Falling Fast

by Sophie McKenzie

  I’d never spent time with somebody who watched every single penny like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong – none of us were loaded. Except Emmi, of course. Everyone else had to be really careful about what they spent. But with Flynn it went deeper. Like he was wrestling with his conscience every time he bought something. As more time went by, I began to understand why he hated not having money so much.

  It dominated his whole life. Everything he did. Everything he planned to do in the future.

  We talked more about his ambition to become a lawyer. I felt deeply uncomfortable that he didn’t seem to be in the slightest bit interested in law. Just in the money he would be able to make. The respect he would be able to buy.

  It kind of went against everything I’d been brought up with. I tried to say this to Flynn, but he got angry, accusing me of not understanding him. Again.

  I half wanted to talk to Dad about it, but I hadn’t seen him since the potato-digging day. I’d refused to go up to the commune the last few weeks. Stone and I usually went on Sundays – but now Sundays were the days I spent time with Flynn.

  Mum hated me seeing him. When I got home that first Sunday, hours after she’d thrown him out of the house, we’d had a long talk about our relationship – Flynn’s and mine. She kept going on about how intense he’d seemed, how angry.

  ‘I’ve seen boys like that before,’ she said. ‘Pushing against authority all the time. He’s trouble, River.’

  ‘God, Mum, stop being such a Nazi,’ I snarled at her. But I knew she was partly right. Flynn did push against authority all the time. He was always slagging off the adults where he worked. And how often had I seen him be breathtakingly rude to Mr Nichols?

  I half expected Mum to forbid me to see Flynn. But I think she knew coming down hard on us would only make me more determined to be with him. So she kept quiet, hoping we’d lose interest in each other, and contented herself with quoting teenage pregnancy statistics at me and muttering dark warnings about Not Getting Carried Away.

  Flynn refused to come round to the house again. I could tell Mum was relieved about that. To be honest, I think Flynn scared her a little. I think he scared most people. The scruffy school uniform he wore, the brilliant way he acted in the play, his lack of money and, above all, his whole not-drinking thing – all of these things set him apart. But, despite being different, he wasn’t ridiculed or ignored like most people would have been.

  Instead, he was admired and feared. Not liked particularly. I had to admit it. He was too much of a loner for that. And I could see that though most people thought he could sometimes be a laugh, only James actually considered him a friend. I liked seeing them together – there was something about James’s bumbling, kindly manner that seemed to rub away Flynn’s hard edges. They spent a lot of time discussing boxing and football – neither of which I was remotely interested in.

  I occasionally saw Flynn’s older sister, Siobhan, when I went with him to pick her up from her hairdressing job. What I’d initially taken to be hostility turned out to be crippling shyness. Siobhan often threw me a quick, nervous smile – but she hardly spoke when I was around and never looked me properly in the eye.

  I wondered if her chronic shyness had something to do with why Flynn was so protective of her, but I’d long stopped attempting to ask him about that.

  It was the middle of November. Rehearsals for Romeo and Juliet were both more fun and more hard work than they had been before. We were using the proper stage now, at the back of the school’s large assembly hall. Mr Nichols had appointed Maz – a friend of Alex’s – as stage manager. Everyone liked him, but his assistant, Liam, wasn’t so popular. Flynn, in particular, hated the way Liam so evidently enjoyed ordering us around, demanding that we signed our props in and out of the little cupboard in the wings.

  The art teacher was roped in to supervise both scenery and costumes. Mr Nichols was going for a modern-day setting, so they got hold of plain black suits for Flynn and James and the other main male characters. Emmi was wearing this silky blue evening dress with tiny straps. It was pretty tatty close up, but from a distance, on stage, it looked beautiful.

  I had to wear a nanny’s uniform – a black top and skirt with a starchy white apron. Flynn said it was sexy. I knew it was entirely hideous.

  I’d hardly spoken to Emmi for days. She and Alex were still at it like maniacs – even managing to do it up against the props cupboard one evening while everyone else listened to Mr Nichols’ notes. But it didn’t stop Emmi from flirting with the other guys at rehearsals and doing that hair-flicking thing Flynn had so brilliantly mimicked.

  I felt anxious whenever I thought about her and Flynn kissing in the play. But it hadn’t happened yet and I tried not to dwell on it.

  Then one week at the end of November, when the performances were only two weeks away, she insisted Flynn and I come out after rehearsal with her and Alex. I didn’t really want to go, but Emmi can be pretty persuasive. She made a big show of wanting to buy everyone drinks – and I convinced Flynn it would be all right and that she would definitely not be expecting either of us to buy any back. So the four of us – plus Grace and James – set off for this local pub that turns a blind eye to dodgy ID.

  The guys went up to the bar with Emmi’s money and bought us all drinks. Emmi had asked for a revolting-looking bright pink alcopop with an extra shot of vodka. She knocked it back in about two minutes, and then told Alex to get her some more.

  I could see he wasn’t pleased about this, but he did it.

  Ten minutes later Emmi was on her fourth round and starting to lose her few remaining inhibitions.

  ‘Hey, Flynn,’ she slurred. ‘When d’you think we’ll have to kiss? On stage.’

  My heart thudded. Next to Emmi, Alex stiffened.

  Flynn gazed at Emmi coolly. ‘When Mr Nichols tells us to,’ he said, his voice dripping with irritation.

  Emmi leaned over. ‘Yeah.’ She grinned drunkenly. ‘I’m not looking forward to it either.’

  There was a tense pause.

  ‘Emmi.’ I stared at her. ‘That’s enough.’

  She sat back, smiling. ‘Oh, calm down, River,’ she giggled. ‘I’m just trying to make everyone feel okay about it. I mean, let’s face it, it’s going to be awkward enou—’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Flynn snapped. ‘It’s not awkward at all. It’s just kissing. A bit of lip contact. Nothing more.’

  Emmi jugged back the last of her current drink. ‘A bit of lip contact.’ She giggled again, then looked over at me. ‘I feel sorry for you, River, if that’s all kissing means to him.’

  I could feel Flynn tensing beside me. I slipped my arm round his waist.

  ‘Ignore her,’ I whispered. ‘Kiss me.’

  He dragged his chair back a little way, pulling me down onto his lap. I reached for his face, smiling. At first his lips were taut on mine – tense with his anger at Emmi, but I slid my tongue between them, trying to tell him how much I wanted him, and he relaxed into the kiss.

  At first I held back, feeling self-conscious. God, a second ago Emmi had been talking about us kissing and now here we were, doing so in public.

  Then the kiss deepened. Flynn slid his hand under my shirt. I still didn’t like the idea that other people could see us, but on the other hand, they were all busy talking. And, anyway, Flynn was only running his fingers up and down my back. I could feel my skin break out in goosebumps as he touched me. He brought his hands up to my face, holding me, stroking me. I forgot all the people around us. Everything was about Flynn. I slid my own hands under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles, the firm, square shape of his body.

  ‘OH, DO WHAT YOU WANT!’

  The deep male roar jolted me back to the pub. I turned away from Flynn in time to see Alex pushing back his chair and storming away from the table. Emmi, at whom he had evidently been shouting, was sitting – looking mutinous – in front of the remains of yet another drink.

  The door of the pub slammed shut. Alex disa
ppeared. I stared at Emmi. Two fat tears trickled down her cheeks. I frowned. Something was very wrong. Emmi never cried.

  She stood up and launched herself in the direction of the toilets.

  I leaned across to Grace and James. ‘What happened?’

  Grace frowned. ‘Emmi was asking Alex to buy another round and he was saying he thought she’d had enough and she got really mad and then he stormed off.’

  I got up and turned to Flynn. ‘I’m going to see if she’s all right.’

  He rolled his eyes but nodded, then turned back to the table. I headed for the toilets with Grace at my side.

  We found Emmi in the end cubicle, crying her eyes out.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked, as I stood in the doorway. My hands were shaking. I was afraid she was going to say that she fancied Flynn or something, but she just kept crying and moaning.

  ‘Is it just that you had that row with Alex?’ Grace said timidly.

  Emmi bawled louder. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ I said.

  ‘No.’ Emmi stopped crying and stared at us exasperatedly. ‘It’s nothing to do with a boy.’

  She bent over and started weeping again. Grace and I exchanged anxious glances. ‘What then?’ I said. ‘Is it something at home?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Emmi straightened up, her eyes flashing with impatience. ‘It’s the play.’

  17

  There was a stunned silence. What on earth did she mean? My mind went back to Flynn. Was it something to do with acting with him?

  I shook her arm. ‘What about the play, Emmi? What?’

  There was a long silence. Emmi stopped crying. She teetered over to the basins and started splashing water on her face.

  Then she stood up. ‘I’m scared,’ she said. She looked at our reflections in the mirror. ‘I’m really scared of how hard it is and how bad I am and how much everyone will laugh when they see me.’

  I stared at her in the mirror. She couldn’t be serious. Emmi was the most confident person I knew. And, even now, with red, puffy eyes, she still looked beautiful.

  Grace shook her head. ‘But Emmi, you’ll be fine. You know the part and you look great and—’

  ‘I’m not as good as Flynn,’ Emmi said. She turned round and stared at me – eye to eye. ‘He’s brilliant. I can’t do it as well as him.’ Her lip trembled and she stumbled into my arms.

  I held her as she wept. Grace slipped out, mouthing she was going to tell the boys we were going and call a cab.

  Emmi was still sobbing. I patted her on the back, like Mum used to with me and Stone when we were sick. I could barely believe what she’d said. Emmi scared? Emmi insecure? Ever since I’d met her on day one at Langton Girls Grammar, Emmi had always been super-confident about everything.

  ‘Thanks, Riv,’ Emmi mumbled. ‘You’re a really good friend, especially after what I said earlier . . .’ She sniffed. ‘I know I was a cow.’

  I felt a surge of affection for her.

  ‘Hey Em.’ I hugged her again. ‘That doesn’t matter and – by the way – you can do Juliet . . . you’re good at it. You just have to imagine it. Hard.’

  She gulped, nodding. Then she closed her eyes.

  ‘Could we go outside for a minute?’ she said. ‘Get some air.’

  ‘Sure.’ I led her out of the toilets. There was a fire door at the far end of the corridor, propped open with a cardboard box. We slipped through it, into an alleyway at the back of the pub. The air was bitingly cold. I hugged my arms round my chest. Emmi wandered over to the brick wall at the end and sat on it, tipping her head back to the star-filled sky.

  ‘I wish you were playing Juliet, Riv,’ she said quietly.

  I leaned against the wall beside the fire door, watching my breath send a white mist into the chilly night air. ‘Yeah, well I’m not. Mr Nichols picked you.’

  ‘Only because you screwed up that second audition thing we did.’ Emmi laughed. ‘You were miles better than me first time round. And I bet you only messed it up later because you fancied Flynn. Which is ironic, isn’t it? That falling for Romeo stopped you getting the part of Juliet.’

  I took a deep gulp of the cold air. I’d never seen it like that before. But it was true. And Emmi was right, it was ironic.

  The fire door beside me lurched violently open, almost slamming back into my face. Two blokes – older teenagers, I guessed – staggered out into the alleyway. They were big, thickset guys – one with fair hair, the other dark.

  It was too gloomy in the alleyway to make out their faces properly.

  The guy with dark hair spotted Emmi instantly. ‘Well, hello,’ he said in a silly, deep voice. ‘We come out for a slash and we find a babe. You looking for company?’

  Emmi shook her head and jumped off the wall. Unfortunately, she was still pretty drunk, so she landed unevenly and stumbled sideways. The dark-haired guy was beside her in less than a second.

  ‘Hey, let me help you,’ he said.

  The fair-haired guy stood behind him as he helped Emmi to her feet, his hands all over her bum.

  I watched open-mouthed. I wanted to move – to rescue Emmi, to run inside to get help. But my feet had frozen to the ground. Neither of the two guys had seen me standing next to the fire door.

  Emmi tried to pull away. The dark-haired boy grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said nastily. ‘I was trying to help you.’

  He put his hand under her skirt. Emmi started struggling more violently. She backed away across the concrete. My heart pounded.

  Do something. Get help.

  The dark-haired guy turned to his mate, laughing.

  That’s when he saw me.

  ‘Look,’ he said softly. ‘She’s even brought a friend.’

  The fair-haired, thickset guy strode towards me. He bent low over me, his breath all beery and sour. His face was in shadow, but I could just make out the sneer on his face.

  ‘Come on.’ Beer Breath grabbed my arm. ‘We can have a party.’

  ‘No.’ I wanted to scream, but my voice had shrunk to a terrified whisper.

  I tried to wrench myself away, but he was far, far stronger than me. In seconds he’d dragged me over to where his friend was still trying to grope Emmi. She was sobbing and struggling.

  ‘River,’ she wailed. ‘Make him stop.’

  Panic whirled in my chest. ‘Please don’t do this,’ I said, my voice still tiny. ‘We just want to go back inside.’

  Beer Breath gripped my arm harder. ‘Now that’s not very nice.’ He looked over at his friend. ‘We only want to party a bit, yeah?’

  Emmi was hunched over, weeping. The dark-haired guy threw his mate a smug grin and tried to pull Emmi towards him again.

  She resisted.

  The grin slid off the guy’s face. ‘Come on, you stupid cow. I saw you earlier – you’re off your head, so don’t pretend you’re not up for it.’

  ‘No,’ Emmi whimpered.

  As I stared at her terrified, tear-stained face, my own terror turned to fury. I lurched away from Beer Breath, finding my voice at last.

  ‘Get off us,’ I screamed. ‘GO AWAY!’

  He was still holding me tightly. Then someone streaked through the alleyway, so fast I could barely make him out.

  Flynn. He hurled himself at Beer Breath. Shoved him hard in the chest.

  ‘Don’t touch her,’ he spat. Then he punched. Crunch. His fist smashed into the guy’s nose.

  Beer Breath let go of me. Staggered backwards, his hands over his face.

  ‘You . . . you . . .’ He let out a stream of swear words as blood spurted from between his fingers. ‘You freakin’ broke my nose!’

  Flynn spun round, fists clenched. But the dark-haired guy was already there. I heard the smack of his fist against Flynn’s face. Flynn reeled backwards. I ran round, blood pounding in my ears.

  ‘Get off him,’ I yelled. I kicked out, my foot making contact with the guy’s leg.

  He groaned. Then Flynn was
back. He swung his fist up under the guy’s chin. Wham. The guy stumbled sideways. He clutched at Beer Breath’s arm.

  ‘Come on . . .’ Beer Breath stumbled away from us, still swearing at Flynn, dragging his friend into the alley.

  ‘Pussies,’ Flynn roared. ‘Wankers.’

  Suddenly the alleyway was flooded with light as someone turned on a light inside the pub. I caught a glimpse of Flynn’s face, contorted with rage. The two guys disappeared down the alleyway.

  I turned round. Emmi was slumped on the ground beside the wall. She was bent over, sobbing. I looked at Flynn.

  He was panting, his eyes livid with fury. And then the fury fell away and his eyes filled with concern.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded. I could hear voices just inside the pub. People would be here any second. Flynn turned his head away so I couldn’t see his face. But I walked round in front of him.

  His mouth was trembling, like he was about to cry. Blood was trickling from the cut on his lip. As he unclenched his fists, this look of complete vulnerability flooded across his face. He looked about three years old. And lost. Like the world had ended.

  Then James and Grace were rushing towards us, along with what felt like half the pub. I glanced round at where Grace was pulling a sobbing Emmi gently to her feet. I looked back at Flynn. The vulnerable look was already gone.

  The pub landlord emerged, full of questions about what had happened. We explained that it had been too dark to see the guys’ faces. The landlord said he’d noticed them across the bar earlier, but that they weren’t regulars. Part of me was relieved. It meant that what had happened was over. No one was hurt, after all.

  Except Flynn.

  Someone brought him some ice wrapped in a napkin for his cut lip. I held it in place for him, feeling it melt and drip down my hand. As the bustle around us died down, my whole body started shaking.

  ‘Did you see my uppercut?’ he grinned. ‘It was sound. And with my left hand as well.’

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t,’ I said.

  Don’t make out this was some macho game.

  Don’t pretend you weren’t upset.