Secrets, Schemes & Sewing Machines

by Katy Cannon

  Her cheeks did the pink glowy thing they always did at the mention of his name. “To the Bake Club meet-up?”

  “Yes, definitely. Why wait for him to ask you, anyway?”

  “You think? It wouldn’t be weird?”

  “Do you want to see him over half-term?” I asked. “Because this could be your best chance.”

  “Yes,” Yasmin admitted. “Actually, he kind of suggested it when we were walking home the other night, in, like, a casual way. I just wasn’t sure what we could do. I mean, it’s a bit weird being alone for the first time with someone you don’t know very well. Walking home was OK, because there was a definite end in sight. But going out? Where would we go? What would we talk about?”

  “And this way, the rest of us would be there to ease you into it. To get used to being around him, find out what he likes, that sort of thing?” This wasn’t a problem I’d had with any of my exes. Mostly I’d dated within my old group of friends, until last year. After the party and the grounding debacle, let’s just say I’d learned who my real friends were.

  Yasmin nodded. “That sounds much better than ‘I’m scared I’ll have absolutely nothing to say to him the moment we’re alone’. Let’s go with your reasons.” She smiled.

  “In that case, you can admit that I was right and ask him along when you see him tomorrow night.”

  “You don’t think anyone will mind?”

  “No! It’ll give us all a chance to scope him out, see if he’s good enough for you.” I grinned, just a little bit evilly. “And set Mac on him if it turns out he’s not.”

  “Your dream has come true,” Connor announced, as I walked into the hall for Drama Club the next day. He’d taken off his blazer and tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and his smirk had been replaced with a look of intense irritation. I suspected that had something to do with me, even though I hadn’t done anything.

  “Really?” I asked, looking at Yasmin and Ash across the room, as she opened her cake tin to let him smell the gloriousness of our apple-sauce cake. “You’re moving back to your old school after all?”

  He laughed at that. “Even better. Violet’s off sick today, so you’re playing Beatrice.”

  My gaze flew to his face – to his raised eyebrows and expectant eyes. A warm feeling started in my chest. This was it. This was my chance to prove – not just to Mr Hughes but to everyone in the cast and crew – that I was the best choice for the role. Even if they didn’t just give me the part then and there, from now on everyone in this room would know that they should. The moment Violet screwed up or lost her nerve or missed rehearsal again … people would start calling for me to take on Beatrice.

  This was exactly what I’d been planning for all along. And I could tell from Connor’s expression that he knew it. That was why his expression was so full of disdain.

  Except things hadn’t gone entirely to plan, although Connor didn’t know it. I’d intended to spend my evenings learning the lines, so I could be word perfect the moment this chance arose. Instead I’d spent my time learning about 1920s fashion and sorting out the costume cupboard.

  Still, it was early enough in the rehearsal schedule so the rest of the cast were using their scripts, too. It shouldn’t matter too much. Except…

  “I really needed to talk with you and Mr Hughes about the costumes this afternoon, actually.”

  Connor blinked, and I knew I’d surprised him. Good. It served him right for making assumptions about me, even if he had been right. I pressed home the advantage. “Now I’ve finished sorting through all the school costumes, I have a much better idea of what we’re still missing.”

  “Right. Well, I’m sure we can do that in the break or something.” He frowned, just a small crease between his eyebrows, but it was enough for me to know he was reconsidering things, just a little bit.

  I nodded, trying not to smile. “Of course. I just don’t want to lose focus on the most important role I have here – making sure the costumes are perfect.”

  And with that, I headed off for the stage, ditching my bag on a chair and pulling out my script, leaving Connor staring after me. Once I was sure he couldn’t see my face, I grinned. I had a feeling that this was going to be a great rehearsal.

  “OK, let’s take Act Two from the top,” Mr Hughes called, from his seat in the hall. “Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, Ursula and Margaret – that’s you.”

  My blood hummed with the excitement of being back on stage. I felt as if everything inside me was vibrating, ready to burst out in the lines of the play. This was a great scene for Beatrice. Full of jokes and clever words, and just a touch of insight into her real feelings about love. Perfect for displaying my understanding of the character.

  But from the moment I stepped on to the stage, I knew there was something wrong. There, at the back of the hall, stood Connor – not backstage where he should have been. He was talking with the lighting guys and fiddling with something on the sound desk. My eyes narrowed as I stared out at him, until a dazzling flash of light forced me to close them.

  “OK, let’s go,” Mr Hughes said, apparently unconcerned by his stepson’s attempts to blind his cast.

  “Was not Count John here at supper?” Leonato said, and I tried to focus on the script, to concentrate on the scene I was in. This was my chance, and I wasn’t going to let anything ruin it for me.

  “How tartly that gentleman looks.” I moved across the stage as I spoke, just as Violet had been asked to in previous rehearsals. “I never can—”

  A blast of music, and the rest of my sentence was drowned out.

  “Sorry!” Connor called cheerfully, turning the volume down to leave a low crackle coming from the speakers. “We just need to check a few technical things. Carry on!”

  As if it were possible to act out a scene well with that kind of chaos going on. I scowled at him, but he wasn’t even looking at me. Damn him.

  “Grace? Can you start that line again, please?” Mr Hughes asked, and I hurriedly turned back to my script.

  This time, we managed to make it almost a third of the way through the scene before the lights started flashing different colours, right in the middle of Beatrice’s speech about beards and hell.

  I bit the inside of my cheek then soldiered on, talking over the mutterings and giggles from the cast members who were watching.

  I knew what Connor was doing. He was trying to provoke me. He wanted me to stomp my feet and complain in front of everyone – just so he didn’t have to deal with the idea that I might not be the girl he’d assumed I was. Just to try and prove to himself that I was still the diva he’d taken me for when we first met.

  He was so wrong … except, I really, really wanted to stomp my feet.

  But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, not for a second.

  We stumbled and tripped through to the end of the scene with only a couple more interruptions, but I knew that none of us up on stage had impressed anybody. Least of all me.

  As we reached the last line, the lights returned to normal, and the crackling that had been emanating from the speakers ceased. I glared across at Connor and he smiled at me, without even the pretence of innocence, as he headed backstage again.

  “Great job, guys,” Mr Hughes lied. “Right, let’s take a ten-minute break, then I want to do some of the Don John scenes, since Violet isn’t here.”

  And just like that, my chance to prove I deserved that role was over. Disappointment burned in my chest, followed by frustration. Followed by anger.

  While everyone else descended on the apple-sauce cake, which Yasmin had laid out on a table at the side, I slipped through the black drapes at the side of the stage to round on Connor instead.

  “What the hell was that?” I demanded, hands on my hips like I were acting a part.

  “A pretty rubbish scene rehearsal?” he answered, shifting one of the boards we were using in lieu of actual scenery at this point.

  “You were trying to put me off. You
wanted me to make a fool of myself up there.” I followed him around to the back of the stage, since he was still paying more attention to the scenery than me.

  “Oh, come on. You did fine.” He shoved another board into place, then started dragging another into the wings. I followed. “And it’s not like you’re actually playing the part, so what does it matter? I needed to check some levels on the lights and sound, and it’s difficult enough finding time for those things during rehearsals. A real professional wouldn’t have been put off by it.”

  “A professional stage manager wouldn’t be trying to sabotage rehearsals,” I countered, but he turned to face me, still smiling that same irritating smile, and I realized suddenly that I was too close to him.

  “What do you care, anyway?” He leaned lightly against the board, arms folded over his chest as I stepped back, the curtain at the side of the stage brushing against me. “I mean, your only concern is making sure the costumes are perfect, right? So what does it matter if you didn’t have the optimum conditions for reading someone else’s lines?”

  Proof, if I’d needed it, of exactly what he was trying to do – make me admit that I still wanted Violet’s part. That I still planned to try and steal it.

  “Look. I’m the lead understudy in this play. I’m not going to get as many chances as Violet to practise these scenes, and if something happens that means I have to get up on that stage and perform on the night, I want to be ready for it.” I kept my voice even, calm and just a little bit condescending. “What you did wasn’t just unprofessional, it was unfair to the other people on the stage. If you have a problem with me, fine. Feel free to tell me about it. Just don’t take it out on the cast, or the production, OK?” I was kind of proud of that last bit.

  I stared at him until he gave a very slight nod.

  “Look, Grace…” He stopped, running his hand through his already messy hair. But I wasn’t interested. Instead, I spun on my heel and headed off to get some apple cake.

  Grace 1, Connor 0.

  For now, anyway.

  What you need:

  An old pair of jeans

  What to do:

  1. Make sure the front and back of the waistband of your pair of jeans is level, then cut off the legs at the very top, so you have a very short denim skirt.

  2. Turn inside out, and pin the bottom of the skirt together. Sew along it to make the bottom of your bag (you might need to even up the inside afterwards).

  3. Use the legs of the jeans to create the strap for your bag – cut a rectangle of whatever length you want, and double the width you want (make it at least 6cm wide).

  4. Fold the material for the strap in half lengthways, right side together. Pin and sew along the long edge.

  5. Turn the strap right side out, then fold the short ends inside and sew in place for a neat finish.

  6. Sew the straps in place and then sew a rectangle with a cross through it at each end of the strap for extra strength.

  “OK,” Yasmin said, “so I need to ask you something, and I need you not to get all … sarcastic about it.” Yasmin looked at me earnestly from beneath the brim of her new dark red felt hat.

  I paused from flicking through dresses on the charity-shop rail and considered her words. They sounded ominous. “Go on, then.”

  “You and Connor…”

  “Yeah, we’re totally planning on running off to Vegas together, you’re right.” Honestly. A few conversations with a guy and people automatically assumed it was love. Instead of, as was actually the case, mutual distrust.

  “Not sarcastic, remember?”

  I sighed and pushed another hanger to the “hideous and no good to me” side of the rail. Seriously, who had bought this stuff in the first place?

  “OK. Sarcasm over.” I picked up a pair of jeans with sweet, heart-shaped pockets on the back. They weren’t in my size, but I really liked those pockets… Suddenly I remembered something I’d seen on the internet when I was looking for infinity-scarf patterns. “Hey, don’t you think these would make a cute bag?” I folded the legs out of the way to show Yasmin what I meant.

  She blinked. “Uh, I guess so? Anyway … Connor and Ash are pretty good friends, you know?”

  “I noticed.” Seemed Ash was the only person in Drama Club that Connor would deign to hang out with. “I was thinking he probably hasn’t ever had a friend before, so Ash is kind of an experiment for him.”

  “Grace.”

  “Yeah, OK, OK. They’re friends. What about it?”

  “Well, I know you and Connor have to spend time together because of the play, and I know you moan about him a lot, but you’re getting on OK really, right? You’re just being … Grace, with all the comments about him?”

  Just being Grace? What did that mean? “Look, the guy took an instant dislike to me for reasons I don’t fully understand and now seems determined to undermine every attempt I make at doing a good job for this play.” And had some very valid suspicions about my intentions, not that I was admitting that to anyone. “Beyond that, we’re totally best friends.”

  Yasmin sighed. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “And even if it is,” Yasmin went on, as if I hadn’t spoken, “why does it bother you so much? Why do you care what he thinks about you? I mean, it’s not like he’s the coolest kid in school, or that he’s convincing your friends of your evilness. And if you’re not interested in him … what does it matter what he thinks?”

  I stopped, staring at the neon pink waistcoat on the rack in front of me. Why did it bother me? It was annoying having to work with someone who so clearly despised me, but I knew I should just ignore him and carry on. So why couldn’t I? Why did the very thought of him make me grind my teeth?

  “I guess … it just bugs me that he thinks he knows exactly who I am, what I’m like. And he keeps waiting for me to act that way.”

  “So? You won’t.” Something uncomfortable wriggled inside me at Yasmin’s words. I was still planning to steal the lead. But if it was for the good of the show, didn’t that make it OK? I’d seen Violet rehearse. Trust me, my taking over would be a relief for everyone.

  “Yeah, but…” I thought about how to explain it. Yasmin knew me well enough that she could probably guess, but I got the feeling she was waiting for me to say it anyway. “Maybe it’s because I would have done, a year ago. I was that girl. But Connor didn’t even know me then! And it’s not like he’s taken the time to find out what I’m really like.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  “No,” I lied. I mean, who made a snap judgement about a person like that, without ever actually talking to them properly? And then refused to change his mind, despite all the evidence?

  “What about you and Faith?” Yasmin asked. “Are you getting on better with her at least?”

  I shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s not like we have anything in common … apart from our parents.”

  “How do you know?” Yasmin asked, and I knew she was cross with me. “Have you spoken to her much, got to know her? Or are you treating her the exact same way that you complain Connor’s treating you?”

  A cold, sad feeling dripped down into my chest. She was right. I suppose one thing Yasmin did know about was family. After all, she had enough of it – siblings, aunts, cousins, nephews, everything – and they all seemed to enjoy spending time together.

  “So, you and Ash, then,” I said, changing the subject. “The cake went down well?”

  Yasmin rolled her eyes at me, showing me she knew exactly what I was doing, but didn’t press the point any further, which I appreciated. Yasmin always knew when to step back and let you stew about her words on your own for a while. “Yeah, it did. He walked me home again that night.”

  “I saw.”

  “And I asked him to come and meet us at the bakery today, like you said.”

  “Great!”

  “And he kissed me goodnight.” The pink in Yasmin’s cheeks was approac
hing fuchsia. It totally clashed with her hat.

  “And was it good?”

  “It really, really was.”

  I couldn’t help the jealous little bit of me that wished I had someone to blush over, someone to walk me home and kiss me, before I had to go inside and face the weirdness of my new family.

  “I’m really happy for you,” I said, and I meant it, even if it wasn’t the whole story. “Come on. Let’s pay for this stuff and get on with the real shopping.”

  We headed over to the White Hill Bakery to meet the others a couple of hours later, laden down with high-street shopping bags and cheap plastic bags from our charity-shop rummage. I wasn’t even sure what we’d do with some of the things I’d picked up – I just knew that the fabric felt right for the show, or that the pearly beads and sparkling clips would be perfect for something or other. The ribbons and scraps of lace just called out to me. I’d lay everything out in Sewing Club when we got back to school after half-term, and get Izzy and Miss Cotterill to help me figure it all out.

  Ella and Jasper were already sitting at a table in the window when we arrived, but neither of them were looking particularly happy. They seemed awkward – like they’d forgotten how to be together.

  “Ella!” Yasmin half shrieked as we walked in, and soon we were lost in the usual hugs and kisses and exclamations of how long it had been.

  “How are you, Grace?” Ella asked, and I knew that meant that Jasper had told her about Faith.

  “Sooo busy,” I said, sitting down on a free chair. “The play this year is taking up pretty much all my time. Especially when you add in Sewing Club and everything.”

  “Sewing Club?” Ella asked, brow furrowed.

  I glared at Jasper. “You managed to tell her about Faith but not Sewing Club?”

  Jasper glared back, and I suddenly realized that his participation in Sewing Club was probably still top secret – partly through embarrassment, and partly to keep the great Christmas-stocking plan a secret until the big day. Rolling my eyes, I launched into a detailed and perhaps slightly exaggerated retelling of how I ended up in Sewing Club, leaving Jasper’s part in it out entirely. Before long, Ella was laughing, Jasper was smiling again, and Yasmin had returned from the counter with coffee, cake, Lottie and Mac.