Chapter 15 #2
‘Yeah, I love everything she writes. Apparently, they’re making a film of one of her books, with Scott Plymouth doing the soundtrack.’
‘Who’s he?’ Emma asks.
‘PLY,’ I say, waiting for light to dawn, but Emma’s still looking like she hasn’t a clue what I’m on about. ‘The Canadian singer? “Skin Deep”, “More” . . . You’ll definitely have heard them.’
‘Oh, is he the one who used to wear that mask?’
‘That’s him.’
‘You’ve got a playlist for him, haven’t you?’
I nod. Obviously. After all, I needed the right soundtrack to read fan fiction to. And there’s loads of Scott Plymouth fan fiction. And now he’s with the author who wrote probably the most famous story about him, which in itself could be the basis for her next book, but let’s not go there.
‘Can I borrow it?’ Emma asks, waving the book. It’s my signed copy of the new Hope MacKenzie. I nod hesitantly. ‘I won’t break the spine, neighbour’s honour.’
‘Was it so obvious I was going to say that?’
‘A bit.’ Emma takes the book and follows me to the door.
‘Are you really bringing it down to the dining room?’
She nods. ‘I’m going straight over to Henry’s after dinner.’
‘And I’m sure you’ll be reading . . .’
‘He’s got a biology presentation to write.’
I laugh softly.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Biology presentation . . . Bennington’s such a teacher’s pet.’
Emma shrugs her shoulders. ‘I’m mainly going to stop him falling asleep before midnight, as we all know that’s his speciality.’
‘And we all know how well that worked out last time,’ I remark, remembering that Sinclair had found the two of them sleeping like babies in Henry’s room.
‘Cut it out,’ Emma says, but with a smile she can’t completely hide.
It’s a small, sharp stab in my chest. It’s not that I’m not happy for her and Henry.
I am, really happy, because they deserve to be happy.
But lately, everything that any other couple has has been reminding me of everything that Sinclair and I don’t have.
Apart from that kiss but, unfortunately, we still don’t even know what that meant.
Henry’s waiting for us outside the dining room, and I can’t bear how cute it is as he kisses Emma, then takes the book because he’s Henry Bennington and genuinely interested in what his girlfriend is reading and thinking and what she’s been doing today.
There’s no sign of Sinclair. I wait a full ten minutes for him to appear before Henry mentions in passing that he’s gone home for dinner today.
Which has nothing to do with me. Or I hope not, anyway.
But today of all days, I could have done with a chance to intercept him after the meal.
OK, fine. I’ll have to speak to him later. He’ll definitely be back for the midnight party even if he’s got a shift in the bakery after that. And it’s half a lifetime since Sinclair last slept at his parents’ house in Ebrington in term time.
I feel Eleanor’s eyes on me as the upper sixth line up at the serving hatch.
For more than just a moment. My blood runs cold.
Does she know? Is that why Sinclair isn’t here?
Did he go to Eleanor to tell her everything?
Or did he do it earlier when they were paired up for that drama exercise?
It was unbearable, the two of them staring deep into each other’s eyes for so long, but I couldn’t look away either.
I couldn’t hear what they were talking about.
But I know the answer. He’ll have told her, the way I’ve got to tell Val later.
I catch sight of him next, but Val doesn’t glance my way even for a second.
He’s chatting to Cillian and roaring with laughter as they walk to the front.
At that moment, I wonder for the first time if it wouldn’t be more sensible not to tell Val anything.
It’s only a tiny thought, but I know it would be wrong.
I can’t keep on like this. It’s killing me.
Finally, it’s our turn, but I’ve got no appetite. I feel detached from myself. Olive’s ahead of me in the queue, and she’s ignoring me. My best friend kissed me. Everything’s coming apart at the seams, which is exactly what I was trying to prevent. Outstanding work.
SINCLAIR
Sitting calmly at dinner with Mum and Dad and not constantly glancing anxiously at my phone was harder than I’d expected.
But that would have tipped them off that something’s wrong, and if there’s one thing I don’t have the nerve for today, it’s explaining to my parents what happened.
It’s not that I can’t talk about things to them, but whatever it is between Tori and me is kind of a running joke at home.
She’d never say a word at school, but here, Mum doesn’t disguise the fact that she sees Tori as her future daughter-in-law.
I can tell her as often as I like that we’re just friends but she secretly believes that as little as Dad, who keeps asking when Tori will come round for dinner again.
Hey, a few hours ago I’d have had the self-confidence and naivety to say that they’d quite likely be seeing a lot of her soon, but the more time passes, the less sure I am of that.
I kissed her. I didn’t even wonder, let alone ask her if she’d be OK with that.
And instead of talking to her about it, I watched her wander off with Valentine Ward.
It’s all so fucked up that I could scream.
So I invited myself home to eat with my parents at short notice, just so I wouldn’t have to see her.
I push all thoughts of Tori aside, tell them about Jubilee and the rehearsals.
I don’t mention my conversation with Mr Acevedo.
I hope he won’t talk to Mum about me. It would be awkward, but then again, it might mean her and Dad dampening down their expectations a bit.
Since they heard that I’ll be playing Romeo, they’ve been talking non-stop about how much they’re looking forward to the play in the summer.
If it wouldn’t be totally daft, I’d try to ban them from coming.
It’ll be bad enough if I embarrass myself in front of the whole school.
And if things carry on like this, I will. Through and through.
Luckily, I’ve got other worries just now.
They start with K and end with issed-Tori.
I don’t know how long I’ve been dithering, staring at my phone, now that I’m back at school, in plenty of time for wing time.
Emma’s next door with Henry and I remember that we’re partying in the old greenhouse later.
I wish I could skip it, but it occurs to me that Tori might not even be there.
I bet she’d rather hang around with the upper sixth in their dingy Dungeon.
Not too long ago, I’d have texted her without a second’s thought.
I don’t know when that changed. I only know that I hate it.
Seriously. I loathe the fact that Tori’s no longer the person I can tell everything.
But more than that, I hate that she doesn’t tell me things any more.
Opening our chat is like a punch in the guts.
The last message was over a week ago. Trivial stuff.
It’s not like we even used to communicate all that much by text message.
Why would we when we were together practically twenty-four/seven?
But the last What are you doing? Can I come over?
message was yonks ago. And I know that won’t change unless I do something about it.
But I can’t text her. We kissed; she went off with Valentine Ward.
You can’t get clearer than that. No way will she have told him what happened.
So what do I even want to talk to her about? That was answer enough, wasn’t it?
Henry messages later, saying shall we go, and I’d prefer to pretend to be asleep. But then he’d know for sure that something’s wrong and I can definitely do without explaining everything to him.
But Henry wouldn’t be Henry if he didn’t notice anyway. I sense him looking at me as I can’t stop watching the door as if Tori might stroll in at any moment.
‘Isn’t Tori coming?’ Henry’s face is a picture of innocence as he wanders over.
‘Why would I know?’
He studies me, then says ‘I was just wondering.’
‘I suppose she’s with Val and his friends.’
Henry raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Interesting.’ He keeps watching me, and now I’m raging.
‘What?’
‘Nothing . . .’
‘Not that I care. She can chill with whoever she wants.’
If I don’t care, why am I so defensive?
‘I get that it’s annoying,’ Henry says.
‘Why would it be annoying?’
He shrugs ever so slightly. ‘I’d be annoyed if Emma preferred hanging around with the upper sixth to being with me.’
‘Emma’s your girlfriend.’
Henry says nothing. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than words. He looks away and I follow his gaze. Emma’s sitting at the other end of the greenhouse with Omar, Salome and Inés and they burst into loud laughter.
‘Looks like she’s really at home here now.’
Henry smiles his proud-boyfriend smile as I glance back at him.
‘I think so,’ he says, with shining eyes – it’s almost unbearable, but he really deserves his dumb luck. I don’t switch my smile back on in time as he eyes me again.
He gestures to the door. ‘Want some fresh air?’
By which he means ‘Want to talk privately?’
No, not really, but every other time I’ve poured out my stupid problems to him, it’s been a major relief. I nod hesitantly and follow him out.
The night is fresh but it’s not as bitterly cold as the evening of the New Year Ball. It’s early March now, and the days are mild enough that the afternoons are starting to feel like spring.
Henry pulls up the hood on his Dunbridge hoodie all the same, and shivers as he wraps his arms around his chest.
‘Want to tell me about it?’
‘Tell you about what?’ I ask.
Henry shrugs. ‘You tell me.’
I sigh.
‘Tori?’ he asks. I shut my eyes. ‘Tori,’ he says, as if to himself. ‘Thought as much.’
‘Answer me one question,’ I demand. ‘How did you and Emma get it together?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Things were seriously complicated between you. You were still with Grace. Emma wasn’t planning to spend more than a year here. And yet you managed it.’
‘Do you want the romantic answer or the realistic one?’ Henry asks.
‘Neither.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have asked. So . . . there were more reasons to be with her than not to be with her. Stop rolling your eyes, you know what I’m talking about.’
‘Was that the romantic version or the realistic one?’
‘Whichever you prefer,’ says Henry, drily.
‘Not helping, man . . .’
‘Communication,’ Henry says, more seriously now. ‘Communication’s the key.’
I groan with frustration.
‘What did you think I was going to suggest? Staying passive and waiting for a miracle isn’t the most promising approach. I know it’s crap, but there you are. Some problems just disappear the moment you talk about them. Crazy, but true.’
‘Bennington, don’t fuck with me, I can do that for myself.’
‘OK, no. Sorry, I get it, you’re in despair.’
‘No, I don’t think you do.’ I straighten up. ‘We kissed.’
‘Back in the second form, I know.’
‘No, I . . . Hold the bus.’ I stop. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I saw you when I was going to the bogs.’
‘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.
Henry’s expression speaks volumes. ‘Are you sure of that?’
I don’t reply because at that moment, my phone buzzes. My heart skips a beat but it’s Eleanor’s name on the screen, not Tori’s.
E: Are you still up?
‘Is that her?’ Henry asks, but I ignore him.
What’s going on, and why do I feel nervous butterflies in my stomach when I see that Eleanor’s staying online?
S: Yeah, why?
E: We’re in the Dungeon and Val just walked out with Tori. I think they’re fighting.
My blood runs cold.
E: Can you come?
S: I’m on my way
‘Sinclair?’ Henry grabs my shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I have to go,’ I say.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
I start to run.