‘Justin.’
‘Well, Justin, what else do you need to succeed?’
He grinned. ‘Contacts?’
Dr Frank gave him a withering glance. ‘What is the one thing we can neither control nor predict, but which all too often determines success?’ she demanded.
No one dared answer. There was silence before their teacher suddenly slammed her stick into the floor, making every-one jump. Then, in a voice Lily knew she would remember to her last breath, Dr Frank cried, ‘Luck! Fate! Fortune! That unknown element some call destiny. No one knows when it will strike, who it will touch, or whose lives will be forever changed by its power.’
She strode across the room and stopped in front of Charlotte. ‘Will it be you?’ she cried breathlessly, pointing an accusative finger. ‘Or you?’ she shrilled, pointing at a plump boy in an oversized black T-shirt. ‘Or you?’ she demanded of the class in general, her voice suddenly deep and forbidding.
Before anyone could answer, she swung away and in a normal voice said, ‘Right, let’s begin.’
Two hours later, Lily walked out of Dr Frank’s class feeling as though she’d been put through a meat grinder. Their Voice teacher was a gruelling taskmaster and she’d left them in no doubt of her expectations:
‘Voice will be your most important class while you are at the Academy. You will first learn to breathe, then you will learn how to support the voice. Articulation, resonance, rhythm, punctuation, posture – once these things are understood, then, and only then, will you learn how to speak. The greatest actors can speak an entire Shakespearean sonnet on a single breath. This is something you may all aspire to, but which only a few of you will achieve.’
She’d then made them take a lot of notes before putting them through a series of physical exercises during which they had to think solely about their breathing. Only at the very end of class did she actually allow anyone to speak.
Their next class was Movement and Lily ran for her locker, where she hastily pulled on her ‘blacks’: footless black tights, black leotard and an oversized black T-shirt. She made it to the next classroom with only seconds to spare.
Lily had loved Movement at summer school. It had been fun, but as her first Academy class progressed, she wondered if ‘fun’ was a concept at all familiar to her new teacher.
Serge Dreyfuss was a Russian with a thick accent and a harsh, unforgiving face. Lily guessed he was about sixty, though his body would have put a lot of guys half his age to shame. He was all muscle and sinew, lean and hard, yet his movements appeared effortless. He, too, made his expectations crystal clear:
‘Moofment vill be your most important class vile you are at ze Academy. Eef an actor cannot moof he cannot confince his audience. Moofment is vat shapes a character, defines it, and makes it real. You must acquire a highly defeloped sense of shape, an avareness of vhere your body is and how it moofs. Vunce you haf acquired zis avareness, you must zen lose it – showing no sign that you haf ever learned it. On stage, effery-zing you do – effery moof you make – must be founded on a body zat has learned fluidity and freedom.’
He then proceeded to fall over, not once, but several times, and in more ways than Lily had ever thought possible. After that, it was their turn to try. By the end of the class, Lily felt bruised in every part of her body. She’d had no idea falling over could be so difficult.
It reminded her of Ronan and the way he’d stumbled earlier. Where had he learned to fall like that? To turn a trip into a tumble and land on your feet took real skill. It seemed to Lily that there was a lot more to Ronan Carver than met the eye.
CHAPTER 11
Classes ended for the day and, after a quick shower and a change into jeans and a clean white shirt, Lily made her way to the dining hall. She’d been there plenty of times during summer school and it was a relief to finally be somewhere where she knew what to do. As she collected a tray and lined up with others, she felt herself relax a little.
She piled her plate with lasagne and salad, then looked about for somewhere to sit. Most of the first years were sitting together at one of the long wooden tables, but it was obvious that, unlike in the drama hall, they didn’t have to sit together. Lily could see Charlotte, with Gemma beside her, sitting at the next table opposite two girls who looked like they might be second years. And beyond them, seated across from Darcy Johnson and Alistair Prewitt, listening avidly to their conversation, was Max.
Lily hesitated and then walked purposefully towards the only empty table. It wasn’t as long as the others but it was plenty big enough for one.
She’d taken two bites of her lasagne when the Pendragon students entered the hall. There were about ten of them, all wearing the same royal blue shirt with an embroidered red P over a rearing gold Dragon on the breast. She remembered what Mae-Ling had told her about the senior Dragons eating and sleeping at the Academy, and was surprised not to see Ronan Carver among them. But then maybe he didn’t like eating with a crowd – maybe he preferred eating by himself . . .
‘All alone?’ said a voice behind her.
Lily almost choked on her lasagne. ‘You scared me!’ she gasped. She swivelled on her chair and glared up at Ronan, who was standing behind her with a plate of food in his hands.
‘Sorry.’ He dragged a chair to the head of the table and sat down.
Lily instantly stood up and picked up her plate and glass.
‘Going somewhere, Lily D?’ asked Ronan.
‘It’s Lily, and yes, I thought I’d sit somewhere else, so you can be with your friends.’ She tilted her head towards the group of Dragons heading for the table.
‘And you’re going to sit with yours, I suppose?’ Ronan eyed her thoughtfully.
‘Yes – No – I mean –’ Lily glanced around the room. Max appeared to be hanging on Darcy’s every word, Rachel and Liam had joined Charlotte and the second years, and the dining hall was even more crowded than before.
‘Actually, I’m in quarantine,’ she said lightly.
‘Oh?’ Ronan raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Yeah, it’s probably rabies, so no one’s allowed to be within ten feet of me.’
‘Lucky for me I’ve had my rabies shots,’ said Ronan. He pointed to her plate. ‘That looks pretty good.’
‘It is, actually,’ said Lily.
‘So finish it. I promise not to disturb you.’
You already do. The words flashed into Lily’s mind. She ignored them and sat down. ‘I don’t want to get between you and your friends,’ she said in a low voice as several of the Dragons sat down and began tucking into their food.
‘My friends?’ queried Ronan, his green eyes flickering as he considered the noisy group of Pendragon students further down the table. ‘You mean the Dragons? What makes you think they’re my friends?’
‘Aren’t they?’ Lily’s face was sceptical. ‘What else would you call them? Fans? Followers? Devotees?’
‘None of the above,’ replied Ronan with a smile, and Lily recognised her own words from the Depiction.
‘But people follow you,’ she objected. ‘From what I saw today, I’d have said you were the most popular guy on campus.’
‘Maybe you’re mistaking popularity for something else,’ said Ronan, his smile twisting into a grimace.
‘Such as?’
‘Misplaced perception.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Lily.
‘Look around.’ He gestured to the hall full of chattering students. At almost every table there were people nudging each other and whispering, their eyes on Ronan Carver. ‘I’m just meat for the hungry.’
‘Hungry for what?’
‘Fame, fortune, power. The usual things.’
‘And they think you can give them that?’
‘They don’t know what I can do, so they’re hedging their bets.’
‘There does seem to be an awful lot of people interested in you,’ observed Lily.
‘That’s because they’ve heard the stories.’
>
‘What stories?’
His eyebrows came together in a slanted frown. ‘Rumours, hearsay, fantasy,’ he said. ‘I only came to Pendragon in January. The circumstances were unusual. I don’t like talking about myself, but people are curious, so they ask around. They hear things, the stories grow, until no one knows what’s true and what isn’t.’
‘You don’t seem to mind,’ said Lily, her head on one side as she gazed at him.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t care what people think.’
‘Which – if you really mean that – just makes you all the more fascinating – and popular.’
‘They’re watching you, too, you know.’
Lily scowled. ‘Only because you’re talking to me, not because I’m popular.’
‘Popularity’s nothing more than a perception. Most people are followers – they want to be where the popular people are because it makes them feel popular, too. Someone, somewhere, decided I had power or influence or something they wanted, so they began taking an interest in me. The rest just followed along.’
‘That’s pretty cynical,’ said Lily. ‘Maybe people genuinely like you. Did you ever think of that?’
Ronan laughed. ‘I like your attitude, Lily D, but they don’t know me well enough to know if they like me or not.’
The words ‘I like you’ formed in Lily’s mind. She opened her lips to speak them aloud even as another part of her brain shouted, No, don’t tell him that! She shoved a forkful of lasagne into her mouth, chewed hard, and said, ‘Actually, I heard you were a bit of a mystery.’
‘I’ll bet Max Holcroft told you that.’
Lily nodded. ‘Do you know Max?’
‘Everyone knows Max.’
‘And he seems to know everyone,’ said Lily. ‘At first I thought he must be an FBI agent or from MI5 or something.’
Ronan toyed with his glass. ‘Max likes knowing people’s secrets.’
‘Do you have secrets?’ asked Lily curiously.
He met her stare, and she saw the golden flecks dance in his green eyes. ‘Sure I have secrets. Don’t you?’
Lily thought of her dad’s ultimatum and the things she couldn’t tell Angel; she thought of Grandmama and their last fight and how she’d let her think that her anger and frustration was because of the Debutante Club; she thought of how much being an actor meant to her and how she was secretly afraid that maybe she didn’t care enough about her family heritage to sacrifice her dream.
Yes, she had secrets. Too many to admit.
She twisted a long strand of hair around her fingers. It was an old nervous habit and if her dad had been there he might have put his arm around her and demanded she tell him what was up. But Philip wasn’t there and Ronan Carver was a stranger.
A stranger who’d drawn her with unsettling insight that very afternoon.
‘Why did you ruin your drawing?’ asked Lily suddenly.
‘What?’
‘Your drawing, this afternoon, you ruined it on purpose. I want to know why.’
He speared a tomato. ‘I tripped, it got in the way, end of story.’
‘You don’t trip,’ said Lily matter-of-factly.
‘Clearly I do,’ said Ronan. ‘I’m sorry it got ruined, but I can easily draw you again.’
‘No thanks,’ said Lily, holding up her hand. ‘I have no ambition to be put on display.’
‘Really? Then why are you here? I thought this,’ he gestured to the room and beyond, ‘was all about people being put on display – acting in front of an audience, fighting for the spotlight.’
‘That’s different,’ said Lily.
‘Is it? How?’ Ronan looked sceptical.
Lily glanced down the table to where the remaining Dragons were arguing loudly over whether Banksy’s graffiti was really art. She said softly, ‘Because it’s not me on display. When I’m on stage, I’m someone else: I’m living someone else’s life, feeling someone else’s emotions, reacting in ways I would never normally react.’
‘And you like that?’
She nodded. ‘I love it. It’s the most liberating thing I’ve ever done – being someone else.’
Ronan studied her for several seconds without speaking. Then he reached forward, pulled the twisted lock of hair gently off her finger and curled it around his own. Lily watched, fascinated, as the golden strand wound slowly around his knuckle. He looked at her and said matter-of-factly, ‘But you’re not someone else, are you?’
‘I am when I’m on stage,’ said Lily.
‘And when you’re not on stage? Who are you then?’
‘Then I’m just Lily D,’ she answered with a sudden smile.
‘And who’s she, when she’s not being someone else?’
‘No one. No one interesting, anyway.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Ronan, letting go of her hair. ‘I doubt that very much.’
CHAPTER 12
‘What’s he like?’ asked Phoebe as Lily towelled her hair dry.
They were in the girls’ bathroom and it was almost lights out. Lily had spent the two hours after dinner browsing scripts in the common room and listening to people talk about the Christmas play.
She’d wanted to put off going to bed until the last possible moment. It had been a long and tiring day, and so far only Max had been friendly. She’d tried calling Angel but she hadn’t picked up and Lily hadn’t felt like spending time in her room fending off her roommates’ hostility. Charlotte had already given her the cold shoulder, Gemma couldn’t seem to open her mouth without saying something catty and she was fairly certain that Phoebe was under orders not to talk to her.
Which only made it more surprising when Phoebe came into the bathroom and perched on the bench beside the sink.
‘Who?’ said Lily, laying down her towel and eyeing Phoebe in the mirror.
‘Ronan Carver. What’s he like? You talked to him at dinner.’
‘He seems okay.’
‘Okay?’ Phoebe’s face fell. ‘Is that all? I thought for sure you’d be able to tell us something about him.’
Her disappointment was so palpable that Lily couldn’t help smiling. ‘We didn’t talk for long and he had to go back to Pendragon to work on an assignment,’ she explained. ‘But he did offer to draw me again, because – you know – his picture was wrecked.’
Phoebe’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? Did you say yes?’
‘No.’
‘OMG, why not?’
Lily made a face. ‘Did you actually enjoy being drawn today?’ she asked.
Phoebe thought for a moment. ‘I didn’t mind. It was kind of cool being drawn as a rock star. I don’t think anyone’s ever thought of me in that way before, so it was a nice surprise when Caspar showed his picture.’
Lily nodded. ‘I can see that.’
‘And I thought your picture was amazing. I was sorry when it got torn.’
‘That’s nice of you,’ said Lily, surprised.
‘Oh, well,’ faltered Phoebe, colouring, ‘it wasn’t your fault and I felt bad for Ronan.’
‘It was kind of a shame,’ agreed Lily. For a moment she was tempted to tell Phoebe her suspicions about Ronan’s ‘fall’. She decided against it – that was the sort of stuff you only confided to friends.
‘You should totally let Ronan draw you again,’ urged Phoebe, ‘and not just because he’s hot.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I’d rather not. I don’t want my picture on display – ’ She stopped, suddenly aware that it was Phoebe’s picture now hanging downstairs. ‘Not that it isn’t great that yours is up – I mean I’m totally glad you won –’
‘It was pretty cool winning the Depiction,’ admitted Phoebe. ‘Especially as I never thought it would happen to me. That’s the sort of thing that usually happens to Charlotte.’
‘What usually happens to me?’ demanded Charlotte, entering the bathroom.
‘Nothing,’ said Phoebe, jumping down off the bench. ‘I was just explaining how I never expected to be chosen for the Depicti
on.’
‘I’m glad you were,’ said Charlotte. ‘And I’m glad you won.’ She gave Lily a cold stare. ‘Lights out in five minutes,’ she said crisply. ‘Come on, Phoebe, I want to tell you about my idea for the Christmas play.’
Lily made it into bed with a minute to spare. As she pulled the grey duvet over her, she resolved to spend the weekend buying the most luxurious bedding she could find. Blue, she thought, as she listened to the other three whispering together about doing Chekhov for the Christmas play. Royal blue, like the Pendragon shirts.
Her mind drifted to Ronan. He hadn’t been wearing a Pendragon shirt.
She opened her eyes and stared at the line of moonlight peeping through a chink in the curtains. She pictured Ronan at the table, curling her hair around his finger, his black T-shirt tight across his chest as he leaned towards her. Why hadn’t he been dressed like the others? she wondered. And why was he so different from every guy she’d ever met?
Everything about him set him apart: his clothes, his hair, his attitude, the way he spoke, even the way he moved. No wonder people were intrigued.
She wished she’d prodded Ronan a little more – like about the motorbike guy and whether they were in a gang together. She’d talked to Ronan three times already and still she knew almost nothing about him.
‘Like the cat who walked by himself,’ she whispered.
‘No talking,’ snapped Gemma.
Hypocrite, thought Lily, but she was asleep before she could say it aloud.
For the next few days Lily barely had time to pause for breath, let alone think about Ronan Carver.
Three mornings a week she had to be in the gym by eight o’clock in full fencing gear, ready to train. Their teacher was Waldo Sutton, an ex-Olympian, ex-Hollywood stuntman who’d choreographed fights for about half of Lily’s favourite films. He seemed to pride himself on making his students sweat and Lily learned to look forward to his classes with a mixture of fear and anticipation. You never knew when Mr Sutton would call on you to demonstrate a move or partner him in a bout. She didn’t mind being the ‘sword dummy’ in demonstrations, but the bouts could be painful. The only fun part was watching him spar with Gemma, who’d boasted about her prowess with a fencing foil before class on their first morning. Sure, Gemma was talented, but Lily couldn’t help smiling to herself as she watched her thwarted attempts to get under Waldo Sutton’s guard.
The Rapunzel Dilemma Page 8