Rebecca's Rules (13 page)

I have no idea why she was talking to me, by the way. The only time she’s ever paid me any attention was when she wanted to use me to get on that stupid telly programme. But as Caroline isn’t at rehearsals, I suppose anyone will do when she feels like having a bit of a boast.

Anyway, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to encourage her, but I had forgotten that Vanessa doesn’t really notice other people.

‘He can’t take his eyes off me,’ she said. ‘And he told me I was fascinating earlier. I suppose it’s flattering, really. Like, he’s
not totally hideous or anything.’

It’s lucky I had decided I wasn’t going to say anything to her because really, what could I say to that? Apart from ‘HE WAS BEING SARCASTIC’ which he clearly was. Wasn’t he? Anyway, she had her coat on by that stage, so she strutted off. I am surprised by how annoyed I was. I didn’t think it was possible for Vanessa to irritate me even more, but I actually wanted to kick her.

THURSDAY

Just realised I have barely thought about Paperboy all week. It must be the magic of show business. Speaking of which, my parents are still going on about their mental musical. This evening at dinner (for which I had had to chop two onions even though they made my eyes water) they started waffling on to me and Rachel about how Mum flew over the stage in a harness. I can’t tell Cass that; she’s obsessed with trying to get Mary Poppins to fly, even though Ms Doyle keeps telling her the school can’t afford the insurance.

Apparently, things were a bit more free and easy back in the ’80s. Mum had dug out a picture of her singing while
basically dangling from a rope. Her giant mane looked even bigger from that angle.

‘Weren’t you scared?’ said Rachel. ‘It doesn’t look very safe.’

‘Oh, it was grand,’ said Mum.

‘Apart from that night you got stuck up there for half an hour,’ said Dad.

‘That was fine too,’ said Mum, stiffly. ‘We just improvised a bit so it was like the Pirate King was, you know, there in spirit during the next few scenes. Hovering over the action.’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Dad. ‘And then when they finally got you down, you sort of tumbled into the policemen and said ‘Arrrrrr!’ like a real pirate. And then you danced off the stage and came back for the Pirate King’s next scene. You were very good.’

I can’t imagine we’d be able to improvise if Vanessa was suspended from a rope for half an hour (I, of course, would be too busy laughing with evil glee). We’re all only just about getting the hang of moving and singing at the same time. Apart from Vanessa, annoyingly enough. I wish she wasn’t so good. And John Kowalski too, of course.

Speaking of him, I find it hard to believe, but it looks like he might return Vanessa’s crazed affections. She had
him basically backed into a corner during the rehearsal break today. Cass, Alice and I were talking to Bike Boy (who makes a beeline towards Alice whenever he can), and when he noticed Vanessa and John talking (or rather, Vanessa talking at John) he said, ‘God, it looks like Kowalski’s found himself a new girlfriend. About time too, it’s been ages since he broke up with his last one.’

I know it’s got nothing to do with me, but I am very disappointed he likes Vanessa! He doesn’t look that shallow. Or deaf.

Or blind.

FRIDAY

I just spent ages at the corner of Griffith Avenue talking to John Kowalski. Hmmm. I feel a bit funny about it. Not sure what I think. I am going to go to bed now.

SATURDAY

Sooo … yesterday was a bit strange.

First of all, I must make it clear that I do not fancy John Kowalski. My heart belongs to Paperboy, even though he hasn’t mailed me for weeks. But I still feel weirdly guilty. Which is ridiculous because I bet Paperboy is talking to girls all the time. I mean, I’d be talking to boys regularly (I presume) if I went to a mixed school.

Anyway, this is what happened. Today’s rehearsal was only an hour long (Cass says this is because the teachers all want to escape to the pub and that’s why they end some Friday rehearsals earlier), so we didn’t get a break, but at the end Bike Boy came over to Alice and started chatting to her. And I felt like a bit of a gooseberry so I went off to find Cass. She was up on the stage, putting away some tools.

‘This whole set designing thing involves an awful lot of hacking up cardboard,’ she said when I came up. ‘My hands are killing me. I’m much more feeble than I thought. Where’s Alice?’

‘Look!’ I said, and gestured in a very subtle way at the other end of the hall, where Alice and Bike Boy were deep in conversation.

‘Oooh,’ said Cass.

‘What should we do?’ I said. ‘I mean, I don’t want to interrupt them. But I don’t want to just sneak out without saying goodbye.’

‘Hmm,’ said Cass. ‘I think sneaking might be the best option. I mean, you’re doing it out of niceness. She’ll understand why.’

‘But what if she looks for us and we’ve vanished?’ I said. ‘Then Bike Boy will think she’s been abandoned by her mates. That won’t look very good.’

So we decided we’d walk out and call ‘Bye!’ to her as we went. Then she could decide whether to come out with us or not. And as it turned out, she didn’t. She just waved and smiled at us, so we left her to it.

‘She can’t stay that long,’ I said as trudged up the school drive. ‘Her dad will be out to give her a lift in ten minutes.’

‘Oh well, at least she’ll spend those ten minutes with Bike Boy,’ said Cass.

I said goodbye to Cass when we got to the gate; she wasn’t walking down with me to her estate as usual because she was meeting Liz in town for hot chocolate. I try not to be jealous when she goes to meet Liz, but I am a bit. It’s not like I
mind my friends having other friends − I mean, Alice and I became best friends when we were tiny and that didn’t change when we became friends with Cass when we started secondary school. And we’re all friendly with Ellie and Emma and Jessie. But this is the first time any of us have had a really good friend who isn’t friends with the others. It makes me feel a bit weird.

Not that it’s the only thing that makes me feel weird at the moment. After I said goodbye to Cass, I reached into my bag to get my iPod. And maybe it was because it was freezing cold and my fingers weren’t working properly, but as soon as I got it out of my bag, I dropped it in a pile of leaves. I was rummaging around in the leaves when I noticed a pair of large-ish leather boots attached to a pair of long school-trousered legs next to me, and then a tall boy bent down, reached into the leaves, and pulled out my iPod by the earphones.

‘Is this what you were looking for?’ said John Kowalski because, of course, that is who it was. None of the other boys around here would wear those cool, battered kind of old-fashioned boots. Well, actually, Bike Boy would totally wear them. But as far as I can tell the other boys in the musical all wear giant runners.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’ He had a book in his hand,
another well-worn paperback. But a very familiar one because it was
On the Road
and my parents have the exact same edition. Which is probably why, without really thinking, I said, ‘Oh, is your book any good? My parents have that edition of it.’

He looked a bit surprised, and said, ‘It’s fantastic. You haven’t read it, then?’

And I had to say no. I felt weirdly disappointed I couldn’t tell him I had and then talk to him about it.

So anyway, he said, ‘Oh, you should. It’ll show you how pointless it is to live by society’s stupid conventions.’

There isn’t really much you can say to that, at least if you haven’t read the book, so I said, ‘Oh, really?’ And then felt very stupid. I felt I had to say something intelligent to show that, actually, I do read proper books (which I do). But, for some reason, the only book I could think of was Gerald Durrell’s
My Family and Other Animals
, which is an excellent book but is also not very serious. And John Kowalski seems to like quite serious things. But anyway, I found myself saying, ‘I’m reading Gerald Durrell at the moment myself.’

And, to my surprise, John Kowalski said, ‘You mean Laurence Durrell?’

I knew that was Gerald’s annoying older brother Larry, who went on to become a famous author. I kind of wished I had been reading him instead because it sounded much more impressive. But I couldn’t lie, so I told him that actually I was reading Laurence’s brother Gerald.

‘He wrote about animals and the wonders of nature,’ I said grandly (I didn’t mention that these wonders included his two puppies called Widdle and Puke. That didn’t sound serious enough.).

John Kowalski didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t reading Larry’s books. He got quite intense and told me he was reading a lot of Walt Whitman at the moment. And then he stopped and said, ‘Which way are you walking?’

I pointed down the road and said, ‘That way.’

‘Oh,’ he said, and smiled his crooked smile. ‘So am I.’

And so I found myself walking down Griffith Avenue with John Kowalski. I asked him why he was doing the musical (he really doesn’t seem like a very musical type of person), and he told me he wants to write for the theatre and star in his own productions. So basically he needs theatrical experience and this is the nearest he can get to being in a play. ‘It’s still got the rawness of theatre,’ he said. ‘You’re a prisoner of the spotlight.
There’s no escape when you’re on stage. And no place to hide.’ (Actually, I suppose that isn’t quite true. I mean, you could run off stage if you really wanted to. Or hide behind a prop or something).

Also, he said quite modestly, he can play the piano and sing a bit (apparently he sometimes plays keyboards in Richard’s band). So doing the musical seemed like a good idea. Oh, and I am pretty sure he is NOT interested in Vanessa. When her name came up, he sort of shuddered and said, ‘Oh God, her. She’s driving me mad. Has she always been so crazy?’ so I am able to respect him. Which would not have been possible if he’d liked Vanessa, even as a friend.

Anyway, I told him that I was in a band too and he looked quite impressed, and then I said that we were on hiatus because of Alice’s wrist so we were doing the musical instead. And he asked if we wrote our own songs and I said we did, and told him how we all collaborate on all the different bits from the chords to the lyrics.

‘So you’re an artist,’ he said.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Sort of.’

He looked at me.

‘Never be ashamed to say you’re an artist,’ he said. And he
looked quite noble and dashing with his school scarf flung over his shoulder like he was about to go into battle.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I won’t.’ We had reached the corner where I turn off the avenue and I said, ‘Um, I live up there.’

‘Oh, right,’ said John Kowalski. ‘I live down there.’ But he didn’t move. Instead, he got out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. I wanted to say that I didn’t like smoking, but he started telling me that he’s writing a novel about a young man who goes off to fight in the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s and becomes a bullfighter.

‘It’s about believing in a glorious ideal,’ he said passionately, waving his cigarette around. ‘About losing all physical fear.’

It sounds very dramatic. And I could probably do with losing some physical fear myself. I’m quite a coward really. Alice sometimes goes horse riding near her house and I’ve always been too scared to go because it is surprising how high up you are when you’re on a horse and they also have giant heads that are very hard to control with the reins.