Flynn acted better than ever that night. He was clearly in a bad mood, but he seemed to channel it all into his part. His Romeo snapped and hissed with fury at being banished after killing Tybalt. As usual, Mr Nichols spent very little time directing him. Flynn just didn’t need it in the same way that everyone else did. He already moved and spoke completely naturally, making total sense of everything he said.
Soon we were at my own entrance. My legs shook as I walked over to him.
He kept his face hidden as we had our first exchange, then in a single move he leaped up and grabbed my arm.
‘Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?’
He walked me backwards, still gripping my arm. For a second I forgot we were acting. The passion in his eyes was totally genuine. I wasn’t listening to his words, only to the rolling rhythm of the lines and the agony in his voice.
‘Where is she? And how doth she? And what says
My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?’
It was impossible to believe he didn’t mean it. Love and despair were etched all over his face. He was obsessed with Juliet. Desperate to know if she hated him for killing her cousin, Tybalt.
As I spoke my lines back: ‘O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps . . .’ I was thinking how much I wanted him to feel that strongly about me. About us.
Later, in his scene with Juliet, he was calm and gentle. He gazed at Emmi as if she was the only person in the room. Jealousy seeped through me like poison. It suddenly occurred to me that he was going to have to kiss her – several times – in the course of the play. Not tonight, maybe, but at some point in the rehearsals they were going to have to do it. And then over and over again. And through three performances too.
I felt sick. My heart thudded horribly. It was impossible. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t watch him crooning over her any more.
I walked out of the rehearsal room and went to the bathroom, where I took several deep breaths.
I was just going to have to get my head around it. It wasn’t his fault. Or hers. There were kisses in the stage directions.
I gritted my teeth. He had to ask me out. We had to have a chance to talk properly. To kiss. Maybe if we knew where we stood with each other, it wouldn’t be so hard to see him with Emmi in the play.
I looked into the mirror. Same old swamp-features: dull, mud-coloured hair, boring, ditchwater eyes. But there was something different about my face. God, I was positively glowing with excitement at the thought of him. I blushed, realising how obvious it must look. Then I gritted my teeth again.
I didn’t care if it was obvious. Flynn knew how I felt. He’d known at the party. And he liked me too. Didn’t he?
The rehearsal ended soon after I got back. Flynn came over to me immediately. While everyone else filed out of the room he started chatting about the party, asking if I’d got back all right. It was small talk, I quickly realised, designed to keep us where we were until the room emptied.
At last Mr Nichols was bustling us out of the room. We followed him towards the door, waiting while he switched out the light. He ushered us towards the stairs, then hurried on ahead, distracted by a squabble that had broken out near the bottom.
As soon as he’d disappeared from view, Flynn grabbed my hand.
Silently he pulled me back along the corridor to the rehearsal room. We slipped inside. It was dark, but not completely. Lights from the front of the school and the street beyond cast a yellowy glow across the desks and the cracked lino floor. The whiteboard – lying propped up beside the door – shone like a mirror.
We stood facing each other. Flynn’s eyes were pieces of gold, gleaming out of the shadowy lines of his face. My heart raced as he looked at me. And looked at me.
It was incredibly sexy, and deeply, deeply unnerving.
Go with it. Don’t say anything.
Yeah, right.
‘Why can’t you do three rehearsals a week?’ I heard myself squeaking.
‘Interferes with my jobs,’ Flynn said softly. His eyes didn’t flicker away from mine. Not for a second.
‘What jobs?’ I said.
‘Organic vegetable deliveries two, sometimes three nights a week. Car washing on Saturdays until four, then clearing tables at a café in the evening,’ he said evenly. ‘Plus cleaning up at Goldbar’s on Sundays from ten till two.’
He was still holding my gaze – a lion, getting ready to pounce.
My whole body trembled.
I couldn’t look away.
‘When d’you get time to do homework?’ I gasped.
Shut up, River. Stop talking.
‘Sunday afternoons,’ he said. ‘And when I get home in the evening.’ He took a step towards me. I could almost feel the air between us compressing and crackling into a zillion little sparks. ‘I don’t want to talk about homework,’ he whispered.
I couldn’t say anything any more. All my words were lodged in my throat. I closed my eyes, feeling his head leaning down towards me, moving closer and closer.
I gave myself up to the kiss. Soft and light and gentle. It melted through my body like butter.
‘FLYNN?’ Mr Nichols’ shout echoed down the corridor towards us. ‘RIVER?’
I pulled away, turning wildly to face the door. I dimly registered that Flynn was still standing where he’d kissed me. He hadn’t reacted to Mr Nichols at all.
The door flung open. Mr Nichols’ long, lean body was silhouetted against the bright corridor light behind him.
He stared at us, his eyes widening. ‘What are . . . ? Get out here!’ he snapped.
I scurried, red-faced, to the door. I could hear Mr Nichols talking in low, intense tones at Flynn to get a move on. I couldn’t hear what, if anything, Flynn said back.
I ran on ahead, fled down the stairs and burst into the common room. Only a small knot of boys were still there, plus Emmi and Grace. Daisy had already left.
I made straight for Emmi. She and Alex were standing with their arms round each other. Emmi raised her eyebrows as I walked up but, thankfully, said nothing.
Flynn strolled in about five minutes later, his face all sulky. He gulped down a juice, then turned, looking for me. His eyes called me over. I was there in seconds.
‘What happened?’ I breathed. I could still feel his kiss on my lips.
Flynn shrugged. His face in the overhead fluorescent light suddenly looking pale and tired. ‘Nothing. The usual. Frigging teachers telling you what to do.’ He curled his lip. ‘Like it’s a frigging crime to . . .’
He looked at me. Hesitated. For a second he looked unsure of himself. ‘I won’t be here on Thursday,’ he said. ‘I have to work.’
I stared at him. Thursday was the last rehearsal before half-term. If we didn’t arrange something now, we wouldn’t see each other for two weeks.
Ask me out. Now. Do it.
The noise level in the room rose as people started shuffling about, picking up coats and bags.
My heart pounded.
Come on. Do it.
Flynn’s face clouded over. Was he angry again? No. I frowned. It wasn’t anger. Suddenly I realised. He was embarrassed.
My mouth practically dropped open. Flynn? Embarrassed?
‘River,’ Emmi yelled across the room. ‘Time to go.’
I could hear her and some of the boys laughing.
Oh, shut up. Please. Just shut up.
Flynn’s eyes narrowed. It was like he was forcing himself to look at me. ‘Can I have your number?’ he said.
He sounded cross. But I knew that he wasn’t. I suddenly knew that he was just hideously embarrassed, because he really, really wanted my number and he didn’t want me to see how much.
My grin almost split my face in two. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Give me your mobile and I’ll . . .’
The sentence died on my lips as I saw Flynn’s eyes harden.
Damn. Stupid, stupid, River.
He probably couldn’t afford a mobile phone.
‘No. Wait
.’ Before he could say anything I darted across the room to my bag and yanked out my copy of the play and a pen. I dashed back to Flynn and scrawled my mobile number across the bottom of the back page.
As Emmi sauntered up, I tore it off and handed it to him. He pocketed it and walked out of the room without a word.
‘Whoa, he looked moody,’ Emmi said. ‘Didn’t even say goodbye. I tell you, Riv, you gotta watch him. I reckon he could get punchy.’
I shook my head. ‘Flynn’s not like that,’ I said. ‘Honest, Emmi, you don’t know him.’
I was expecting Emmi to turn round and point out that I barely knew him either, but I guess I must have sounded super-confident or something, because, for once, Emmi said nothing.
12
I waited three agonising days for him to phone. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping. I kept my mobile charged and never more than a metre away from me.
He didn’t call and he didn’t call and he didn’t call.
Emmi – who had of course seen me give him my number – asked what was going on. At first I tried to pretend we were just going to meet up to talk about the play. But Emmi saw through that straight away. So I fessed up.
I desperately needed to tell someone. And Emmi – despite her cynical attitude to boys and dating – was the best person. She might not understand Flynn. But she had more experience than anyone else I knew. And I knew I could trust her advice.
‘Be cool,’ she said. ‘If he’s interested, he’ll ring.’
I didn’t think it was that simple. I knew he was interested. He’d shown me that several times. But for Flynn there was more at stake. It had something to do with his anger. His pride. I didn’t understand it, but I knew it was there.
He called, finally, after the Thursday evening rehearsal, which – as he’d explained – he’d had to miss.
‘Hi,’ he said.
My stomach flipped over at the sound of his voice.
‘Hi,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘Finished delivering vegetables?’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded exhausted. ‘Frigging ridiculous people – d’you know how much these organic things cost?’
As a matter of fact, I did know. Dad’s commune was one of the places that supplied the local organic veg wholesalers with their produce. He often commented on how he hated it being so expensive, saying in the next breath how the additional cost was justified by the extra work put into growing the food.
‘Still, it’s worth paying more for healthier food,’ I said hopefully.
Flynn snorted down the phone. ‘If you can afford to pay more,’ he said.
There was a short silence.
‘So, d’you wanna meet up at the weekend?’ he said.
‘Sure.’ My mouth was dry.
‘Maybe we could go for coffee again?’ he said. ‘On Sunday?’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘The same place?’
‘I was thinking the park,’ Flynn said. ‘Priory Park. That little café’ll still be open. It said when I looked last week. Open through half-term. D’you wanna meet there? Say at three?’
‘Sure.’
We didn’t talk much after that. It was too awkward. But I didn’t care. I had what I wanted. I had A Date.
A First Date.
I spent ages deciding what to wear. I hadn’t intended to ask Emmi and Grace for advice but, in the end, I had to tell them I was seeing Flynn – Emmi was asking me every hour if he’d called. Anyway, from there it was a short step to the inevitable discussion about clothes and make-up.
Grace was all for looking outdoorsy and healthy. ‘Jeans, trainers and just a smudge of lipgloss,’ she said. ‘The natural look.’
I didn’t think so. Grace got away with that kind of look far better than me. She had pretty, regular features and an innocent air about her. I’d look like an elephant in jeans and trainers with no eye make-up.
‘Something sexy,’ Emmi advised. As she would. ‘But not tarty. He’s going to be all over you like a rash as it is.’
She told me to wear my black, ruchy top again. There was no way. Not to meet someone during the day.
In the end I settled on jeans and a soft, slightly fitted top. The top was quite smart, but the jeans would stop it looking too dressed up. And it was pale blue – which brought out the only latent colour in my boringly grey eyes.
I was planning on wearing my jacket too, but when Saturday arrived it was ridiculously warm. No wind at all, plus brilliant sunshine. I took my jacket anyway. I needed to know I could cover up if I wanted.
The café was crowded when I got there. I couldn’t see Flynn anywhere. I’d deliberately – on Emmi’s advice – arrived late. It was almost three-fifteen. He should be here. He should be here. Where was he?
I circled around, then came through the back of the café, past the toilets. I finally caught sight of Flynn out the front. He was leaning against one of the tables, watching a couple of tall, slim girls walk past. He turned his head, following them all the way round to the empty concrete paddling pool which stood in the centre of the café foreground.
Then he looked up and saw me. He smiled, but I couldn’t smile back. My confidence was dribbling out of my shoes. No way could I compete with girls like that.
He strode over, his face all concerned.
‘Hey,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Are you all right?’
I nodded. I knew I should say something witty and light. But I couldn’t. It was just hitting me how mad I was being. Flynn was extraordinary. He was a brilliant actor. He was charismatic. He was good-looking. No way was I even in his league. I might as well go home now.
‘River?’ Flynn sounded really concerned now. ‘What is it?’
I looked up, into his beautiful eyes. He was concentrating on me so hard, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. It didn’t for me, anyway.
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
But Flynn was staring at me, pulling the truth out of me with his eyes.
He frowned. ‘No, you’re not. What is it?’
I decided to act all confident and sassy. Bluff it out.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeated, arching my eyebrows in a way that I hoped was both knowing and attractive. ‘I was just wondering why it is that guys always look at hot girls.’
I forced a light laugh, to imply this was an idle thought – of no real importance.
Flynn stared at me. He said nothing, just raised his eyebrows.
‘You know,’ I went on. ‘It’s that way they can’t help but look, if a girl’s attractive. Like . . . like there’s something programmed into their heads or something.’
‘Not their heads.’ Flynn grinned. He was still staring at me. Reading me. ‘Why don’t you think you’re hot?’ he said slowly.
He’d seen right through me. Right to the heart of what I was thinking. I couldn’t believe it. My heart pounded.
‘What are you talking about?’ I said airily.
Flynn reached out for my wrist and held it lightly in his hand. ‘What on earth do you think is wrong with the way you look?’ he said, frowning.
I couldn’t believe he was asking me. I couldn’t believe we’d got into a conversation this heavy within seconds of meeting. I shrugged, wishing he’d stop looking at me. But he didn’t. He was waiting for my answer.
‘Oh, come on,’ I said, making a face. ‘I’m not exactly built like a supermodel.’ I tried to make it sound like I didn’t really care. But I knew I wasn’t fooling him.
I stared at the concrete floor.
‘River. Listen to me,’ Flynn said. ‘You look amazing.’
My face was burning. My heart pounding. Did he mean that?
‘Okay, so tall, skinny girls look good in designer clothes,’ Flynn went on. ‘But not everyone wants to go out with a greyhound. Some of us like . . . er . . . er . . .’ He paused, frowning.
‘Smaller dogs?’ I met his eyes properly.
We both laughed. And suddenly all the awkwardness that I’d felt dissolved. Flynn moved closer t
o me. He put his hand on my waist, then slid it down so that it rested on the curve of my hip. ‘Don’t you get it? There are bodies that look good. And bodies that feel good. And then there’re a few bodies that are both.’
The tips of his fingers were just touching my bum. He lowered his eyes. I could feel them burning through to my breasts and my waist and then down, down through my whole body.
I was so turned on I thought I might faint. How could I feel this connected to someone I hardly knew? My heart pounded. I had no idea what I was doing. What I was supposed to do.
A child cried out right next to us. I suddenly remembered that we were standing just outside the café door, surrounded by other people.
Flynn pressed his fingertips against my bum then let go. He smiled. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
He took my hand and led me out of the café area and across the open grass. We strolled towards the narrower pathways, whose sides were high with trees and bushes. My head was spinning. My heart racing. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
Flynn didn’t speak as we crossed the grass, then he stopped and turned to me.
‘So, d’you want to find somewhere to sit down?’
I nodded.
We turned down a narrow, secluded path. After a couple of metres Flynn stepped off the path and ducked under a tree, tugging me gently after him. We emerged into a little space hidden between trees and bushes and sat down. The ground was mostly earth, covered with twigs and bits of leaves.
Flynn’s eyes gleamed, pale green, in the shadow of the trees and bushes. He moved forward, his fringe falling over his eyes, and kissed my mouth. It was different from the kiss in the classroom. Deeper and sexier. His tongue flickered round mine. Reading me. Just like his eyes had read me earlier.
I wasn’t massively experienced, but this was, by miles, the best kiss I’d ever had.
In a whole different kissing league, in fact.
His hand ran down my side, along my back. I put my arms round him and he pulled me closer.
I gasped as his hands moved over me. I heard myself groan – like the noise was coming from far away. His hands were everywhere now, like they were trying to hold all of me at once. Running up my front, and down my back and under my top and across my stomach, and my top half pushed up and I was clawing at him too, pulling him towards me, and he was breathing hard and then his hands moved down . . . over my jeans . . . fumbling for the zip . . .
Falling Fast Page 7
