Falling Fast

by Sophie McKenzie

  Emmi’s eyes brightened. ‘True,’ she said. ‘And what with you being with Darren and that Daisy Walker . . .’ she lowered her voice ‘. . . looking like she’s totally up her own backside, there’ll be loads to choose from for me and River.’ She grinned. ‘Hope we don’t both go for the same guy, Riv.’

  I gritted my teeth.

  We’d been given permission to skip the last – free – period of school in order to get to St Cletus’s by the end of their school day. The bell was ringing as we walked into the big, stone entry hall and found the bursar’s office on the left. The secretary told us to wait outside while she buzzed the staffroom for Mr Nichols.

  We lolled self-consciously against the office door as streams of boys of various ages and sizes stumbled past, wide-eyed and gawping. There was a lot of pushing and shoving and pointing, though none of them actually came over and talked to us.

  ‘God, you’d think they’d never seen a girl before,’ Emmi whispered to me.

  I swallowed, remembering what Mum had said this morning. Still, none of these boys were Flynn.

  After a few minutes the entry hall started to clear. James Molloy came bumbling over, a big grin on his slightly flushed face.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, to Emmi’s left arm. ‘I’m supposed to take you to the rehearsal room.’

  I rolled my eyes at Grace. She smiled back. That was the good thing about the way me and Emmi and Grace were friends. Whenever something was happening to one of us, the other two were always there to share it.

  My heart was pounding by the time we reached the rehearsal room. It was another classroom. Bigger than the one we’d used before, with all the desks pushed back against the walls. It was distinctly shabby too – with a few posters and bits of coursework pinned up on peeling wallpaper and a large, cracked whiteboard propped next to the door.

  I looked swiftly round the room. My heart beat fast. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I knew I was looking for Flynn.

  There were at least ten boys lounging against the desks by the walls. Most of them were watching Emmi – who had dragged a blushing Grace into the middle of the room and was chatting to her ultra-casually, pouting her lips and raking back her hair as she talked.

  I looked along the row of boys. Flynn wasn’t here. How could he not be here? He had the main part. I had a sudden and terrifying thought. Suppose something awful had happened to him and he’d pulled out of the play?

  ‘You okay?’ James Molloy had sidled up to me, unnoticed.

  ‘Mmmn,’ I said. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Er . . . your name’s . . . er . . . River, isn’t it?’ James said.

  I stared at him.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing,’ James stammered. ‘I just wondered. You said you were Emmi’s best friend and . . . and I was thinking . . . I was just curious. Well, um, everyone is . . .’

  He stuttered to a stop.

  I frowned. ‘Curious about what?’ I said.

  James gazed at Emmi. ‘One of the other guys wanted to know . . . er . . . if she . . . if you know . . . there was . . . It’s just, um, you’re like her best friend. You said.’

  I remembered something James had said the first time we’d met.

  ‘You’re Flynn’s best friend, aren’t you?’ I said.

  James shrugged. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked nonchalantly. ‘Shouldn’t he be here for the rehearsal?’

  James nodded. ‘He should be. But he told Mr Nichols he had a family emergency. Had to go home straight after school.’

  ‘Oh.’ I was bitterly disappointed. But at least Flynn was still doing the play. There would be other rehearsals, after all. I glanced sideways at James, hoping he hadn’t noticed how deflated I’d sounded. He was still staring at Emmi.

  ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend,’ I said.

  James looked round at me, startled.

  I grinned. ‘Well, that was what you wanted to know, wasn’t it?’

  The rehearsal lasted just over an hour. Mr Nichols got everyone to read through the first couple of acts. He said Romeo’s lines himself. That must have been a bit weird for Emmi, but she kept her head down, concentrating hard on what she was reading, so I couldn’t see her expression.

  Afterwards some of the boys came over and tried to talk to us. I stood between Emmi and Grace, feeling ugly and awkward. Emmi was in her element, tossing back her hair and flashing dazzling smiles at them all. Grace looked nervous, but sweet. I could see several of the boys, clearly intimidated by Emmi’s hard, sexy confidence, make a beeline for Grace. She giggled with them, looking up at them coyly from under her eyelashes.

  I sighed. It was just a game to them. A dance. No one saying what they really felt. Everyone trying to be something they weren’t. Putting on an act.

  A few guys tried to speak to me, but I didn’t really talk back. I didn’t know how to join in and was torn between envy at the ease with which Emmi charmed everyone and irritation at the pointlessness of the whole thing. Soon, I slipped away and got the bus home by myself.

  We went back on Thursday for another read-through – this time of the last three acts. Flynn still wasn’t there. The same family emergency, James said mysteriously. But he didn’t offer up the details and – because it was Flynn – I couldn’t ask.

  By the following Monday I had pretty much convinced myself he wasn’t going to be there. Even if he was, I reckoned, I’d built him up in my mind and when I saw him again I was going to see he was really no different from the other boys.

  It was a smaller rehearsal this time. Emmi and I went on our own. James came and took us up to the classroom we’d used on the first day, the one in the sixth form block. Three boys were already in there – the red-haired guy who I knew was playing Lord Capulet, Juliet’s father, and two shorter guys who explained they were Servants 1 and 2.

  James hung around for a while, chatting to Emmi’s right shoulder, then bumbled off, mumbling something about not being in the scene we were rehearsing.

  Act 1, Scene 5. The scene where Romeo and Juliet meet.

  The door swung open. Mr Nichols came in. He was wearing a long scarf round his neck. It trailed down the side of his rather shapeless jumper. A stocky boy with a shock of blond hair strolled in beside him. I recognised him from the previous rehearsal. He was playing Tybalt, the guy Romeo kills.

  Mr Nichols smiled distractedly at Emmi and me, then strode to the front of the room. He leaned against the teacher’s desk and crossed his long, thin legs.

  ‘I thought we would tackle a crucial scene tonight,’ he said. ‘The build-up to and first meeting of the Verona Two.’

  The Verona Two was Mr Nichols’ way of referring to Romeo and Juliet. He always chuckled when he said it. Nobody else ever did.

  Mr Nichols absently wound his scarf a second time round his neck. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘we’ll start with . . .’ He suddenly blinked rapidly. ‘WHERE THE HELL IS FLYNN?’

  He glared round the room.

  All faces were blank. Then the door opened and Flynn strolled in.

  5

  ‘Sorry I’m late, sir,’ Flynn said, not sounding sorry at all. He loped over to the nearest desk and leaned casually against it. ‘Something I had to do after class.’

  My heart pounded.

  Flynn was extraordinary. Everyone was looking at him, and yet he didn’t seem the slightest bit embarrassed.

  ‘Right, well you’re here now.’ Mr Nichols coughed nervously.

  I held my breath. Was that it?

  Mr Nichols hesitated. I was sure he wanted to tell Flynn off properly, but something was holding him back.

  Flynn stared at the teacher, his arms folded, a look of contempt on his face.

  Mr Nichols turned his attention to the two boys playing Servants 1 and 2. They started saying their lines. Badly. Mr Nichols stopped them and explained in some detail what the lines meant. The boys gave lots of meaningful nods and ‘oh yeahs’, snatching looks at Emmi when
ever they could.

  I was avoiding looking at Flynn. The power of his presence was making me feel off balance somehow. I couldn’t explain it. He was like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. Like when the air gets all heavy and you can almost feel the rumbling before you hear the thunder itself.

  Very slowly, I raised my eyes a little, so I could see his face. He was staring at his shoes. They were worn and scuffed. In fact – I stared at his shirt and trousers – all his clothes looked worn. I hadn’t noticed before, but the knees of his trousers were shiny, almost threadbare, and you could see lines at the bottoms of the legs where the hems must have been let down.

  None of this stopped him from looking totally cool.

  Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. He was looking at me, I knew he was. Oh God, he’d seen me staring at him. I averted my eyes to the floor, then let them travel sideways.

  I was still sure he was looking at me. I glanced up.

  The intensity of his stare almost knocked me out. His face was rigid. Furious. Almost like he was challenging me not to laugh at him. I stared back; a fish caught on a hook. Why was he so angry?

  My heart was pummelling at my chest now, so loudly it was drowning out Mr Nichols. I wanted to look away. But I couldn’t. It was like Flynn was holding me in his gaze, pinning me down.

  As we looked at each other, the hard look in his eyes softened. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but at least he didn’t seem angry any more.

  I gazed at him, mesmerised by his face, by the shape of it, the lines of it. It wasn’t an obviously good-looking face, maybe, but there was something about it – something . . . well . . . beautiful. His eyes were certainly beautiful. In the bright overhead light they shone gold, like a lion’s.

  And then Mr Nichols’ voice boomed out more loudly. ‘Once more, then, and we’ll move on to Romeo noticing Juliet for the first time.’

  Flynn looked away.

  As everyone bustled about, saying lines, listening to explanations, Flynn moved slowly towards the centre of the room. He walked, as before, in that loping, slightly swaggering way of his. This hot, powerful glow radiated through my whole body. It was terrifying how strong it was. How it took me over. How I knew what it meant, instinctively, even though I’d never ever felt anything like it before.

  I wanted him to touch me. To kiss me . . . I looked down at my hands. They were actually shaking.

  Flynn started speaking. Oh my God. I’d forgotten what a brilliant actor he was. He was in a totally different league from the others. He finished his speech, his voice low and trembling.

  ‘Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight;

  For I never saw true beauty till this night.’

  He walked back to where he’d been standing before, against the desk. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. But he didn’t look at me again.

  The next part of the scene involved the boys playing Lord Capulet and Tybalt. I was oblivious to what they were doing. I was oblivious to everything except Flynn. And then I remembered Emmi. Had she noticed? I whipped round, expecting to see her watching me with raised eyebrows. Phew. She was poring over her script, frowning.

  Sensing my gaze, she glanced up and grinned, beckoning me towards her.

  ‘See any cute boys yet?’ she whispered.

  I grinned back and shook my head. What had just happened with Flynn was private. Personal. I didn’t want to be teased about it – even by my best friend.

  ‘Me neither. Though he’s all right, if I had to.’ She jerked her head towards the blond boy playing Tybalt. ‘His name’s Alex.’

  I stared at him. Alex/Tybalt was thickset, with bland, regular features and a strong chin. Nice-looking, but nothing special.

  Nothing special. Like me.

  I suddenly remembered how ugly and dumpy I’d looked in the mirror this morning. I glanced at Flynn. He was frowning over his script. Like Emmi had been.

  My heart sank. I had no hope. Who was I kidding?

  ‘Right, everyone. Now before we begin the section of the scene where the Verona Two actually meet,’ Mr Nichols boomed, ‘who can tell me what the scene is really about?’

  Deathly silence.

  ‘What I mean is, who can tell me what actually happens in this scene.’

  More silence. Then Alex tentatively raised his arm.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Er . . . Romeo kisses Juliet,’ he said.

  ‘Ye-es,’ Mr Nichols said slowly. He wound the end of his scarf round his hand. ‘But what happens before that?’

  The silence filled the room.

  Mr Nichols coughed. ‘Okay, let’s make it real, here. What has to happen before you kiss someone?’

  Someone sniggered. No one attempted to answer.

  ‘Come on.’ Mr Nichols sounded irritated. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to kiss anyone before.’

  More sniggering. My gaze flickered round the room. Everyone, including Emmi, looked totally embarrassed. Except for Flynn. Even in my one-second reconnoitre I could tell that he was more bored than embarrassed.

  ‘Right.’ Mr Nichols rolled his eyes and pointed at Alex. ‘You. What has to happen before you kiss a girl?’

  Alex looked appalled as he realised there was no way to escape answering the question. Long pause. ‘Dunno, sir,’ he finally stammered. ‘Er . . . it just happens.’

  ‘It “just happens”,’ Mr Nichols said sarcastically. ‘I see, so you see a girl walking along the street and you go up to her and it “just happens” . . .’

  A titter of nervous laughter drifted round the room. I think I may have joined in with it. Flynn didn’t.

  ‘Come on. What happens first? Matlock?’

  Mr Nichols turned to Servant 1.

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno, sir. Touching?’

  Mr Nichols sighed deeply. ‘Dear God,’ he said. ‘Right. So you see a girl in the street. You go up to her. Grab her. And then you kiss her.’ He shook his head. ‘Tell me, Matlock, how’s that approach working for you?’

  A richer rumble of laughter echoed round the room.

  ‘Come on, everyone,’ Mr Nichols said brightly. ‘It’s not rocket science. What has to happen before you kiss someone?’

  ‘You talk, sir.’ It was Flynn. His voice steady, his eyes down.

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Nichols clapped his hands together. ‘Yes, Flynn. You talk. That’s what Romeo is doing here. He’s chatting Juliet up. Now, how does he do it?’

  ‘He tries to make her laugh, sir,’ Flynn said, still with his head bowed.

  ‘Exactly. Right, now let’s have the lines. No actual kissing required, thank you.’

  I could feel Emmi breathing a sigh of relief beside me.

  She moved forward to where Flynn was standing. Mr Nichols directed them both into the middle of the empty space. They each said a few lines. Then Mr Nichols stopped them and made them explain them. Flynn seemed to have no problem with this. Emmi, on the other hand, grew red in the face as she struggled to make sense of what she’d been saying.

  Mr Nichols frowned. ‘Right, guys, okay, so Romeo is angling for a kiss while Juliet’s quite happy to shake hands, as it were. They’re talking about pilgrims and saints and Juliet points out saints use their lips in prayer. Romeo as a “pilgrim” asks Juliet as a “saint” to grant his prayer for a kiss – “let lips do what hands do” – and Juliet says: “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.” Can anyone tell me what she means?’

  I sat there, the blood pounding in my head. I knew what Juliet’s line meant. I wanted Flynn to know I knew. And yet . . . and yet . . . it was terrifying to speak it out loud.

  Mr Nichols’ gaze drifted across the room. ‘Anyone? Just jump in.’

  I took a deep breath and blurted it out. ‘I think Juliet is flirting . . . like, she’s hinting she won’t make the first move but she’ll go there if he does . . . I mean, she’ll grant him his prayer and kiss him . . .’

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Nichols punched the air.

  Em
mi nodded, clearly relieved.

  ‘And now what does Romeo do?’ Mr Nichols demanded.

  ‘He kisses Juliet and says by granting his prayer she’s taken his sin away,’ Flynn said quietly.

  ‘Yes. And then?’

  Flynn caught my eye. I knew he knew what the next lines meant, but he was waiting for me to speak.

  Letting me answer.

  I turned to Mr Nichols. ‘Juliet makes out that now, cos of him kissing her, her lips are all covered with his sin,’ I stammered, ‘which is gross. But she only says it cos she wants him to kiss her again.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Nichols was on his feet. ‘And then?’

  ‘He kisses her again,’ Flynn said. ‘To get his sin back off her. So she doesn’t have to carry it. It’s clever cos he’s making out he’s doing her a favour. But really it’s what he wants to do.’

  As he said those last words, he glanced over at me again.

  That hot, powerful feeling I’d had before flooded through me, stronger than ever.

  Emmi stepped forward.

  I watched her doing the scene with Flynn – speaking our lines. I was jealous. Really jealous. I couldn’t help it. Then it was my turn to speak. As I said my lines to Romeo, I didn’t look him in the face. I didn’t dare.

  After we’d gone through the whole scene, Mr Nichols took us all down to the sixth form common room where someone had laid out some more juice and biscuits. For some reason, Emmi was in a bad mood and had already told me twice that she wanted to go soon. We’d already planned to go back to Grace’s for pizza so I was going to have to leave with the others.

  But I didn’t want to go. Not yet.

  I darted over to Alex – Emmi had said he was all right, hadn’t she? I murmured in his ear that she’d told me she’d like to talk to him.

  It worked. Thirty seconds after I’d scurried away Alex wandered over and started in on some hardcore chatting up.

  Emmi was already giggling as I headed for the orange juice. I just needed something to do with my hands before I turned round. Before . . .

  I sensed him before I saw him. Felt the thunderstorm circling above my head.

  ‘Are you Catholic?’