This is Awkward

Prologue - 16 years ago

The crumpled letter lay open on the kitchen table, the torn envelope beside it. Letters and numbers swam across the page, blurring into a black and white inky sea. Violet dragged her sleeve across her face and took a shuddery breath. The tick-tock of the kitchen clock sounded loud in the room.

‘There must be backup schools,’ her dad said softly.

Violet gritted her teeth and twisted her fists into her sweatshirt. ‘There aren’t.’

For years she had pinned her hopes on the London Royal Academy of Theatre and Arts.

Her life plan had been mapped out since she was eleven, after seeing a production of Oliver Twist. It wasn’t the actors that caught her attention that night—it was the stage craft.

The swiftly changing backcloths that flew in and out, the lighting, props and costumes.

The shadowy figures moving in the near-blackness to spirit things on or off stage transfixed her; it was like a dance in the dark.

And the heavy swish of the red velvet curtains that signalled the start of the show, or the end of the interval, sent a fizz of excitement through her veins and had her bouncing in her seat.

It was a magical world, with systems and languages of its own.

She joined a local amateur dramatics group as well as her school drama club and soon zeroed in on stage management.

The plan was theatre A-levels at college, then on to drama school to study stage management.

Then, she would get a real paid job in theatre and be a part of making the magic that thrilled little kids like her.

‘Don’t tell Mum,’ she said in a tearful whisper, peering up through strands of her unruly caramel-coloured hair that had escaped the messy bun teetering on top of her head. ‘She’ll be embarrassed. I know she told people I was going to the Academy.’

Her dad looked at her, and shook his head. ‘She’ll find out eventually, sweetheart. Don’t you think she’ll notice when you don’t go off to university?’

‘No,’ Violet sniffed. ‘She’ll probably be away working anyway.’

‘Oh now, now,’ her dad soothed, rubbing her back as she slumped forward over the table. ‘Don’t be like that.’

‘How am I supposed to be?’ Violet shrugged her dad’s hand off and leaned away. ‘My life is ruined.’ Her brows drew together in a frown. ‘And it’s all his fault.’

Her dad sighed. Violet knew he didn’t want to talk about that again.

‘Well, sweetheart, I have to go and do the shopping. Do you want me to pick up a treat for you? Some ice cream or chocolate, maybe?’

Violet shook her head. ‘No thanks, Dad. I need to go into college. I said I would meet Anna. And I need to collect my coursework books from the drama department.’

Her dad nodded, clapped his hands, and pushed back his chair to stand.

‘There’ll be a way through this,’ he said. ‘You’ll work it out, you always do.’ He patted her shoulder awkwardly and hurried out of the room.

Violet nodded dumbly, and a fat tear dropped onto her sodden sweatshirt cuff.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Anna.

Did you get an email? How did you do? Are you on your way in?!

***

The college courtyard thronged with noise as the heavy midday sun shone down from directly overhead.

The trees that punctuated the edges of the plaza, were so old and gnarly that they were pushing up the red bricks around the base of their trunks and cast little shade except directly beneath their boughs.

Old, greying wooden picnic benches groaned under the weight of students who squeezed themselves onto every available surface.

Violet glanced around at the groups of happy, squealing eighteen-year-olds. People clutched one another, thrust results letters at people, whooped and jumped up and down. The crack of beer cans opening and bottles clinking rang around the courtyard. Sounds of celebration rolled around and over her.

Now and then, peppered amongst the groups of flushed and excited teenagers, was a face like hers - muted, despondent, life plans disappearing down the drain, but trying to look happy for their giggling, excited friends who were off to Oxford or Durham or Winchester.

Their expressions were those of people about to be left behind.

Young people who had always had a plan, funnelled from primary school to secondary school to college - always surrounded by structure, always another exam or test, always a goal and something to work towards.

Until one day they didn’t make the grade and everything they had planned disappeared into the ether.

Bound into an educational cycle that felt like it would never end, for Violet, September only ever meant the start of the new school year and stationery shopping with her dad for new folders, binders, and shiny new pens.

The annual rhythm of the education system was as much a part of her as the moon cycles.

University or drama school, or art school - that was the ultimate next step for every student at this college.

Violet had never even considered the idea that she might not transfer seamlessly and successfully to the drama school of her choice.

She had fully expected to be in the group of kids loudly and gleefully reciting their grades and university destinations to anyone who asked, and many who didn’t.

Now, she felt like an intruder. A hanger-on who wasn’t a member of this new club that had suddenly sprung up - the club of the University Goers. She was on the outside looking in, unable to take part, even though she had worked her socks off to be a card-carrying club member of the highest order.

From the corner of her eye, Violet spied Mr Shaw, her now ex-drama teacher, sloping across the courtyard. Violet hesitated for a heartbeat, then her legs sprang into action, and she was running towards him.

‘Mr Shaw,’ she shouted as she neared. He glanced up, saw her and quickened his step, but Violet was younger and faster. She launched herself in front of him as he reached for the door to the staff corridor. ‘Mr Shaw, I want to make a complaint.’

Mr Shaw dropped his arm to his side and his shoulders bunched up towards his ears. ‘Another one, Violet?’ he sighed. ‘What is this one about?’

‘It’s not a new one. I want you to uphold my earlier complaints.

I have…’ She swallowed and took a breath to steady her voice, feeling the tears prick at her eyes and her throat constrict.

‘I have lost my place at drama school because of Finn Ellington. Being forced to do those group projects with him dragged my grade down from the A it should have been-would have been-to a C. I needed the A to get into the Academy.’

‘Violet,’ Mr Shaw said, with the tone of someone forced to repeat himself many times. ‘Group projects are a core part of the course, and learning to work effectively with others is an important skill, both for a career in theatre and for life.’

Violet’s face flamed. ’Are you saying I am the problem? You know how late he was - when he showed up at all - he never knew his lines, he treated the whole course like a joke, you never did anything about-‘

‘Violet,’ Mr Shaw straightened. ‘We have been over this. The matters were addressed with Finn at the time, but you are not children. You are young adults who need to learn to navigate these issues yourselves. I am sorry you are not happy with your grade, but there is nothing I can do about it now.’

Violet stood, mouth agape, as Mr Shaw grabbed the staff room door and rushed through it.

‘I am being unfairly penalised!’ she yelled after him.

The door clicked shut, and Violet glared through the glass after Mr Shaw’s vanishing figure as he hurried away.

He glanced over his shoulder once, as if to check she was not coming after him.

Violet fumed and hunkered down inside her sweatshirt, needing the armour and the comfort, no matter the heat.

Anna was running across the courtyard towards her, grinning and waving frantically.

‘You’re here!’ she said, launching herself at Violet and throwing her arms around her in a bear hug. Violet tried to return the gesture, but her embrace was lacklustre, and she didn’t say a word.

Anna pulled back and peered at Violet’s face.

‘What’s wrong? How did you do? Did you get in?’

She fired a battery of questions at Violet.

When Violet didn’t say anything, Anna’s smile faded.

‘Oh no. Violet, what is it? Tell me.’

Anna shook her by the shoulders. Anna’s cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright. Violet didn’t even need to ask about her results - it was clear she was in The Club.

Violet looked away and stared down at the scuffed Converse sticking out from under her frayed jeans.

Her hands wriggled back up inside her sweater sleeves, and she wished she could burrow inside her hoodie and sleep until this nightmare was over.

The thought of saying the words aloud to Anna sent a mixture of grief and humiliation roiling through her.

As she opened her mouth to try to confess the nightmare she was living, a horribly familiar crack of laughter reached her from somewhere in the melee. Violet’s head snapped up.

Finn.

She pivoted on the ball of her foot toward the direction of the sound.

This was his fault. His arrogant, lazy behaviour had resulted in grades for group work that made her cringe to even think about them.

Violet had never got less than an A in anything, except maths which she had long ago decided she was OK with, so long as she could pass her exams the first time round.

But languages, humanities, English and drama - she coasted through, picking up As with an easy mix of talent, intelligence and a modest amount of hard work.

Until she met Finn in college. Or rather, until he was foisted on her and the rest of the drama class.

The peel of laughter rang out again and she squinted through the crowd.

She located him easily. He was taller than most of the teenagers milling about, his dark mop of chestnut hair rising out of the crowd.