Lily stared at him. ‘Are you some kind of spy? How do you know so much about my family?’
‘Google,’ said Max, holding up his phone. ‘Twitter, Tumblr, YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest. I’m an addict, I’m afraid.’
‘I thought phones were banned outside our rooms.’
Max smiled. ‘They are, which is why I keep mine on silent.’
‘Okay, but that still doesn’t explain why you know so much about my family. Do you keep a dossier on all the students?’ demanded Lily.
‘No, just the interesting ones.’
‘I’m not interesting.’
‘You are to me.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re willing to do whatever it takes to be at the Academy. I like that.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but, despite the rumours, I didn’t bribe anyone to get in here.’
‘Maybe, but you did push for a second shot at an audition.’
‘That’s true,’ conceded Lily.
‘And you’re not about to let a bunch of gossipmongers stop you from making it in this business, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then you can’t leave the Depiction now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if you do, they’ll win.’
‘Who’ll win?’ asked Lily.
‘The sharks.’ Max gestured to the crowd. ‘Can’t you feel them circling? They can already smell the blood.’ He suddenly leaned forward as if embracing her and whispered in her ear, ‘Luckily, you’ve just been drawn by Ronan Carver.’
‘I don’t see what’s so lucky about it,’ replied Lily curtly.
‘That’s because you’re new and you haven’t had time to absorb the Academy’s little realities.’
‘Such as?’
Max smiled like a Cheshire cat. ‘Such as, this is a ruthless kingdom full of talented people – many of whom would wager their grandmother on a chance at fame.’ He winked. ‘It’s a game, Lily, and right now we’re about to play a trump card.’
‘What are you talking about? What trump card?’
‘I told you – Ronan Carver.’
Lily stared at him. ‘Sorry, I don’t get it. What’s so special about him?’
‘You mean apart from the fact that he’s the most talented artist Pendragon’s seen in years?’ Max paused for a moment, considering. ‘Could be his looks, or the fact that he doesn’t say much, but, thinking about it, I’d say it’s most probably the mystery.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Lily, suddenly wondering if Max was about to tell her about the guy with the snake tattoo and why he’d been looking for Ronan. ‘What mystery?’
‘The mystery that is Ronan Carver,’ replied Max. ‘No one seems to know very much about him, but he fascinates people. Where he leads, they follow, and yet he still seems determined to be a loner. So far, no one’s been able to get close to him. Which is why your conversation with him is a trump card.’
‘But we barely spoke and none of it was important.’
‘They don’t know that,’ said Max, grinning.
Before she could answer, he turned her round, linked his arm through hers and whispered, ‘Just follow my lead.’
Mystified, but unable to resist the mischievous gleam in Max’s eye, Lily nodded.
He strode into the throng, saying loudly, ‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’ He gave Lily a nudge.
‘Positive,’ she replied. She had no idea what he was doing but he seemed to be on her side so, for now at least, she was happy to play along.
‘So Ronan Carver told you he’s looking for a model and he wants to use a first year!’
Lily saw several heads twist around as she and Max navigated their way to the front of the crowd. ‘I guess,’ she said, nodding.
‘And Dr Frank has given him permission to visit our class?’
‘Apparently,’ said Lily, amazed at the effect Max’s words were having on the crowd. All around her she could see heads snap together as people passed the information on. It looked like a game of Chinese whispers, only this time the false message was at the beginning, not the end.
‘I wonder if he wants a guy or a girl?’ mused Max in a carrying voice.
Lily could almost feel the air thrum with anticipation as those nearest them stopped talking to hear her reply. She looked at Max. ‘He didn’t say,’ she said honestly.
There was a sigh, as if fifty people had all let out a breath in the same instant.
‘Never mind, if he’s coming to class, we’ll find out soon enough,’ said Max chirpily as he edged his way round a large Polynesian boy and found a space about ten feet from where Darcy had the artists lined up. Lily could see the first two already holding up their pictures.
As they took their places, Darcy suddenly looked up, saw Max staring at him and waved. To Lily’s surprise, Max coloured and turned his head towards her. ‘Darcy won the Depiction last year. You can see the clip on YouTube.’
Lily’s heart sank. ‘Do they put everyone online?’ she asked nervously.
‘Usually just the winner.’
‘Right.’
‘It must have been incredible sitting for him,’ said Max abruptly.
‘Sorry?’ Lily was distracted by the applause and catcalls and hoots of laughter that greeted the third caricature of Phoebe as a rock star, her hair all awry, screaming into a microphone.
‘Incredible. Sitting. For. Ronan. Carver,’ repeated Max.
‘Yes, amazing,’ said Lily, with as much conviction as she could muster. She couldn’t fathom this fascination with Ronan Carver. Sure, he was good looking and Max said he was talented, but people were acting like he was some kind of celebrity. Even now she could see a group of girls watching him and whispering together.
Lily didn’t get it. All she knew was that in about two minutes he was going to reveal a picture of her that would most likely doom her to ridicule for the rest of her time at the Academy. Who knew what he’d drawn her as?
The girl with the glasses held up her caricature of Rashid, and Lily saw that she’d turned him into a pirate. People clapped, and then laughed, and clapped harder as the artist who’d drawn Annabel as a hippie revealed his picture.
As the applause died away, Ronan stepped forward.
There was a sudden hush and Lily felt as if her ribs could barely hold her galloping heart.
He unfurled his picture.
There was a moment’s silence.
And then came a rolling, roaring wave of laughter. It washed over Lily, surrounded her and, before it could recede, to her intense surprise, Lily found herself laughing, too.
Ronan had captured her experience of the Depiction exactly. All her frustration in sitting for him was there – in the tilt of her huge heart-shaped head, in her gigantic frowning eyes with their dense forest of curled black lashes and in her gritted-teeth smile – even her nose, which he’d drawn to a fine point, seemed to quiver with annoyance.
But the funniest thing of all was her hair.
It coiled round her body, leaving only her face exposed, before flowing like some vast river across the quad, covering everything and everyone in its path. Here and there an angry eye or flailing hand was visible through the strands while, next to Lily, almost covered by the rising tide of hair, Ronan clutched his easel like a drowning man.
It was brilliant.
And perceptive.
And much, much too revealing.
As the laughter subsided, Lily turned from the picture to look at its creator. She was startled to find Ronan watching her, a question in his eyes.
She had no idea how to respond. Was she meant to be grateful? Happy? Excited? Should she go over and congratulate him? Or take him to task for letting everyone see how she felt at being shanghaied into the Depiction?
Finally she lifted her shoulders resignedly and gave him a small half-smile. It wasn’t gracious or grateful but it was the best she could do in the
moment.
She saw his forehead briefly knit before Darcy cried, ‘And now to decide the winner!’ He surveyed the crowd. ‘As you know, we use a sophisticated, state-of-the-art adjudication system –’
‘Yeah,’ shouted someone, ‘loudest cheer wins!’
‘And get on with it,’ called someone else. ‘Bell’s due any second.’
Darcy flashed the crowd a brilliant smile. ‘Right.’ He waved at the artists. ‘Marta first.’
One by one the artists stepped forward. Lily had to cover her ears when Caspar held up his picture of Phoebe, and the applause was almost as loud when Shaun dragged Annabel forward to hold her caricature. Then it was Ronan’s turn.
The applause for his picture began slowly, and Lily got the feeling that people were torn between clapping to ensure Ronan won and not clapping to ensure she didn’t win.
Lily flicked back her hair and hoped the general resentment of her would prevail. She didn’t want her picture hanging in the entrance hall for three minutes, let alone three months.
But apparently Ronan’s mysterious influence – charisma, appeal or whatever it was that made him popular – was too strong.
It took about three seconds for the applause to build, but when it did, it was deafening.
‘Oh, well done,’ whispered Max as Darcy announced the winner, and Lily wasn’t sure if he meant her, Darcy or Ronan.
She tried to smile as Ronan gathered his cloak around him and stepped forward, picture in hand, to receive his prize. He looked so composed that it was a shock when he stumbled. The crowd gasped as he pitched forward, his knees almost hitting the ground, before he suddenly tucked, rolled, and came to his feet as if nothing had happened.
People cheered the unexpected acrobatics and then fell silent as Ronan held up his drawing.
Either his foot or his knee had gone through the paper: where Lily’s face had been there was now a gaping hole, and a long smear of dirt lay across the drawing like a wound. Several people rushed forward, enclosing Ronan in a circle of sympathy. It seemed to Lily as though he endured it for as long as he could before breaking free.
He strode over to Darcy and said calmly, ‘I think you’ll find Caspar had the most applause.’ He crushed the remains of his picture between his hands and glanced up at the clock tower. ‘Bell’s about to go. We’d better get back to Pendragon.’ His cloak swirled about him as he pivoted lightly on the balls of his feet and headed for the cloisters.
That was when it struck her – the oddness of his stumble.
Lily clapped absently as the new winner was announced and Caspar and a shyly smiling Phoebe received their prizes.
As the crowd began dispersing, Lily hurried over to the spot where Ronan had almost fallen. She stared at the grassy patch. There was nothing to see. No dip or lump or molehill to catch the unwary, just smooth green turf.
She gazed after him as he led the Dragons through the cloisters back to their school. She wondered what he’d do with the ruined drawing and she wondered when she’d see him again.
But most of all Lily wondered why Ronan Carver had deliberately tripped and wrecked his picture of her.
CHAPTER 10
The bell rang, pushing all thought of Ronan from Lily’s mind.
Max tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go, we don’t want to be late.’
He led her through the cloisters, down a short flight of stairs and pushed open the door to a large classroom. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by a chorus of voices.
‘Hey, Holcroft, what’s the scoop on Tarantino?’
‘Yo, Max, did you hear that Ronan Carver’s gonna draw a first year?’
‘Max! Did you get the M&S job?’
‘Oi! Holcroft, any thoughts on the Christmas play?’
‘Hey Max, what’s with you and the super-rich bitch? I thought Lily de Tourney was –’
‘Right here,’ cut in Max smoothly. He stepped aside and Lily could see a dozen students standing around in small groups chatting while another handful perched on their desks as they waited for the teacher. There was a sudden silence at Max’s words and for a moment Lily wasn’t sure whether she should turn and run, say something cutting, or just find a seat in the farthest corner and hope that people would leave her alone.
Before she could decide, Max pulled her forward and said calmly, ‘I’m on the Tarantino case, Harry – I’ll fill you in after I’ve talked to my sources. Yes, I heard the rumour about Ronan Carver, Liam, so I expect he’ll be dropping by one of our classes sometime. Hey, Rachel, loved our summer catch-up and, yes, I did get the Marks & Spencer job. It was a big catalogue shoot that paid me lots of lovely money.’
‘Which you’ll probably spend on producing more of that grubby little muck-raking rag of a newspaper you ran during summer school and which seems to have convinced everyone you’re some kind of oracle,’ said a cool voice.
Max turned. ‘Queen Charlotte,’ he said. ‘What an honour.’ He swept her a mocking bow before tipping an imaginary hat to Phoebe and Gemma. ‘And you’ve brought your entourage.’
‘Please get out of our way,’ said Charlotte coldly.
‘Gladly, oh queen.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ snapped Charlotte.
Lily stepped aside to let her pass.
‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ said Charlotte, her light-brown eyes unblinking as they met Lily’s.
‘Oh?’ said Lily.
‘Max never does anything unless there’s something in it for him.’
‘You wrong me, oh queen,’ said Max tragically.
‘I don’t think so,’ retorted Charlotte. She looked at Lily. ‘Max and I did summer school together. I suggest you ask him why he’s latched onto you.’
‘Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to be an outcast,’ replied Max.
‘Really, Max?’ asked Phoebe, surprised.
‘People only listen to him because he’s been on TV,’ said Gemma cattily.
‘Have you?’ asked Lily, looking at Max. ‘Would I have seen you in any–’ she broke off. She’d suddenly realised where she’d seen him before. The dazzling smile, the freckles, those enormous hazel eyes: for the past few mornings they’d been the first thing she’d seen when she’d sat down to breakfast at the Hallidays.
‘You’re the boy on the cereal box,’ said Lily before she could stop herself.
He grinned. ‘That’s me.’
‘Max Holcroft, the oat-bran boy,’ sniggered Gemma and she trilled: ‘Oats and bran will make your day, keep you healthy in every way.’
‘Ignore her,’ said Max, ‘She thinks she can sing.’
‘I can sing,’ retorted Gemma hotly. ‘You think you know everything, Max, but you’re making a big mistake being friends with her!’ She gestured furiously at Lily.
‘Thanks for the advice, Gemma,’ replied Max. ‘But I know what I’m doing. Besides, unlike some people, Lily seems pretty normal.’ He smiled at Lily. ‘Are you?’
‘Normal?’ She smiled back. ‘I guess – whatever normal means.’
‘See?’ said Max. ‘Nothing to worry about. You should learn to relax, Gemma.’
‘You don’t get it, do you, Max?’ cried Gemma. ‘She skived off to Paris, let everyone down, broke the rules – she doesn’t deserve to be here!’
‘Afraid of the competition, are we?’ murmured Max.
‘No, I just don’t think we want someone like her at the Academy,’ snapped Gemma.
‘Or someone like me, either, I suppose?’ said Max.
‘I didn’t say that,’ snapped Gemma, scowling at him. ‘I have nothing against gay people. I’m sure being gay in this business gives you lots of advantages –’ She stopped.
There was an uncomfortable silence before Charlotte said gravely, ‘That was inappropriate, Gemma. You should apologise.’
‘Sorry,’ said Gemma, but Lily could see she didn’t mean it. She had just opened her mouth to tell Gemma off when the door opened and a woman stood on the threshold.<
br />
She looked at them in surprise. ‘Seats. Now,’ she said and everyone scampered for a desk.
Lily followed Max into the second row, shoved her duffel bag under her chair, and waited as their teacher crossed to the centre of the room.
She was a small woman, with close-cropped dark hair and fine, delicate features – though Lily suspected there was nothing delicate about her. She had a slight limp and leaned on a silver-headed ebony cane as she walked.
‘Welcome. I am Dr Miriam Frank, your first-year director and Voice teacher.’ She scanned their faces, her dark eyes alert. ‘It is my task to ensure that your first year at the Academy prepares you for what is to come. That means making sure you have no illusions about the acting profession.’
Her voice was deep and serious and Lily felt everyone in the room sit a little straighter. She leaned forward, her face intent, eager to hear what Dr Frank had to say.
The tiny teacher stood erect, both hands clasping the silver-headed cane, and said bluntly, ‘Most of you will never work as actors.’
There was a universal gasp and she smiled grimly.
‘For every success story there will be at least a hundred stories of failure and no work. The training is hard, the attrition rate enormous and talent alone is not enough.’ She fixed each of them with a steely gaze. ‘Discipline!’ She banged her stick on the floor. ‘Dedication!’ Bang. ‘Determination!’ Bang. ‘Hard work!’ Two bangs.
Dr Frank paused and surveyed the room. She locked eyes with each student, studying them intently for a moment before turning to the next. Lily followed her gaze and was intrigued to see how her classmates’ reactions varied. Most met her eyes, some with serious faces, some frowning, a few looked as if they were trying to solve a puzzle and a couple wore a faint smile of dis-belief. Next to Lily a tow-haired boy shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘My talent is enough’.
The teacher turned her gimlet stare on the boy. ‘Discipline, dedication, determination, hard work,’ she repeated. ‘These are the basics on which you will be tested throughout your time at the Academy.’
She paused. When she spoke again, her voice sent a chill down Lily’s spine.
‘But even these may not be enough.’ She shook her head. ‘Your presence here means you have talent, and yet, not all of you will succeed in your chosen profession.’ She pointed her stick at the boy. ‘What is your name?’
The Rapunzel Dilemma Page 7