Girl Hearts Girl

by Lucy Sutcliffe

  My mind was reeling. I was on an adrenaline high, and it was only as we neared the end of the session that I realized I hadn’t tried out for any other role. I looked at the clock. It was too late to say anything.

  The next day, Steve emailed to say that I’d been cast as Cinderella.

  Later that morning he sent out a full list of cast members, and I was pleased to see that everyone had been given a role. Rachel had been cast as the Prince, Mossy as the Dame, Emily and Monkey as chorus members, and Ben as the “Rogue Gorilla”. (Casting Ben as something weird appeared to be part of an ongoing inside joke…)

  For the rest of the day, I stood a little taller. For the first time in what felt like my whole life, I was proud of myself – really, really proud.

  Rehearsals for Cinderella began on my seventeenth birthday. The six of us set off down Church Lane for our first full read-through, scripts in hand. As we neared the village hall, it slowly dawned on me that now I’d been given the lead, I couldn’t back down. In four months’ time, I would be standing on stage, performing in front of hundreds of people. I had no way out. I had to go through with it.

  Old Lucy would have panicked. Old Lucy would have found some excuse to get out of it, plagued by anxiety. But New Lucy shrugged her shoulders and kept on walking. New Lucy knew that she would probably mess up a few times before she got it right, but that she’d been given this part for a reason.

  People trusted me, and I wasn’t going to let them down.

  I didn’t know where this newfound confidence had come from, but I was loving it. Cinderella was nothing more than a village pantomime, but being cast as the lead had completely opened my eyes. I had a responsibility to do the best I could – and it was a responsibility to myself as much as it was to the rest of the cast. Deep down, I knew I’d be OK on that stage because I’d spent my childhood pretending to be characters from books. Aged nine, when the girls in my street had run away from me, laughing, I pretended I was Hermione Granger and that I didn’t care one bit. When those boys had called me ugly when I was twelve, I remembered Anne Shirley’s bravery and chose to rise above it. And being cast as Cinderella was no different – I was just playing another character. It was second nature to me.

  Autumn had arrived, and most nights we were now walking to rehearsals in the dark. Church Lane, famous for its cherry blossom trees during the summertime, was unrecognizable during the colder months. One blustery evening, bundled up in our scarves, hats and coats, the six of us wandered down the hill. The trees, now completely bare, stood barren by the roadside, trunks blackened from the damp mildew, each branch standing to attention, their stark outlines jutting out against the darkening sky. As the moon rose, a heavy frost began to settle on the grassy embankments, crunching beneath our feet as we edged down the road, trying not to slip. It was quiet down there except for our excitable chatter, which came out in little puffs of condensation. Even in the darkness, the street lamps of the nearest town were enough to cast a strange orange hue over the surrounding fields, making them glitter and sparkle as the frost grew steadily thicker. Crisp, crunchy leaves lay strewn across the road, while smaller piles lay by the curb, shoved to the side by a road sweeper, left to rot in the gutter. The further we walked, the larger the piles got, until eventually we came across a pile by the verge that was nearly four feet high.

  Mossy stopped. “Guys…”

  He didn’t have to say anything else. We ran towards the pile, and within seconds, leaves were flying everywhere. We rolled around in them like little kids, throwing them at each other, tossing them into the air, spinning round and round breathlessly as they fell on us like snowflakes, landing in our hair, our eyes, on our shoulders. We lay on the ground in a circle, panting as the leaves began to settle again, our ribs aching from laughter.

  We arrived at the village hall fifteen minutes late, cheeks flushed, hair ragged, covered in leaves. Happy little moments that I’ll remember forever.

  By the time November arrived, the play was beginning to take shape. Lines had been memorized and costumes were being planned out, and one evening we managed to do the entire performance without taking a break or reading from our scripts. There was a sense of excitement in the air and a feeling of camaraderie amongst the cast. With a few short weeks before our first performance, I was confident that it would all go smoothly.

  More than this, though, the play had given me something to focus on. I had a tangible goal, and it made me so happy. I was sleeping better, working harder, and was able to think more clearly. Now that I had something bigger and more important to think about, my anxiety over my sexuality had quietly taken a back seat. Life was peaceful.

  Then, all of a sudden, it was opening night.

  My friends and I sat backstage, perched on a couple of old sofas, going over lines one last time. I was trying to stay calm – but the atmosphere around us was manic. The hair and make-up artists were sprinting back and forth doing final touch-ups, the costume designers were adding last minute safety pins to baggy costumes, and the tech crew were trying to make sure everyone was mic’d and ready to go. I swallowed, twiddling nervously with the microphone wire taped to the inside of my dress, trying to ignore the butterflies swirling in my stomach.

  As the pantomime dame, Mossy had been decked out with a giant, curly white wig, and styled by the costume designer in head to toe pink; a huge, frilly dress with a tutu, fishnet tights and massive stilettos. He was quite the spectacle.

  He pursed his bright red lips in the mirror. “Wow … I make a really stunning woman.”

  I laughed, but a sudden wave of nausea hit me in the gut and I doubled over.

  “Luce? Luce, are you OK?”

  I ran to the bathroom, shaking, suddenly overwhelmed. My ears were ringing, I felt dizzy, and my heart was beating so hard that I could see it rising and falling in my chest. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on steadying my breathing.

  A few moments later, Mossy and Emily knocked on the door of my toilet cubicle.

  “Are you all right, Luce?”

  I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. “You’re going to be OK,” I told myself. “You’ve been rehearsing this non-stop for months. You’ve got this.”

  I opened the door. “I’m just nervous,” I croaked. “Really, really nervous.”

  “You’re gonna be fine, Lucy. I promise,” said Mossy with a sympathetic smile. Emily hugged me.

  As the first act started, the butterflies in my stomach grew more and more uncomfortable. I sat by the side of the stage behind the curtain, watching it all unfold. Mossy did his first scene and forgot half of his lines, but the audience were in stitches. He ambled off stage, hitching up his dress with a huge grin on his face.

  “Easy crowd!” he said to me with a chuckle, squeezing my hand. “Fake it till you make it, OK?”

  I heard my cue, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the spotlight. A hush fell over the audience. “She’s beautiful,” I heard a woman in the front row whisper.

  As I began to speak, my anxiety melted away. Rachel bounded on to the stage a few minutes in and we did our first duet as Cinderella and the Prince. By the end of it, I was grinning from ear to ear. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and as I exited stage left, I leapt into the air and into Mossy and Emily’s arms.

  The rest of the performance went without a hitch. The audience laughed in all the right places, and even when the actors forgot their lines, people were so amused that they didn’t seem to care.

  I fell in love with the way it felt to be on stage. I thought I would hate being stared at by hundreds of people, but it was exhilarating. It was worlds away from how Colin Berk had stared at me all those years ago, disgust in his eyes, refusing to sit beside me because I was “ugly”. This time around, people were looking at me in admiration, and it felt amazing. I was in control. I was safe.

  At the end of the performance, the whole cast went up on stage for one final bow. The audience were going crazy, shouting and whoopin
g as we each took our turn. Mossy did an extravagant twirl in his dress, curtseying and blowing kisses at old ladies. Everyone was laughing hysterically. As I took my bow, I looked out at the room and spotted my mum, dad and granny in the front row, beaming with pride, clapping as hard as they could.

  As the curtain fell, the music started playing, and we headed backstage. The audience were still whooping. Everyone was hugging and congratulating each other. I was on top of the world.

  Ben’s dad came in, clapping along to the music with a huge grin on his face.

  “Great job, everyone! Especially you, Cinderella.”

  I had gained a secret new skill. To add to my inner-Hermione mode, I now had an inner Cinderella-mode, too. Whenever I felt nervous, I switched it on and pretended I had the confidence of an actress. Sometimes it felt so real that I didn’t even have to act.

  We returned to the Village Players season after season, performing different shows. The village hall was like a second home to me, with its dusty smell, crumbling piano in the corner and sunset views from the big, wide windows. In the depths of winter we stood, shivering, sipping hot chocolate in our coats and scarves, trying to stay warm. In the height of summer, we lay out on the tiny back patio reciting lines from our wilted positions on the floor, sipping out-of-date orange squash from the kitchen fridge, fanning ourselves with our scripts.

  During one rehearsal for a performance of Aladdin, Mossy brought his friend Chris along with him.

  “I wanted to know what all the fuss was about!” Chris grinned. “I can see why you guys love this so much.”

  I loved the fact that I now had a group of friends who lived close to me. We self-proclaimed “village folk” hung out pretty much every weekend, as well as most evenings after school. We spent our days running through the fields, climbing trees, and sitting on hay bales drinking cider until the stars came up. Some evenings we’d head down to our local pub and sit in the garden, snacking on crisps, playing darts with the barman, and chatting with the other locals. It felt so good to be a part of something.

  One evening, as we were walking back from the pub, Ben stopped and pointed up at the sky. There, right in front of us, hung a vast, red moon – a perfect circle, glowing like an orb, casting a deep, blood-orange tinge across the sky.

  “Holy cow,” Chris whispered.

  We stood for a minute, awestruck, looking up into the sky, completely taken in by the view.

  The air was still, and utterly silent. Every now and then, a warm breeze would pick up, ruffling our hair and clothes. Then it would die down again, and we were met with a silence so profound that I could hear my own heartbeat.

  We walked home as a group, and Ben, ever the gentleman, insisted on making sure the girls got home safely. Having dropped the others off, the two of us decided to take a detour back to my house, and ended up in a field at the top of Church Lane, where Rachel and I had sat all those months before.

  We sat in the grass for nearly an hour, staring upwards, pointing out constellations, trying to spot planets. The sky was the clearest I had ever seen it; thousands upon thousands of tiny twinkling lights shone down on us like fairies, basking in the eerie red glow from the low-hanging moon.

  “I’ve always thought that that one looks like a saucepan,” I said, pointing.

  “That’s the Big Dipper,” said Ben, chuckling. “But it could totally pass as a saucepan, you’re right!”

  “It’s the only one I’m ever able to pick out,” I said, grinning. “I always look for it whenever I’m star-gazing.”

  “Do you star-gaze a lot?”

  “Only when I’m feeling lonely.”

  “Me too.”

  We sat for a while in silence. Then Ben spoke up. “Whenever either of us are feeling lonely, we should just look for the Big Dipper. It can be our little thing! A way to stop us feeling as lonely, even if we’re far apart.”

  I laughed, then nodded and smiled. “Deal.”

  “I’m pretty sure Mossy has a crush on you, Luce!” Chris said one evening with a wink.

  I looked down at my feet, staying quiet. It was true that Mossy had started acting differently around me. He was texting me more often than usual, paying me compliments. I adored Mossy. He was one of the nicest, funniest, kindest people I had ever met. He was fiercely loyal, was always there when I wanted to chat, and was the first to make me smile again if I was feeling down. I wanted to like him back, the same way I had with Harry, only this time, it was more difficult because Mossy was, well, Mossy. I loved him as a friend – a best friend, even – but that was it. I loved him, but I wasn’t in love with him. I knew now, more than ever, that I just wasn’t interested in boys.

  Time, I told myself. That was all that was needed. With time, his feelings would surely fade, the way mine had for Melissa. Right?

  It was Valentine’s Day, and I was upstairs cleaning my bedroom when I heard the sudden rattle of the letterbox. I got to the peephole just in time to see a hooded figure dressed all in black scurrying back down the path. Whoever it was clearly did not want to be seen.

  A small red envelope lay on the doormat.

  I picked it up and opened it, bemused. It was addressed to me. I pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it cautiously. Then there was a tiny clink, and a delicate silver ring with the word “love” inscribed on the outside fell into my palm. My heart stopped. “Oh my goodness…”

  My phone beeped, making me jump. A text from Rachel appeared:

  OH MY GOD.

  What? I texted back, hurriedly.

  Meet me at the top of the road, NOW!

  What was going on? I rushed out of the front door and spotted Rachel speeding towards me. She looked pale and nervous, and kept looking around as if she was being watched.

  “LOOK!” She sprinted up to me and thrust a piece of paper into my hands.

  I scanned it. It appeared to be some kind of hand-written love poem, covering both sides of the page.

  “Erm … what am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “Look at who it’s from,” said Rachel, breathlessly.

  I frowned and turned the page.

  “Love from BEN?! Oh my GOD!”

  “I know! A hooded figure dropped it through my letterbox just now, it must have been him. I had no idea he liked me like that! I don’t know what to do – he’s such a lovely, genuine guy, but … I feel like we’d be better off as friends…” she trailed off, helplessly. “Wait, what’s that in your hand?”

  I looked down and realized I was still clutching my envelope.

  “Oh! It came through my letterbox just now – it’s a ring!”

  “WHAT! From who?!”

  It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t even read the note that came with it. I opened it with shaking hands.

  “Oh my God … it’s from Mossy!”

  “Woah. Wait, hold up a second. Did that come at the same time as my letter from Ben? Do you think this was this some kind of … joint gesture?”

  There was a long pause. We looked down at the envelopes in our hands, then back up at each other.

  “He wrote me a POEM!” Rachel screeched.

  “He gave me a RING!” I screeched back.

  “What do we DO?” we wailed.

  It turned out that it had indeed been a joint gesture. They’d been planning it for weeks, and had agreed that delivering the gifts to us on Valentine’s Day, at the exact same time, while wearing matching hoods, would make it seem more mysterious and romantic…

  The trouble was, we didn’t want romance. Neither Rachel nor I saw them as anything more than friends.

  We felt awful.

  Turning Mossy down was horrible. I desperately wanted to come clean and explain how confused I’d been feeling about my sexuality, and how exhausted I was from trying to figure everything out before I tried to date anyone. In the end, though, all I could do was hug him.

  “The ring is so beautiful, and it was such a sweet gesture. I just feel like, you know … we work s
o well as friends. I would never want to ruin that.”

  “I know, Luce. I understand.”

  “I’ll still wear the ring, though. It can be our friendship ring!”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise!”

  I kept my word.

  That night, for the first time in months, I stayed up and looked out for the Big Dipper. I quietly wondered if Ben was doing the same. I wanted so badly to have someone to talk to, someone to listen, so I could get it all out of my head. I gazed at the moon and thought about who I could confide in. Emily? Bel? The two of them would love me no matter what, I knew that. So what was holding me back?

  I sighed. Fear, obviously. Fear of rejection. Fear of losing my friends and family. Fear of having to suddenly be myself, all at once, after seventeen years of hiding it all away. I started to cry. I didn’t know how much longer I could wait.

  Six years later, we had a little Christmas get-together at Ben’s house. Emily had organized a Secret Santa, and Ben, who was dressed up in an extravagant, head-to-toe elf costume, was reading out labels and handing around presents.

  “Luce – this one appears to be for you!”

  He handed me a tiny little bag. I pulled the drawstring, intrigued, and out fell a beautiful silver ring, with the word “love” inscribed on the outside.

  I looked up and caught Mossy’s eye.

  “For old times’ sake,” he grinned, chuckling. “Figured your other one was getting old.”

  I loved that it had become something we could joke about. I’d felt guilty for such a long time, but Mossy had taken it in his stride and been so understanding.

  I thanked my lucky stars once again that I had such wonderful friends.

  As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one struggling with a Big Secret.

  Nathan Genese was bookish and slightly geeky; the type of guy who constantly went above and beyond what was required of him in class, always going overboard with homework, determined to go that extra mile. I liked that about him – he kind of reminded me of Hermione Granger. I told him that once and he screeched with laughter, nodding his head. “I totally see it!”