Star-Crossed (13 page)

“Hey, Will, can you chuck me that peeler? This one's rubbish, and if we don't peel all these in ten minutes Sergeant Scream will come and scare the living daylights out of us…”

Will doesn't reply.

“Will?”

Ethan turns away from the sink to face his friend, who is staring down and peeling in a steady rhythm in a world of his own. Ethan watches him for a second, then sighs.

“Guess what? The other day my dog turned around and told me that he was moving to Barbados to live with a cross-dressing goat called Geraldine. Isn't that funny?”

Will's mask of concentration cracks and he shakes his head slightly.

“What?” he mutters, looking up at his friend with confusion. “Who's Geraldine?”

Ethan grins. “Now that I've got your attention,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “What's up? You've been quiet all day.”

Will puts down his carrot and peeler, then rubs his eyes. He looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Ethan frowns as he sees that his best friend is shaking.

“Will, what's happened?” His tone becomes serious.

“It's like being back with my father. You remember . . . what he was like,” he struggles, his cheeks flushing pink. Ethan narrows his eyes and looks straight at Will.

“You're being bullied?” he asks quietly. Will nods, still staring at the floor. “By who?”

“Jack…” Will says in a shaky voice. “And the other guys in the dorm. Jack said that I should leave. He's threatening me. He said that I shouldn't be here, that I'd be a liability if we were at war and I should get out before he makes me.” Finally, Will looks up. “I'm scared,” he says. “
I don't know what to do
.”

Ethan sighs. He doesn't know what to do either. He doesn't know what to tell him. He decides to level with his friend.

“I don't really know what to say.” He pauses, looks at the floor, then carries on. “But my dad always told me to never give up if things get tough. He used to say that Banners don't quit. We're brothers.” He stretches out his hand and takes Will's shaking one. “Which means that you're a Banner. Keep going, ignore Jack, and he'll get bored. Show him what you're made of. Be the best you can be, and bring home your medals. I'll help you.”

Will smiles and looks at their grasped palms.

“We'll make it through together,” says Ethan.

It's the day of the play. Since last week, you have been quieter than normal. Rubes has asked you over and over again what is wrong, but you won't tell him. He can probably guess. You know that he will be fantastic about it, but you want to carry on having this feeling: this floaty, dreamy feeling that makes you feel higher than any drug could take you – like you are special and loved and everything is all right, which is all nonsense of course, but you don't want to admit that to yourself just yet.

You have tried thinking about
not
thinking about Chris. It hasn't worked. Your thoughts keep trailing back to how he kissed you that evening in the empty classroom, and how magical it had seemed. Now that you realize that your feelings of hate aren't what you thought they were, you can recall the kiss with the self-satisfied smile that only thinking of Chris will give you.

You are smiling like that right now in the lighting box, while you systematically tune, push and flick the appropriate buttons and switches to control the lighting. You have the whole day off lessons to rehearse, and you have already done the lighting checks on each individual, the sets and costumes. All that needs to be done now is the actual play, but first, you've got to get through the afternoon.

One of your Chris-smiles creeps on to your face, filling you with the happiness that you feel every time his face flashes into your mind's eye. You feel complete bliss as you remember his strong arms surrounding you protectively when you stumbled. You remember his voice, the concerned edge to it, as he asked you if you were OK. But then you remember the look that he gave you before walking away, and the happiness is replaced by a draining low because you know that you can't have him. You feel your heart skip a beat, as if it has stumbled and fallen into the gaping hole left by Chris. It hurts so bad that you would rather die than feel like this for any longer. Anything is better than this.

“I thought love was about pleasure, not about pain…” you mutter to yourself, collecting your papers from around the room and tidying up – anything to stop you wallowing in your own pity. You sit down heavily and sigh, all of your feelings settling like dust, clogging your logic so you feel trapped. Suddenly, you are angry.

What the hell has happened to you, Jennifer Chloe Anderson?!
You are willing to let a boy – not just
any
boy, CHRISTOPHER MORON BANNER – ruin your life?! You're going to let him steal your heart, tear it in two and stomp on it with his big, dumb combat boots and destroy all your chances of love for the future?!

You curse under your breath and put all the things that you have tidied into the corner. Someone enters behind you and leans against the door.

“Hey, Jenny-honey, wassup?”

You force a quick smile and turn to face your buddy.

“Nothing, Rube.”

You spin back on your chair to face the stage, where some people are rehearsing. You refuse to make eye contact with him, because you know once you look into his gentle, loving eyes you will tell him everything and the spell will be broken.

You curse yourself again for being so vulnerable. You have never felt this much emotion before. Everything is so overwhelming and new. It's like a blinding bright light has been switched on in your skull – confusing you, bringing tears to your eyes and uncertainty to your heart.

“Jen?”

The light vanishes. Reuben's hand lies on your shoulder. You look at it, startled, then look up at his face.

“What?” you say shakily.

“I said, ‘Do you want to go to the Orchard?' and you didn't reply.”

You clear your throat nervously. Rubes only ever asks to go to the Orchard, your most special place, when he wants to talk.

“But it's so cold outside, and I don't have a coat…” Your voice trails off as you see your thick black coat hanging on the back of the door. Reuben spots it, takes it down from the hook and holds it out to you to put on.

“Come on, sweetpea, we're takin' a break from the hectic showbiz life.” He throws the coat at you. “On.”

You sigh, dutifully putting on your jacket and following your best friend out of school, past the gates and into the park nearby – a short cut to the Orchard. You traipse through the ice-covered grass, your torn jeans getting slightly wet at the bottom, over to the missing part of the fence that is your secret entrance to the Orchard. You step under the weathered, rusty railing and into the frosty Orchard. You can't help but smile. The sight always takes your breath away.

In the spring, the trees are heavy with a rich blossom, buzzing with the early bees. In the summer and autumn, all kinds of wildlife gather here, playing in the sunrays; or lying in the shade of the dense trees that are full of juicy apples for the picking. Despite all the benefits of the dry weather, though, you love the Orchard best in winter. It's when the skeletal trees are fragile and withered; when the conifers stand proud and tall against the bleak, snow-bleached sky, filling the air with the smell of the evergreen tree. Your shoes crunch against the ground, and you leave your footprints in the frost. You feel twelve years old again.

Taking a deep breath in, you find yourself glad that Rubes has dragged you out. You love this place and everything in it. Just seeing it puts your mind at rest. You sprint away from Rubes, darting through the dead trees, to the end of the field, where a bench is hidden in a low conifer bush, sheltered from the damp and cold. Memories of you and Rubes flash through your mind, memories of the years that have passed. You hear him laugh somewhere nearby, and then he ducks under the low-lying tree branch and sits next to you on the bench. You hug your knees up to your chest, remembering when the two of you would come to the Orchard in the summer evenings to talk about things in private, sometimes outstaying your parents' curfew, only to be grounded for an extra day. But that had made no difference to you, and still most days you had chatted away until it got dark and you both got scared. Then the real work started, and the summer nights were spent revising for end of year exams; mock-this and module-that and things got too much. The Orchard visits had been minimal. You feel sad thinking about how you have missed out on more memories because you have not had the time. You start to absently pick at your shoelaces while still thinking about the past. You can feel Reuben looking at you, his eyes burning into your head, but you keep focused on your laces. You are both silent.

“Jen…” Reuben starts, and you turn your head towards him, letting your hair slide over your face in a thick blanket. He pushes it back and looks at you seriously like he did four years ago, in this very spot, when he told you that he liked boys. You look deep into your friend's eyes, regarding him with the same open, level stare that you had given him when he told you. You wait for him to continue. He holds your gaze.

“You love him, don't you?”

You don't flinch. You don't gasp. You don't widen your eyes in surprise. You simply nod. You find your voice.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

Rubes smiles at you and envelops you in a hug that radiates brotherly love, and you hug him back tightly, soaking in his strength and support.

When you eventually break away, you realize that you are crying. Your breathing is silent and your shoulders are still; the tears fall down your face without you having to blink. One falls on to your coat. It's so delicate it looks more like a dewdrop than a teardrop.

“But there's just one problem…”

Your voice is filled with emotion. Reuben nods softly.

“I know, it's your families, but—”

“No,” you say, shaking your head gently.

You look up at your best friend.

“He doesn't love me.”

Your lip trembles and another tear trickles slowly down your face. Rubes takes his gloved hand, wipes it across your face to clear away your tears, and takes your hand.

“Think like
Fame
, babe. Save it for the stage,” he whispers.

His palm grasps yours, and you let him pull you gently out of the clearing back towards the school.

Time to face the music … or lighting … whichever way you want to look at it.

“Will!” The dormitory door flies open, and in runs Ethan. His face is flushed as he rushes in, laughing and waving his arms. He is elated. “I asked Jess and she said
yes
, Will! Yes! She
bloody well
said—”

The smile slips from his face. His arms drop and his expression becomes bewildered. His face darkens as he takes in the scene before him.

Will is on the floor on his knees, hands held behind him by two guys and head held back by another. Jack is standing in front of Will with his back to the door, but has turned halfway around to see who had disturbed them. His face looks like pure evil.

A bruise is already starting to form on Will's left cheekbone, and blood is trickling from his mouth. He looks up from the floor. His eyes are hollow, pleading. For a second, Ethan sees the petrified eight-year-old boy that he met so many years ago in the woods, running for his life and searching for a place to hide. Then Ethan sees again his best friend, ten years older, but with that same petrified look and still looking for somewhere to run.

“What's going on?” Ethan asks the room, his voice shaking slightly.

No one replies.

Will tries to get up, but the boys hold him down and laugh. He struggles against them, grunting, but is no match for their combined strength and he collapses back down to the floor.

Jack's smile widens, and his black eyes grow even colder.

“Ethan Banner. Glad you could make it. Me and the boys have a little proposition for you…” He walks over to Will and bends down, so that they are face to face.

“You see, Banner, me and the boys think that William here” – he waves his arm towards Will, who no longer looks like he can understand a word anyone is saying – “is not cut out for the army. We need
real
men.” He walks over to Will, and talks directly to him. “This is not a man. He's a
slacker
. A
failure
. An
embarrassment
…”

Will hears his father's voice echoing in his ears. Jack walks back over to Ethan, and stands beside him. The three holding Will pull him up and shake him, laughing. Will moans. Ethan stands in shock. He can't believe this is happening.

“So,” says Jack, his voice biting through Ethan's thoughts, “the question still remains: what are you going to do, Banner? Are you going to join us and be a real soldier? Do you want to stand up and be counted, make your father proud? Or are you going to fight against us, so we have to …
persuade
you to leave the army too?”

Ethan's heart races. He feels sick. So many thoughts, so many memories, come flooding back.

“
Brothers.
”

“
Brothers…”

“
I'm going to be in the army
…”

“
The only thing I've ever dreamed of. This is my chance…
”

“
Did I tell you they threatened to break my legs?
”

“So what are you going to do?” Jack asks, stepping between him and Will. “Are you in?” He holds out his hand. “Or are you out?”

The whole room stares at Ethan. Will looks up, silently pleading, wondering what is taking Ethan so long, why he isn't rushing to his side, why he isn't helping…

Ethan can hear his blood pumping in his head. His vision starts to swim. He can't think straight, he can't hear properly, he can't do anything at all. He looks to Jack, to the boys, then to Will.

“
The only thing I've ever dreamed of…
”

He can't do it.

He can't make the decision.

The last thing he sees before he turns and sprints out of the room is the look of shock on his best friend's face.