for anything today and I don’t bump into her in the corridors anywhere.
After lessons finish, I’m about to go up to our wing to look for her when I run into Sinclair, who reminds me that we agreed to practise his lines.
He asks if I’m all right and I just nod, forcing myself not to think about Olive.
Maybe I’ll get a chance to speak to her in the next couple of days and apologize.
Maybe I could use the uniform thing as an excuse to talk to her.
It got kind of forgotten about after Sinclair’s party, unfortunately, and I’ve got my hands full with the scriptwriting club and the assistant-director business.
But it’s too important to me to just drop it again, especially after last Monday when another group of fourth-formers staged a protest by wearing trousers to the morning assembly and were sent back to their rooms to change.
We’ve got an hour before the rehearsal, and we have the theatre to ourselves until then.
I’d been expecting the doors to be locked, but they open when Sinclair gives them a tug.
He steps to the side and lets me go ahead of him.
The carpeted stairs swallow the sound of our footsteps.
It’s almost unnaturally quiet once the doors have shut out the buzz of voices from outside.
‘Which scene do you want to go through?’ Sinclair asks, throwing his bag onto a seat in the bottom row.
‘Hold on.’ I reach for my iPad and open the cover. ‘We’re in the middle of writing the farewell scene when Romeo gets banished from Verona.’
‘After he’s killed Tybalt?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’ I scroll down my document. ‘Romeo’s sent into exile and Juliet’s just heard about it from her nurse.’
‘OK.’ Sinclair walks to the edge of the stage and presses both hands onto it. He pushes up and, in one smooth movement, he’s sitting on the stage. ‘Shall we carry on with that scene and you can write as we go?’
‘Yeah, sounds good.’ I put my stuff on the stage and I’m about to walk around to the little flight of steps to one side when Sinclair crouches down and holds his hand out to me. I hesitate for a moment, then let him pull me up.
He sits facing me, one leg bent, his eyes on the original text we’re adapting for our version. His blond hair flops into his face.
‘Good.’ I clear my throat quietly. ‘So, Juliet’s shocked at Mercutio and Tybalt dying but she’s standing by Romeo.
And she’s in despair because her father has just promised her to Paris, and wants them to get married this same week.
There’s no way you want to leave her here, but you know you won’t survive the night in Verona if you bump into the Capulets.
You’d rather flee under cover of darkness, but you can’t psych yourself up to it, so you stay until daybreak. OK?’
Sinclair looks one hundred per cent focused as he glances up from the text. I’m still as fascinated as ever by watching him slip into the part, shedding his own identity as he does so.
‘OK, let’s get started. We haven’t settled on the words for this bit yet, so just improvise and we’ll see what happens.’
I try to gather myself, then speak Juliet’s first lines.
‘“Is it true what they’re saying in the streets, Romeo? Tell me it isn’t so.”’
Sinclair’s expression is blank and I can see the shock and despair in his face. And feel him pulling himself together for Juliet.
‘“What are they saying?”’ he asks tonelessly.
‘“That Tybalt’s dead. That you killed him. Is it true, Romeo?”’
His jaw muscles stand out as he lowers his head. ‘“I’m not proud of what I’ve done.”’
‘“My God, Romeo! Do you know what that means? My father is raging! He wants you dead, he wants—”’
‘“I know, my love,”’ he interrupts harshly. ‘“It wasn’t my intention but Tybalt left me no choice. He would have killed me, he was so angry. And as for your father . . . I can’t stay in Verona. I’ve come to bid you farewell.”’
My throat constricts. I’m amazed – we’re only acting and yet, somehow, we’re not. ‘“So it’s true?”’ I whisper. ‘“You’re banished?”’
‘“It’s the only way, my love.”’ Sinclair’s eyes are on me, his expression so insistent that I can’t move. ‘“I can go and live, or stay and die.”’
‘“Then I’m coming with you.”’
‘“Don’t be silly.”’
‘“I’m not being silly, Romeo, I’m desperate! Don’t do this to me.”’
‘“Do you think this is fun for me? I’m going out of my mind at the thought of having to be apart from you.”’
‘“Then stay here,”’ I beg. ‘“Please, at least for a few hours more. It’s not morning yet, you can stay.”’
‘“Can’t you hear? The birds are singing, the sky is growing lighter. I have no more time.”’
‘“Let me go with you,”’ I whisper. ‘“Take me with you, I mean it.”’
‘“You know I can’t,”’ says Sinclair, looking me right in the eyes. ‘“It’s too dangerous.”’
‘“I don’t care.”’
‘“But I do. I must always care when it comes to you, don’t you see?”’
I gulp. ‘“So is this goodbye? For how long? For ever? I can’t bear a single day without you.”’ I put down my script. ‘“But I’d never forgive myself if you stayed for my sake and they found you. Perhaps it is better if you get away for a while. Just until things have calmed down again here.”’
‘“Yes, perhaps.”’
‘“Look at me. You’re deathly pale.”’
Sinclair doesn’t move. He looks at me and, for a moment, I’m sure he doesn’t know what comes next.
‘“It’s just the light, my love.”’ My stomach drops, he leans forward a little.
‘“You know what? I don’t care. Let them catch me and put me to death. What would life be without you? Come, then, death and take me! If I cannot be at your side, I have nothing to lose.”’