Star-Crossed (6 page)

You can hear someone coming down the corridor, and Chris obviously can too. Now there's an audience his face goes back into its familiar sneer, making it crystal clear to the passer-by that he is in no way fraternizing with the enemy. “Reuben's cool but he can't handle those two alone, and it was obvious that a coward like an Anderson wasn't about to jump in and save him any time soon.” You scowl and think of a harsh comeback to retaliate with, but Chris hasn't finished. “You should just thank the Lord it wasn't you who they were cornering, 'cause then I might have gone temporarily blind and you could have got seriously hurt.”

You roll your eyes. “I hope that
you
get seriously hurt, Banner, then I won't have to put up with seeing your face every day.”

He laughs. “Is that another death threat, Jenny? I just loved the last one. I love it that you can put down your hate in writing; so much expression with so few words.”

“Well, I just
loved
your little rumours. What was my favourite? Oh yeah, that I broke your rib in a vicious fight. Just great. You're lucky that I can take stuff like this, 'cause if I had a short temper you would have a lot more than a broken rib.”

“I would like to see you try.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Miss Phillips walks round the corner. You both look at her and smile, and she beams back.

“Romeo and Juliet! Glad to see you together and not fighting for once.”

Your smile becomes forced and you hear Chris give a small cough that could be a laugh in disguise. You try to pin a more genuine smile to your face.

“Yeah. I have to go. I've got, er, a meeting with my … art teacher. See you at the rehearsal.”

You dodge past and take a look over your shoulder, as Phillips corners Chris. His eyebrows have disappeared into his forehead and he is nodding at whatever she is saying, which makes you laugh.

Serves you right, Banner. I'll see you later.

Two weeks later, you enter the hall for your first non-book rehearsal of the play. You're more excited than nervous, because you know your words perfectly – it's just your cues that are a little confusing. However, rehearsals have actually been going really well. You haven't had to work with Chris that much, as last week Walker left you and Misha to do some “character building”, to go through the entire play and to introduce yourself to reading and understanding Shakespeare. To you, the story is as familiar as the back of your hand, but to Misha, it's a completely different language. You spent three afternoons after school last week being bored to tears by having to stop after every line to answer Misha's whine of, “What was this bloke
on
about? It doesn't make sense! Shakespeare is
so
stupid…”, while you prayed that she would just quit the play or lose her voice. Unfortunately for you, neither has happened. Yet. You were almost relieved when Walker would call you over to work on scenes with Chris – until he did something that would remind you that you hate his guts, at which point you wished that both Misha and Chris would take a very long holiday for a very long time, forget where they live and never walk into your life again. This hasn't happened yet either.

Who would have thought that in the last three weeks this guy has saved my life twice?
you think, making your way across the hall.

As you reach the stage and pull yourself up on to it, you sigh. You start stacking away the assembly chairs still there from the morning, and think about the play.

The rehearsals you
have
had with Chris have been a constant battle. Once he stood right behind you during one of your speeches so that you could feel his warm breath tickling your neck. He was trying to put you off, waiting for you to screw up or tell him to get lost. You carried on talking, but swung up your hand in a dramatic gesture, bringing it sweeping back down into his face, giving him a minor nosebleed. You put on your best “Oh-My-God-I'm-So-Sorry” face, but apologized with as much venom as you could manage with a teacher around. Inside you were laughing so hard that your face ached from keeping straight. But he had gotten you back by knocking you over during one of his fight scenes, sending you flying across the stage and bruising your knees so badly that they turned almost black. You scowl at the memory as you shift one of the last chairs. Reuben's face looms in your head and tells you your little graffiti started it, so you work a bit faster to try to get this annoying fact out of your head and hum a song under your breath.

You are walking over to the last stack of chairs, when the heavy door at the end of the hall gives a loud creak. It's bound to be a member of the cast coming for the rehearsal… You stop dead in mid-step. But wait, nobody should be out of lessons yet.

Well, you are
… you think. The door is semi-open, but no one comes through.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes around the hall and into the eerie silence. You try again.

“Hi
…
Anyone there?”

Again, you are met with silence. You scowl.

“Damn wind…”

You start to walk back towards the chairs when the door groans again. That wasn't the wind. You stride to the edge of the stage; hands on hips.

“Yo! You! Behind the door? Get the hell lost, OK? Cast of
Romeo and Juliet
only.”

You wait for an answer, but you are only met by another squeak from the old door. You sigh and get down from the stage to stop the damn creaking before it drives you insane.

“Look,” you say as you get nearer to the door. “I said—”

You yank the door fully open and glare at Chris's grinning face behind it.

“I know what you said, Anderson, but I thought that I would continue to piss you off to see if liddle-widdle Jenny would have another asthma attack.”

His stupid blue eyes are sparkling at you, but your own green ones are flashing with annoyance.

“I'm not gonna hurt you, Chris, or threaten your pathetic little life again. I would slap you senseless but
unfortunately
I can't spare three seconds.”

Chris follows you into the hall and laughs hollowly, leaning against the stage. “And I suppose that's due to your blistering social schedule of doing the play? And, erm…” He frowns, and taps his head as if he's thinking, then snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah, that's right, you have no life! Maybe you should hit the town and learn how we party-people actually
have
fun.”

You go back to the chairs, and try to tune out Chris's self-centred ranting.

“But just so you know, I wouldn't party with you even if it was the only way to save the whole of England from a deadly plague of scorpions that will kill everyone in sight. Including me.”

You look at his cocky stance, leaning on the stage with a huge smirk on his face, and take a deep breath.

“Oh, no!” you sigh, pressing the back of your hand against your forehead in a dramatic gesture. “What will I
do
? You know I can't live without you! I can't believe I'm that transparent…” You roll your eyes and turn away.

“Don't worry, Anderson, it's not your fault. Anyone else with the IQ of a fence post wouldn't have realized it either.”

You turn back and glare at him. “How would you like to lose a limb?”

“That's not good anger management, Jen. Aren't you supposed to be toning down the violence? Your dad will be disappointed.”

Anger boils in your stomach and you feel like throwing a chair at him, but make do with a sharp insult of your own.

“So will your dear old dad when he finds out that his military baboon son was beaten by a girl – and a cowardly Anderson girl at that. So you know what? Just save him the disappointment – go shave your head, put on your shiny uniform and scream ‘Yes, SIR!' at some other baboon at a military school far,
far
away!”

Mrs Walker strides through the door and sees you both with murder in your eyes. She sighs as she puts her things down on the stage.

“Can't you two get along for just
one
minute?”

You and Chris start to speak at the same time, but Walker holds up her hand for silence.

“Even enemies can show a bit of respect.” She looks at Chris. “Remember what I said at the beginning. No disruption.” You start to smile, but then Walker turns to you. “From
either
of you.”

You glare at the floor. She knows what the deal is with Chris. She knows about your families hating each other, and she knows that you think that Chris is an arrogant git and Chris thinks that you're the biggest bitch in the world. So why is she making you do something impossible?

“Can you do that, Jen?”

You nod reluctantly.

“Good.” She smiles. “Maybe the two of you could use your fiery relationship to liven up the stage, spice the play up a bit…”

You laugh out loud, then suddenly realize that she is serious, and stop. Walker looks at you with a strange expression on her face, then claps her hands.

“All right! Let's go over what we're going to do today…”

 

Ten minutes later, the entire cast is in the hall, either in small groups on the floor or practising their individual parts. You and Chris have just been told by Walker and Phillips (she arrives late for every rehearsal) to get up on the stage to go over the ball scene.

“OK!” Walker rubs her hand together. “I want Romeo to go from ‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand,' and I want to
feel
the chemistry – so don't skip out the kiss.”

Chris nods unwillingly and moves towards you. You are silently sending hate vibes over in Walker's direction. This is the scene where Romeo and Juliet first meet – and have their first kiss. And you have to kiss him. Chris. You shiver, but tune into Juliet as Chris starts to speak.

 

“
If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
”

 

It's your line.

 

“
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
”

 

He brings up his hand, and you do the same, so that your palms connect. The sensation of his skin on yours tingles. This feeling is different. Your breath shallows as you come closer together, looking deep into each other's eyes. Chris speaks again.

“
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
”

Then you:

“
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
”

You are getting close enough now that you can smell Chris's faint smell – slightly like Hugo Boss, but slightly like fresh coffee. The words start to flow through you. You feel excited – the electricity of meeting someone new. The boy in front of you isn't Chris Banner, Git and Bastard extraordinaire; he's a handsome stranger that you are meeting for the first time at a party. You get closer still, unaware that you are still talking.

“
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
”

Then Chris speaks, so gently, and looks so deep into your eyes that you forget to breathe.

“
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
”

You move nearer; so near that you can feel his warmth and almost hear his racing heartbeat. You look up and he takes your cheek in his hand, bringing it closer to his face. You shut your eyes, waiting for contact with his smooth, perfect lips—

What the hell am I doing!?

You and Chris pull away simultaneously before your lips meet, jerking backwards and getting as far away from each other as possible.

“What was
that
?” Walker asks incredulously. “If you two can't do as I ask then I will have to cast another pair as your parts.
Don't
waste my time.”

You shift your weight and rub the back of your neck agitatedly.

“Sorry, Miss, I just got … er … nervous, 'cause everyone was watching … and, er…” You trail off helplessly, but Chris backs you up for the first time, well, ever.

“Yeah, Miss, you know, maybe we should practise somewhere else?”

Walker looks at both of you and shakes her head in despair.

“OK,” she says, and points to the left. “Through there is an empty classroom. Go and practise these scenes until I send someone to come and get you. And you'd better not fight,” she adds quickly.

You both nod, climb off the stage and slope into the classroom. Chris comes in after you and shuts the door. You sit at different ends of the room, awkwardly. So many confused thoughts are rushing through your head.

What just happened? Do I like him? I can't like him – it's Chris. I hate Chris. I hate him. Hate him.
Walker's voice echoes through your head. “
What is that fine line between love and hate?
” You groan and clutch your head.
This can't be happening. Can't. Falling for my enemy?
Why
is this happening?

As you think, you don't see Chris walk over to you. He sits by you quietly and takes your hands away from your face. You look into his eyes for the second time, but this time you don't look into them as if you are Juliet and he is Romeo. You look at Chris like he is Chris, and you are Jen. But instead of seeing the ugliness that your hate was always forcing you to see, you see the beauty of his face, all the delicate shades of blue in his eyes, the way that his forehead crinkles slightly as he looks at you. He draws a breath and whispers something.

“
While my prayer's effect I take
…”

You lean forward and kiss him deeply. He kisses you back gently, touching your face and pulling you close into him. You have never felt anything like this before. It's the most magical emotion that you have ever had. Shivers run up and down your spine, as you get lost in his kiss.

But the door opens.

“Hey, you guys.” Misha strides in. “Miss told me to come and see that you weren't—”

She sees the two of you, together, locked in a tight embrace that's joined at the lips. She stops dead and you spring apart. Misha stands there, totally confused.

“We were, um, rehearsing…” you trail off, convincing no one.

“You?” She points at you. “And … and
you
?” She stares at Chris. “Together?”

She knows she's on to something, and her face lights up with that Cheshire Cat smile that can only lead to trouble.

You turn numbly to Chris. His face reads the same confusion, shock and embarrassment that you are starting to feel.