Chapter 23
SINCLAIR
Mr Acevedo’s taken me back. I’d imagined my conversation with him being more dramatic than it was. I didn’t have to argue, he just gave me this knowing look and said the stage was all mine.
Somehow it annoys me that he must have secretly known I’d be back.
But I’m just too happy that he’s given me another chance, because after I admitted to Tori and myself that I do actually want to be in the play, I was more than a wee bit scared that Mr Acevedo would turn me down.
Then I learn from Eleanor that he continued rehearsals with the cast unchanged for the last week and a half, which means I feel mildly taken for a ride.
But, fine, that’s just how it is. The main thing is that I get to act.
And the other main thing is that Tori’s there too.
I think she’s feeling better, even if she’s still often pale and tired.
If her voice isn’t loud enough at rehearsals, I call for quiet on her behalf so that she can say her bit.
It’s teamwork; it’s amazingly successful.
But all the same, I can feel that she doesn’t find it easy to see me on stage with Eleanor.
I toyed with the idea of telling Tori about Eleanor and her girlfriend, but a promise is a promise.
Eleanor gave me a contented glance when I set everyone else whispering by kissing Tori hello.
Sooner or later, the news about us would have got around anyway.
At least, most people in our form seem to know already.
And I guess the same goes for the upper sixth.
And it bugs me that I’m even thinking about this, but I hope Valentine won’t cause any more problems when he bumps into Tori.
And at the same time, I hope he’s still fucked off about it because that would mean she actually mattered to him in some way.
I’d like to speak more to her about how she feels after everything, but I get the sense that she’s not ready yet.
And maybe I’m not the person she wants to talk it all over with.
Normally, I’d hope she’d confide in Olive, but those two still aren’t talking.
And I can tell that bothers Tori. Whenever she sees Olive, this worried expression comes over her face.
Sometimes, it seems like the rehearsals are the only time in the day when she can forget all that for a while.
That’s how it is for me, anyway, and I spend whole days longing for the next rehearsal.
It’s almost ridiculous that not so long ago I was sure I never wanted to act again.
I do, I really do, and, best of all, it’s working.
Tori seems chilled and happy while she’s walking from one to another of us on the stage.
My dream isn’t her nightmare, even if I’d been afraid it might be.
TORI
It takes me almost another week to feel properly back in the swing of school life, and to have caught up with what I missed. I really don’t recommend being ill for so long, and just as I think I’m finally up to date, I realize before maths that I’ve forgotten an important piece of homework.
‘Shit, Henry, can I copy yours?’ I whisper, as I follow him into the classroom. He eyes me a moment, not reproachful, just slightly amused, as he pulls his iPad mini from his back pocket and opens a document.
‘But put a few mistakes into it,’ he says, handing it to me.
‘Thanks.’ I sit down at my place and pull out my own tablet. ‘I’ll look at it properly later. Study hour or something . . .’
‘Never, then,’ remarks Emma, cheerfully, turning up beside us. ‘We all know that one.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, OK, let’s not kid ourselves.’
I manage to slip the iPad back to Henry unnoticed before Ms Ventura comes in and walks around the class, to see everyone’s homework.
Later on, Charlie has Latin and I’ve got Enrichment with Ms Barnett. At the start of the class, she tells us to get into pairs and fetch some paints from the cupboards at the back of the classroom. I soon see I’m going to have to work with Olive. Everyone else has already found a partner.
‘Shall we?’ I ask hesitantly. Olive nods silently, but doesn’t look quite as frosty as I’d feared as she walks to the back to fetch the paint. Meanwhile, I head over to Ms Barnett’s desk, where she’s prepared an array of items for us to collect to create still lifes.
For a while, Olive and I work in silence. In the old days, we chatted so much during pair work that teachers were always having to tell us off. Now, we can hardly look at each other.
I’m just getting set up, and I budge closer to the table, when I catch something with my elbow. It’s the water jar, and it lands in Olive’s lap.
‘Crap, I’m sorry,’ I exclaim, as Olive grabs it and I see the stains on her pale trousers. Like me, she hadn’t put an apron on.
‘Ms Barnett’s going to love that,’ Olive murmurs drily, once she’s eyed the mess. When she looks up, I hold my breath. Then we burst out laughing.
‘Shit, you’d better go and change,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she’ll let you pop up to your room.’
‘All my other trousers are in the wash already,’ says Olive.
‘Even the blue ones?’
She nods. ‘I could put my skirt on,’ she adds, her voice dripping with irony. It’s an open secret that Olive loathes skirts and dresses of all kinds. And she hates the uniform with a passion.
‘That wouldn’t show the mark either,’ I muse.
Olive sighs and starts trying to dry the water with a tissue, which doesn’t exactly improve things.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I repeat.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she says curtly. Then she looks up briefly. ‘On the subject of skirts . . . Did anything ever come of that uniform business?’
‘Not really,’ I admit. I’ve had way too many other things on my mind lately. But now, when everything’s starting to fall into place, we could actually call a meeting and talk about what we want to do.
‘Would you be up for it if we—’ I begin, but I’m interrupted by Ms Barnett.
‘Victoria, Olive, what’s going on over here?’ She comes to see. ‘Oh, Olive, that’s why you should always wear an apron. Go and change, quickly. And, Tori, you can be cleaning up in the meantime.’
Olive glances at me as Ms Barnett walks away with a sigh. The uncertainty has crept back into her face, almost as though she’d forgotten for a minute or two that she’s not talking to me. She looks like she wants to say something, but then she bites her lip, stands up and walks out of the room.
When she returns a bit later, Ms Barnett makes a point of looking at our desk, so we feel we’d better focus on painting for a while.
All the same, it’s like a tiny success when Olive gives me a small smile as we leave the room.
I wish I could ask her if we can talk, but I run into Charlie.
Olive’s already heading towards Grace, so I decide to try another time.
Charlie’s delighted when I tell him over lunch that Olive and I had patched things up for a while.
The subject of uniform comes up again in the dining room as the others ask Olive why she’s wearing a skirt when she doesn’t have to.
It doesn’t take long for a heated debate about the dress code to break out at our table, but it produces more frustration than inspiration.
I sigh with annoyance as we break up after lunch for our afternoon classes without having made the least progress, and Charlie shrugs apologetically.
He can’t help this being such an exasperating topic, but he still feels bad because it’s his mother who sets the rules about what we wear at Dunbridge.
Maybe I ought to invite myself round to dinner with the Sinclairs soon so that I can talk it over a bit with her, because I’m not prepared to let it drop again.
Charlie and I don’t see each other until the rehearsal.
I’m a bit early, so I’m the first there.
When I step into the empty theatre, the silence almost swallows me.
It’s kind of magical being here all on my own, walking down the carpeted steps.
My pulse slows, my body feels lighter the closer I come to the stage.
It’s hard to admit it to myself, but even though everything is finally cleared up between Charlie and me, I simply can’t get rid of the sorrowful feeling of not being on stage myself.
The more distance I get from Val, and from whatever we had between us, the less I understand how I let him hold me back from fulfilling my dream.
It feels like I haven’t been myself and I’m only slowly finding my way back.
It’s surprisingly painful to grasp that my friends could see that all along.
I always thought I knew myself, but apparently, I was wrong.
I’ve avoided Val as far as possible lately.
I have absolutely no desire for further confrontation or snarky remarks.
I put my cloth bag down on one of the front-row seats and stand uncertainly for a moment.
It’s amazing how soulless and empty the stage seems when it’s not filled by Charlie, Eleanor and the others.
I walk forward and run my forefinger over its edge.
A light shiver runs through me as I remember Charlie beneath me as we kissed.
That seems like a lifetime ago, yet it’s barely two weeks.
I glance over to the auditorium doors, then shut my eyes.