Sarah brightens. ‘You think?’
‘Of course I think. Fuck Amy. She’s the emotional intelligence of a fish.’
Sarah smiles. ‘Or slug.’
‘I’m thinking piece of cardboard,’ I suggest.
We laugh.
‘Group hug,’ says Alex, half-messing.
But we do hug. It’s like powering-up.
When I get home, the kitchen’s a mess. Mum is reorganising all her catering equipment. It’s everywhere - over every inch of worktop. I get a yoghurt and sit at the table. She stops what she’s doing and makes a coffee. Then she sits with me.
She blows on her coffee, then looks up from it.
‘Jack told me you’re sharing with Rebecca French.’ She looks concerned.
I’ll kill him. ‘When did he tell you that?’
‘Over breakfast.’
This is what happens when I leave early.
‘Maybe we should ask them to move you.’
‘Oh, my God. No! D4 is an adult production. They don’t want to have to treat us like kids.’
‘It’s just changing room.’
‘Mum! It’s fine. I can take care of myself, OK? If I want to change room, I’ll ask to change room.’
‘Are you going to?’
Oh, my God. ‘There’s no need to. Rebecca’s fine.’
‘You know what she’s like.’
‘I know what she was like.’
‘I’m just worried.’
‘Mum, I’m a big girl now. I can handle myself. OK?’
She looks at me for a very long time. ‘OK.’
I go up to my room. And for the rest of the afternoon, I listen out for Jack coming in from after-school study. At last, I hear him trudging up the stairs and into his room. I jump up.
I don’t knock, just go in and get straight to the point.‘I can’t believe you told Mum I’m sharing with Rebecca French.’
He drops his bag and looks up. ‘I thought she should know,’ he says, like it’s no big deal.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s relevant.’
‘No it’s not. Stop worrying her. You know what happened last time.’ Our parents almost split up. Each of them wanted to handle it differently. Dad wanted to rush in all guns blazing. Mum wanted to go the diplomatic route. She won. Then lost, when it didn’t work. Dad wanted to sue the school. She refused. Then he blamed her. And she exploded. Dad almost moved out. Just thinking about it makes me sick.
‘You’re right. We shouldn’t involve them. But we should do something.’
‘Not we, me. They split us up so I’d be independent. I’ll handle it.’
‘OK but do. Don’t let it spin out of control like the last time.’
Oh, my God. ‘Just trust me, OK?’
‘OK,’ he says, like he’s sorry. ‘You’ll be fine.’
‘I will be fine.’
He looks at me as if to say, are you sure?
And because I can read his mind, I say, ‘Yes, I’m sure.’
The following morning, my costume is a school uniform - with a very short skirt. So short, no school would actually allow it. Then again, Naomi wouldn’t care what her school allowed. I stand in front of the mirror. But still look like me. I roll up the sleeves. Loosen the tie. Open the first two buttons of the shirt. Still not there. So I bend down and pull the socks up over my knees.
‘Yes!’ Rita in Wardrobe says when she sees me. Then she tilts her head to the side. ‘Not sure about the skirt, though.’
I open my mouth to say, ‘Too short.’
‘Too long,’ she says before I can. She comes up to me, then turns over the waistband like it’s a habit she has, like having a coffee after a meal. She stands back. ‘Better.’
For the pervs who’ll be watching.
In Make-Up, Damien takes ages.
‘My work here is done,’ he says finally, proudly.
I hang around the dressing room, studying while waiting to be called. Finally, I am. I pick up my fake school bag. It’s way too light so I stick some of my books in.
Climbing onto the minibus at eight in the morning feels like I really am going to school.
‘Pretty laid-back principal you have there, allowing that skirt.’ It’s Josh.
Naomi would have a comeback. I don’t. And when I blush, I hope he’s not thinking I fancy him. I sit near him to show I’m not intimidated. Despite the blushing.
‘So,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Looks like we’re going to get together.’
I look him straight in the eye. Then I have it. ‘How d’you know I won’t end up with Daisy?’ I raise my eyebrows.
He bursts out laughing. ‘I’d like to see that.’
And just like that, it feels like we’re equal. Not the experienced actor and the newbie.
When we get to the lot, we stand around in front of the clinic. It’s freezing. Someone hands me an unlit cigarette. Someone else dusts my face with powder. Another lowers the skirt back down. I’d go over my lines, if I had any. Instead, I try to get inside Naomi’s head. I think of something to make me angry. Amy Gilmore giving Sarah a hard time. That works. We rehearse the scene once. Then someone lights my cigarette. I wait for the director to shout ‘action’, the dreaded word that makes my heart thump in a way that I love.
‘And action.’
I take a massive deep breath then walk out onto the set. Smoking. Joe comes out of the clinic, dressed in a school uniform. When he sees me, he stops, looks me over and smiles.
‘I see you’ve got a light,’ he says.
I raise an eyebrow and walk past him.
‘You know, smoking’ll kill you,’ he calls after me.
Outside the surgery, I look at him while I drop the cigarette to the ground and stomp it out. Then I turn and march inside. I know from the script that Joe is looking after Naomi ‘with great interest’.
‘And cut.’
There are two retakes. No one tells us why. Then, just like that, we’re done. It’s only nine-thirty. We go back on the bus together.
‘I enjoyed that,’ he says.
Surprised, I say, ‘Me too.’
Back in the dressing room, I go into the bathroom. I change out of one uniform, into another. It’s like coming down from a high. The skirt that I have no problem with usually makes me feel like a granny. I turn the waistband over. Twice. I take off the make-up and flatten down my hair, but not completely. Then I leave the bathroom.
Rebecca, sitting at her dressing table, turns around when she hears the door open.
‘Hey!’ she smiles.
Her friendliness feels weird. ‘Hey,’ I say. Without the smile. I’m not fake.
‘So, who was that guy who picked you up the other day?’ she asks.
I look at her. She saw Mark? ‘My boyfriend.’ I’m happy to report.
She looks surprised. Like maybe I’m not still a loser. ‘Hot guy.’
‘I like him.’ Oh, yeah.
‘Is he an actor?’
‘No.’
‘Model?’
I smile thinking how he’d laugh at that. ‘No.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘He’s in my class.’
She looks disappointed.
‘Hey, I must add you on Facebook,’ she says.
Wow. A dream come true.
I’ve just missed the start of Maths. Mr Harte (ancient, wears suits and fires chalk at us) does not look impressed.
‘So, Rachel Dunne, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.’
‘I’ve permission to be out.’ I root for my note, then go up and hand it to him. He scans it then looks up.
‘A star in our midst, it seems,’ he says sarcastically.
Everyone’s suddenly awake, wondering what he’s on about.
‘All right, sit down.’
I look only at my desk as I walk to it. Next time, I don’t care how much I miss, I’m not walking in when class has started.
‘Where’s your Maths book?’ he asks wh
en he sees I don’t have it.
‘I forgot it.’ I left it in the fake school bag in D4.
‘Do you really think that is an acceptable answer in Fifth Year?’
I look at him with his cheap pen in the top pocket of his short-sleeved shirt, the ordinary glasses on top of his head. I am so close to saying yes. Naomi would. I send him some bad karma instead. It doesn’t feel like enough. Anyway, screw him. The main thing is that I keep up with the class. I concentrate hard and when the bell finally goes. I’ve managed it. I’m still OK.
As I collect my stuff, Amy Gilmore turns around in her seat.
‘What did he say about a star?’
‘No clue,’ I say, getting up and going over to Alex. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ I say as Sarah joins us.
By first break, I could eat my arm I’m so hungry. I fill my tray. And dive into a packet of crisps before I get to the till. I catch Alex looking at me.
‘Missed breakfast,’ I explain.
‘Thought for a minute, there, you were preggers.’
When she sees the horrified look on my face, she bursts out laughing. ‘Joke. You feel like shite when you’re pregnant.’
‘For the record,’ I say quietly, ‘we’re not doing anything that would make me pregnant.’
‘Good! Keep it that way.’
‘Yes, Mummy.’
We get our usual table.
‘So how did the “star” get on today?’ Alex asks.
‘I wish he’d just thrown the chalk.’ Wanker.
‘How many scenes did you have?’ she asks.
‘Just one.’
‘With Josh?’
‘Yup.’
‘Does he still “seem OK”?’
Sarah’s turning her engagement ring round and round on her finger. I want to ask if she’s OK but don’t want to drown her in a spotlight. So I distract her instead.
‘I’m pretty sure he thinks I fancy him.’
‘Oh, my God. Seriously?’ Sarah asks, looking up.
‘He’s an actor,’ Alex says, sounding bored. ‘He probably thinks everyone fancies him. What were your lines?’
‘Didn’t have any.’
‘Oh,’ she sounds disappointed.
‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah says reassuringly. ‘You’ll get more.’
‘It’s OK. Naomi’s great. I love her.’
‘I’m so dying to see you,’ Sarah says.
I smile and think maybe Sarah really does have the secret to life - just forget everything and live till you die.
The following day, I’m waiting in the dressing room, ready to go on set. I’m struggling with a Maths problem. I just can’t get it out. It’s killing me. Whoever invented Project Maths should be tasered. In the nipples. Repeatedly.
‘I added you on Facebook,’ Rebecca says expectantly.
I look up. She’s taking off nail varnish like she’s all the time in the world. What - doesn’t she get homework?
‘Oh, right. I haven’t been on Facebook,’ I lie. I did see the request, but the only people I’m friends with on Facebook are real friends, people I trust. Which makes the number small.
‘Why don’t you do it now? You’ve an iPhone, right?’
‘I’ll do it later. I’m trying to figure something out here.’
‘Just give me your phone and I’ll do it.’
I look at her. ‘Do you still hang around with Béibhinn Keane?’
She shakes her head. ‘We went to different secondary schools. We’re probably still friends on Facebook - but I’m friends with half the world on Facebook.’ She thinks for a minute. ‘Look,’ she says. ‘What happened before … can we just forget about that? It was years ago. Everything’s changed. We were different people then. Stupid,’ she says like an admission.
‘I’ve no problem with you Rebecca,’ I say, but my voice sounds hard.
‘So can we be fwends?’ she jokes.
I look at her for a long time and think, fwends might be easier than enemies, as we’re sharing a room. Still, fwends is not friends.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘So. Facebook?’
‘Oh yeah.’ I take out my phone but don’t hand it over. Because I am the one in control.
She looks over my shoulder while I accept her friend request. I’m thinking, I can always unfriend her later.
‘Cool,’ she says. Then she’s gone, back to her dressing table. She picks up her phone, sits down, puts her legs up on the dressing table and tips her chair back like she’s settling in for a while.
First thing she’s going to see is how few friends I have. But who cares? I’ve more important things to worry about. I go over the Maths problem again. I start to underline stuff - like that’s going to help.
‘Are you friends with Alex Newman?’ she asks, eyes still on her phone.
I look up. She’s staring at me. Like how could I possibly have friends like Alex? ‘Sorry, what?’
‘Nothing,’ she says. I watch her scroll away and know she’s checking out every one of my friends. I go back to the Maths. I give up on the problem and try the next one. I hate having to do that.
‘What’s your number, by the way?’ she asks eventually.
I call it out but change the last digit. It should be 277. I tell her 227. People are always making that mistake.
‘Want mine?’ she asks.
‘Sure.’ I pick up my phone and punch her number in. I won’t be using it.
I go on set, do my scene. When I come back, Rebecca’s still there. I go into the bathroom to change. When I come out, she’s sitting at my dressing table, reading what looks like my script for next week.
‘Hello?’ I say, as in, What the hell?
She turns slowly. ‘Hey,’ she says, all friendly. ‘They dropped in our scripts. Good news. They’re giving Naomi a terminal illness.’
‘What?’ I go over.
She hands me the script. I look at her, still sitting in my chair.
‘Oh, sorry.’ She gets up and goes to hers.
I sit and read. It’s a scene where Joe’s mother tells Naomi she has cancer. Incurable cancer. I don’t know why it’s such a shock. I knew it was a small part anyway. I put the script in my bag. Crap, I think.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, surprised. ‘Nothing. It’s grand.’
‘I can’t believe you’re not excited. I’ve always wanted a terminal illness.’
Hilarious, I think, glad I’ve given her the wrong number.
In the taxi on the way to school, I call Charley. ‘They’ve given Naomi terminal cancer.’
‘Really? That’s great!’
‘It is?’
‘Rachel, have you ever seen a programme where a terminal illness isn’t dramatic? If they know what they’re doing - and they do - for a while, you’ll be the centre of the show.’
‘Really?’ I feel dumb. And happy.
‘I wonder why they never mentioned terminal illness before?’ she asks, like she’s thinking aloud. ‘I’ll get on to them. This is great news Rachel. And a huge opportunity to get noticed. Play it right—’ she starts.
‘Don’t worry. I will.’
‘I want to see all your scripts from now on.’
‘OK.’
‘Scan them in and email them.’
‘OK.’
‘And well done,’ she says, like it has something to do with me. ‘And I don’t need to tell you to keep the storyline to yourself.’
‘Of course.’ Emily has already warned me about that. ‘Thanks so much, Charley.’
And as I hang up, I realise I was wrong about Rebecca. She wasn’t being sarcastic. She was actually glad for me. Still, when I get home, first thing I do is go on Facebook. To check if she and Béibhinn Keane are still hanging out.
Rebecca has over a thousand friends. Many of them fans. She even posts photos where fans have tagged her. I can’t believe how open she is. But then she’s never been bullied. I wade through posts after post, looking for one from Béibhinn Keane. Finally, I
stop myself. Enough paranoia. I’m not going back to that.
FIVE | Superbus
Three weeks after shooting my first scene, it’s about to be aired. My family has gathered in front of the TV. I tried to talk them out of it - it didn’t work for my parents and it only encouraged Jack. Now he’ll have something legitimate to slag me about - for the rest of my life.
‘Is it the next scene?’ Mum keeps asking.
‘I don’t know,’ I keep telling her, until, finally, I say, ‘Look, you don’t have to sit through all this. I’ll record it, then you can play it back whenever you like. It’s literally two seconds.’
‘No,’ she says, appalled. ‘We want to watch it. Live.’
‘It’s not live, Mum.’
‘It is to me.’
Daisy and Joe have a scene. I’m waiting for Jack to say something.
He groans. ‘They’re like Barbie and freaking Ken,’ he says, reminding me that we still think the same.
‘Is that Rebecca French?’ Mum asks.
‘Yup,’ Jack says.
‘She’s not that great,’ she says. That’s just for me, because there’s nothing wrong with Rebecca’s acting.
‘Can we just watch it?’
‘Oh, my God,’ Mum says suddenly. ‘There you are. Shh, everyone.’
‘Ooooh, baby,’ Jack says.
‘Shut up,’ I say.
‘Shh,’ Mum says.
Naomi is going up to Joe. Even though I know it’s me, part of me can’t believe it is.
Seconds later, Mum is turning around.
‘What about your line? Did they cut it?’ She sounds outraged.
But I’m smiling. They used the take without words - and that makes me not a diva.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I cut the line.’
She looks confused. ‘You cut your own line? Why?’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 62