by Jo Cotterill
Your eyes flip open.
Did I just think that?
You laugh quietly and unfurl yourself, pushing the duvet off you. Your clock reads 7.17 a.m. You groan, wanting to stay in bed for ever, but the doorbell rings. You slip out of bed and pad down the stairs in your soft pyjamas, opening the door. You smile at the person standing there, and say what you say to him every day.
“You know that you can just come in. Every schoolday morning for the past four years you’ve been here for breakfast at EXACTLY 7.20 a.m. Why should you ring the bell? You know that the spare key is in the hanging basket, and I know that the only person who’s coming in is gonna be you.”
Reuben walks in through the door and through to the kitchen, and you follow him, stretching and yawning, rubbing your eyes. You sit down as he wanders over to the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice, putting it down on to the breakfast bar with two glasses. He smirks, and answers how he answers you every day.
“But, Ms Anderson, the thing is – if I didn’t ring the doorbell, your dear mother would have a heart attack, and you would have a freak-out.”
You nod in agreement. Once again Reuben knows you better than you know yourself. He hands you a glass.
You hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and your mum appears at the door of the kitchen. She looks young for her age; her dark hair is still thick and shiny like yours. She’s dressed in a well-cut suit that flatters her slim body, which is important because she works on TV. Your mum is a newsreader. She is about to leave for her lunchtime shift, but she needs her regular wake-up coffee before she goes. Her dark hazel eyes light up when she sees Reuben.
“Good morning, Reuben. How is my favourite adopted son this morning?”
You love it that your parents are so used to Reuben being here, at your house. It’s like he’s part of your family. Rubes smiles right back and reaches over to flick on the kettle, while she gets a mug and the coffee jar.
“Couldn’t be better, Christine, thanks. Oh yeah, before I forget, my mum says that she saw some shoes that she likes and wants you to go see them with her on Sunday … I think … anyway, she’ll ring you later. She was out early this morning and she’s got a client this afternoon, so it’ll be some time tonight.”
Your mum nods and pours the boiled water into her cup, just as your dad appears in the kitchen and smiles cheerfully at Rubes and you in greeting.
“Sounds great,” your mum says. “I’ll wait for her call. We’re not out tonight, right, Will?”
Your dad looks out from the fridge. “Nope, tonight’s a night in, thank goodness. But we’re out tomorrow. The hospital’s benefit … thing.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture, searching for the right word.
Your mum puts down the kettle and turns to her husband, fiddling with her rings. “There is one thing about tomorrow…” she says, with a hint of anxiety in her voice. You look up, picking up on your mum’s tone.
“What, love?” your dad says, oblivious, and still ransacking the fridge.
“I was chatting to the girls at the fundraiser the other night, and they said that all the sponsors of the hospital can make it to this one…” She trails off uncertainly.
Your dad’s back stiffens, and he stops looking through the fridge. He straightens up, and the sunny smile that covered his face a few seconds ago has clouded over with a mist of anger and hurt. His lips are thin, and he doesn’t do anything for a second. Then, without taking a breath, he speaks just one word, but his icy tone says it all.
“Banner?”
You shoot a quick glance at Reuben that you hope says “Pretend you’re not here”. He recognizes the look and immediately looks down into his glass. You stare into your own juice blankly, waiting for the argument to begin.
You mum stops twisting her rings and puts her arms by her sides, looking back at her husband with an understanding but warning gaze. She takes a deep breath.
“Yes, Ethan will be there,” she states calmly. Your father shuts the fridge door sharply and glares at it for a second – as if it’s the fridge’s fault that Ethan Banner will be attending the party – before turning back to his wife, who continues steadily. “But so will hundreds of other people. You will have no need to speak to him whatsoever, and if you see him we can turn around and just walk away.”
Your dad’s face darkens. “He should be the one to walk away. After all, that’s what he’s good at: leaving people behind—”
“Will, please!” your mum says sharply, cutting off your dad. “Please, just be the bigger man this time?” Your dad stays silent, but he isn’t glaring any more. He just looks a little sad. He sighs, and nods at your mum, who squeezes his hand.
“It seems like we’re never in these days,” she says to you apologetically. “Will you be all right tomorrow?”
You shrug. Your parents are busy people and they are out quite a lot, but you’re used to it. Usually it’s good because you get the house to yourself to sing loudly, dance around or watch your favourite film without being asked, “Have you done your homework, Jen?” or “Could you turn it down a bit, love?” Chocolate and pizza are always on the menu when the parents are at some benefit or another, so you don’t usually mind, but sometimes it does get a bit lonely. A thought comes into your head and you smile. “Will Maddy be home?”
As her university is just in the next city, about an hour away, your big sister Maddy often comes home to see you all and get in a home-cooked meal if she’s lucky. She brings home her dirty washing and her sense of humour, and if she’s around, she’ll keep you company when your parents go out.
Your dad shuts the fridge and heads into the hallway. “Hopefully – she said that she was setting off from campus tomorrow morning,” he calls, pulling on his coat and coming back into the room. “We’ll talk about it later, OK?”
You nod, and he kisses your forehead goodbye. Reuben waves and your dad salutes back. Your dad walks up to your mum, kisses her lips and strokes her hair, whispering something in her ear. She giggles and kisses his cheek.
“Oh, come on, that’s too much for breakfast!” You groan, half joking but half serious, hiding from your parents behind your glass. Reuben smiles at your reaction. “I thought you were going, already…”
Your parents break apart and your mum rolls her eyes. Your dad shakes his head, blows her a kiss and holds up his hands at you. “I’m gone!” he proclaims, opens the door, waves, and shuts it behind him.
Your mum tips the remainder of her coffee down the sink and also goes to get her coat. “I’ll be back by sixish, OK?” she calls.
“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”
“Love you too. And I know you’ll be heading for the café, so there’s money for coffee or whatever in the cupboard. Have a good day, you two.”
The door swings closed behind her and it’s just you and Rubes again.
You turn to Rubes and grin excitedly. “So – what part did you get? I’m sorry I had to take off straight after I auditioned, but I had a hot date at the dentist’s.” You wink.
“Unlucky,” he laughs, taking your hand, and inclining his head. “And as for my part? Why, Juliet, thine eyes are cast upon those of the young Mercutio…”
You let out a small yelp of delight and practically throw yourself at him. “Oh my GOD! That’s so great! It’s what you wanted!”
“I know.” He grins. “I’m completely stoked! There were so many other guys there, like Dennis Hathaway – you know, blonde hair, stocky, plays on the rugby team? And Danny Jupp from the year below – now he’s a hottie and a half!”
A thought suddenly occurs to you. “Wait a second – I can’t believe I didn’t ask as soon as you walked in – who got Romeo?”
You think you see Reuben’s smile flicker, but then he laughs and taps your arm.
“You know what? I don’t actually know. We’ll find out later.” He clear
s his throat and claps his hands. “So, where are we eating this morning?” He counts off places on his fingers. “Starbucks? Coffee Aroma … The Caf?” His eyes shine mischievously. A waiter at The Caf is unbelievably cute, and he works the Wednesday-morning shift. And Reuben wants him. You laugh.
“Rubes, you always say the right things. Let’s go.” You open the cupboard, take out a fiver and pick up your bag.
Reuben looks at you. “Er, Jen? Jenny-baby? We have a slight fashion problem here.” He gestures to your clothes. You look down. You’re still in your pyjamas.
“Ah,” you say. “One second.”
You run up the stairs to your room and throw open your wardrobe, pulling on the nearest clothes available, then run downstairs and grab your bag for the second time in ten minutes. You open the door and walk out, Reuben following you, with the first ever Wednesday smile on your face. Your eyes sparkle. Time to have some fun!
You reach your regular coffee spot and open the door. As you walk in, you automatically check out the till. The cute guy is there. Reuben spots him too, and gives you a swift wink.
“Hot chocolate?” he asks you.
“Yep,” you reply. “Go get him, tiger…”
As Reuben walks over to the till, you wind your way through the early-morning, caffeine-addicted crowd to the only free table at the back.
As you pass a table, someone grabs your arm.
“Hey, Jen!”
You turn and see that it’s Misha Reeves, the Italian beauty of the school and an amazing actress, admired and envied by every girl in your year. Today she’s as much of a style-guru as ever, as her long, sleek, dark hair frames her olive face and her boho-chic clothes show off her slim body to perfection. Behind her, seated at the table, is her circle of friends. They are trying to look like they are ignoring you, but it’s obvious that they are straining their ears to catch every word of the conversation. You cast a quick look around the group of girls. Any of them could be models – they all have the bored model pout, with perfect looks and figures. They look like they could be in university. Envy flares inside you, but you look back to Misha and see that her eyes are filled with the same kind of feeling you’ve just had about her and her group, and your insecurity melts away. You give her a friendly smile.
“Hey!” you say.
Misha sets her coffee cup down, then looks up with a shine in her eyes. “You were great yesterday, you know? Congratulations on getting the title role…” Her Cheshire Cat smile now seems a little too wide. You pick up that her tone is overly-friendly, and realize what’s going on. She’s jealous, you think. Inside, you feel a leap of joy somewhere near your stomach. Misha is actually jealous of me. How do I work this? You decide to smile casually.
“Thanks,” you say. “That means a lot to me.” You pause, then ask your question. “What part did you get?”
The light in Misha’s eyes goes cold but her smile stays in place. “Juliet’s nurse!” Juliet’s nurse is a big part, and it means a lot of scenes with you, but it’s not exactly glamorous. You can feel the tension start to rise, and you don’t want Misha to burst your bubble and make you feel guilty.
You pin a real smile on to your face and make your tone more sincere. “That’s great! We’ll be working together loads, then?”
“Yeah!” She nods. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”
Somehow, she just doesn’t convince you that the rehearsals are going to be fun for you. You smile at her and shrug. “Well, I guess I’ll—”
“What do you think of Romeo?” Misha bursts in. Her face shows signs of concern, but there’s a smirk growing there too. You can tell that there is something going on. Even Misha’s friends have given up on pretending not to listen to your conversation and are looking at you, waiting for a reaction. What didn’t Reuben tell me this morning? Something is definitely up here.
You cross your arms over your chest and look across to where Reuben is standing in the queue. He will be the next person to be served, but he’ll be at least another few minutes. You don’t want to wait that long, even if asking Misha does give her the satisfaction of knowing something that you don’t.
“I don’t know,” you say curiously, deciding that you need to know now. A thought suddenly occurs to you. Oh, it’s gonna be somebody really ugly, isn’t it? Euwwww! No, no, no… You stop inwardly wincing and pay attention. “Who is it?”
“What? You mean, you don’t know?”
Would I ask if I knew? “Erm … no, I don’t. Who is it?”
Misha’s smile of delight is quickly changed to a pitying grimace, and she tosses back her hair. “Well—”
“Hello, my dear!” Reuben shoves a cup of hot chocolate into your hand. You glare at him, but he pretends not to notice and turns back to Misha. “Hi, Misha! Yes, lovely day! OK, bye-bye!”
He takes your arm to steer you past a disgruntled Misha, navigates you over to the back table, then gently pushes you down into your seat. Your eyebrows are narrowed angrily as you try to speak, but he beats you to it. He looks slightly apologetic.
“OK. I’m sorry, Jen, I would have told you earlier, but I knew that you would shout and get seriously angry unless we were somewhere public where you couldn’t completely lose it on me. I wanted you to stay calm so that I could talk to you about this, and that you wouldn’t flip out.” You scoff at his remark, but Rubes is starting to really worry you now.
“What do you mean, Rubes? And I don’t ever ‘flip out’!” you hiss.
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, Jen, whatever you say. I’ll just forget about the time when Maddy wrecked your brand-new shoes and you screamed the house down, and also that time your dad couldn’t make it home for your birthday party—”
“I was nine years old!” you burst in.
Rubes raises his eyebrows. “But if memory serves, you still made quite a scene…”
You shake your head. “Whatever. Get back to the point, boy, before I get violent.”
He stops smiling, sighs, and then looks down into his steaming mochaccino. He coughs slightly. “Chrisbannersplayingromeo.”
“What?” you say, not hearing a word of his slurred mutter.
He casts a look around the room. Everyone is minding their own business: light-heartedly moaning to each other about coursework, gloating about their glittering social lives, or just chatting about nothing in particular. He twists his hands, watching his fingers interlock. “Maybe I should have told you in private…” he mutters.
“Just tell me!”
“Chris Banner is playing Romeo.”
You stop breathing.
“Chris … Banner…?” you hear yourself whisper.
“Sorry, Jen, but er … yeah. Chris Banner…” He trails off, leaving you to take in this new development.
Chris Banner? you think. Chris Banner? Chris Banner?!
You shoot a piercing look at your best friend, your voice shaking slightly but staying quiet. “The Chris Banner who belongs to the Banner family? The Chris Banner whose family has argued, insulted and otherwise frozen out my own family for twenty-five years? The Chris Banner whose coward of a father chose his job over his loyalty to his best friend? The Chris Banner whose guts I hate?!”
You say the last three words with surprising venom, your voice not sounding like your own, each syllable shaking with anger.
Reuben looks at you with pity. “Yeah. The very same. What are you going to do?”
You shake your head slowly, your options racing through your mind. I could quit the play … but then I wouldn’t be Juliet. I wouldn’t have my part … and I don’t want to give that slimy son of a betrayer the satisfaction of having me back out because of him. I know I can act circles around him, but can I actually be on stage with that bastard without kicking the life out of him? What do I do?
You look at Rubes, who gives you a small smile and squeezes your
hand. Suddenly you don’t want your hot chocolate any more. You feel sick.
What do I do? What the hell do I do?
You sit on your own in your form room, silently seething and cursing Chris Banner. You haven’t spoken a word since Reuben told you about Chris being Romeo, because you don’t know what will happen when you open your mouth – if you will scream with frustration or swear until you run out of colourful words. You are infuriated with Mrs Walker and Miss Phillips.
Why did they cast him? you think. He’s a complete and utter prat at the best of times. He can’t act. And he’ll look like a complete idiot in Romeo-style clothes. He won’t take it seriously either.
You look around the room, glaring at every object, like it’s that thing’s fault that Chris is a complete and utter idiot. Your eyes travel across the familiar room: the film posters, groaning bookshelves that are about to fall down, the defaced tables, Mr Bowden’s big old desk. You stare absent-mindedly at the desk. It’s always been the same – littered with bits of paper, textbooks and pens. Your gaze falls on one particular item. It triggers a memory that you would probably rather forget.
It was your first day of secondary school, and you walked into a classroom that seemed so big and scary. You remember how frightened you were when you walked into the school. Your only friend, Reuben, had been put in a different form, so when you had left him in his room, you wandered around until you found yours. You were acting tough on the outside, but inside you were freaking out. When you found your room, you pushed open the door and saw some other people in there. They all seemed to know each other already, so you decided to sit on your own at the front of the class, next to Mr Bowden’s desk. It looked a bit newer then, and a bit bigger, but that was probably because you were smaller. You remember you were looking at your hands, minding your own business, when a ball of scrunched-up paper hit you square in the back of your head, then slid off. It had stung badly, so you opened it up and out fell a large sharpener. You looked around, rubbing the back of your head and scowling, to see who had thrown it, but you couldn’t see over the mass of girls seated in the middle of the room, who were obviously too busy chatting to throw bits of paper. You looked back to the note.