Star-Crossed (4 page)

“
Bang! Bang bang!
Get
down
!”

A small blonde boy sprints through the shady woods, darting between trees and jumping over rocks as fast as his legs can carry him. Ethan can't be any more than eight, but he's already tall and has an air about him that makes him seem older than he is. With his strength built up from training every day after school, combined with all the energy that young children have, his legs can run at top speed until dinner.

Hurtling through the shade, he shouts out orders to the trees as he whips past, brandishing his weapon – a long, thick stick – to shoot at the enemy trees before him.

“Reload your weapons! We need you in the front!”

The path is blocked about fifteen metres ahead by a large fallen trunk, the biggest enemy of all. He picks up speed, legs and arms pumping as he prepares to launch himself over the dead tree.

“Soldiers
out
! Go! Go! G—”

A figure suddenly darts out of the shadows on the left, straight into the sprinting boy. They smash into each other and collapse in a struggling heap on the earthy forest floor.

“What? Argh, get
off
me! What were you doing? Ow!”

The dark-haired boy untangles himself and moves to run off, but Ethan stops him.

“Oi, who are you?”

The new boy keeps glancing over his shoulder. He replies quickly, “Will Anderson. I-I didn't mean to knock into you, I-I'm sorry, I've got to keep on running, I've got to get away, let me go!”

“Why?” Ethan asks, cocking his head with curiosity and not releasing his grip. “Where are you going?”

For the first time, he realizes that Will looks scared. Below his shorts his knees are scraped, not from the fall on the soil but possibly from a fall on tarmac, and his light T-shirt is ripped. His skinny, small frame is shaking slightly, and his elbow is bleeding.

“Who are you running away from?”

Will stops struggling, and looks at this stranger. His blonde hair is bright, even in the shade, and he has an ordinary face, which at the same time has something different about it, something that makes him seem older than he is.

“Older boys…” he mutters. “They've been chasing me for ages…”

The blonde boy nods. “Here,” he says, pointing to the fallen trunk. “Get inside.”

Will hesitates for a second, but then a shout echoes through the forest. He runs around the side of the trunk and dodges into its hollow centre. A second later, four boys come thundering into the small clearing, shouting and jeering. They stop when they see the boy leaning nonchalantly on a nearby tree.

They look about ten, all tall and much larger than Ethan or Will.

The gang leader, a big ginger-haired loudmouth called Ted, steps forward. “You seen anuvva kid, short an' skinny? Did 'e run frew 'ere?”

The boy shrugs and doesn't say a word. The group exchange looks, then all glare back at him. Ted speaks again.

“Oi! You 'ear? Did you see this kid or not?”

Again, the boy shakes his head solemnly and taps his right ear, then points to himself, shakes his index finger and points back at them. They look bewildered. Then he pulls himself away from the tree and opens his mouth.

“I … defff…” He speaks in a voice that sounds like you're hearing it through ear muffs.

Realization dawns on the boys' faces.

“Oh, right, 'e's deaf, innee?” says Ted, and the others nod. “Right,” he says. “'e can't 'elp, 'e's a retard. Less go back.”

The boys turn and leave the clearing, and the blonde boy rolls his eyes. He goes over to the tree trunk and ducks his head inside. “You can come out now, they've gone.”

Will crawls out of his hiding space and stares at the stranger.

“Thank you,” he says, brushing the soil off his shirt. “What's your name? And how did you
do
that?”

“I'm Ethan. My cousin is deaf, and he speaks like that and everyone ignores him. I can understand him, but a lot of other boys can't.”

He pauses, as if he is judging Will for something. The next second his expression clears, and he's made up his mind. “When I'm older,” he declares, “I'm going to be in the army.”

“My father wants me to be in the army. He shouts at me and makes me do exercises to toughen me up but—”

“But what?”

Will looks at the ground. “I hate it.”

“You want to stay with me. I'll show you. My dad was in the army too. I want to be just like him. That's what I'm doing – playing War. You want to play?” He pauses, eyeing Will's elbow. “You're injured.”

Will looks at his elbow, and shrugs. “Just a scratch.” He takes a stick from the ground too and holds it like a rifle. He smiles. Ethan is the first boy who has spoken to him in a friendly way all summer. There's no way he's going to let a cut, no matter how bloody, get in the way of that.

“Let's play.”

It's the end of lunch on Thursday afternoon, and you are hurrying through the art department to get to your physics lesson.

If I'm late again Westler is going to put me in detention for the rest of my life
, you think as you dodge through the tables over to the far doors. You try to pass one table that has a pile of Year Eight work on it, but you brush too close and a pile of watercolours drifts to the floor. You sigh with frustration and bend down to pick them all up as fast as you can. You straighten up and dump the work back on to the table, pushing your hair behind your ears. Then you jump out of your skin.

“Did I scare you?”

You let go a long breath and put one hand on your heart. “What are you
doing
? You shouldn't just sneak up on people like that, Steve, you'll give someone a heart attack!”

Steve Watts doesn't look quite himself. He isn't smiling like he usually would, so his face looks darker than usual.

“Sorry, Jen, but I needed to see you alone. You never listen to me when there are other people about.”

You're already walking towards the doors, past Steve, talking as you walk. “Sorry, Steve, I've gotta go. I can't be late for physics again. You know what Westler is like.”

Steve sticks out his hand and takes your arm, stopping you from going any further. “No, wait. I have to talk to you about tomorrow. We need to make arrangements.”

You yank your arm away from his grip. “I'm not going out with you, Steve! I'm leaving now.”

You make a grab for the door handle, but Steve darts in front of you and leans against the door. “Listen to me, Jen. You just need to
listen
—”

You step back. Something is wrong here, you can feel it. He is acting so weirdly, so un-Steve-like, that you are starting to feel scared. His eyes are a bit too wide, and he's still not smiling. You look around the room, but there is no one else there. The two of you are quite alone.

Steve steps forward so that he is only a couple of centimetres from your face. Now he's smiling, but there's nothing reassuring about his body language. You feel your heart rate increase with fright.

“I'm listening,” you say, staring at the floor. “But do you think you could stand a little further away? 'Cause I'm … claustrophobic…”

He carries on staring at you like he didn't hear what you said. “I'll meet you at the club tomorrow at nine … my shift finishes at eleven, so we can have some fun then…”

He leans in closer to you. You shrink back against the wall and turn your face away, starting to panic.

“Can you stop now, Steve? Just back off. I said
stop
—”

“Hey, wassup, Watts?” As you hear a voice from across the room, you realize that you are shaking, and you can't move. Steve pulls away and his charming smile is back on. Your breath is catching in your throat, shallow and quick. The panic inside you is rising.
I need to calm down
 …
calm down…

The voice carries on speaking. You look up and see that it's Chris. You shut your eyes and try to slow down your breathing.
Breathe in
 …
breathe out
 …
breathe in
 …
breathe out
…

“I thought I heard your voice,” he's saying. “Do you reckon you could sort me out for the club for tomorrow night?”

Steve nods and makes for the door. “Yeah. Meet me outside, no worries.” He turns to you. “See you tomorrow…” He walks out of the door.

It's just you and Chris now. You are willing yourself to be calm, but it's not working. You can feel your breath quickening. You squeeze your eyes tight and ball your fists. A memory of the last time you had an asthma attack like this flashes in your head. You had been playing with the neighbour's dog, when it jumped on you and knocked you over. You couldn't breathe. You thought you were going to die. The same thing is happening now.

“Watts doesn't know what he's getting himself into. You're more trouble than you're worth.”

You shake your head.

The last thing I need is you having a go at me when I'm like this
,
you think.
Just go. Go. For God's sake, just go
…

Chris remains where he is, oblivious to your mental messages.
Just go
 …
go
…

“Yes, you are, Anderson. Hell, I'm wasting my time even…”

You stop hearing what Chris is saying and collapse to the floor. Your lungs have closed up now and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
Why don't I have my inhaler? Why?!

“JEN!” you hear someone say. The person seems very far away; their voice is echoing in your head, playing very slowly. You open an eye and see someone vaulting tables, then they fall to your side.

“Jen?” the voice says again. “Jen? Can you hear me?”

The voice is reaching you slowly, bit by bit.
Hear him? Yes. What does he want?
You nod your head slightly. Chris pulls you up so you are sitting.

“Where's your inhaler? Jen?
Where's your inhaler?
”

Inhaler? Don't know. Have no … no…
You shake your head
. No, no inhaler,
you think
. I forgot it … I forgot it … help me, please…

Chris groans in frustration and hauls you on to his lap. Delicately, he puts one hand on your stomach, and one below your throat, pulling you towards him. You can feel his ribcage expand and relax, feel his steady breathing and his warm embrace.

“Breathe with me, OK?” he whispers gently into your ear. “Feel my ribcage and relax into me. Breathe in … breathe out…”

Your arms are pinned to your sides by Chris's arms, so there is nothing you can do apart from try to follow his breathing. You lean back into him and let his strength calm you down. Slowly, your breathing starts to deepen, and your head stops spinning. Your lungs are opening back up and you can breathe again. Your chest rises and falls in time to Chris's, and you relax.

“I used to have asthma, when I was really tiny,” Chris says quietly. “This one day, I was at a garden centre with my dad. We were walking around a greenhouse, and it was so stuffy, with plants and pollen all over … the combination triggered a massive attack. I didn't know what was happening, but my dad did. He scooped me up and helped me to breathe like this. Afterwards I asked him how he knew what to do, and he said he didn't. He said he just did what he thought might help…”

You begin to relax slowly. As you try to calm yourself down, you think about what Chris just said. You can't believe that your seemingly perfect enemy once had such a big flaw.

As you take a breath in through your nose, his scent reaches you. Something inside of you bubbles with excitement and encourages you to breathe deeper.

Your eyes flip open and you tense. Chris's arms shoot off from around you and you stand up quickly. He does the same and brushes himself off, clearing his throat and not looking at you. You just stand and stare at him. He looks like a different person now, like you are seeing him differently for the first time. His blonde hair isn't over-styled, just tousled because he runs his hands through it. His eyes aren't an evil, cold blue – they are more like the ocean. He looks … normal. Even likeable.

At last he looks up into your shocked eyes.

For a minute you think you see something in his face, something that has never been there before. Then the smirk returns.

“Well, I couldn't let you die, Anderson. I would get the blame. Not that you would have died, anyway – you Andersons are just hypersensitive, all wrapped up in cotton wool. See you, if I can't avoid it.”

The new image of Chris shatters like a mirror into a million pieces. The old, evil Chris replaces it and glowers at you, before turning around and striding out of the classroom.

You glare after him and bend down to pick up your bag. You still feel quite shaken, so you set off to the office to see the nurse. For one brief moment there you thought you had seen a bit of good in Christopher Banner.

Yeah, right,
you think
. That's like seeing good in Satan. I must have been starved of oxygen for too long and started to imagine things
…

You push open the doors, walk into the school office and up to the desk. The office ladies are all on the phone. One of them holds up an index finger to say that they will be with you in a moment, so you take a seat on the sofa behind you.

Mr Westler will just have to wait
…

 

You walk into the hall feeling much, much better. It's the afternoon, school is out, and it's the first rehearsal for
Romeo and Juliet
. Despite what happened earlier, you're buzzing with excitement, and acting will definitely help shake off the last memories of Steve Watts. You feel hyped enough to act circles around Shakespeare's original Juliet, and you can't wait to get started. Even if getting started means that you have to be within two metres of Chris without scratching his eyes out. You sit on the stage and stare at your tattered black Vans, your left foot jiggling impatiently as the rest of the cast finally begin to arrive.

“Hey, honey, my bright and bubbly ray of sunshine!”

You turn to Rubes and shoot him a glance that clearly says, “Say that again and I'll kill you”.

He laughs. “I guess today's torture routine was as painful as always?”

You shrug, wondering whether to tell Rubes about Steve, Chris and the asthma attack. You decide to tell him about one thing. “I had an asthma attack, which was weird, 'cause I haven't had a major one in years…”

He frowns. “You OK? Are you sure that you should be here?”

You nod. “Yeah. I went home before to get my inhaler and things and I'm fine now.”

Rubes raises his eyebrows.

“
Really
.” You laugh. “I'm fine.”

He doesn't look convinced. “What triggered it?”

You clear your throat. “I, er, ran into Steve again…”

Reuben scowls. “He's like a small child. Why won't he just back off? What did he say this time?”

“He wants me to go to Mercury tomorrow to ‘have a little fun'.” Rubes rolls his eyes. “He was quite scary, actually.” You pause.
Should I tell him about Chris?
You decide not. “But I got away, so it's OK now.”

Rubes pushes himself up on to the stage and hands you an earphone from his iPod. You take it gladly, and close your eyes as the sweet sound of a guitar meets your ear.

Bliss…

You lean on Reuben's shoulder and relax. “If he comes near you again, find me, or ring me, and I'll be right there. And if you really want, I'll try to jump him after school.” He laughs. “I mean, I'm not promising anything, because I'm the weediest pigeon I know, but…”

You laugh. “Thanks, Rubes, I know you'll always be there.”

The two of you sit in silence, listening to the music. You mouth the words along to the song, but stop when Rubes pokes you in the ribs and takes away the earphone. Mrs Walker strides into the room, her hair done up in a French twist and wearing a sharp outfit. You would think that she was a reporter or something – not a drama teacher. Walker makes her way down to the end of the hall and stops just in front of the stage. She sees you, smiles, and turns back to everyone else waiting for instructions.

“Thank you all for coming today! If you want to get into a circle, we can begin. Romeo and the Montagues line up on my left, Juliet and the Capulets facing them on my right, please.”

Everyone surges towards the centre of the room, laughing and chatting, as you scan the crowd of people to look for your other title character.

Where are you, jerk?
you think. He's not there. You smile.
Fantastic way to start the play, Mr Banner!

You slide off the stage and stand on Walker's right, as you were told. Reuben stands on the other side with the Montagues. While everyone else is sitting down, you lean over and mouth with a sly grin, “He's not here! Maybe he's decided that he's
not
going to embarrass himself after all. Or maybe he died in a freakish accident involving lots of pain and suffering?”

Reuben looks past you to the door of the studio. “No such luck today, poppet. I'm afraid he looks quite pain-free.”

You turn your head and see Chris saunter into the room with that annoying swagger of his. If you were hoping to see a glimpse of the person who had helped you out earlier today, you are disappointed. You'd almost forgotten how arrogant he is. You frown at the floor, your bubble burst. Walker signals to him to stand on her left, so he strolls over and, to your utter horror, offers his hand for Rubes to shake. Chris says something that you can't quite hear, and Rubes laughs nervously. Reuben hesitates for a second and then, with a confused smile, returns the shake. This has
really
thrown you. You're shocked.