I stuck my tongue out at him, and he leaned forward and snapped his teeth like he was going to bite it.

  Jen wiped the paint off her hands, and wandered out of the hall. I pounced at the opportunity to do a bit of Emma-ing.

  ‘She looks a bit woozy,’ I said. ‘Kobe, you’d better go out and see if she’s okay.’

  Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘Why Kobe?’

  ‘Because Jacob’s covered in paint, and you and Jules are too busy mocking him.’

  Sam considered this, then nodded. ‘Good point. Kobe is a rubbish mocker.’

  ‘I just have more class,’ said Kobe.

  Sam gave him a flat look. ‘But why can’t you go?’ he said, turning back to me.

  I shrugged. ‘Who’s going to mock you if I’m not here?’

  ‘Touché.’

  Kobe got up to follow Jen, and I smiled to myself.

  Jacob trudged off to change his clothes, muttering about needing to take a bath in turpentine. Jules went to deal with the paintbrushes, and Sam and I rolled up the drop sheet and took care of the paint spatters we’d missed.

  I wondered whether Kobe had noticed my hints and was going to say something to Jen. I could totally see them together – reading Kafka and watching Battlestar Galactica. It was ridiculous that they hadn’t got together before. Maybe I could find a girlfriend for Jacob too? And a boyfriend for Jules? And Sam? No. Sam wouldn’t like being set up. And I couldn’t think of what kind of girl he’d want. He was too much of a perfectionist.

  He looked up at me suddenly, like he could hear me thinking about him. I blushed and busied myself with the drop sheet.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and his forehead wrinkled into frowning peaks and valleys.

  ‘What?’

  Sam opened his mouth, then shut it again with a snap. ‘Just …’ he said. ‘Just be careful with my friends. I don’t think you know the whole story.’

  Was he talking about Jen and Kobe? I really didn’t like the way he’d said my friends. What, they weren’t my friends too? I sat with Kobe in Chemistry. I hung out with them at Crew and at Kalahari. And I was the one trying to make them happy! Sam was probably just jealous. Maybe he liked Jen.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said. It was none of his business.

  The door banged open, and sunlight streamed in.

  ‘Doughnuts and coffee!’ announced Jen. ‘I think we deserve a break and some Vitamin D to go with our deep-fried carbohydrate and caffeine.’

  We carefully checked our shoes to make sure there was no more paint, then followed Jen out into the glaring white sunshine.

  I studied Jen and Kobe to see if I could discern any blushings of romance. Jen seemed pretty happy, but that might have been the sunshine and the doughnuts.

  I plonked myself on the grass next to her. ‘Did you have a good walk?’ I asked, keeping my voice low so the others wouldn’t hear.

  Jen nodded. ‘Kobe taught me how to say I am a fish in Japanese and German.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  ‘It’s sakana desu and ich bin ein Fisch.’

  Not exactly the most romantic conversation ever, but at least they were talking.

  ‘He’s very smart,’ I said. ‘And hot.’

  Jen laughed.

  ‘Don’t you think?’ I pressed.

  ‘Um.’ Jen shrugged awkwardly. ‘I don’t know. I suppose.’

  She was definitely uncomfortable. She must like him.

  Before we went back inside to resume painting, I slipped off to the music centre, where the cast was rehearsing.

  Vivian was sitting at the piano, playing the introductory chords to ‘Can Only, Cannoli’, the song Jimmy Malone sings about how he doesn’t want to be a mobster.

  Mr Henderson was scowling up the back, and in the centre of the room, Cameron, who was playing Jimmy Malone, was launching into his big solo.

  How are you sure

  you’re on the right path?

  How are you sure the recipe’s fine?

  What if I’m missing

  the key ingredient?

  The one thing I’ve felt all of this time?

  What do you do

  if the pastry’s too tough?

  What do you do if your custard’s dry?

  Can someone teach me

  what I’m really made of?

  Could I really leave and stop this lie?

  Can only, cannoli

  Can only imagine

  Can only get better than what I got now

  Dust me with flour

  Dip me in sugar

  Wrap me in pastry, can only, but how?

  The other assembled cast members joined in for a repeat of the chorus. I felt shivers rippling down my arms, and tears pushing up behind my eyes.

  It was beautiful. They were beautiful.

  I became suddenly aware of how grubby and ugly I was in my paint-stained overalls. My hands were still crusted with paint and I was sure I had it smeared all over my face and stuck in my hair.

  The song finished. Everyone turned to each other, smiling with the satisfaction of having nailed it. Miles made a florid bow and kissed Cameron’s hand.

  I nearly burst into tears.

  I didn’t belong there. I felt like a cockroach. A sewer-rat. Whichever vermin Kafka had meant when he wrote Metamorphosis. That was me.

  I slunk out of the music room, softly closing the door behind me. I didn’t want to disturb the beautiful people. Didn’t want them to notice me and spoil their day.

  I trudged down the corridor, but heard the music room door open.

  ‘Ava!’ It was Alexis, her cheeks glowing.

  I cringed.

  ‘I thought I saw you up the back,’ she said, skipping over and bouncing happily before me. She leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek, but recoiled when she saw the brown paint.

  ‘What happened to you?’ she asked.

  ‘Jacob spilled paint,’ I said.

  Alexis shook her head. ‘Typical crew. I hope they didn’t damage the parquetry.’

  I noticed that she said they and not you. She didn’t see me as one of the Screws. That was good. But what did she see me as?

  ‘What time do you finish?’ she asked.

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Us too! A group of us are going out for dinner. You should totally come.’

  I felt myself straighten up a little. Alexis wanted me to join them for dinner. But I was all covered in paint.

  ‘Ethan will be there.’ Alexis winked, and I was sold.

  ‘Okay. I’ll come.’

  Alexis scrunched up her nose happily, and bounced back to her rehearsal.

  Once we’d finished painting all the flats, we rinsed our brushes and rolled up the drop sheet and carefully hammered the lids back on the tins so the paint wouldn’t dry out. Just as we were finishing up, Dennis wandered in, surrounded by his usual cloud of cigar smoke. I was pretty sure that you couldn’t smoke in the auditorium, but I was equally sure no one would ever dare tell him that.

  I held my breath. Would he notice the spilled paint? We’d cleaned it up pretty well, but our overalls were still covered in brown paint, and Jacob’s dark curly hair was all matted and sticky.

  ‘I see as usual you monkeys managed to get more paint on yourselves than on the flats,’ Dennis said.

  Sam nodded. ‘That’s how we roll,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Think of it as an artistic statement,’ said Jules.

  ‘Performance art,’ added Kobe. ‘You should have seen it, D. It was pretty spectacular.’

  Dennis scratched his beard. ‘I’m sure,’ he said dryly. ‘I’m obviously overcome by regret to have missed it.’

  He walked over to the finished flats and examined them carefully.

  ‘This one needs more black,’ he said, blowing cigar-smoke onto one of the Brooklyn Bridge flats. ‘And you’ll have to redo the lines on this one. They’re crooked.’ He frowned at a third flat. ‘This one’s okay, though. Not bad at all.’

  The Screws were practically bursting with pride. I really didn’t understand why they adored Dennis so much. Who cared if he grudgingly liked one of the flats? We’d been working on them for hours – they were all brilliant!

  Dennis turned to Sam and glared. ‘Have you fixed that problem we talked about? The problem with the Maths?’

  ‘Actually, I think I have. Ava’s helping me.’ Sam nodded his head to indicate me.

  Dennis turned and seemed entirely astonished that I was there. Then he shrugged. ‘Good. I don’t want to have to kick you out.’

  Sam grinned at him. ‘Because you’d miss these little chats?’

  Dennis sighed, then squinted up at the grid above the stage where all the lights hung.

  ‘Next week you can—’ He broke off in a fit of coughing, thumped himself on the chest a few times, and made a totally disgusting phlegmy noise. Then he took a deep, wheezy breath and stared accusingly at his cigar.

  We waited for him to finish telling us what we’d do next week. Dennis looked up from the cigar and around at us. He seemed a little surprised that we were still there.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said, and cleared his throat. Then he took another puff on the cigar and wandered out of the hall.

  We watched him go, then Sam spread his hands wide. ‘That’s all, folks,’ he said.

  I scrubbed the paint off my hands as best I could (though I was pretty sure my fingernails would be brown for the rest of eternity), and cleaned up my cheeks and nose. Then I clambered out of my overalls and into a shortish denim skirt and flouncy green top, and applied lip gloss.

  When I re-emerged in the auditorium, everyone was standing by the door and shutting off the lights.

  The stage looked lonely and sad and messy, all sheets and flats, with only one bare light globe swinging above the stage.

  ‘Okay,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s kick this puppy.’

  ‘You forgot to turn off the light,’ I said, pointing at the globe.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Sam. ‘That one stays on.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘What would Al Gore say? Every time you leave a light on, a polar bear dies.’

  ‘It would have to be a very small polar bear,’ said Sam.

  ‘That just makes it worse!’

  ‘It’s the ghost light,’ said Jacob. ‘It has to stay on.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘It’s to ward off the ghosts of past performances,’ said Jacob.

  Jules snorted. ‘Specifically, the ghost of Mel Morrison, who murdered the part of poor Nancy in Oliver!

  ’ ‘Dude,’ said Jacob, offended. ‘Don’t make light of the theatre spirits.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Jules. ‘Her performance truly was ghastly. Horrific. Bloody.’

  Sam chuckled. ‘It’s a public liability thing,’ he explained to me. ‘If some tool breaks into the theatre in the middle of the night, falls into the orchestra pit and breaks his leg, and tries to sue the school, then they can say that they left a light on, so it was the tool’s own stupid fault.’

  ‘You’re a tool,’ said Jacob, sulkily.

  Sam grabbed a spanner and made an obscene gesture with it. ‘Well, you’re a power tool.’

  ‘Look out where you’re pointing that thing,’ said Jacob. ‘Mrs Feggans will get jealous.’

  ‘Bite me.’

  ‘Who is Mrs Feggans?’ I asked.

  Jacob grinned. ‘She’s the office lady. She is about a million years old, and sometimes forgets to put her false teeth in. And Sam is in love with her. I’ve pointed out to him that she has no ankles, and that, in my opinion, ankles are an important ingredient in every successful relationship. But the man won’t listen.’

  Sam sighed. ‘It’s pointless denying it anymore. It’s true. Our love is a precious and delicate flower.’

  ‘She has a beard,’ Jacob informed me.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jules. ‘Kalahari. Stat. I’m hungry.’

  ‘What does stat even mean?’ asked Jen.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jules. ‘But everyone listens when the hot doctors say it on TV, so I thought it was worth a try.’

  ‘It means statim,’ said Sam. ‘Latin for immediately.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jules. ‘Aren’t you the fount of all knowledge. Now can we please go, before I die of hunger?’

  We trooped out of the theatre and paused outside.

  ‘Are you coming?’ Jen asked me.

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry. I’m meeting Alexis and the others for dinner.’

  I saw a tiny crinkling frown flit across Jen’s forehead, and she glanced at the others. There was an uncomfortable moment where nobody said anything. Were they mad that I was hanging out with Alexis instead of with them? It wasn’t like I hung out with the Screws during school or anything. I mean, it was fun horsing around at stage crew, and I suppose we were friends. But we weren’t close friends. Not like me and Alexis.

  Sam glanced at Jen, then looked at me and shuddered. ‘Dinner with the Pastels,’ he said. ‘The whole pastelabra.’

  ‘A veritable spectrum of pastel,’ chuckled Kobe.

  ‘Piss off,’ I said, but I couldn’t help laughing. I’d have to remember pastelabra to tell Chloe.

  ‘Well have a lovely night,’ said Sam, with a little bow. ‘I hope your dinner is …’ he looked at the others and they all chorused together: ‘Pastelicious!’

  We had dinner at Danny’s, one of those cheesy faux-diners where the waitresses wore rollerskates and danced on the bar every hour.

  Alexis was there, of course, and Ella-Grace, Miles and Ethan. Cameron had rushed off after rehearsal to go to hockey practice, but Alexis was bearing the separation heroically.

  Ethan was particularly adorable in a loose cream shirt and designer jeans. Alexis had managed to casually seat me next to him, and every time he moved I caught a whiff of his spicy expensive cologne and thought I’d die.

  We ordered food. Alexis was slightly horrified by the menu, but managed to find a chicken caesar salad that she ordered without the dressing. My mouth was watering at the prospect of a sloppy hamburger and salty fries, but I didn’t want to risk Alexis’s anti-calorie wrath, so I ordered the salad, too. I kept the dressing, though, as a small act of defiance.

  ‘So,’ said Miles, settling back into his chair and crossing his legs. ‘What’s news? What’s exciting? What’s making the clocks tick and the donkeys bray? Tell me everything, darlings.’

  Alexis and Ella-Grace tittered. ‘There is a rumour,’ said Alexis with a wicked little grin. ‘About Poppy.’

  I snuck a glance at Ethan, who was texting and only half-listening.

  ‘So what’s new?’ Miles scoffed. ‘There’s always a rumour about Poppy.’

  ‘This one’s different,’ said Alexis. ‘It involves Mr Henderson.’

  ‘No,’ said Miles. ‘Not Tippytoes Henderson. I thought he batted for my team!’

  ‘Apparently not,’ said Alexis. ‘Vivian was packing up after rehearsal and she caught them going for it in the orchestra pit.’

  Our food arrived, and everyone contemplated it with distaste, trying to banish the mental image of Mr Henderson and Poppy.

  ‘But he’s a teacher!’ I said. ‘And he’s old.’

  Miles chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose she has done everyone else in the cast,’ he said. ‘And she does have a reputation to maintain.’

  I glanced sideways at Ethan again. What exactly did

  Miles mean by done? Had Ethan done Poppy?

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ said Ethan with a grin.

  I swallowed. ‘I think it’s disgusting,’ I said, and then worried that I’d sounded like too much of a prude.

  Miles was studying me with a slight frown. ‘You’re in the chorus, right?’

  Ethan put away his phone. ‘She’s in stage crew,’ he said, winking at me.

  I nearly died of joy.

  ‘Stage crew,’ said Miles thoughtfully. ‘I wonder why Poppy hasn’t blown through their ranks?’

  Alexis laughed. ‘Have you seen the people in stage crew? Except for you, of course, Ava,’ she added.

  Miles leaned forward. ‘This is marvellous. You’re like a mole, darling. You’re one of us, on the inside. Spying on the freaks.’

  I was one of them. I was.

  ‘Tell us everything, Eva,’ said Miles. ‘What does stage crew actually do?’

  ‘Um,’ I said. ‘Well, today we were painting the set for the nightclub scenes.’

  Miles raised his eyebrows. ‘I hope you painted it a colour that will complement my skin tone.’

  ‘The set is mostly brown,’ I told him. ‘But we’ll create much more interesting effects with the lighting.’

  ‘Right,’ said Miles. ‘So what else? You paint the sets and turn on the lights. Is that it?’

  I frowned a little. How could these people not know how much work we’d done? ‘Well,’ I said. ‘We had to build the sets first.’

  ‘You built them? Like out of wood and nails and things?’

  I nodded.

  ‘How positively medieval,’ said Miles. ‘And that peculiar old man—’

  ‘Dennis,’ I said.

  ‘—Dennis, he tells you what to do?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘He spends most of his time in his office. Sam mostly tells us what needs to be done.’

  The conversation drifted off to other topics – rehearsal, how the orchestra still couldn’t play the finale, an upcoming English exam. Nobody addressed me, but I didn’t mind. I was just happy to be there. To be one of them.

  The music was really loud and utterly offensive, and the food was disgusting. My salad was soggy and limp and absolutely swimming in sickly sweet dressing, which I managed to drip all over my skirt.

  I excused myself – not that I thought anyone would miss me – and made a dash for the bathroom. I tried to wash the dressing off, but it just seemed to spread. And now there was a huge wet patch surrounding the dark stain. This was not going well. I took a deep breath, dabbed at it with some paper towel and tried to twist the skirt around so the wet bit wouldn’t show so much.

  Back outside, Alexis was holding court on one of her favourite topics — her upcoming one-year anniversary with Cameron.

  ‘So we’re going to have dinner at Jus,’ she said. ‘And then we’re spending the night together in a boutique hotel.’

 

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