by Jacky Gray
“When you were in detention.” Kat filled her in on the conversation.
As her friends discussed the new boy, Liv studied the carpet, trying to understand the depth of their reaction to him.
Jude summarised it. “So, he thinks you’re going out with Luke and Liv’s got Jimmy Proud which leaves him with me.” She glared at Kat. “You never mentioned any of this.”
“No point.” Kat shrugged. “We said you were married to your ice-skating. Why, you don’t fancy him, do you?”
“I might do.” Jude’s attempt at cool failed miserably.
Join the queue, thought Liv bitterly. Interesting the way Kat was behaving, though. Did she fancy him, too? Were the three of them destined to end their long-standing friendship over a boy?
She decided to nip it in the bud. “Hey, come on, guys. Let’s not fight over a boy, of all things. I definitely get the impression he’s not after a romance, simply some friendly faces to help him adapt to his new life.”
Jude’s frown said she was not amused. “Ok, but if he says anything else about me, I want to know.”
Liv forced a smile. “He called you the wild girl.”
“Did he? I wonder what gave him that idea?” Jude’s face lightened instantly as she grinned.
“Nothing to do with your total disregard of the rules.”
“Point taken.” Jude returned to her driving passion. “So, what about this skating thing? Are we on for this Saturday?”
Remembering the drawbacks of the rink, Liv couldn’t match her enthusiasm. “Let me check with my folks, first, but I think it’ll be ok.”
“Me, too.” Kat made a note in her diary.
“Ok, let me know soon because it will affect my training schedule.”
“Right. Now about Diana ...”
The doorbell rang before they got anywhere and Rory insisted they “shake their tail feathers” as he wanted to be home in time to watch a movie starting at ten past.
12 All the World’s a Stage
The next morning, Liv clocked Jude reaching the door precisely as Ray did, giving him a cheeky grin.
“Good morning. Can’t believe you’re back for more. What’s up, weren’t we horrible enough yesterday?”
“Hey, if that’s the best you can do, it’s gonna be easy street.”
Watching the exchange, Liv wondered at the synchronicity: “Easy Street” featured in Bugsy, and she’d spotted a handwritten poster announcing auditions for the musical on Miss Leon’s desk. Lenny usually did the publicity for the drama department; she liked to get involved.
The main topic of conversation at registration was the up-and-coming open evening, aimed at showing off the school’s strengths to the potential parents of the next year seven.
“I’m sure most of your subject teachers in the next week or so will be asking for help with their displays. They’ll be targeting older students for help on the night escorting the parents and providing coffee. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, volunteer slave trade.”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to offer some help, Tom Clarkson.”
“Oh, it would Miss Leon. Would you like me to show you where?”
Liv watched her tutor visibly curb a retort, settling instead on a full-blast teacher-stare and a dry, not-impressed tone.
“There are boundaries in the teacher-student relationship, Tom, and you just crossed one.”
As the lad muttered a red-faced apology, Liv imagined potential witty put-downs, scribbling down the first one: I’d have to make sure there was something worth looking at first. She devoted the rest of tutor-time to increasingly pithy rejoinders, each one filthier than the last. Jude glanced over with a frown, and sniggered when she read through, offering some outlandish suggestions of her own.
In English, Mr Johnston decided to liven up the boring read-through of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night by insisting everyone in the room take a turn. “We’ll pick up where we left off last Thursday. Halfway through scene five?”
“It was the top of page thirty-seven, sir.”
“Thank you Becky. First is Maria. Danielle, do you fancy a go? It’s a comic part, should suit you well. Terry, will you have a go with Feste? There’s not much to do, but there’s some singing later on.”
He assigned the character Olivia to Kat and Viola to Liv, with the obligatory comment about the name confusion, saying he would only use the character’s names. “If I say Olivia, I mean Katrina. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” they answered in unison.
“Any volunteers for Sir Toby? You’ll need to be able to do a passing imitation of a drunk.” A hand went up. “Neil. Big, baritone voice, please.” He searched the room. “Ray, do you want to have a go at Malvolio?”
As Ray nodded, Mr Johnston said he’d cast the next scene later. “I’ll read out the stage directions. We’ll start with Feste, “Now Mercury endue …”
Being drama students, Terry, Danielle and Kat had no problem breathing life into the Bard of Stratford’s prose.
The part of the grand lady suited Kat well as she built up to a spirited “Fie on him!” earning an encouraging “Good,” from the teacher.
Liv saw her friend blush, remembering with a grin how they’d all had a crush on the Johnny Depp lookalike when he first taught them in year eight.
Kat sparkled as the vitriolic countess, seeing off the feckless Feste and the drunken Sir Toby, played with gusto by Neil.
Ray was surprisingly good as the self-important Malvolio, adopting a repulsively oily voice and painting a wonderful picture of adolescence, “as a squash is before ’tis a peascod, or a codling when ’tis almost an apple.”
As ever, Liv’s insides liquefied as she took on Viola’s task to win the fair Olivia’s affections on behalf of her master, the Duke. The fact Viola was supposed to be disguised as a boy gave Liv plenty of scope to play it up to the hilt.
Kat joined in; they shared a love of words. Although Shakespeare was tricky, they had each other’s speeches to read ahead and work out the sense of their next lines.
Mr Johnston was impressed, stopping them after Maria’s exit. “Hold on a second, ladies. This is superb. I think you’re ready to take it a step further. You’re both getting into the parts and using gestures naturally. Would you come up to the front and give it some movement as well?”
Liv glanced at Kat uncertainly; it was one thing doing it from the safety of her desk, but to stand up in front of the class and do it? Suicide!
“Just try it to the end of the scene; it’s not long.”
Rather reluctantly, she followed Kat to the front, where she restarted.
Delivering Viola’s line, “Most sweet lady …” Liv naturally bent down on one knee in supplication, but she sprang up quickly at Kat’s bored dismissal.
They made good comic use of the “chapter of his bosom.” Kat’s Olivia flirted outrageously with Liv’s Viola as she dutifully gave an inventory of the Duke’s finer points. Both girls rushed back to the safety of their desks as soon as they’d uttered their last line and Mr Johnston led a round of applause for their efforts. Liv fanned flaming cheeks, barely aware of the last scene before the lesson ended. It was no fun in front of potentially critical classmates.
Mr Johnson seemed pleased as he clapped the whole class. “Good. We’ll continue with this after break. Olivia, Katrina, may I have a word?”
He told them about his proposal for a run-through reading of a Shakespeare play on the open evening in the school theatre, asking if they would take the lead roles as they had in class.
Liv explained this would clash with the early rehearsal for the Christmas show, which they were both auditioning for. By the time they finished convincing him to talk to Miss Maines, they barely had two minutes to rush to the tuck shop and back before break ended.
“Damn, I wanted to have a word with Ray about this ice-skating thing.”
Liv’s annoyance bypassed Jude as she smiled with one-up smugness. “No problem, while you were toutin
g your dramatic talent, I convinced Ray a trip to the rink could be fun even if he couldn’t get to go on the ice.”
Kat seemed wary. “Did you tell him Luke would be there?”
“I just said there’d be a gang of us.”
“Did he say yes?” Liv bottled her resentment at being scooped.
Jude’s swagger took a bit of a battering as she strove for insouciance. “Best I could get was a maybe.”
As the bell rang, Kat promised to ask Luke at lunch.
Mr Johnston wanted to change the players to give more people a chance and quickly cast the parts for the next couple of scenes, choosing Luke to play the Duke on the grounds he needed someone big and imposing. He scanned the room, with a frown.
“On second thoughts, we’ll keep Ray as Malvolio as you didn’t have many lines in the first bit. And the same goes for Neil as Sir Toby.” Re-scanning the room, his frustration obvious as he shook his head. “Nope, no one else can pull it off, but I can see some scope for a good comedy double-act with Nelson as Sir Andrew. Right then, off you go.”
Ray hammed it up beautifully as the pompous Malvolio trying to return the ring to the protesting Viola, but Diana was no actress, reading the lines woodenly and completely missing Ray’s action cues as he held out the ring, then threw it to the floor to be “his that finds it.”
The love-triangle between Viola, Olivia and the Duke was embarrassing, mainly due to Diana’s attempt to vamp up Viola and Luke’s resulting discomfort. The third scene entertained as Nelson and Neil proved more than capable as the garrulous fools, talking drunken nonsense with Terry, whose fool, Feste, stole the show.
Normally, the timid boy would have done anything to avoid being the centre of attention, but he bravely made up simple tunes for the songs. His strong, natural voice cut through the inevitable background mumblings and grabbed everyone’s attention. At the end of the second verse, most of the class clapped and Terry blushed red.
The noisy appreciation didn’t help as poor Nelson stumbled in his attempts to deliver the extremely apt line: “A mellifluous voice as I am true knight.”
Quieting the applause, Mr Johnston bade them continue and Luke finally had his chance. He started well enough, but it soon became clear he was painfully embarrassed reading slushy lines like “… women are as roses, whose fair flower being once displayed, doth fall that very hour.”
His speech was so awkward Mr Johnston stopped him half-way through. “Thank you, Luke. You’re obviously not enjoying the Duke. Can we maybe swap you with Malvolio? You can have some fun with him.”
The teacher glanced at his book and then at Diana. “Same for you, Diana. I can see this part is not quite right for you.” He scanned the room. “Liv, can we have you back as Viola? Yes, that feels right. From ‘Then let thy love,’ please.”
Luke’s face revealed his relief as Ray repeated the speech, breathing life into the Duke’s pining heart.
Diana’s dagger-filled glare couldn’t quell Liv’s delight at playing opposite Ray. The words resonated as the cunning Viola suggested there may be another lady who loves him as much as he loves Olivia.
Ray transformed into a magnificent Duke as he declared with passion that no woman could possibly love a man as much as he loved Olivia.
Liv’s heart leapt at the look in his eye as he delivered the line. She morphed into the artful Viola, hinting at her love for Ray’s Duke. They finished the scene as the bell rang for the next lesson.
13 French Class
“Bonjour, la classe.”
“Bonjour, Madame Broussard.”
“Eh maintenant, tournez-vous à la page vingt-et-un. Il y a un exercice pour vous.” The fierce little Frenchwoman insisted only French should be spoken in her class, except in dire emergencies.
Jude hated this rule-bound control freakery, but knowing the penalties for non-compliance, she opened her book at page twenty-one with a sigh.
Two rows in front, Ray raised his hand, but the woman seemed intent on ignoring him, and he cleared his throat.
Jude had a Eureka moment. No one would have told him about the French-only rule or the resulting explosion of vitriol if he spoke in English. She tried to catch his attention and her desperate movement caused the dragon to notice his elevated hand. Closing her eyes, Jude expected the worst.
“Madame Broussard, je n’ai pas un livre.” Ray’s accent was perfect as he pointed out his lack of textbook and Jude’s eyelids popped open.
“Pourquoi-pas?” Mme. Broussard was wearing her “Why do I have to put up with such incompetence?” face.
“Parce que celui-ci est ma leçon première avec vous.” Impressive.
The French teacher’s glare blistered across at the upstart claiming to be having his first lesson with her. “Votre nom?”
“Raymond Donelly, Madame.” He even managed to make his name sound French.
The class tuned into the fun as the woman visibly deflated from her normal pomposity, admitting she’d forgotten. Muttering under her breath as she searched, she spat out the odd derogatory word, like “stupide” and “imbécile.”
“Eh, voila.” She stalked up and placed the book on Ray’s desk.
“Merci beaucoup, Madame.”
“C’est rien.” In a low voice, she complimented his command of the language, and then returned to the front of the class with instructions to continue while she retrieved a big stack of books from her bag. She was obviously behind on her marking and wouldn’t be paying much attention.
Jude turned round, exchanging raised eyebrows with Liv and Kat who seemed to have enjoyed the entertainment as much as she. A few subtle gestures confirmed that neither of them had told him the French-only rule either. Was he smart enough to have picked it up? His performance in maths said yes.
After a few moments listening to more exclamations of disgust about shoddy work from the front of the room, the class reverted to type. While the woman’s attention was diverted, the sub-sonic note-passing began. The business of communicating with the minimum of noise or movement approached a true art form. Something went wrong today, though; she must have sensed the class were not devoting their attentions to the boring tense-conversion activity.
“Cécile, ce papier. Qu’est-ce que c’est?” The woman tried hard to Frenchify every student’s name.
Cecily took full advantage, trying to endear herself to the woman with a full-on Gallic shrug and plaintive expression. “Madame?”
“I said, what is that paper?” The use of English was a concession to her favourites; the girl’s simpering had earned her that distinction.
“What paper?” Cecily’s feigned ignorance was merely a ploy, but for once it didn’t work.
Jude watched Diana’s sidekick surreptitiously change something on the note as the French teacher flounced off her chair and sailed between the desks, her flowery skirts and scarf billowing out behind her. She descended on the offending note with a triumphant exclamation, scrunching it up in her chubby fist and shaking it in Cecily’s face.
“You think I am stupide? Moi, Marianne Broussard, stupide? Pah.”
“Oh, that. I found it on the floor. Someone must have dropped it.” Cecily’s lie was lost on the plump woman as she stomped back up to her desk and smoothed out the crumpled note, reading it aloud.
“Regardez. ‘Call that acting? Looks like LT fancies the pants off the crip ...’ Agh, I will not read any more of this dreadful note. Who could write such terrible things? Who is ‘LT’ and why should he want to take the pants off anybody? I do not understand you children, today.” She switched to French, rattling off a torrent of what could only be expletives.
Jude figured it out and snuck a peek behaind, watching Liv go white as a sheet, then bright red as Ray gazed at her with both his eyebrows raised so high they were hidden by his fringe. She saw Kat and Luke glancing over; they’d guessed it, too, along with one or two of the smarter kids.
“Let me see. There is no signature on this note, merely a ‘B.’ Curious.�
�� Mme. Broussard seemed to have forsaken her beloved French as she examined the note. “And it is addressed to ‘KF.’ Ah, such mysteries.” She addressed the class. “Well, come on. Who are these people? If you do not own up I will hunt for them in the register.”
While the woman huffed and puffed, flicking pages in her planner, Jude worked out that apart from Barry, who had some kind of lurgy, Becky was the only B in the class. Liv displayed her planner, where she’d written Becky and Barry then crossed out the second name. When Jude nodded that she’d reached the same conclusion, Liv caught the lanky girl’s eye and signalled her question. Becky had also worked it out and shook her head in violent denial.
Jude leant back, keeping her voice lower than a whisper. “I saw Cecily changing something on the note.”
Liv nodded. “Probably the “D” into a “B.” But why send it to “KF,” aka Kat?”
As everyone in the class speculated, the noise level penetrated Mme. Broussard’s fierce concentration. She clapped her hands. “That is quite enough. We shall now have a vocabulary test, but at the end of the lesson, I shall read out the names of the people involved and we shall get to the bottom of this disgraceful note business.”
They all knew this meant they’d probably never hear another word about it. Jude was quick off the mark to volunteer to give out the homework sheets, managing to peek at the front of the note before the French teacher buried it under a pile of marked books as she rummaged about for spare sheets.
As predicted, she forgot all about the note, distracted by the reluctantly diminishing pile of marking. As the bell rang, the unwieldy stack toppled to the floor and Jude shot up, staying behind to help her pick them up. She dashed to their normal rendezvous where Kat and Luke were waiting.
“Come on, Jude. Did you get a look at it?” Kat obviously figured the reason for the delay and pounced. “Was your theory correct?”
“I did better than that.” Jude waved the note high, mimicking Mme. Broussard’s triumph, and continuing the mime as she smoothed it out and read the words aloud.
