Waiting for Callback (23 page)

‘And she keeps going on about how well the girl in
Game of Thrones
is doing and I have no idea if she thinks that’s a good thing or a bad thing.’ Watching my parents
watch
Game of Thrones
made me mildly uncomfortable.

‘She’s maybe a bit conflicted,’ he said.

‘And what about you, Dad? Do you want me to do this?’

He looked at me. ‘I only want you to do this if you want to do it. It looks to me like it’s not that easy for you right now.’

‘Well, you’re the one that always says you have to push through when things are a bit tough. Put the effort in and see rewards, all that stuff.’

‘That’s true about geometry. And physics. And pretty much all your subjects except maybe French – definitely not French. But it’s not true about this. Acting is
optional
. Do it if it makes you happy. If it doesn’t make you happy, then stop. Maybe you’re a bit “conflicted” too?’

I didn’t know if I were ‘conflicted’ or not. I didn’t really want to think about that. Maybe people thought too much about stuff instead of just doing it. ‘Can I
check my phone now?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Expecting an important message?’

‘No,’ I said and I blushed (of course I blushed).

‘Go ahead,’ he said, laughing at me.

Archie had texted back; this was now officially a conversation.
What you doing this weekend?

Nothing.
Just get the message out that I was 100 per cent available. But wait . . . now he’d think I had no friends and was tragic.
Hanging with friends, but nothing definite.
Pretty sure he would now think I had no friends and was tragic and was so self-conscious about it that I’d had to double text.
What bout you?
Be brave, keep the conversation going.

Got to go see fam in the country. Cows and stuff. Will be a mad one.

Disappointed expectations. Again.

‘Interesting messages?’ asked my dad mildly.

‘Do you want tea?’

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘Yep.’

‘OK, fair enough. Do you want to come and watch the footy with me and Digby?

‘I’d be honoured. Shall I bring cake for you?’

‘No thanks.’

‘You need to eat more; you’re too skinny.’ And he was.

‘You sound like your mother.’

That wasn’t good.

‘So, why did you say it if you didn’t mean it?’ Moss was seriously annoyed with me.

‘I didn’t say
anything
.’ And I hadn’t, not technically. I hadn’t done anything that bad. Well, maybe I had. I should have known Maia would show Moss our
conversation (I think I did know – I’d had a bad feeling since I’d sent the texts).

‘So Torr’s “up himself ” and “too cool”?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You pretty much did.’

‘No, Maia said that. I just said “LOL”.’ I shouldn’t have said “LOL”. Not just because nobody should ever say “LOL”, there is no excuse, but
because I should have defended Torr. Don’t mention the other text. Please don’t mention the other text.

‘You said I was boring when I was with him.’ Moss mentioned the other text. Of course she did. The other text was the biggest problem.

‘I didn’t say that. I just sort of agreed with Maia. And why aren’t you angry with her?’

‘Because she’s not supposed to be my best friend.’

‘No, just your informant.’

‘She felt bad about it. That’s why she told me.’

‘You know that’s not true.’

‘Also she met up with some of Torr’s friends in Starbucks and oddly enough they don’t think he’s up himself.’

Oh, right. So Maia fancied one of Torr’s friends. And now she was going to majorly suck up to Moss in the hope of getting better access to him. This was making more sense every second.

‘You obviously think my boyfriend’s weird.’ Moss wasn’t going to drop it.

‘I don’t.’ The temptation to mock the way she said ‘my
boyfriend
’ instead of just Torr was quite strong, but I didn’t say anything.

‘Did you just say it for
LOLs
then?’

‘I was just being
lazy
. I wasn’t being mean.’

‘Sure, just lazy. That’s why you replied. Several times.’

‘I like Torr,’ I said, but it sounded kind of weak and Moss did that shrug thing to let me know that she thought I was lying. But I wasn’t really. I don’t know very many
sixteen-year-old guys who are
capable
of being boyfriends full stop. He deserves a lot of points for that. But Moss was so totally into him that
I missed her
. She was practically at
the poetry stage (and I mean proper written-just-for-the-beloved, dedicated odes and sonnets) and we’d promised each other that we would never, ever be at the poetry stage. She never sat in a
chair any more when she could sit on his knee and she whispered things in his ear which pretty much excluded everyone else (me) from the conversation and when she wasn’t with him (which
wasn’t very often) she wanted to
talk
about him.

And it was always what Torr wanted. Moss’s Moss-yness had sort of dissolved. She went to see things she didn’t want to see, she went to cafes that didn’t sell cake and she
spent a lot of time (when they weren’t making out) listening to Torr talking about things that she had no interest in. She went to
gigs
. And she was so loved up that there wasn’t
even any beef. Talking about Torr didn’t mean complaining about him, it just meant going on about how sweet/cute/hot/clever/indie/into her/ supportive, etc. he was. Honestly, it was boring
and sometimes it was boring
and
awkward (I am not cool with public displays of affection).

‘Maybe everyone’s not as obsessed with Torr as you are.’ Honest but not really an apology.

‘I don’t want you to be as obsessed with him as I am.’ Moss wasn’t even looking at me now.

‘So you admit you’re obsessed with him?’

‘Why do I have to admit it? Why are you being so horrible?’

‘I’m not being horrible.’ I was and I knew it, but now I’d started I couldn’t stop.

‘You don’t have to love him, Elektra, you don’t even have to
like
him, but it would just be nice if you didn’t go behind my back and talk about him.’ I could
see that she was nearly crying.

‘That’s not fair . . . Look, I
miss
us hanging out.’

‘Half the time you’re busy with all your acting stuff and I don’t moan about that, and anyway we do still hang out loads.’

‘Er, no we don’t.’ My acting stuff took up way less time than her love life, but I wasn’t going to get into that.

‘We’re hanging out now.’

‘Having an argument outside the school loos doesn’t really count as quality hanging-out time.’

‘What about last Saturday?’

‘I’m not sure awkwardly watching half a retro movie round at your house while you and Torr make out really counts either.’ I would never know if Bridget Jones got with Mark
Darcy or not (although I could guess).
Bridget Jones
wasn’t Torr’s kind of film. ‘We don’t even hang out virtually.’ I missed our stupid Snapchats and
texts.

‘You sound jealous.’

I was but not for the reason she thought. ‘Not everyone wants to spend their every moment in some exclusive Disney relationship.’

‘I don’t have a
Disney
relationship with Torr. If you’d ever actually had a relationship with any guy, you’d know that.’

Brutal.

‘Anyway, how would you feel if I started bitching behind your back?’ Moss was pulling at a loose thread on her tights. She’d been doing it the whole time we were talking and
her tights were more shred than fabric.

Her voice was getting louder and louder and a gaggle of girls were gathering round us like Roman citizens at a small and exclusive gladiatorial bout.

‘For Christ’s sake, I Did Not Bitch about you behind your back. Why are you making such a big deal about this? Everyone gossips. You do it too. Don’t be a hypocrite. Anyway, I
hardly said anything and I didn’t mean it.’ I know that my argument wasn’t entirely logical, but I was under pressure. Also I was getting defensive because the more upset she got,
the guiltier I felt and the guiltier I felt, the angrier I got. ‘Stop being so whiny and self-righteous. It’s a miracle any guy – even a weird one – can put up with
you.’

There was a gasp from the ever-growing audience. Moss looked shocked for a moment then set her jaw and drew herself up to her full and not very imposing height. She was almost shaking with
anger. This wasn’t good. Less gladiatorial private show than throwing Christians to the lions – I was the Christian.

‘You know what, Elektra,’ (amazing how much disdain she loaded into the word Elektra), ‘it’s fine. Totally fine.’ She spat out each consonant. ‘No, really, I
get it. It’s not your fault that your life is so boring that you have to moan behind my back and create drama out of my happiness because your own drama stuff’s not working out and so
you have something to talk about when you’ve exhausted everything you can say about your tragic little crush on Archie.’ She drew breath. ‘I’m sure if my life was as sad and
dull I’d do the same. By the way, just a piece of friendly advice – it’s obvious that Archie isn’t into you so stop being desperate and save what’s left of your
dignity.’

There was more of course because there were lots of different and increasingly mean ways to say the same thing and make (multiple) snide comments about people changing and growing up and
apart.

Somehow we both managed not to cry; it was colder than that. Bitter, like how two people who don’t like each other would speak to each other.

I wish I hadn’t sent those texts.

So Daisy’s bug wasn’t really a bug. No surprise there. She still hadn’t turned up to ACT and she hadn’t answered my last ten ‘are you all
right?’ texts.

Hey, Elektra. Soz for not replying. Want to meet for coffee on Saturday?

We met in Pret. It was warm enough to sit outside.

‘Daisy . . . you look
amaaazing
!’

‘You like it?’ She did a sort of awkward little twirl; she obviously wasn’t sure herself.

She’d cut her hair to within a few centimetres of her scalp. All the ringlets were gone and most of the blonde (I’d never even guessed she’d been dyeing her hair) and there was
nothing
bonnet and bodice about her any more. She looked seriously good.

‘I love it!’

‘You really like it? You’re not just saying that to be nice to me.’

‘Really.
So
. . . either you just got cast in some sci-fi or prison drama thing and they cut your hair off or you’re halfway through a hard-core production of
Les Mis
or . . .’

‘Or . . . I’ve quit.’

‘For real? What made you do it?’

‘A little bit you saying “ just stop” that day we were at the
Fortuneswell
casting, but mostly because my mum started to talk about LA and pilot season and
Oakwood.’

‘Not
Oakwood
,’ I said in the tone of horror that most teenage girls would reserve for discovering that Robert Pattinson and Daniel Booth were married to each other.

Oakwood Toluca Hills is this apartment complex in LA where all the drama kids and their momagers go and stay for pilot season (or, in the case of some desperate souls, years). Look, some of my
best friends are actors (weird defensive statement right there),
Archie is an actor
, but I couldn’t think of anything worse than being holed up in some complex with a bunch of
desperate kids and (worse) their mothers with everybody talking about auditions and callbacks and competition and making money and motivational mantras and disappointment. Hell.