Star-Crossed (9 page)

Anger flames inside you and you feel it rise. There's nothing that you can do to stop it. You walk over to Chris and glare at him. His small smile drops from his face and his expression becomes guarded.

“I never want to speak about the other day again. I feel
sick
just thinking about it.”

Chris's face falls first into a look of hurt, and then a look of disgust to match your own.

“Even though it was acting,” you carry on, “I don't want to do that again.
Ever.
I spent yesterday brushing my teeth and retching, and I can hardly look at you now. But if you ever,
ever
kiss me again, I will kill you,” you hiss.

Chris just smirks, which pisses you off even more.

“I've come across decomposed bodies that are less offensive than you are,
Anderson
, and I wouldn't go near you again even if you paid me. Looking at you was hard before our little interlude, and I had to stop myself gagging then. But now? Now, I've…” he shudders. “Well, now, I think I might just die of toxic shock. Unless you kill me first.”

“Gladly,” you say, taking a step forward towards him.

He leans forward. “Want another kiss, Jenny? 'Cause I know that when you get one you just can't get enough…”

You smile. “In your dreams, Banner. I would sooner kick your butt.”

“Come on then, Jen, come and have a go like you've been threatening to all year. Oh, but your psychiatrist wouldn't allow that, would he?”

“Just ignore him…” you mutter to yourself, turning away.

“What was that?” he taunts. “Did you say ‘I can't hit you, Chris, 'cause I'm too much of a loser like my dad to fight back'?”

You spin around, unable to control your anger any more. “Excuse me?” you whisper.

Chris smirks. “Me? I didn't say
anything.
I mean, nothing that an Anderson will fight back to—”

Your fist flies round and connects with Chris's jawbone with a satisfying crack. You watch in slow motion as he falls to the ground, his head hitting the wooden stage with a sickening thud. Everyone stops and stares at you. You aren't breathing. Chris is motionless, splayed out on the floor. Mrs Walker runs up the steps and kneels at Chris's side.

“Chris?
Chris?
” she says, panicked, as she checks for signs of life. “
Chris!
” she cries.

He blinks and then groans. You let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding in.

“Oh, thank God…” Mrs Walker says, flustered. She tells a nearby student to go get the nurse and asks another to look after Chris. She turns to you with a look of pure fury.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” she yells into your face.

You've gone numb, the kind of numb where you can't speak or hear or do anything. Where you can only stand and stare at Chris in shock at what has just happened.
What have I done?

Mrs Walker carries on hollering.

“WHAT KIND OF STUPID GIRL ARE YOU? YOU'RE PUNCHING PEOPLE NOW? CAN'T YOU CONTROL YOURSELF? BECAUSE IF YOU CAN'T I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, then speaks again, her voice ice-cold. “In fact, I
don't
want you here.” She points to the door. “Leave. And don't come back tonight. Come to me tomorrow and we will talk about your
problem
.”

You walk silently out of the hall, still numb, aware of the many faces watching you. You can't believe what you have just done.

 

You have been walking around for hours. It's dark. You're sitting on a rusty old swing, absently picking off the chipped paint with your right hand. You can't concentrate. You need Rubes. Nothing makes sense without him. He is your compass – when he's gone you keep taking the wrong path. You sigh. You also need to apologize to Chris.
I have to,
you think.
Or else it will screw me over. And I need to figure out what I feel for him. When I saw him lying there, my heart almost broke.
You shake your head.
I can't do this any more. Time to stop spinning.

You walk off in the direction of home. Not that home will be much of a comfort tonight.

You wake up feeling like you have been run over by a double-decker bus. Once again, you slept badly and fitfully, so you might as well have not slept at all. Again, Rubes didn't come around to your house to pick you up. You're not surprised. You have hurt him badly, and you will have to give him time to heal before he can trust you again. There's no way you can face The Caf, so you go elsewhere. You sigh, standing up from your table at Starbucks, leave a small tip on the saucer and exit the café. You walk to school, lost in thought. The winter wind whips through your smooth, straight hair.

What the hell have I done? Mrs Walker looked like she could have hit me herself.

You rub your eyes and pull out your and Reuben's iPod, turning on Linkin Park and Jay-Z's version of “Numb”, and try to let your mind go blank. Thinking about everything that sucks in your life is giving you a headache.

If I think about this any longer I'm gonna explode!

You walk into your form room, ignoring everyone else and concentrating hard on clearing your mind. Thinking about the play makes you feel guilty. Your dreams just kept on reminding you of the noise when your fist connected with Chris's jaw. It had felt wrong.
Really wrong.
Even though you hate him, or you
think
you hate him, it still felt wrong… You shake your head again.
I'm gonna have to start over; this blank mind thing isn't working too well…

As you walk down the dark passage to the drama studio for the rehearsal, you hear voices coming from inside.
What are they saying?
You reach the door and stand behind it, listening to the voices within. You hear Walker speak.

“So, Misha, if you can just go from ‘Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds', OK?”

You frown, confused. Those are
your
lines. You stifle a gasp as you realize what has happened.
Walker said that if I did
anything
to jeopardize the play I would be out… Oh God…
You shake your head.
No
, you think, again.
She wouldn't do that to me. Not now … would she?

You keep your back pressed against the wall, but peer around the corner and into the room. Chris is standing on the left of the stage, studying his script alone; lips miming the words and hands gesturing, concentrating hard. But this isn't the sight that makes anger burn in your stomach. Misha is standing in the centre of the stage, acting her heart out and holding a script; Walker is stood on Misha's right, also gripping a copy of the play and nodding enthusiastically. Misha takes a small, dramatic pause, then says her last line.

“But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.”

Misha turns to Walker and smiles wistfully, folding her arms self-consciously over her chest.

Walker clears her throat. “I know this must be awkward for you, Misha, but I can't have rivalry between cast members. It's not fair on the rest of them…”

You are too angry for words. Fury sweeps through you, but you fight it back so that you can walk into the room in a calm manner, so that you seem more controlled than yesterday. You manage to smile, and walk up to the stage as if you haven't just heard the previous conversation. Your eyes are itching from the urge to cry, but you give an apologetic smile to Walker. She looks nervous. You look at Misha. Her face is full of embarrassment and guilt, but those glinting eyes of hers tell you (as if you hadn't guessed) that underneath she is bubbling with pleasure. Chris is just staring straight past you as if you weren't even there. You don't know which expression hurts you the most. You look up at Chris, catching his eye. He looks at you blankly. You sigh. This is gonna be tough. You decide to break the silence by doing what you have come here to do.

“Chris.” You manage to say his name without any kind of sarcasm or hate, which you are secretly surprised by. “I'm so sorry,” you blurt out, conjuring up every ounce of sincerity you have. “I'm sorry that I hit you. I was out of line.
Way
out of line. And I can't believe that I let my personal feelings towards you get in the way of my professional behaviour. I'm so ashamed and I hope that you can forgive me, because I really am sorry.”

You take a deep breath and look up into his eyes, and he nods slightly. You feel as if a great weight has been taken off your shoulders. But it's not over yet. You turn to Walker.

“And Mrs Walker, I owe you an apology too. I'm sorry for the way that I acted yesterday after you had already told me that I shouldn't get carried away. But I am so, so very sorry for my actions and I won't let it happen again.”

You study your teacher's face. She looks at you for a moment and then smiles.

“Good. Thank you, Jen. I hope that in the future you will keep a lid on your emotions.”

You nod, happy that she has accepted your apology so fast.

“OK,” you say, taking a deep breath and walking quickly up on to the stage. “So what are we doing today?”

Chris coughs slightly and strides down the stairs at the side of the stage, going to fetch something from his bag. Misha rubs her forehead and sighs. Walker looks at you with an unreadable expression.

Is it pity, or is it anger?

“I've offered the part of Juliet to Misha.”

Your heart skips a beat. You were hoping that this wouldn't be how her next sentence would start. Your palms start to sweat, and you feel slightly dizzy.
No,
you think.
This can't be happening … not now…

You manage to regain control of your vocal cords. “What?” you stammer.

Misha looks like she is hoping that the ground will open up and swallow her whole. Walker looks slightly apologetic.

“I said that I have just offered the part of Juliet to Misha.” She looks warily from you to Misha. Misha nods slightly. “And she has accepted it.”

A raging inferno flares inside. You turn to Misha with murder in your heart, and the worst words you know race through your mind, but you don't know which to choose. You want to scream them all at once, but your voice doesn't seem to work. Your head starts to spin – so many feelings in such a short space of time. You don't know what to think. You're ashamed, you're horrified, you're jealous, you're angry, you're devastated…

You're completely and utterly confused.

I can't believe this is happening to me…
I've lost … my part … to
her
…

Misha looks overcome with regret, but you know that she is secretly loving this, and suddenly everything clicks into place – Misha's rumours, the fight, hitting Chris, being fired… You could scream with frustration.

This is exactly what she wanted when she started those rumours
—

“I'm
so
sorry, Jen, but Mrs Walker thought it would be better if I did it 'cause I don't have the history that you and Chris do and—”

Your face stays blank, so Misha stops her rambling and bites her lip.

“I'm sorry, Jen,” Walker murmurs, sounding genuine. “But I can't risk this production failing because of fights. I'd hoped sparks would fly between you and Chris on stage, but yesterday showed me that it was too much for me to ask. You're an amazing actress, Jen, but I think it would be best for you to step down.”

Step down? STEP DOWN?!
you scream internally.
What the hell?!

Walker nods at you with pity, and you know that you have no choice. You nod back, not trusting yourself to speak as you don't know what will happen if you do. The massive lump in your throat swells, and you feel like you are about to choke. You have to get out of there.

You try to ignore the river building up behind your eyes, and grin a big, trembling smile.

“Well!” you say with forced happiness, your voice cracking painfully with everything that you are trying so desperately to hide. “I'd better get going! No sense in me hanging around now…”

You run down the stage steps past Chris, who is avoiding looking at you, and into the corridor outside. You hear footsteps coming after you. Misha calls out.

“Jen! Wait! Are you OK?! Hang on!”

No chance,
you think, breaking into a full-on sprint and furiously wiping away the tears that are coming on.
No way. I don't want your patronizing speech about how it's OK, that I'm still a great actress, blah blah blah, when you are really just gloating about the stupid, stupid play.

You run and run until your legs feel shaky and you can hardly stand. Without realizing it, you have run to the Orchard. Your feet are still pounding the ground, but a loose rock makes you misjudge a step. You collapse into a heap on the slightly damp grass and let the tears flow. You look at your hands. One of them has grit under the skin and is bleeding heavily. The other is just grazed. You stare mesmerized by the oozing blood until you realize that you can't feel it hurting. The irony of it makes you smile humourlessly. This morning you wanted to be numb. Well, now you are.

You hear footsteps behind you and you tense up.
Just my luck,
you think bitterly.
Some kidnapper is gonna get me now and sacrifice me for some Satanic worshipping thing and they are gonna ring my mum and ask her which of my fingers to cut off first and—

The person sits down softly on the grass beside you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your face breaks into a genuine smile, a single tear falling down your cheek. “Hey,” you reply brokenly.

Rubes envelops you in a huge hug and strokes your hair as you burst into a fresh wave of crying.

“I'm sorry!” you sob into his jumper. “I'm so sorry. I've been such a bitch. I didn't mean the things I said to you – I didn't! – and I can't think or sleep or anything because of what I've done. I'll do anything,
anything
, I swear I'll—”

“Shhhh…” Reuben soothes you, holding you close as you cry quietly. “It's OK. I forgive you. I understand, babe. It's fine.”

You give a small sniffle, still buried in his jumper.

“I'm still sorry,” you say quietly.

He smiles. “I know, poppet. And I'm sorry too.”

You pull away and stare at him like he is insane. “You didn't do anything. Why are you sorry?”

“About the play…” he murmurs.

You shut your eyes tight.

“I've made such a mess of everything.”

You feel tears welling up again, so you scrunch your hands into fists, then gasp with the pain that it brings you from your fall. Rubes takes them and gently studies the damage.

“Interesting bloodstained look. Red's a good colour on you.”

You laugh humourlessly and take your injured hands back. You look at them too and see the glistening blood begin to dry. Soon it will clot. Then your hands will heal and be back to normal. You pray to a silent god that sometime soon you will heal inside, be yourself again.

Reuben's eyes are wide and knowing, face open and sympathetic.

I'm so lucky to have a friend like you.

He smiles, but looks serious.

“Now, about this whole situation: it's true. You're totally screwed.”

You laugh with actual mirth this time, starting to feel a tiny bit better. Reuben laughs too, then you both stop laughing and you look down at your hands. He reaches out a finger and lifts your chin up to face him once more.

“But,” he continues quietly. “Stuff happens. You pick yourself up. You dust yourself off. And you come to The Caf with me to get a yummy choccy-wokkie drinky thing to drown your sorrows.”

You smile, but he must see that you are still not convinced.

His face goes serious again. “Don't worry, Jen. Everything will be OK, you'll see.”

You give him another quick, thank-you hug.

“What would I do without you?”

“Well, this time, for example, when I didn't speak to you for two days, you managed to knock out Chris Banner…”

You gasp with fake offence and punch him playfully on the arm, laughing along with him. He puts his arm around your shoulders and you relax, smiling, putting your head on his shoulder. You both look out into the gathering darkness and you sigh.

Thank you, God,
you think.
Thank you.