A Little Crushed (11 page)

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about.” Mr. Hurst, French teacher extraordinaire and ex-Cambridge Footlights man, paced the room with huge strides, his booming voice reverberating inside Max’s skull. “That damn doctor, not to mention my wife. All over a little heart scare.”

“Now Jim, you know it was more than that.” Tom wagged his finger. “If I let you go ahead on your own, Martha would have my guts for garters. Let Max help. He’s the perfect choice, otherwise we’ll have to cancel this year.”

“Okay, okay.” Jim grunted. “I know when I’m beaten.”

“Hey.” Max made a T with his hands. “Time out. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Come on, Max. You’ll be great and what with your experience of amateur dramatics… Plus, from all the reports I’m getting, the kids love you.”

“Spare the flattery.” Max frowned. “But isn’t Shakespeare overly ambitious?”

“Nonsense.” Jim waved away his reservations. “Last year we put on
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
The kids had such fun, but this year, I’d like to go for something more challenging.”

“Are there many in the drama club?” Max felt his resolve weakening as Tom handed him a steaming mug of java. Tom had ‘smug’ written all over his face.

“To be honest, we’re not a club as such. More an annual gathering of would-be thespians.” Jim Hurst’s moon face beamed with pride. “We always get a good turnout for the auditions, and there are some very talented pupils—Rebecca Harding being one.”

Max snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me. That girl acts up every chance she can get.”

“You don’t like her?” Leaning against Tom’s desk, Mr. Hurst folded his arms, his heavy eyebrows in danger of overlapping. “I’ve always found her a pleasure to work with. Of course, I’ve never given her the starring role before, but now, she has matured—”

“She has?” Max scoffed. “When? Still…” He stared into his mug, cerebral cogs clicking over. “This could be a way of— Mmm, yes.”

“Mmm, yes, as in you’ll do it?” Tom prompted him. “Come on, man. Put me out of my misery. I promise I’ll get Fiona to make you a curry every week.”

“You never did fight fair.” Max grunted. “So much for the public schoolboy code of honour.”

“I went to grammar school. I’ll tell her to throw in her apple pie?”

“Will you stop?” Max laughed. “I must be mad, but okay, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!”

Max stepped back. Tom looked as if he wanted to kiss him. “Hey, no New Age man touchy-feely stuff, thank you.”

“Welcome aboard.” Jim Hurst slapped him on the back. “Let’s set up our first meeting and take it from there. Thank you, Tom, for your time.”

“Don’t say it.” Tom closed the door after he left. “I know. I dropped you in it, but it will be fun. Honest.”

“‘…said the spider to the fly.’”

“Hurry up.” Rebecca held Emma’s wrist in a vice-like grip. “A sloth moves faster than you.” She pulled her along the corridor. “It won’t look too good if we’re late on the first day.”

“First time you’ve bothered about being late,” Emma grumbled. “Why are you making me do this? It’s four o’ clock, and I want to go home.”

“It will be fun. Mr. Hurst is great, and he does the most incredible impressions. His Yul Brynner is amazing.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Think of it as therapeutic. It just might take your mind off Andy Stone.”

Pushing open the Assembly Hall doors, Emma sent her a wounded stare. “Must you bring that up?”

Emma’s love-life forgotten, Rebecca stared at the crowd gathered in front of the stage. “Wow, where have all these people come from? Vicky? What are you doing here? It’s not
X-Factor
, you know.”

Her sister met her sarcasm with the finger.

Emma let out a squeal of horror. “Oh God, there’s Andy. I’m off.”

“No you don’t.” Rebecca dragged her into a seat. “Be strong. Too late anyway. Mr. Hurst is already here.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, her favourite teacher mounted the stage, calling for attention. The hum of excited chatter ceased.

“First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for taking the time to come along today, and I’m pleased to see so many new ‘recruits.’” He cleared his throat. “As you know, the school has successfully staged an excellent production for the last five years, and we hope that this year will be no exception. The most important thing I want you all to remember is that it will be a team effort. Everyone will play a part—whether it is on stage or behind the scenes.”

“I am telling you now. I’m not shifting any bloody scenery.” Emma muttered.

Rebecca said nothing, comfortable in the knowledge she was Mr. Hurst’s favourite. This year, she knew she would be given the lead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her sister giggle into her hand before nudging her entourage. Something was definitely going on with them. The only amateur dramatics Vicky showed interest in was feigning illness to bunk off school.

“Hey,” Emma called out across the aisle. “What happened to the Viking blonde?”

Vicky patted her new, dark brown tresses. “If I am to be leading lady, I need to be taken seriously. Duh!” She raised her eyes to the ceiling while her friends laughed like well-trained monkeys.

“Oh, do excuse me,” Emma retorted. “Anyway what makes you think you stand a chance?”

“Because,” Vicky flicked back her locks and pouted, “Mr. Hurst said so.”

“He’s going to give you the lead role?” Rebecca folded her arms. “He said that?”

“Well, not in so many words, but he did say I am a perfect little drama queen. What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh Vicky…” Not for the first time, Rebecca wondered how they came from the same gene pool. “You are priceless. You—”

She cut her sister’s comeback short. Mr. Jackson strolled toward the front of the hall, black leather jacket slung over his shoulder. A collective sigh wafted around her head. Her buoyant mood sank faster than the Titanic.

“Sorry I’m late.” With a debonair jump, he joined Mr. Hurst on stage. “Year twelve nose bleed.” A huge grin stretching his tanned face, he turned to face the expectant crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

“Wow.” Emma gripped her arm. “Does he look good in black?”

“So did Dracula.” Rebecca grunted. “And shut up. I’m trying to listen.” Her stomach executed a double flip. Mr. Hurst did not just say what she thought he said.
He
was going to be the assistant director?

“If you stay like that any longer, you’ll get lockjaw.” Emma didn’t try too hard to hide her amusement. “And your eyebrows are over-lapping.”

Rebecca felt sick. It seemed everywhere she turned, she came slap-bang up against this wall called Mr. Jackson. It all fell into place. No wonder Vicky had showed up, along with all the other besotted fools.

“Miss Harding? Are you okay? You look pale.”

Mr. Hurst’s concern pulled her back to unwelcome reality. “No, sir. I’m fine, thank you.” Well, what could she say?

Emma nudged her in the ribs. “I’m glad you dragged me here. It’s going to be so cool. Extra-curricular activities with the divine Mr. J.”

Too choked to respond, Rebecca saw her dreams of stardom go up in smoke.

“Okay.” Mr. Hurst clapped his hands for silence. “Let’s move on to the choice of play for this year. After careful consideration, Mr. Jackson and I…” He paused.

It seemed to Rebecca that Mr. J. stared straight at her, and she held her breath. “We have decided on
Romeo and Juliet
.”

If he hoped for a reaction, she couldn’t give it to him; she was too sickened to utter a word.

Mr. Hurst went on. “For those who want to try out for a part, auditions will be held tomorrow after school. Anyone who would like to see a copy of the play can take one from Mr. Jackson on the way out. Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mr. Jackson? No? Okay, that’s it for today.”

Amidst excited chatter, the hopefuls filed out.

“Rebecca,” Mr. Hurst called out, halting her in her tracks. “Will you wait behind, please?”

“Oops.” Emma gave her a sympathetic arm squeeze. “Fired already.” Giggling into her hand, she dropped her tone to a whisper. “Of course, you could always offer to sleep with him for a part. If you don’t want to, tell him I’m willing.”

“Ever thought of taking up comedy?”

“Have fun.” Blowing her a kiss, Emma skipped out of the hall, still giggling.

“Oh, to be so easily amused.” Rebecca muttered. Arms folded, she sprawled in the chair, arranging her features in her well-practised Mr. J. expression.
I’m bored get me out of here.

“So, Rebecca.” Mr. Hurst dazzled her with his who’s-my-best-pupil smile. “Nice to see you back. I have been telling Mr. Jackson what an accomplished actress you are.”

Looking up through her tousled curtain of hair, Rebecca threw her adversary a curious look. His expression read…zilch. Which told her he no more wanted her in the production than she now wanted to be in it.

“We just wanted to give you the heads up.” Mr. Hurst beamed. “We have decided you will be perfect for Juliet.”

That, she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t dumb; she knew her French teacher thought the sun shone out of her posterior but to cast her with no audition?

Drawing herself up and out of her slouch, she focused on Mr. Hurst. She felt Mr. J. appraising her. “Mr. Hurst…” She tried to keep her tone civil because she really was very fond of him, but anger simmered. “While I appreciate your confidence in me, I am going to have to decline your offer.”

“Excuse me?” Hand on his heart, his normally florid features turned pastry-dough pale. “I do not understand. When we spoke last year, you told me—”

“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burned, although a chill crawled over her skin. She didn’t want to look at Mr. J., but some weird magnetic force dragged her gaze to connect with his. Her breath caught at the back of her throat. His expression read....disappointed? Her anger grew. He’d done it again: tried to buy her, and worse, he’d coerced Mr. Hurst into agreeing. She lowered her gaze. “I can’t do it, Mr. Hurst. I can’t work with him. Besides, what does he know about theatre, he—”

It was one thing disappointing her enemy but quite another to know she’d upset Mr. Hurst. The reproachful turn of his mouth cut her to the quick.

“Mr. Jackson—” he turned to his colleague, “would you mind? I’d like to have a word with Rebecca.”

“Be my guest.” Slipping his arms into his jacket, Mr. J. zapped her with a sour smile. “Always the same with you, Miss Harding—hell-bent on complicating your life.”

Waiting until he’d left, Mr. Hurst folded his arms in his famed
King and I
stance. He didn’t often lose his temper, but when he did, it could be cataclysmic. Rebecca sensed he simmered away.

“All right, Rebecca, may I ask what is going on?”

Hands dug deep in her cargo pants pockets, Rebecca stared at the stage behind. “I’m sorry. I can’t be around him. It wouldn’t work. We would fight all the time. Besides, why do we need him? We—”

“Now you hold it right there, young lady.” He held up his hand, ears reddening at the tips—a sure sign he was well on the way to an Extinction Level Event outburst. “
You
would fight? You have no business ‘fighting’ with any member of this school’s staff.”

“He started this war.” Rebecca fired back.

“Listening to your lack of respect for him, I seriously doubt that.” Wincing, he rubbed at his brow. “Rebecca, I have always given you the benefit of the doubt when others… Let’s just say your reputation for being difficult precedes you. I always thought it was over-exaggerated, but now I am beginning to question my own judgement. What do you expect me to do? Ask Mr. Jackson to leave the production team?”

Beneath his disenchanted glower, Rebecca squirmed. “Yes,” she mumbled. “That’s the only way I’ll be Juliet.”

“Rebecca...”

Suddenly, Rebecca wanted to cry. Mr. Hurst was one of the few members of staff she genuinely respected, and it killed her to know she’d disappointed him. The way he looked reminded her of her father. Her mother could scream and yell, and Rebecca remained unmoved, but one condemning look from her father, and she was undone. Mr. Hurst’s censure had the same effect.

“I am sorry you feel this way.” Fingers brought together, he rested his chin on their tips while he seemed to consider his next words. “I’m sorry. You would have made a great Juliet.”

“What?” Rebecca couldn’t believe it. “You’re choosing him over me?”

“Did you expect me to do otherwise? I happen to believe Mr. Jackson will bring a great deal to this production. You are the one with the problem.” Expression reverting to kindly mentor, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I suggest you go away and think about what I have said. Don’t give up something you love out of sheer bloody mindedness. You have until tomorrow lunch time to reconsider, which under the circumstances, I consider very generous of me. My dear Rebecca, you need to learn some respect. Do so, and your life will be much simpler.”

Not trusting herself to speak, she picked up her bag and stormed from the hall.

“So?” From outside the school gates, Emma pounced on her. “Don’t tell me. They offered you Juliet, and you turned it down.”

“What, are you psychic now?” Squeezing her eyelids tight, Rebecca staved off the waterworks.

“Nope.” Emma hurried after her. “I’m just a bloody good eavesdropper, and you are plain insane.”

“Leave it, Emma.”

“And what is ‘it’ exactly? I don’t get you. You love the drama club. What’s really going on with you and Mr. J.? He doesn’t bother you anymore. God, he allows you to get away with murder. Mr. Adams would have reported you long before now so… Oh, you’re so frustrating, at times.”

“Can you just drop it?” Rebecca stopped walking. “You don’t think I’m upset? I was so looking forward to it but… I can’t explain it. He just makes me feel… I don’t want to talk about it. Do you mind? I want to be alone. I’m going for a walk.”

“Now I know you’re nuts. It’s going to chuck it down in a minute.”

“Better. It will clear my head. Do me a favour. If my parents call, tell them I’m at your house. You know how they get. See you.” Not waiting for her response, Rebecca headed for the common and the river.