A Little Crushed

by Viviane Brentanos

  “Will you stop?” Max laughed. “I must be mad, but okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent!”

  Max stepped back. Tom looked as if he wanted to kiss him. “Hey, no New Age man touchy-feely stuff, thank you.”

  “Welcome aboard.” Jim Hurst slapped him on the back. “Let’s set up our first meeting and take it from there. Thank you, Tom, for your time.”

  “Don’t say it.” Tom closed the door after he left. “I know. I dropped you in it, but it will be fun. Honest.”

  “‘…said the spider to the fly.’”

  Chapter Ten

  “Hurry up.” Rebecca held Emma’s wrist in a vice-like grip. “A sloth moves faster than you.” She pulled her along the corridor. “It won’t look too good if we’re late on the first day.”

  “First time you’ve bothered about being late,” Emma grumbled. “Why are you making me do this? It’s four o’ clock, and I want to go home.”

  “It will be fun. Mr. Hurst is great, and he does the most incredible impressions. His Yul Brynner is amazing.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Think of it as therapeutic. It just might take your mind off Andy Stone.”

  Pushing open the Assembly Hall doors, Emma sent her a wounded stare. “Must you bring that up?”

  Emma’s love-life forgotten, Rebecca stared at the crowd gathered in front of the stage. “Wow, where have all these people come from? Vicky? What are you doing here? It’s not X-Factor, you know.”

  Her sister met her sarcasm with the finger.

  Emma let out a squeal of horror. “Oh God, there’s Andy. I’m off.”

  “No you don’t.” Rebecca dragged her into a seat. “Be strong. Too late anyway. Mr. Hurst is already here.”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, her favourite teacher mounted the stage, calling for attention. The hum of excited chatter ceased.

  “First of all, I’d like to thank all of you for taking the time to come along today, and I’m pleased to see so many new ‘recruits.’” He cleared his throat. “As you know, the school has successfully staged an excellent production for the last five years, and we hope that this year will be no exception. The most important thing I want you all to remember is that it will be a team effort. Everyone will play a part—whether it is on stage or behind the scenes.”

  “I am telling you now. I’m not shifting any bloody scenery.” Emma muttered.

  Rebecca said nothing, comfortable in the knowledge she was Mr. Hurst’s favourite. This year, she knew she would be given the lead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her sister giggle into her hand before nudging her entourage. Something was definitely going on with them. The only amateur dramatics Vicky showed interest in was feigning illness to bunk off school.

  “Hey,” Emma called out across the aisle. “What happened to the Viking blonde?”

  Vicky patted her new, dark brown tresses. “If I am to be leading lady, I need to be taken seriously. Duh!” She raised her eyes to the ceiling while her friends laughed like well-trained monkeys.

  “Oh, do excuse me,” Emma retorted. “Anyway what makes you think you stand a chance?”

  “Because,” Vicky flicked back her locks and pouted, “Mr. Hurst said so.”

  “He’s going to give you the lead role?” Rebecca folded her arms. “He said that?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but he did say I am a perfect little drama queen. What? What’s so funny?”

  “Oh Vicky…” Not for the first time, Rebecca wondered how they came from the same gene pool. “You are priceless. You—”

  She cut her sister’s comeback short. Mr. Jackson strolled toward the front of the hall, black leather jacket slung over his shoulder. A collective sigh wafted around her head. Her buoyant mood sank faster than the Titanic.

  “Sorry I’m late.” With a debonair jump, he joined Mr. Hurst on stage. “Year twelve nose bleed.” A huge grin stretching his tanned face, he turned to face the expectant crowd. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

  “Wow.” Emma gripped her arm. “Does he look good in black?”

  “So did Dracula.” Rebecca grunted. “And shut up. I’m trying to listen.” Her stomach executed a double flip. Mr. Hurst did not just say what she thought he said. He was going to be the assistant director?

  “If you stay like that any longer, you’ll get lockjaw.” Emma didn’t try too hard to hide her amusement. “And your eyebrows are over-lapping.”

  Rebecca felt sick. It seemed everywhere she turned, she came slap-bang up against this wall called Mr. Jackson. It all fell into place. No wonder Vicky had showed up, along with all the other besotted fools.

  “Miss Harding? Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Mr. Hurst’s concern pulled her back to unwelcome reality. “No, sir. I’m fine, thank you.” Well, what could she say?

  Emma nudged her in the ribs. “I’m glad you dragged me here. It’s going to be so cool. Extra-curricular activities with the divine Mr. J.”

  Too choked to respond, Rebecca saw her dreams of stardom go up in smoke.

  “Okay.” Mr. Hurst clapped his hands for silence. “Let’s move on to the choice of play for this year. After careful consideration, Mr. Jackson and I…” He paused.

  It seemed to Rebecca that Mr. J. stared straight at her, and she held her breath. “We have decided on Romeo and Juliet.”

  If he hoped for a reaction, she couldn’t give it to him; she was too sickened to utter a word.

  Mr. Hurst went on. “For those who want to try out for a part, auditions will be held tomorrow after school. Anyone who would like to see a copy of the play can take one from Mr. Jackson on the way out. Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mr. Jackson? No? Okay, that’s it for today.”

  Amidst excited chatter, the hopefuls filed out.

  “Rebecca,” Mr. Hurst called out, halting her in her tracks. “Will you wait behind, please?”

  “Oops.” Emma gave her a sympathetic arm squeeze. “Fired already.” Giggling into her hand, she dropped her tone to a whisper. “Of course, you could always offer to sleep with him for a part. If you don’t want to, tell him I’m willing.”

  “Ever thought of taking up comedy?”

  “Have fun.” Blowing her a kiss, Emma skipped out of the hall, still giggling.

  “Oh, to be so easily amused.” Rebecca muttered. Arms folded, she sprawled in the chair, arranging her features in her well-practised Mr. J. expression. I’m bored get me out of here.

  “So, Rebecca.” Mr. Hurst dazzled her with his who’s-my-best-pupil smile. “Nice to see you back. I have been telling Mr. Jackson what an accomplished actress you are.”

  Looking up through her tousled curtain of hair, Rebecca threw her adversary a curious look. His expression read…zilch. Which told her he no more wanted her in the production than she now wanted to be in it.

  “We just wanted to give you the heads up.” Mr. Hurst beamed. “We have decided you will be perfect for Juliet.”

  That, she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t dumb; she knew her French teacher thought the sun shone out of her posterior but to cast her with no audition?

  Drawing herself up and out of her slouch, she focused on Mr. Hurst. She felt Mr. J. appraising her. “Mr. Hurst…” She tried to keep her tone civil because she really was very fond of him, but anger simmered. “While I appreciate your confidence in me, I am going to have to decline your offer.”

  “Excuse me?” Hand on his heart, his normally florid features turned pastry-dough pale. “I do not understand. When we spoke last year, you told me—”

  “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks burned, although a chill crawled over her skin. She didn’t want to look at Mr. J., but some weird magnetic force dragged her gaze to connect with his. Her breath caught at the back of her throat. His expression read....disappointed? Her anger grew. He’d done it again: tried to buy her, and worse, he’d coerced Mr. Hurst into agreeing. She lowered her gaze. “I can’t do it, Mr. Hurst. I can’t work with him. Besides, w
hat does he know about theatre, he—”

  It was one thing disappointing her enemy but quite another to know she’d upset Mr. Hurst. The reproachful turn of his mouth cut her to the quick.

  “Mr. Jackson—” he turned to his colleague, “would you mind? I’d like to have a word with Rebecca.”

  “Be my guest.” Slipping his arms into his jacket, Mr. J. zapped her with a sour smile. “Always the same with you, Miss Harding—hell-bent on complicating your life.”

  Waiting until he’d left, Mr. Hurst folded his arms in his famed King and I stance. He didn’t often lose his temper, but when he did, it could be cataclysmic. Rebecca sensed he simmered away.

  “All right, Rebecca, may I ask what is going on?”

  Hands dug deep in her cargo pants pockets, Rebecca stared at the stage behind. “I’m sorry. I can’t be around him. It wouldn’t work. We would fight all the time. Besides, why do we need him? We—”

  “Now you hold it right there, young lady.” He held up his hand, ears reddening at the tips—a sure sign he was well on the way to an Extinction Level Event outburst. “You would fight? You have no business ‘fighting’ with any member of this school’s staff.”

  “He started this war.” Rebecca fired back.

  “Listening to your lack of respect for him, I seriously doubt that.” Wincing, he rubbed at his brow. “Rebecca, I have always given you the benefit of the doubt when others… Let’s just say your reputation for being difficult precedes you. I always thought it was over-exaggerated, but now I am beginning to question my own judgement. What do you expect me to do? Ask Mr. Jackson to leave the production team?”

  Beneath his disenchanted glower, Rebecca squirmed. “Yes,” she mumbled. “That’s the only way I’ll be Juliet.”

  “Rebecca...”

  Suddenly, Rebecca wanted to cry. Mr. Hurst was one of the few members of staff she genuinely respected, and it killed her to know she’d disappointed him. The way he looked reminded her of her father. Her mother could scream and yell, and Rebecca remained unmoved, but one condemning look from her father, and she was undone. Mr. Hurst’s censure had the same effect.

  “I am sorry you feel this way.” Fingers brought together, he rested his chin on their tips while he seemed to consider his next words. “I’m sorry. You would have made a great Juliet.”

  “What?” Rebecca couldn’t believe it. “You’re choosing him over me?”

  “Did you expect me to do otherwise? I happen to believe Mr. Jackson will bring a great deal to this production. You are the one with the problem.” Expression reverting to kindly mentor, he placed his hand on her shoulder. “I suggest you go away and think about what I have said. Don’t give up something you love out of sheer bloody mindedness. You have until tomorrow lunch time to reconsider, which under the circumstances, I consider very generous of me. My dear Rebecca, you need to learn some respect. Do so, and your life will be much simpler.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she picked up her bag and stormed from the hall.

  “So?” From outside the school gates, Emma pounced on her. “Don’t tell me. They offered you Juliet, and you turned it down.”

  “What, are you psychic now?” Squeezing her eyelids tight, Rebecca staved off the waterworks.

  “Nope.” Emma hurried after her. “I’m just a bloody good eavesdropper, and you are plain insane.”

  “Leave it, Emma.”

  “And what is ‘it’ exactly? I don’t get you. You love the drama club. What’s really going on with you and Mr. J.? He doesn’t bother you anymore. God, he allows you to get away with murder. Mr. Adams would have reported you long before now so… Oh, you’re so frustrating, at times.”

  “Can you just drop it?” Rebecca stopped walking. “You don’t think I’m upset? I was so looking forward to it but… I can’t explain it. He just makes me feel… I don’t want to talk about it. Do you mind? I want to be alone. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Now I know you’re nuts. It’s going to chuck it down in a minute.”

  “Better. It will clear my head. Do me a favour. If my parents call, tell them I’m at your house. You know how they get. See you.” Not waiting for her response, Rebecca headed for the common and the river.

  * * * *

  “So?”

  Jim sat on the edge of the stage, deep in thought. “I’ve given her till tomorrow to reconsider. Silly girl.”

  “Silly?” Max shook his head. “I’d say troubled. Poor kid, and I can’t believe I said that. She’s caused me nothing but headaches since I got here. Seriously, Jim, I know you want her in this production, but I have enough experience of Miss Harding to know she will not back down.”

  “Nonsense. I will not be dictated to by a pupil—troubled or not. Strange, though. I’ve never known her to be quite so disrespectful.”

  “I think it’s safe to say I bring out the worst in her.”

  “So it would seem. Anyway, enough of prima donnas. Fancy a beer?” He looked around the hall, as if expecting spies to crawl out of the woodwork.

  “Oh no.” Max stepped away, laughing. “I refuse to have your wife’s wrath rain down upon my head. I get enough of that from Fiona.”

  Jim grunted his accord. “A woman’s wrath is a frightening thing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Rebecca cursed herself for her stupidity. Not only was walking alone in the rain so clichéd. It was also damn wet. Arms wrapped around her waist, she tried to generate warmth, but her red fleece provided little protection. Of course, the easy solution would be to turn for home, but when did Rebecca Harding ever choose easy? Not only had she disappointed Mr. Hurst, but she’d turned down the starring role, something she’d dreamed about for, well, since ever. One more thing to hate Mr. Jackson for.

  Replaying the scene in her troubled mind, she conjured up a vision of him. For a moment, she thought she’d detected a hint of softness in his expression, but then it was gone. She kicked out at a soda can left on the river-side path. She ought to turn for home. A ton of history homework awaited her, but it was hard to concentrate on pre-First World War Europe. Emotionally she was in turmoil: discontented with her world, confused, all she wanted was to be left alone. A fat tear of self-pity rolled down her cheek, and she wiped at it, furious with herself. But others quickly followed it. Why did he make her feel this way? She was soaked to the skin. Her tummy rumbled. It was Monday; apple pie day. Time to get over herself and quit the Greta Garbo act. She was just about to break into a run and head home, when a faint whine stopped her in her tracks.

  For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it. Against the noise of the fast running river and the rain, it was hard to hear anything clearly. Straining hard, she listened and then heard it again. Her heart stopped. Rocking and bobbing precariously in the churning waters, was an old wicker basket from which the whining came, growing stronger and more frantic. Heart pounding, Rebecca kicked her feet free from her heavy boots and without a moment’s hesitation, jumped in the river.

  She gasped in shock as the icy-cold penetrated her bones, numbing her body. Rebecca was a strong swimmer, but the rain-fed raging current proved entirely different to the lazy meandering waters of high summer. She went under several times, coughing and spluttering, as she swallowed mouthfuls of brown water, but she kept on. Treading water, she pulled her arms free of her water-logged fleece and hurled it on to the bank. Her lungs ready to explode, she managed to reach the basket and grab hold of it. With a renewed burst of energy, she kicked for the bank.

  The effort nearly caused her to pass out, but through sheer willpower, she reached the muddy edge and tried to haul herself and the basket up onto the side. Mud slipped away beneath her fingers, and twice she slithered back into the water.

  Sobbing with relief, cold, and exhaustion, she finally made it. Her arms and legs ached, but ignoring her own discomfort, she opened the basket. A howl of anguish burst from her already tortured lungs. A little brown and white terrier stared up, shivering and sodden, eyes
white with pain and fear. Lying next to her were four tiny puppies, no more than two or three days old, their eyes still closed.

  The lid crumbled in her hand, sodden and useless. Frantically searching around for some sort of shelter from the elements, tears of helplessness streamed down her face. “Hang on, girl,” she coaxed the dog as she pulled off her jumper, trying to fashion a makeshift cover over the basket. It was a waste of time. It was raining too hard, and she was left colder than ever, shivering in nothing more than a T-shirt. The little dog did not move, staring up at her with frightened eyes. Rebecca stroked the brown head and felt it tremble, and then she moved her hand to the puppies. They were cold and lifeless. “Oh please, don’t be dead.”

  Wiping the rain and tears from her mud-spluttered face, she reached in her pocket for her mobile, but luck was not with her. It must have fallen out in the river. Remembering the public phone booth on the roadside, she jumped to her feet.

  She stumbled along the path to the main road, tripping over her feet in her haste to reach the phone, and still the rain poured.

  God was definitely against her. She stared in disbelief at the cut phone cord. “Stupid kid bastards...” She banged the receiver down again and again, her nerves approaching breaking point. Hands buried in her hands, she wept, tears mingling with the steady rain. She’d never felt so alone and helpless in her life.

  She looked up as Mr. Jackson’s BMW screeched to a halt at the kerb side, and he jumped out.

  Now she really was dreaming. Yes, that was it. It had to be.

  “Rebecca? Christ, girl, what the hell are you doing? Are you insane?”

  Breath coming in painful gasps, she tried to calm herself and focus on the man who held her arm in a firm grip. “The phone…” Her teeth chattered from shock and the icy cold. “It’s broken. They cut the cord… I lost my mobile in the river… They’re going to die, and I’ll never forgive myself. And don’t shout at me. Don’t you dare shout at me.”

  “Rebecca, calm down! I want to help you, but you’re not making any sense.”