Star Struck

by Jenny McLachlan

  Evie looks indignant. ‘Sainsbury’s!’

  ‘But then Romeo goes to this party, sees Juliet and – bam! – they fall in love.’

  ‘What about the other girl?’

  ‘Rosaline? Forget her. She’s not important. She’s just there to show that Romeo feels true love for Juliet. Right, Miss?’

  She nods. ‘Once again, Pearl, you’ve stolen the stage. Carry on.’

  ‘Romeo and Juliet’s families hate each other, so they marry in secret and, get this, she’s only thirteen.’

  ‘OK, thank you, Pearl,’ says Ms Kapoor.

  ‘Hang on.’ I hold up my hand. ‘Juliet’s dad doesn’t know she’s got married and he says she has to marry his friend, Paris. To get out of it, Juliet pretends to be dead. Trouble is, Romeo doesn’t get told she’s faking it and when he sees her lying there in a tomb acting dead, surrounded by corpses, he freaks out and drinks poison. Juliet wakes up, sees really-dead Romeo and stabs herself.’ I plunge an imaginary blade deep into my guts. ‘Urrghh! Two dead teenagers – the families agree to stop fighting – the end!’ Jake leads a round of applause. ‘Did I remember everything?’ I ask Ms Kapoor.

  She nods. ‘Thank you, Pearl.’

  ‘No worries.’ I might hate Ms Higginson, but she’s a good English teacher. I know everything that happens in Romeo and Juliet.

  ‘We’re sticking to Shakespeare’s original language,’ says Ms Kapoor, ‘just cutting some lines and a few scenes, and adding songs and dances, of course. Our very own Mr Simms has written the score. He’s basically ripped off massive hits, so I’m fairly confident this show is going to rock the pants off anything we’ve done before.’

  She grins and looks round at us before carrying on. ‘We’re taking over the theatre in town in the week running up to Christmas, so it has to be a totally professional show. I’m looking for the very best performers for each role.’ Her eyes rest on me for a second. ‘Ready for the auditions?’ she asks. I am so ready. ‘If you want to be Juliet,’ she says, ‘stay on the stage.’

  ‘Good luck,’ says Kat as she gets to her feet.

  ‘Don’t need it,’ I say, looking around. The stage is almost empty: just me and a few Year Nine girls.

  ‘Right, who’s first?’ asks Ms Kapoor. ‘Jake’s been cast as Romeo so you’ll be auditioning with him.’ I jump to my feet, walk to the centre of the stage and stand opposite Jake. The other girls stare up at me.

  ‘Hello,’ I say to Jake, tucking my hair behind my ear.

  ‘Hey, Pearl,’ he says with a smile. I love how tall he is. He’s wearing an undone shirt, sleeves rolled up, with a white T-shirt underneath. I find myself wondering what it would feel like to slip my arms round his waist and rest against him, to have his arms wrap tight round me. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks.

  I smile, not taking my eyes off him. ‘Just thinking that I’ve not seen you out much recently.’

  ‘Been studying … playing football. Why? What have I missed?’

  ‘Me!’ I say. This makes him laugh.

  ‘Alright, you two,’ says Ms Kapoor, putting a script in my hands. ‘The rehearsal hasn’t actually begun yet. Read these lines. It’s the scene where Romeo and Juliet first meet. Remember, it’s love at first sight: fireworks, pounding hearts – that kind of thing.’

  ‘We can do that,’ says Jake, nodding.

  My heart speeds up and I stand a bit taller. ‘Great,’ laughs Ms Kapoor. She steps back, leaving us alone in the middle of the stage.

  A spotlight shines down on the two of us and everyone drifts into the shadows. Jake reaches forward and takes my hand. His fingers are warm and strong. ‘“If I profane with my unworthiest hand”,’ he says, ‘“this holy shrine,” –’ his eyes flick from the script to my face – ‘“the gentle sin is this”.’ As he speaks, he pulls me so close that I can smell the fabric conditioner on his T-shirt.

  ‘“Good pilgrim,”’ I say, gripping his fingers, ‘“you do wrong your hand too much”.’ I can tell from the hush that falls across the room that everyone is watching us and, as I carry on with my lines, I feel all eyes – Jake’s, Ms Kapoor’s, even the other wannabe Juliets – focusing on me.

  ‘“Move not, while my prayer’s effect I take”,’ says Jake, pulling me even closer until our faces are almost touching, then he pauses. The script says ‘He kisses her’, and now I’m holding my breath, waiting to see what he will do. He grips my hand tight and stares into my eyes.

  A sudden bang echoes round the hall, making us jump apart. Jake lets go of my hand and we look towards the door that’s been thrown open. Someone is standing silhouetted in the doorway. I shade my eyes so I can see who’s interrupted us. It’s just some girl. She lets the door swing shut then walks towards us, stepping round students and abandoned bags. ‘Who’s that?’ Jake whispers in my ear.

  I shrug. ‘Never seen her before.’

  The girl stops at the foot of the stage and looks up at us. ‘Hi,’ she says, smiling.

  I laugh. I just can’t help it. Her hair is bubble gum pink and cut in a messy bob. Her dark almond-shaped eyes blink into the bright light. She’s wearing weird jeans, a baggy grey sweatshirt and a My Little Pony toy is hanging round her neck. I hide my smile behind my script, but too late. Her eyes have already flashed on to me.

  Ms Kapoor steps forward. ‘Are you here to audition for Romeo and Juliet?’

  She nods, still looking at me. ‘I want to be Juliet,’ she says.

  FOUR

  The girl jumps on to the stage like she owns it and I see chunky soled trainers peeking out from under her jeans. ‘I thought I was going to be too late,’ she says. Her accent is strange, hard to place. Part London, part American … and part something else.

  ‘We’ve just started,’ says Ms Kapoor. ‘Are you new?’

  ‘I’m starting in Year Eleven tomorrow. Mrs Stone was showing me round and told me about the show and I thought, why not? Romeo and Juliet is my favourite play.’ She puts both her hands in her back pockets and looks around. Everyone is staring at her, but she doesn’t seem at all bothered.

  ‘Well, great!’ Ms Kapoor’s eyes light up. She loves anyone who’s a bit different – it’s one of the reasons she likes me – and this girl is different. Her clothes, her accent, her dark eyes. She’s totally and utterly different.

  The new girl bounces on her toes and says, ‘I love acting and singing –’

  ‘Where are you from?’ I interrupt.

  She looks back at me. ‘Japan. Tokyo.’

  ‘How come you’ve moved here?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m staying with my dad. He’s English.’

  ‘So you’ve just moved all the way from Japan to live with your dad?’

  ‘Come over here,’ says Ms Kapoor quickly. ‘You can watch the end of Pearl’s audition.’

  ‘Shall we start from the beginning?’ I ask.

  ‘No, carry on from where you were. Skip the kiss.’

  Jake and I read on, but now we’re standing apart, hands hanging by our sides, and all around us people are talking. Somehow that girl has ruined everything. Only Ms Kapoor still watches us closely, a finger pressed to her lips. ‘Pearl?’ says Jake.

  Quickly, I say my last line. ‘“You kiss by the book.”’ Jake’s already turning back to the first page of the script.

  ‘Great.’ Ms Kapoor gives her folder a light clap. ‘I don’t need to hear you sing, Pearl. I know you can belt them out. Now, who’s next? Let’s have Grace, Bethany, Jaz and then, sorry,’ she says, looking at the new girl, ‘what’s your name?’

  ‘Hoshi,’ she says.

  ‘We’ll finish up with Hoshi.’

  Without looking at the new girl, I jump off the stage and go and sit with Kat.

  ‘That was surprising,’ she says, offering me another Jaffa Cake. I push the packet away. She shrugs and we turn back to the stage and watch as Grace blushes her way through her audition. She’s followed by a couple of awkward performances from Bethany and Jaz. Ms Kapoor ge
ts each of them to sing the start of ‘Let It Go’.

  ‘Hey.’ Kat nudges me as Jaz starts to sing. ‘Stop looking so miserable. You were amazing. You and Jake leapt into each other’s arms.’

  ‘But how good is she?’ I hiss. Up on the stage, the new girl is silently reading through her script, mouthing the words.

  Kat shrugs. ‘I guess we’re about to find out.’

  ‘What a freak … Have you seen her necklace? She’s wearing a toy round her neck.’

  ‘Japanese street fashion,’ Kat says, nodding. ‘I’ve got a Pinterest board on it –’

  ‘Shh! The freak speaks.’

  ‘She’s got a name.’

  ‘Poshi … Goshi … Noshi?’

  ‘You know what her name is.’

  Hoshi, I think. Hoshi. Her name makes me shiver. Up on the stage, she’s still frowning at her script. Then she puts it on the floor. ‘Ready,’ she says, turning to Jake. He looks back at her, eyes wide. His smile has vanished.

  ‘Your line is first, Jake,’ says Ms Kapoor.

  ‘Right. Yeah.’ His eyes flick down to his script. ‘“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine” …’ He reaches his hand out to the new girl, just like he did with me, but she just ignores him and takes a step back. Jake steps closer, saying his next line, and she twists away from him, strolling to the edge of the stage. Jake follows her like a dog.

  ‘What is she doing?’ I say to Kat.

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s funny.’

  It is funny. She starts to say her lines – somehow she’s memorised them – and all the time she’s avoiding Jake’s touch. People start to laugh. This makes Jake try harder and the laughter gets louder. Now he knows what she’s doing, he’s really getting into it.

  But I’m not laughing. I stare hard at the new girl, watching every move she makes. What she’s doing is so much better than what I did, it’s like she’s doing it on purpose. I’m glad it’s dark down here. I don’t want anyone to see my face.

  I’m so focused on her that I don’t notice Bea and Betty slip into the hall. ‘Who’s that?’ Betty asks.

  Bea’s staring up at the stage, her curly hair standing out against the bright lights. ‘She’s good.’ She glances at me. ‘I mean …’

  I roll my eyes. ‘She’s weird,’ I say. ‘She’s a midget, she’s Japanese and she’s got pink hair. That’s what she is.’ Normally, Kat would shout me down, tell me to stop being such a cow, and recently Bea and Betty have started joining in – but instead they all exchange looks. ‘What?’ I say. ‘She is weird. Look at her boy jeans and her fringe. Did she cut it herself?’

  Betty shrugs. ‘She looks cool. I love her Trixie Lulamoon necklace.’

  ‘You would,’ I mutter. Today Betty is wearing a man’s waistcoat with her bowler hat, but I can’t even be bothered to say anything about it. Then I see a ukulele case slung across her back. ‘Not you too!’

  ‘We’re forming a uke band,’ says Betty.

  I look at Bea. ‘Have you got one too?’

  ‘Thinking about it,’ she says with a shrug.

  ‘God. I suppose it was only a matter of time.’ I turn away from them and stare at the stage, my chin in my hands.

  The new girl and Jake have just finished their scene. ‘Shall I sing?’ she asks Ms Kapoor. Then she stands at the front of the stage, puts her hands behind her back and starts to sing ‘Let It Go’.

  Her throaty voice effortlessly fills the studio. Even though she’s staring straight ahead, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s singing to me. Annoyed with myself, I look around and see that everyone is watching her, open-mouthed. Without thinking, I pull out my phone, but still her voice creeps inside me, like the burning rush of a cigarette, making my heart pound. I stare at my fingers wrapped round my phone. I can’t shut out her voice. It trickles through my body from my scalp to the tips of my fingers.

  Suddenly she’s finished and everyone is clapping, even Kat. I must be the only person in the whole room not joining in. The new girl laps it up, her baby-face raised to the lights.

  I want to slap her.

  ‘Wow!’ says Ms Kapoor, laughing. Jake leans forward and whispers something in the girl’s ear. She laughs and tugs on her necklace.

  ‘That’s some voice,’ Kat says, glancing at me.

  ‘I’m getting out of here.’ I jump to my feet. I actually feel sick.

  ‘Pearl, you don’t know she’s got the part,’ says Bea.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ I look down at them and their silence makes me think that they know it too.

  ‘Hang around and watch us audition,’ says Betty. ‘You can tell us who makes the best man.’ I hesitate. Betty and I have spent most of secondary school hating each other, and now, when she’s nice to me like this, it takes me by surprise. ‘Go on,’ she says, patting the floor next to her. ‘I promise you’ll get to laugh at me.’

  I shake my head. I can’t stay here another moment watching that girl with Jake. ‘I’ve got to get home.’

  I walk straight across the studio to the fire door. Then I take one last look at the stage. Jake is talking to the new girl. She stands opposite him, arms folded, one foot tapping. As if she knows I’m watching, her eyes flick on to me.

  I turn and hit the bar on the door. It swings open, revealing a muddy football pitch and a grey sky. Behind me, I can feel the warmth of the studio, but the voices and laughter push me out into the cold air and then the door slams shut.

  FIVE

  The dual carriageway isn’t the safest way to walk home, especially when it’s getting dark, but it’s the quickest. I walk with my head down, hands shoved in the pockets of my blazer as the rush hour traffic thunders past.

  My mind is crammed full of the new girl. Again and again, I replay her sudden appearance, how she bounced towards us … how she owned the stage and how her voice silenced the room. I turn my back on the traffic to light a cigarette. It tastes disgusting so I suck a Lakrisal at the same time. Leo sends me packets of them from Sweden – salty liquorice sweets that take me back to last summer the moment I tear the silver paper.

  A lorry blasts past, blowing back my hair, and I start walking again, smoke stinging my eyes, and slowly, slowly I begin to calm down.

  I turn off the dual carriageway, cut down the footpath and try Mum’s phone. It goes straight to voicemail. ‘Mum, it’s me,’ I say. ‘When are you coming home?’ Then I’m on the track that leads towards the farm and stables, and beyond them our house. The noise of the traffic fades away, leaving an inky sky, black trees and the lit-up farm in the distance. Mum works at the stables and gets the house with her job. As she tells us all the time: it may be a dump, but at least it’s free.

  A single bird starts singing, loud and clear. A robin. Gran used to tell me stuff like that. The robin sings and sings, cutting through the dark, and it reminds me of the new girl. I can see it sitting high on a branch, so I pick up a stone and throw it at the tree. The bird’s wings beat the air and it shuts up.

  I smile. For a moment, I feel better, but then I see our house at the end of the track, dark and alone, surrounded by trees, and my smile slips away.

  I put my key in the lock, twist it, and the door clicks open. I listen and breathe as quietly as possible. ‘Alfie?’ I say, listening for my brother. ‘Mum?’

  It’s stupid. She won’t be back from work yet, and if she was, Ozzie would have tried to knock me over by now. Ozzie is mum’s dog and the two of them basically live at the stables, and if they’re not there, they’re round at Heather’s house. Heather owns the farm and she’s rich. Well, richer than us anyway.

  I step into the kitchen, turn on the light and drop my bag in the middle of the junk on the table. I find a clean mug, fill it with water and start opening and shutting cupboards. We’ve got hardly any food in, just ancient tins and packets that Gran left behind – marrowfat peas, crab paste, strawberry Angel Delight. Eventually I find some bagels at the bottom of the freezer.

  ‘Alfie?’ I say a
s I walk into the lounge. Silence. I don’t bother with the overhead light. The bulb went ages ago. I pick my way round horse tack and sacks of dog food and head for my room.

  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see an orange tip glowing in the darkness and a thin curl of smoke. Water from the mug spills on my feet. ‘God,’ I say. ‘You scared me!’ I can see him now – feet up on the coffee table, head resting on the back of the sofa. He’s wearing tracksuit bottoms and a vest, like he’s been working out. His curly hair is wet and slicked back. ‘What are you doing, Alfie?’ Silence. ‘Alfie!’

  ‘Having a fag. What do you think?’

  ‘Why are you just sitting here in the dark?’ He doesn’t reply, just carries on smoking and watching me. Alfie does this. Sometimes he speaks, sometimes he doesn’t. ‘When’s Mum home?’ I ask.

  He shrugs. ‘I’m going out on my bike soon.’ Alfie’s got a trail bike that he takes through the woods. It makes Mum mad – she hates seeing the tracks churned up. ‘What’ve you got there?’ He nods at the bag.

  ‘Bagels.’

  ‘Give me one. I’m starving.’ I look in the bag. There are only two and they’ve not even defrosted yet. I throw one to him and his arm shoots up and he catches it.

  ‘Nice catch,’ I say. No answer. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

  As I’m walking down the corridor, he shouts after me, ‘Say hello to your fishies!’

  I pull the string up from under my shirt, find my key and unlock my bedroom door. Mum got the first lock because she said one of us was pinching stuff from her room. She was wrong: both of us were pinching stuff. Alfie got the next lock, and then me.

  As soon as I open my door, I’m greeted by a hum of filters and pumps. I flick on the light to my fish tank. ‘Just me,’ I say, as the fish zigzag around. ‘I’m back.’ I put my face close to the glass and see a whirl of cartoon stripes and neon tails darting through coral and waving plants. I check each fish in turn. ‘Hello, Oy,’ I say to a little orange and black fish. Oy’s my clownfish, my very own Nemo. He’s trying to hide behind a bit of wood, but he’s too bright to hide anywhere. ‘Having a good day?’ I ask him. He looks startled and his mouth forms a perfect ‘o’.