Waiting for Callback (25 page)

That was sort of true, but not the whole picture. ‘Or maybe it’s because you can’t be bothered with your friends now you have a
boyfriend
and you’re too
self-absorbed to care.’

‘That’s not true, Elektra.’ Maia had materialized out of nowhere and was standing ‘supportively’ next to Moss. ‘You’re so dramatic about
everything.’

It wasn’t a compliment.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ And Maia was. Probably mostly because it was good gossip and Maia lived for gossip – which I suppose is why she’d kicked
it all off in the first place. Also because she could have long, whispering, sympathetic conversations with Moss and that was her idea of good drama.

‘And apparently you’re the one obsessed with getting a boyfriend. How’s it going with Archie?’

I’d got to the point where I couldn’t even remember why I’d ever liked Maia. Moss looked a bit awkward, but she didn’t defend me, just played with her fringe, which she
always did when she felt uncomfortable. (She’d obviously just had it cut way too short, but it wouldn’t be funny if I pointed that out right now.)

‘Are you getting the bus?’ I asked Moss and I knew I sounded needy again.

‘Or we could go get a coffee,’ said Maia, very obviously just to Moss, and Moss nodded. I watched them walk off and Half Cello/Half Girl watched me watch them. Great.

I could have got the bus with Jenny. Jenny was still being nice to me. Well, she was making a massive effort not to take sides, but I was scared that she’d go Team Moss (and more scared
that there was a Team Moss in the first place). But then Jenny
hated
conflict; she was going to have to toughen up if she was to survive Year Eleven. It probably wasn’t fair of me to
get the bus with Jenny: she wasn’t some sort of human shield.

The walk would do me good.

There’s a sentence I never thought I’d think.

For once, it was Dad who was at home when I got in and not Mum (she was out trying to find herself somewhere). He was in the kitchen, building little white models of
kitchens.

‘Do you want to help, Elektra?’

Any other day, I would totally have wanted to help him, i.e. play (I still secretly missed playing with Sylvanians and this was pretty close). But I wasn’t feeling constructive. ‘I
can’t. I’ve got too much homework.’ That was a lie. I just wanted to be on my own. I checked my phone. No messages from Moss. No messages from Archie. The only person who’d
communicated with me was Mrs Gryll and that was just to say that I was late with my essay on erosional landforms. I buried myself in the fridge. There was nothing appealing.

‘Are you OK?’

How could he tell from my back that I wasn’t? Was I giving off some sort of sweaty misery vibe? I leaned deeper into the fridge to cool my hot face. If I could have crawled inside and
curled up next to the leftover rice pudding, I probably would have.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Fine, leave me alone? That sort of fine?’

‘Yep. That sort of fine.’

‘And if you stop wanting to be left alone you’ll tell me?’

‘I will.’ I would have given him a hug just for not saying anything more, but if I’d done that I’d probably have started to cry and for someone who never cried I was
doing it a lot lately. As long as no one was nice to me, I’d be
fine
. I loaded a plate with a large chunk of dried-out cheddar, two slightly squishy tomatoes and some leftover pesto
pasta because I wasn’t too upset to eat (or maybe I was eating because I was too upset: it didn’t look very enticing). Even Digby didn’t follow me when I took my snack
upstairs.

It would have been a good night to have had homework. Even two hours doing an essay on how the Treaty of Versailles weakened Germany would have been better than sitting under
the duvet, making a list of parts that I’d been up for and hadn’t got, but that’s what I did.

If I was going to feel sorry for myself, I might as well wallow in it.

If I were a grown-up actor, I would probably say that I was ‘resting’, but being a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl with parents like mine and a school like mine that
would have been a seriously inaccurate statement.

Maybe they just weren’t that into me.

It was time to have another mammoth session of googling ‘actors who got rejected a lot before making it’. That was a surprisingly upbeat thread.

Anyway, there were worse things than acting rejection. Things like your best friend moving her seat in class so that she isn’t sitting next to you any more. Yep, I think that’s real
rejection.

Lens was in a foul mood. In light of the whole Moss mess, I wasn’t in a great mood myself, but his was
special
. He’d been standing silently in the middle of
the stage, tapping his foot as though he wished there were a big red button labelled ‘nuclear detonator’ underneath it for a full ten minutes.

‘Do you think he’s had an argument with Aidan?’ Archie asked me.

‘God, I hope not.’

Aidan was Lens’s newish boyfriend and we were all a bit obsessed with him because he was funny and he was hot and he always bothered to come in and gossip with us when he came to meet
Lens.

‘Maybe it’s just that Lens’s childhood pet has been run over or something,’ I suggested hopefully. Lens and Aidan were ultimate couple goals.

Lizzie and Carrie straggled in, unsuspecting. This was not going to be pretty.

‘You are two minutes and
thirty-six
seconds late. Do you know what that would mean if you were at an audition or, God forbid, a job?’ The heavy implication being that the
apocalypse and not mild embarrassment would follow. ‘Your career would be over. Just like that.’ Lens snapped his fingers dramatically. ‘A
brutal
,
heartless
end to
something that you’ve invested time and emotion in.’

I really hoped that wasn’t a poorly veiled reference to his relationship with Aidan.

The girls looked very confused and extremely uncomfortable. Lizzie began to take off her jacket in slow motion as if a sudden movement might cause Lens to attack.

‘Right, I’m not going to delay the lesson any longer. Get into groups of four and not just with your friends, please.’ It was like Lens had done some sort of freaky body swap
with Madame Verte. ‘I’d like you all to devise a short piece starting with the line “mother, how could you”. Make it dark.’

The rush to form groups began. I really missed Daisy.

‘Do you want to group up?’ asked Archie – to which the only and obvious answer in every imaginable situation would be: ‘Yes. Please.’

‘Yes, please!’ Ah. I hadn’t planned on that coming out quite so loudly or quite so enthusiastically. I blushed (of course).

‘No!’ shouted Lens. For a painful moment, I thought he was just talking to me, but he went on, ‘I’ll put you into groups myself. I don’t want any messing
around.’

I was pretty sure he meant he didn’t want any happiness full stop.

I ended up in a group with Brian, Carrie (who still looked like she had post-traumatic stress disorder) and a twelve-year-old who didn’t speak. At least I wasn’t going to find it
difficult to emote the despair Lens wanted.

‘I have a great idea,’ said Brian once he realized that there was nothing he could say or do that would get him out of this group.

I gave Archie an I-may-not-survive-the-next-fifteen-minutes-tell-my-family-I-love-them look.

‘So, it’s about this family, yeah?’ said Brian. ‘And there’s this main boy yeah . . . ?’

Who could he possibly be referring to?

‘. . . And he has special powers.’ It really was a mystery. ‘And the government, which is evil, yeah, want to abduct him to harness his powers against the Rebels. So, when all
these government robot fighters turn up at the family hut, his mum sells him to them, yeah?’

To be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed the mother if she’d given him up for free.

‘We could call this special boy Bry . . . an . . . o,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, perfect, I love it.’

The twelve-year-old sniggered. Carrie still looked like she was on the verge of tears.

‘OK, so Carrie can play my mother and you,’ Bry-an-o pointed at the twelve-year-old, ‘can be the evil dictator.’

While I was all for playing characters outside your comfort zone, I wasn’t sure that a small twelve-year-old in school uniform could really pull this off.

‘And what about me?’ I asked.