To Be Honest (5 page)

My group’s up front too. I try and listen to what Miss Mint’s saying to Mr Morlis but it’s drowned out by other people, there’s a lot in London. We go along the river and through the entrance, where we stop for manky snacks like they would’ve eaten in Shakespeare’s time like dried figs and whelks, whatever they are. Then we file in and we’re not allowed to lean on the pillars. However, (that’s a connective: Miss Mint told us in year 7) because the rain is coming down in big sploshes now and of course we’re standing because we’re here for ‘the experience’, not so we can have a nice day out, and Courtney’s yakking in my ear about Kai, I nearly start to lose it.

But when the play starts I find I don’t care anymore. ‘Cos it’s
good.
The costumes are like velvet cake and the actor playing Orsino’s fit — he could talk Shakespeare to me any day. The words sometimes make sense; crazy words I’ve stared at in print hating. I didn’t know they could sound like this.

Courtney flops about between Rach’s and my shoulders, rubbing her chin on Rach’s collar, whining about stubble rash but I’m watching someone else.

Miss Mint’s in the middle of us all; her hair’s down and blowing but you only notice how it frames her eyes. Her coat’s trapped in her bag strap but you only see how the leather’s the exact brown of the stage front. She’s holding a programme and watching, watching, and she looks, basically, like Gwyneth in
Shakespeare in Love
. It’s not full. We must be the only school in the country that’s doing
Twelfth Night
, Mum reckons. Anyway, I’m glad we have space ‘cos Olly’s just farted.

It’s just gone three o’clock ‘cos I hear Big Ben strike and the next thing is the sky breaks and I’m blind.

Then it’s like Tao’s talking loudly. Like he did when I rubbed his tummy and he’d squirm on his back, especially if he had fleas. The thunder rumbles, grumbles and goes. The actors don’t even pause.

But we’re all getting sopping now. Fat, froggy drops drenching heads and shoulders; the type of rain Dad says they get in Sri Lanka and he should know. The lightning and the thunder mean business.

“Shit,” screeches Erin, whose hair goes mental in the wet.

“Shit,” echoes Joe Brannigan, who fancies her, covering it with his parka.

It’s the biggest storm I’ve ever known and it’s not stopping. Everyone crushes together squealing ‘cos there’s no shelter unless you’ve got seats or you’re on stage. They don’t let you bring umbrellas. Only Jenny Sargent and her geek friends brought Macs and they’re wet all the way through.

Cold hijacks my fingers and my scarf’s a good thing to wrap them in though it means my neck gets wet. Josh hugs me, which is damp but nice in the end, then Erin and Rach latch on so we’re a massive warm crab and it feels a bit better but I wish we could be dry.

Mr Morlis stomps over and gives us a thumbs-up, trousers all stuck. He seems excited and I think weather’s more his thing than words.

Then the rain starts to stop.

It’s stopping.

Stopped.

Bodies unfurl like ferns all around the yard.

I look up. The clouds are strange: I’ve never seen them like that before.

And somehow I’m still the audience. Maybe ‘cos Miss Mint, although she’s hoiked Courtney off the floor and hasn’t done her coat up properly so it flaps like wet, black, felt wings, is too. We’re both watching Cesario in Act III say to Olivia “I am not what I am,” and as the words hit my ears, Josh squeezes my waist and I look at Miss Mint at the exact same moment she looks at me and then my fingers feel cold and I look down and my scarf’s not there.

And also it just so happens I’m nowhere near Josh now. He’s ten metres away, with my friends.

Where I was.

Making sure it’s not like I fainted or anything, I take my pulse and then I do.

‘Cos I’m wearing Miss Mint’s bangles.

* * *

Using Mr Morlis’ sodden thigh as a ladder, I struggle through pale faces and stand.

“Miss Mint, what’s wrong?” His voice is more urgent than normal and he’s looking straight at me, hands on my shoulders. I don’t know, do I? I don’t know but something is most seriously, definitely, wronger than wrong.

Courtney looks like a bundle of washing just out of the machine. Her nose drips as she clutches my arm.

“Miss, can I get you a cup of tea? Does it hurt?” She’s so proud she’s a First Aider.

What the hell do I say? My nails are amazing and I love the feel of my feet in Miss Mint’s boots but
they’re Miss Mint’s boots
and I’m seriously freaked out. Where’s Miss Mint? I mean, where’s ... me?

I’m over there.

Looking at me.

Lisi Reynolds or someone who looks like her stares at me and at last I know where I am: I’m in those eyes; in that expression. She looks like she’s going to be sick.

“No thanks, Courtney.”

My voice is
exactly
like Miss Mint’s.

Courtney looks pissed off.

The girl that looks like me is moving now; moving quite quickly through puddles. Mr Morlis has picked Miss Mint’s bag off the floor and hands it to me and for appearance’s sake I take it but I keep thinking I’ll wake up in a minute and Miss Mint will want it back so I don’t put it on properly, just hold it.

She’s standing in front of me now and her hair’s messy, mossy. Frightened eyes, brave mouth.

“Can we talk?”

Dad used to laugh when he’d play voicemails I’d left and I’d freak out ‘cos they didn’t sound anything like me. It’s like that, only worse.

“Yeah.” Only that’s not what Miss Mint would say, I realise. “Yes ... Lisi. Let’s talk.”

Leaving everyone’s hard, though. The play’s still going strong. Water plays chase down the drains and the sun’s come out and there’s the weirdest cloud shapes happening but although all I want to do is ring Mum and cry, part of me wants to watch the play. I mean everyone else is and I don’t know if I can cope with talking to myself and if I am going to I want to get my head in gear. Miss Mint’s head in gear. I need to think.

On stage, Olivia and Malvolio are talking.

“Some are born great ...”

“Ha!”

“Some achieve greatness ...”

“What sayest thou?”

“And some have greatness thrust upon them.”

It’s the bit of the play Dad got excited about when I told him we were doing
Twelfth Night
on the phone. I’ve no idea what it means but I’m utterly and completely scared. The coat I’m wearing is from
Reiss
and Miss Mint’s engagement ring is on
my
finger but to be honest, “greatness thrust upon me” is not what I want.

Olivia is laughing. “Why, this is midsummer madness.”

Yes, Olivia. Yes, it is.

* * *

Olly Goddard lumbers up, acne all wet like it’s spilling off his face and I can see my expression throws him.

“What’s up, Miss?”

“I ... Nothing. What can I do for you, Olly?” I’m looking around wildly and then I’m ... Lisi’s ... there.

“When d’weyaff to be at the coach?”

He’s chewing. Lisi, aka Miss Mint says, “spit it out,” and without moving his eyes, Olly flicks her a V-sign, thinking I can’t see.

“Shake-spearmint?” I ask mildly, in Miss Mint’s voice. I move my hands when I speak like I wouldn’t but she would.

It bloody works. He goes fuchsia and spits in his hand.

“Miss, I need to see you.” The girl who looks like me sounds stiff and she’s twisting her mouth like I always do. I nod and Mr Morlis is asking with his eyebrows if I’m ok and I give him a thumbs-up which makes him smile and I go with this girl who I will have to call my own name to the cloakroom.

“Leese, where ya going?” Ignoring the cackling from girls like I should be, like I want to be, I follow.

She won’t come in the disabled toilet which I know from experience is the best plan if you need to talk privately; in fact, she looks horrified and that look on my face makes me giggle so I can’t breathe. But we find a wide windowsill — wall sill, really — and sit.

“What’s happened?”

We say it at the same time but the eyes I’m used to seeing in the mirror shut me up. It’s pure fear.

Miss Mint, in my body, starts to tremble.

“Lisi, I have no idea. But this can’t be a dream: we’re both awake, in London, on Monday. And we have to get home.”

Her beautiful boots are all squidged under me but she doesn’t seem to notice. I stretch my legs out, to admire them; she’s looking beyond me now, at the class of idiots I go to school with.

“You’ll have to take us home,” Miss Mint says in my voice.

I know what she means: the coach and everything. We can talk after that: it’s no good now. We’re freezing and so is everyone else. Taking into consideration my drenched friends and at least three people throwing up whelks on the way back, sitting up front with Mr Morlis, who’s really good at taking your mind off things, doesn’t seem a horrible idea to me. Plus Miss Mint never goes anywhere without a cashmere rug. It’ll be on her seat: brilliant.

“No problem. Let’s get the show on the road.” I’m surprised to hear such authority from my mouth. Having good nails is wicked. “My ... your group’s all over the place.” I jab the clipboard she’s holding weakly in her lap. “You gather them up, I’ll get Rach ... el, Erin, Josh and Courtney to do theirs.”

And I do: they believe me ‘cos they all line up, group leaders in front, and I lead a load of wet, sugar-loaded school kids through the capital.

Journeying back, Mr Morlis pats the seat and I join him. I’ve given the blanket to Miss ... Lisi. Lisi. That’s what everyone’s calling her and it’s so weird but if they are then I must too.

I can feel her behind me, settling next to Josh, her brain buzzing along with his earphones.

“Lozenge?”

I take one, crunch it and Mr Morlis looks surprised. “Forceful, Miss Mint,” he says with a sparkle, and although it normally makes me want to be sick in my hand when teachers call each other teacher names, it does make me feel a little tiny bit sexy to be honest.

So I smile. Is he flirting? Do Phoebe and Mr Morlis
fancy each other
? What about Taff? Wait. I’m literally winning prizes for weirdness of my life right now.

“What’d you think, then?” Mr Morlis just sounds like normal and even if my skin feels funny; drier than normal, I touch it and it is. ‘Cos I’m grown up, I s’pose.

“Orsino was hot.”

He chuckles. “Very deep.” Then he yawns and turns to look where I already know:

• Joe’s tickling Erin
  
• Erin’s mum’s trying not to notice
  
• Jenny’s reading the programme for like the millionth time
  
• Courtney’s uploading pictures to Facebook
  
• Rach is stressing about calories in her head
  
• Josh’s talking to the person next to him who isn’t me but should be
  

“Joe Brannigan, leave that girl alone,” he calls without standing and hysterics from the back seat stop.

“Bit long for me,” he grins and takes out his phone. “But that storm, my god ...” he starts to scroll.

“I love thunder,” I say on automatic.

He studies me. “Strange, I thought you hated it.” He shrugs. “Thunder’s cool but those clouds ... wow. Once in a lifetime.”

It’s good then, ‘cos we lapse into silence. The Houses of Parliament and other important stuff goes past but it’s dark now and I can’t really see, just lights. We jerk down Embankment, him on his phone, me on my guard. Shit. Of course: Miss Mint’s told people stuff I’ve no idea about. Miss Mint has history. Miss Mint has a
life
. Now it’s mine.

This is harsh but thinking about it carries me all the way to Guildford and then Mr Morlis says fucking hell under his breath and I snap out of it ‘cos I’ve never heard a teacher drop an F-bomb, ever.

“What’s up?”

“Look at this.”

On the screen’s a purpley, bobbly thingy. The wiki text says something to do with breasts.
Breasts? Oh my god.
Mr
Morlis.

Mammatus clouds
, the description reads
, are most often associated with severe thunderstorms.

Oh.

Then he starts going on using words like ‘stratosphere’ and ‘adiabatic’ and ‘sheared’ which make me think of sheep in hospital having their hair done but which I think he’s actually using to explain something. So I try to listen. Because, when it comes down to it, the important bits of what he’s saying are to do with magic and chemistry and what Miss Mint and I just did.

“The mammatus phenomenon’s a very peculiar thing,” he says. “There’s never been proof but, scientifically, it should be possible for a form to dissolve and solidify, sometimes even in different places; different forms even, with these clouds,” he’s saying excitedly but it’s a bit fast for me and I’m trying to take it all in. Only the clouds bit’s sticking; I’m still thinking about breasts.