Star-Crossed

by Jo Cotterill

You are stunned.

  How could somebody do that? What kind of friend sees their best mate being beaten up and runs away?! No wonder Dad hates him.

  “I can’t believe that someone could be so gutless,” you mutter.

  Maddy unfolds her arms and wraps one around your shoulders. “Me neither. But he was. And now they’re both bitter – you know what it’s like when they’re in the same room – and his son is just the same. So stay away from the Banners. They’ll just betray you, like he did Dad.”

  You nod, and rest your head on your sister’s shoulder. She uses the remote to turn on the TV, and you start to watch. She laughs at something, but you’re not really listening. You’re thinking about how stupid you were to ever think that Chris was a good person, and about how when you next see him, it will be guns blazing once again.

  I believe it’s you who’s met your match, Mr Banner. Get ready to feel very bad about yourself next time I see you.

  A gust of wind swings the door shut behind you with a bang as you enter the Year Eleven area at lunch, a week after the first rehearsal. You sweep your wind-tangled hair out of your eyes and take a look around, but you immediately know something is wrong.

  Rubes is sitting with Helene Johnston, who’s another girl from the play, and a group of her friends. The friends are talking among themselves, and Rubes is talking to Helene. He is obviously telling a story, gesturing animatedly, and talking fast. You start to walk over to their table, winding between the little groups of squishy chairs. The volume of noise drops slightly, so you look round to see why. Casting your eyes around the room, you see that about half of the people there are looking at you. As soon as they see you, they all glance away and start up their conversations again. You sigh. Can’t they find someone else to talk about?

  It’s been like this for just over a week. Everywhere you go, people have been staring as you walk past, then when you look back at them, they all look away. You’ve been getting more and more frustrated and now you are plain sick of it. You decide to ignore everyone and just sit with Reuben, so you focus your sights on him and speed up.

  Helene flicks her long, blonde hair and laughs at a turn in the story. The two of them are still laughing as you arrive at the table. They turn around and Rubes smiles at you and pats the seat next to him for you to sit down, but Helene’s face falls.

  “Can I sit down?” you ask her.

  For a second she just stares at you, then she smiles and nods.

  “Yeah, sure, why not.”

  You sit down and realize that Helene’s friends have stopped their conversation and are all looking at you, as if waiting for you to do something. You are starting to feel like a monkey in a zoo.

  “What?” you say. “Why are you staring?”

  They all look at each other, then back to you. A girl with straight red hair speaks. You recognize her as Kate Littleton, a ballet student who spends most of her time in the school dance studio practising her pliés. You know her enough to like her and smile at her in the halls, but don’t talk to her often. “You mean, you don’t know what everyone is talking about?”

  They all stare at you again. You lose your patience.

  “Does it look like I do? What’s the latest on my oh-so-depraved social life?”

  She laughs. You look at her, then she stops laughing. “The rumours,” she says. “What everyone’s been talking about.” You stare at her blankly. With the air of letting someone in on a great secret, she talks again, hardly above a whisper. “Everyone’s saying that you’ve been sending Chris Banner threatening letters. I heard that you had a huge fight and that you broke Chris’s rib.”

  Helene butts in, resting her elbows on the table too. “And Misha told me that you have to see a psychiatrist because you have anger management problems, because of your dad. She said that your dad had a fight with Chris’s dad ages ago, and it left him all mentally unstable, and because of that you want revenge. On Chris.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and leans in that tiny bit more, dropping her voice to a low whisper. “Everyone thinks that you’re about to go crazy any minute.”

  You are half amused and half mortified by this information. Looking around the room again, you see that all the groups have moved closer together, talking quietly and casting glances every so often to your table. Looking back down at your lap, you sigh. You knew that people were talking about you, but not to this extent. You shake your head with anger. This is so stupid, you think. And who does Misha think she is?! And I have a psychiatrist now? Come on. She has gotta get over this. She’s so bitter.

  Kate leans cautiously towards you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Reuben is looking between you and the staring girls around the table with a very confused expression on his face. So he didn’t know either.

  Her emerald eyes are wide and her chin is resting on her palms, elbows on the table. She bites her lip, then asks you what they all want to know. “So. Did you do it?”

  I don’t believe it. They actually think that I am some kind of psychopath. I’ve had enough of this.

  You get up. The girls flinch, as if scared that you are going to start beating them up too. You give a humourless laugh.

  “Do you seriously have nothing better to do than discuss my life?”

  No one says a word.

  You give a tiny sigh of disbelief, turn quickly and leave the way you came in. The corridor is deserted. You are going so fast that Reuben has to run to catch you up. You put your hands to your forehead and look down at your pacing feet.

  “Why can’t they find someone else to talk about?! It’s always Jen this, Jen that, Jen beat Chris to a mangled and bloody pulp in the street. Like I’d be that lucky to get the chance! This isn’t just me, you know. He hates me too! He does stuff to wind me up, like these stupid rumours, and I’m the one who looks like the crazy person, when in fact he is the psycho behind it all! If he just stayed out of my way then I could get on with my life. Damn, he pisses me off!”

  Reuben hurries along behind you. You expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. When Rubes is silent like this, you know what it means. It means that he’s not going to say what he’s thinking, because he knows it’s not going to go down well.

  It’s even more frustrating that he’s always right…

  “What are you thinking, Rubes?” you ask him wearily.

  He shakes his head. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I know. But tell me anyway. I’m being unreasonable or something, aren’t I?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Well, you say that you never start anything, but you did kind of encourage the rumours. You did write that note next to his name—”

  You stop and turn around, raising your hands in indignation. “I was being ironic! I don’t want him to die! I was just mad and … embarrassed and … argh!” You spin back and carry on walking. “I know that it was a stupid idea, but it didn’t mean a—”

  The corridor is coming to a bend, but you’re furious and you don’t see the turn.

  “Jen!”

  You smack straight into something quite solid, look up, then back away, rolling your eyes. This is exactly what I need…

  “Watch where you’re going, bitch!”

  Chris’s two best friends, Sam McDonald and Travis Parker, block your way out of the narrow hallway. Travis is the shorter of the two, but both are tall and built like rugby players. You wouldn’t want to meet either of them in a deserted alley on a dark night. Now they are towering over you and Reuben like two bears, ready for an attack.

  “Can you let us past?” you say, with as much politeness as you can muster through gritted teeth.

  The boys look at each other, then back at you, and shake their heads.

  “Nah,” says Travis, taking one of your arms in a pincer-like grip. You wince and try to shake him off, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t think so. What do you thi
nk Sam?”

  Sam takes your other elbow and pins you against the wall with it. You gasp and try to wriggle free, but the pair are strong, so you stay right where you are. Reuben steps forward threateningly.

  “Get off her or—”

  “Or what? Are you going to crack our ribs?” They laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

  One of them grabs your bag off your shoulder and tips it upside down. All of your things fall out. You struggle against them again, but there’s not much you can do except kick out at Sam’s shin. He lets go of your arm to grab his leg, but Travis regains hold of the one that Sam had before.

  “What do you think you are doing, bitch?”

  You wrench yourself forward, and Reuben pulls you towards him. “Get the hell off her, you jerk, and go find someone else to grunt at.” You stumble away and stand behind him, rubbing your arm, glaring at Travis.

  Sam stands up straight and Travis cracks his knuckles, and they corner Reuben, who stands firm and doesn’t back away.

  “What did you just say, fag?” Travis asks in a menacing tone. His dark eyes just got darker, and you swear that he also got a little bit taller.

  Reuben doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, looking blankly into the bully’s face. It’s not like this is the first time someone has insulted him because of his sexuality.

  You remember when he came “out” at school – when people began to know that he preferred guys to girls – and the mixed reaction that it got. Some people accepted who he was immediately, no questions asked. They said that it didn’t matter what he preferred, he was the same guy and it was stupid to think any different. Others took a little bit of getting used to it. These people, who the day before they found out had hugged Reuben when they saw him, now smiled awkwardly at him when he passed them in the corridor, made forced conversation to try to prove that they were “all right with it”, then moved along as quickly as possible. The remainder, thankfully a tiny minority, still avoid Reuben like the plague and, whenever they cross paths, give him abuse until he either walks away or gets so angry that he lashes out.

  Part of that minority is stood in front of you now. These boys are as homophobic as they come, and the fights that have gone on between them and Reuben in the past four years have resulted in mutual hatred. This hatred grows every time they meet.

  You are slightly shaken by the guys, but Rubes isn’t fazed at all. He is standing tall and strong. You can almost feel the power radiating from him. Sam and Travis look just as strong, though, and they are giving Reuben the same stare – one that could melt a snowman. There is a weird silence between the boys that seems to scream their loathing more than any words could. You don’t know what to do. You feel quite powerless.

  “I told you to let her go and leave her alone. Let us past.”

  The boys move in. “Not a chance, Lucan…” Sam growls.

  His balled fist rises up and draws back, but Reuben stays where he is. Like you are watching in slow motion, you see Sam’s fist start to move towards Reuben’s face.

  “HEY!”

  Sam’s hand stops mid-flight.

  Thank God.

  “What’s going on? What are you guys doing?”

  The person who had shouted runs up to the group and puts himself between Reuben and the other two. You shut your eyes in disbelief.

  Why is he always the knight in goddamn shining armour?

  “What’s he done this time?” Chris asks Travis and Sam. They don’t answer, but just glare at Rubes over his shoulder. Sam shakes his head and pushes Travis gently away, towards the common room.

  “Come on, man. Let’s just leave it.”

  The guys walk away, leaving you with a silent Chris and a murderous Reuben. Chris turns around to face you both, but Reuben doesn’t move. He is just staring at the floor. You look at him closely and see that he is shaking. Your heartstrings pull. He shouldn’t have to take this kind of stick. Oh, Reuben. You touch him lightly on the shoulder, but he shrugs your hand away.

  “I’ve gotta go and do … something…” he says vaguely. “Thanks…” he mutters to Chris.

  You paste a smile on to your face and look up at Rubes. “I’ll see you later?”

  He walks off in the opposite direction to the common room without even acknowledging that he heard you. Your smile drops and you turn around, only to bump into Chris.

  “Sorry,” you grumble, looking up into his face. You can’t be bothered to be rude or insulting right now. Your stuff is still scattered about. You sigh and bend down, starting to collect everything up, not liking the fact that you are scrambling around at your enemy’s feet. You reach over for your pencil case, but another hand gets there first. You quickly take your hand away. His hand then waves in your line of vision, so you look at Chris – whose expression you can’t read – and give him a small smile. You think you see a flicker of a smile beneath his blank face, but it’s gone as soon as you notice it. You try to take the case back, but Chris doesn’t let go, just looks into your eyes and says nothing. You pull it a bit harder and he lets go. You straighten up at the same time as Chris, slowly putting the last things back in your bag. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. You touch your hair to see if it’s a mess, but realize that that’s not the problem. He’s waiting for you to say something.

  “Thanks,” you say quickly, putting on your bag. “For picking up my stuff. And for telling Travis and Sam where to go. Thanks.”

  He nods. “I didn’t do it for you. Reuben’s cool. He doesn’t deserve that kind of stick.” Your heart lurches slightly when you realize that you have just thought the exact same thing. At least he’s got something right.

  You can hear someone coming down the corridor, and Chris obviously can too. Now there’s an audience his face goes back into its familiar sneer, making it crystal clear to the passer-by that he is in no way fraternizing with the enemy. “Reuben’s cool but he can’t handle those two alone, and it was obvious that a coward like an Anderson wasn’t about to jump in and save him any time soon.” You scowl and think of a harsh comeback to retaliate with, but Chris hasn’t finished. “You should just thank the Lord it wasn’t you who they were cornering, ’cause then I might have gone temporarily blind and you could have got seriously hurt.”

  You roll your eyes. “I hope that you get seriously hurt, Banner, then I won’t have to put up with seeing your face every day.”

  He laughs. “Is that another death threat, Jenny? I just loved the last one. I love it that you can put down your hate in writing; so much expression with so few words.”

  “Well, I just loved your little rumours. What was my favourite? Oh yeah, that I broke your rib in a vicious fight. Just great. You’re lucky that I can take stuff like this, ’cause if I had a short temper you would have a lot more than a broken rib.”

  “I would like to see you try.”

  You open your mouth to say something, but Miss Phillips walks round the corner. You both look at her and smile, and she beams back.

  “Romeo and Juliet! Glad to see you together and not fighting for once.”

  Your smile becomes forced and you hear Chris give a small cough that could be a laugh in disguise. You try to pin a more genuine smile to your face.

  “Yeah. I have to go. I’ve got, er, a meeting with my … art teacher. See you at the rehearsal.”

  You dodge past and take a look over your shoulder, as Phillips corners Chris. His eyebrows have disappeared into his forehead and he is nodding at whatever she is saying, which makes you laugh.

  Serves you right, Banner. I’ll see you later.

  Two weeks later, you enter the hall for your first non-book rehearsal of the play. You’re more excited than nervous, because you know your words perfectly – it’s just your cues that are a little confusing. However, rehearsals have actually been going really well. You haven’t had to work with Chris that much, as
last week Walker left you and Misha to do some “character building”, to go through the entire play and to introduce yourself to reading and understanding Shakespeare. To you, the story is as familiar as the back of your hand, but to Misha, it’s a completely different language. You spent three afternoons after school last week being bored to tears by having to stop after every line to answer Misha’s whine of, “What was this bloke on about? It doesn’t make sense! Shakespeare is so stupid…”, while you prayed that she would just quit the play or lose her voice. Unfortunately for you, neither has happened. Yet. You were almost relieved when Walker would call you over to work on scenes with Chris – until he did something that would remind you that you hate his guts, at which point you wished that both Misha and Chris would take a very long holiday for a very long time, forget where they live and never walk into your life again. This hasn’t happened yet either.

  Who would have thought that in the last three weeks this guy has saved my life twice? you think, making your way across the hall.

  As you reach the stage and pull yourself up on to it, you sigh. You start stacking away the assembly chairs still there from the morning, and think about the play.

  The rehearsals you have had with Chris have been a constant battle. Once he stood right behind you during one of your speeches so that you could feel his warm breath tickling your neck. He was trying to put you off, waiting for you to screw up or tell him to get lost. You carried on talking, but swung up your hand in a dramatic gesture, bringing it sweeping back down into his face, giving him a minor nosebleed. You put on your best “Oh-My-God-I’m-So-Sorry” face, but apologized with as much venom as you could manage with a teacher around. Inside you were laughing so hard that your face ached from keeping straight. But he had gotten you back by knocking you over during one of his fight scenes, sending you flying across the stage and bruising your knees so badly that they turned almost black. You scowl at the memory as you shift one of the last chairs. Reuben’s face looms in your head and tells you your little graffiti started it, so you work a bit faster to try to get this annoying fact out of your head and hum a song under your breath.