Far From Perfect

by Holly Smale

  Zach smooths back his hair.

  There’s a long, uncomfortable silence while they all stare at me, waiting for my words of wisdom and experience.

  Smile: on. Dimple: go.

  ‘Well,’ I say, opening my hands in a modest gesture, ‘I guess I’m here for the same reason as you guys. When you really love acting, there are no limits to learning the craft. There is no point at which the actor should stop exploring. Playing. Investigating. After all, are we not eternal students of this beautiful thing we call life?’

  I want to puke down the front of my Moschino sweatshirt. Grandma would be so proud.

  ‘Sure.’ Zoe nods, clearly disappointed. ‘Absolutely. Yeah, like, totally get that. Cool. Deep and stuff.’

  Another silence.

  ‘I mean, I’m here because I want to find an agent and get a big movie role and score really hot women for the rest of my life,’ Zach says, frowning. ‘Until I’m ancient and grey-haired and yet I still manage to score them, for reasons known only to their therapists.’

  ‘I’m here because I got a voucher,’ Jemima offers.

  ‘I’m here because I need a proper audition tape for RADA,’ Diego adds. ‘So far all I’ve done is sit in the café in Corrie.’

  ‘Me too!’ Ivy laughs. ‘Students’ Union in Hollyoaks.’

  ‘Eastenders for me.’ Theo shrugs. ‘T-shirt market stall.’

  ‘My parents thought this would be a good way to make me feel more comfortable in front of strangers,’ Mia admits softly.

  ‘I’m a very gifted actor.’ Rafe crosses his arms and scowls. ‘I’m waiting for somebody relevant to notice.’

  Everyone laughs, but I don’t think they were supposed to.

  ‘Great!’ I smile and – for some unknown reason – clap a few times. ‘Well, I’m sure it will totally happen for all of you! Good luck!’

  They really hate me now, don’t they? Yeah, I hate me too.

  ‘Right!’ Mr Hamilton walks into the class. ‘For our next exercise, I want you to partner up and repeat the word rabbit to each other. That’s it. Just the word rabbit. Find a way to create a dialogue.’

  Within seconds, everyone else has paired up.

  So weird that nobody picked me. Why doesn’t anyone want to work with the snotty rich girl who just clapped at their dreams like a patronising seal? I stare at the floor.

  ‘Rabbit,’ Mr Hamilton says to me. ‘Rabbit?’

  ‘Rabbit.’ I nod in reply, with no idea how to say it at all.

  What kind of flower grows on your face?

  Tulips.

  Somebody has done their research.

  As I open the front door of the Valentine mansion a few hours later, there are yellow roses everywhere – in huge vases crowding the entrance hall, bouquets on the antique cabinets, scattered all the way up the stairs to my room. I cannot move for yellow roses.

  Shame my favourite flower is actually the angel’s trumpet: a beautiful, cream, bell-shaped flower so poisonous it can suffocate, paralyse and ultimately kill you.

  Apparently, that was an ‘unsuitable answer’ for Vanity Fair.

  ‘What—’

  ‘Every hour,’ Mercy says, walking out of the kitchen in a black jumpsuit paired with matt-black lipstick. She looks like she’s been eating coal very carefully. ‘A bunch of twelve has been turning up every single hour, on the hour, all day. That’s a rose every ten minutes, in case the maths escapes you.’

  ‘Five,’ I say quietly, staring at the hallway. ‘Every five minutes, Mercy. In case telling the time escapes you.’

  ‘Whatever. Mum zombied downstairs and thought they were for her. She was going to chuck them all in the bin. You’re lucky I was here or you wouldn’t be getting any of this rubbish.’

  ‘Cheers for being such a hero.’

  We both stand in silence for a few minutes. Yesterday’s fight appears to be temporarily paused. We’re united by the fact that the entire house smells like it should be put in a bowl and left on top of a toilet cistern.

  ‘Yellow roses,’ my sister snipes. ‘What an original ex-boyfriend you have, Eff. Noah literally doesn’t know you at all.’

  ‘Boyfriend,’ I correct, picking up a flower and staring at it. It’s quite pretty, I guess. If you’re into killing things you like, then watching them slowly shrivel in a foreign environment. ‘We haven’t broken up. I’m just giving myself a bit of space to work things out.’

  But my heart has started beating suspiciously fast.

  These are from Noah?

  God, he must be really hurting to make such a grand gesture. Should I call him? I should call him. I don’t want to – I still need more time – but, if I don’t, isn’t that … cruel? Churlish? Ungrateful?

  And what if I don’t and he—

  Hang on.

  I’m not a photographer but I can picture you and me together.

  Dinner?

  Dylan Harris

  (TV star, currently on Netflix) xx

  Confused, I pick up another little paper tag.

  Is it hot in here or is it just us? Call me.

  Dylan Harris

  (TV star, currently on Netflix) xx

  And another:

  My parents told me to follow my dreams. You’re one of them!

  Dylan Harris

  (TV star, currently on Netflix)

  On the reverse side of each tag:

  These flowers are from Budding Romance! Your One-stop Shop for Love and Apology Needs! x

  I laugh so loudly, Mercy jumps.

  ‘What the—’

  ‘It’s not Noah.’ Relieved, I go and sit on the bottom stair so I can giggle a bit harder. ‘It’s some random dude from Genevieve’s Boy List. Look.’

  My sister reads the tags.

  ‘Wow. W-o-w.’ Then Mer starts laughing too – a rapid gunfire noise – and plumps down next to me. ‘Who the hell does Tesco Value Casanova even think he is?’

  ‘Dylan Harris, Mercy.’ I roll my eyes. ‘TV star, currently on Netflix, obviously. What a dumb question.’

  We start giggling together.

  ‘Although apparently he’s an old family friend of ours.’ I frown and pick up another tag. ‘That’s what the papers say anyway.’

  Roses for my English rose. Let’s go out a bunch!

  Dylan Harris

  (TV star, currently on Netflix)

  ‘Not close enough to know we’re only half English.’ Mer snorts and wipes her eyes. ‘Though I do vaguely recognise his name.’

  ‘Me too,’ I admit. ‘And face. But I’m more of an Amazon Prime kind of girl.’

  This time our laughter slows into silence and bang: our fight resurfaces, waiting to be picked up again.

  ‘Eff, your mirror—’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ I stand up quickly. ‘I accidentally kicked it during an intense warm-up. You know how I am. Exercise, exercise, exercise. Tone, tone, tone.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Mer frowns. ‘Freakoid.’

  I don’t want to fight today: I don’t have the energy. I don’t want Mercy to know that I smashed my mirror on purpose. Also, I haven’t exercised since it happened, and I’m worried the two might be in some way linked.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I say suddenly, looking round. The house is weirdly quiet.

  ‘Mum’s hibernating.’ Mercy shrugs. ‘Ben’s taken Hope out rollerblading or something. And Max has disappeared again. A hundred quid says the idiot’s got a secret romance going on.’

  ‘Ew.’ A wave of sympathy. ‘Poor girl.’

  ‘Yeah, rollerblading is the worst.’

  Mercy gives me a sideways smile and I prod my big sister gently with my foot, then get my phone out:

  MAX, WHO IS IT??????? ME AND MER ARE ON TO YOU! SPILL!!!!!!

  Ping.

  WHO IS WHAT and BTW what did you do this time, you fire-starter? Max xx

  I frown and glance at the kitchen.

  Huh? What are you talking about?

  CHECK TWITTER! x

  With a sinkin
g stomach, I click on the app.

  1,604 notifications.

  Blinking, I scroll quickly down.

  OUCH @Scarlettbell OH NO YOU DIDN’T!

  @Scarlettbell How insensitive are you? Know what poor Faith’s going through RN? Have some decency!

  @Scarlettbell Haha! So true. Get her! #BasicB

  @Scarlettbell BUUUUURRRRRRRN!

  Scarlett? I scroll even faster. Then I go cold:

  If you can’t handle @FaithValentine at her worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve her WHEN SHE’S STEALING PERSONALITY FROM

  #MarilynMonroe. #dull #yawn

  ‘What?’ Mercy says curiously, leaning over to see my screen. ‘Is Max denying it? Why’ve you got your scary marble face on?’

  ‘Umm.’ I blink numbly. There’s a photo of Scarlett in a panda onesie and a blue tick: it’s definitely her.

  My eyes have started stinging.

  ‘Eff?’

  ‘I think I’m just going to …’ Run? Bedroom? Run? Bedroom? Run? Bedroom. ‘Umm. Go for a quick lie-down. It’s … the pollen from the roses. Hay fever. I think I’m allergic.’

  ‘Faith, roses don’t have any—’

  ‘Oh, shut it, Mercy.’

  I drag myself up the stairs until I’m safe on the dark landing. Then I stand very still and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  Stealing a personality. Dull. Yawn.

  All those days spent with Scarlett – all the things I told her – and she was quietly saving them up to use against me? I trusted her. I opened up to her. I liked her and I made myself vulnerable and I’m so stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

  Consequences are for tomorrow, and here they are now, spread all over social media.

  Eyes wet, I open my bedroom door.

  ‘Greetings!’ Scarlett grins from my bed. Her short hair is spiky and her cat-eyes are smudged. ‘Fire escapes work two ways, you know. Might wanna lock your window in case Dylan Harris climbs up to watch you sleep and tries to make you immortal and stuff.’

  I wipe my eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh!’ She waves her phone in the air and laughs loudly. ‘I got bored waiting for you. Come on then, Valentine. Let’s see you give as good as you get.’

  Not being rude but—

  This is exactly why Valentines are discouraged from fraternising outside our gene pool. We’ve got quite enough unhinged behaviour going on inside our family without additional input, thank you very much.

  ‘Hi there.’ I perch stiffly on the bed next to Scarlett. ‘I’m not entirely sure I understand, but—’

  ‘Get a move on,’ she chirps, tapping away on her phone with both thumbs. ‘Or I’m gonna rip you a new one while you’re busy being all swan-like. Oops. Too late.’

  I look down.

  @FaithValentine Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds POST PHOTOS OF WHAT THEY HAD FOR BREAKFAST – #Basic #EleanorRoosevelt

  Scarlett sniggers as the notifications take off again. ‘Your turn.’

  For the love of— Genevieve is going to be furious with me. She adores her smoothie-bowl shots.

  ‘Look,’ I say desperately because Scarlett is enthusiastically typing again. Fix this. Fix this right now. ‘You have to stop, Letty. Please. This might be funny to you, but an awful lot of time and money has gone into making sure my online presence is—’

  Ping.

  @FaithValentine Life is what happens to you while you’re busy FILTERING PHOTOS OF YOURSELF WITH VALENCIA – #Vain #JohnLennon

  I stare at her. ‘I’m not vain.’

  ‘I know that, but your six million followers don’t. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what strangers think about you. So hit me.’

  Don’t tempt me. ‘But I—’

  Ping.

  @FaithValentine If you want to live a happy life, tie it to YOUR SOCIAL-MEDIA ACCOUNTS, not to people or things – #Shallow #AlbertEinstein

  ‘Right,’ I snap. ‘Fine.’

  I start tapping on my phone.

  I think maybe @Scarlettbell needs to—

  ‘Maybe?’ Scarlett rolls her eyes. ‘You think? Step it up, Valentine.’

  Frowning, I delete the post. Then I write:

  We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid. You must be exhausted, @Scarlettbell. #thick #BenjaminFranklin

  Scarlett laughs delightedly. ‘Better! Go again.’

  Being @Scarlettbell on Twitter is like running a cemetery; you’ve got a lot of people under you and nobody’s listening. #6kfollowers #BillClinton

  We start giggling.

  Keep calm and SELFIE on @FaithValentine. #Selfobsessed #Churchill

  You’re nobody till somebody loves you so @Scarlettbell is just … #Who #FrankSinatra

  Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in POSTING EVERY FALL TO INSTAGRAM. @FaithValentine #attention #Confucius

  A thing of beauty is a joy forever. BAD LUCK @Scarlettbell #sad #Keats

  We’re rolling around in fits of giggles now.

  @Scarlettbell This too shall pass WIND CONSTANTLY. #Stink #Anon

  Our notifications are going mad, retweets and comments flooding our phones.

  Yessss! WAR!

  Joke’s on them, these do not seem accurate quotes in any way. #Dumbgirls #fail

  ‘Y’know,’ Scarlett comments as she taps away. ‘Curating your life for the consumption of others is turning everyone into their own PR these days. And it’s Freaking Terrifying. Also—’

  @faithvalentine smells like a badger’s butt. #Descartes

  I start hiccuping.

  ‘I’m gonna be in such trouble.’ Hic. ‘Genevieve’s going to take me –’ hic – ‘out in a boat at night and –’ hic – ‘drop me in the ocean with Grandma’s Oscars roped to my toes.’ Hic. ‘On which note—’

  Slightly delirious with giggles, I impulsively take a selfie, making a face like a rabid badger – mascara eyes smudged with laughing too hard – and update my profile picture.

  ‘Who’s vain now?’

  ‘How the hell did you get your face to make that shape?’ Scarlett is so hysterical she’s started coughing. ‘That shouldn’t be possible for a human. Also –’ cough – ‘tell your nan Golden Globes are heavier.’ Cough. She looks down. ‘Oh hello. We are no longer alone.’

  @Scarlettbell I AM COMING FOR YOU WATCH YOUR BACK YOU JUMPED-UP LITTLE NOBODY #wannabe #leavemysisteralone #MercyValentine

  My hiccups abruptly stop.

  Blimey, Mercy. Only my sister could threaten physical violence and then hashtag herself.

  ‘Oh, Letty.’ Scarlett is staring at me with wide green eyes. ‘Umm, Mer’s in the kitchen downstairs. I’ll go and explain that—’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ A hand has gone over her heart. ‘That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. To jump in like that for you? No questions asked? I’m an only child and I’m choking with envy right now.’

  A sudden wave of pride. ‘Mercy is pretty brutal.’

  ‘Ferocious. Possibly a sociopath.’ Scarlett smiles and leans back on my pillow. ‘She has a point too. I am a nobody. I mean, the industry knows who I am – critically acclaimed awards coming out of my nostrils – but your sister is right. I’m a wannabe because I’m not doing what I actually want to do.’

  ‘Which is?’

  A slightly embarrassed grimace. ‘Musical theatre.’

  ‘No.’ I blink in surprise. ‘Really? Like dancing, singing, wearing cat-ears and so on?’

  ‘Oh yeah. The whole jazz-hands shebang. That’s where my true secret heart lies.’ She taps her chest. ‘This one is made out of marzipan.’

  I laugh. ‘So why—’

  ‘Have I taken a role in a television show about zombies? I’m a broke working actress, Eff. I live in a trashed studio flat in Brixton. I take whatever I can get. You know, I really feel like a pizza.’

  Umm, random.

  ‘I … know what you mean.’ I nod slowly, trying to roll with the metaphor. ‘Like … there’s a base of chees
e and tomato, but then other people cover you in toppings – pepperoni, mushrooms, olives – and nobody even asked what you wanted, you know? Like—’ I start to warm up to the theme. ‘Maybe you’re a crabmeat pizza. Maybe you’re strawberries and goat’s cheese. Maybe you’re caramel apple and coconut or squid ink! But how are you ever going to find out if people keep adding the toppings for you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Yeah.’ Scarlett frowns. ‘I meant let’s order pizza. You might want to talk to a professional about that, dude.’

  My face goes cold and hot simultaneously.

  For the love of—

  ‘Oh!’ I nod. ‘Yes. Umm. Pizza sounds … good.’

  ‘Hmm …’ Scarlett grabs a pencil off my bedside table and chews on the end of it with her pointy little teeth. ‘That could be an actual business, you know. Caramel apple and coconut pizza? I’d eat that. You need to go and see a bank manager or something.’

  I take the pencil off her and smack her with it. ‘Dumbo.’

  ‘Muppet.’

  ‘Unhinged psycho.’

  ‘Emotionally constipated robot.’

  We start giggling again.

  ‘Right.’ Scarlett tosses her phone to the bottom of the bed, grabs a twenty out of her jeans pocket and lobs it into my lap. ‘Internet terrorised, followers scandalised, Einstein destroyed. Order me a blue cheese with extra pineapple, yeah?’

  CATFIGHT OVER FRIGHT

  There’s growing concern for the mental health of FAITH VALENTINE – who hasn’t been seen in public since ex-boyfriend NOAH ANTHONY cheated on her and is now caught fighting with up-and-coming actress Scarlett Bell.

  The erratic sixteen-year-old, who shaved her head in response to Noah’s affair (left), ripped into the lesser-known actress on Twitter after Scarlett nabbed Faith’s debut role in Fright Fortnight.

  ‘Faith’s angry,’ insiders claim. ‘She’s feeling disrespected by being replaced so quickly. She’s insulted and pretty fragile right now. Faith is fuming.’

  This out-of-character Twitter tirade from Faith referred to Scarlett as ‘thick’, ‘a nobody’ and ‘sad’, as well as mocking her follower-count and uploading a threatening profile picture. ‘We’re seeing a side of Faith we don’t recognise,’ a worried close friend confided. ‘We hope she takes Noah back. Faith’s usually such a nice girl.’