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completely lose it on me. I wanted you to stay calm so that I could talk to you about this, and that you wouldn’t flip out.” You scoff at his remark, but Rubes is starting to really worry you now.
    â€œWhat do you mean, Rubes? And I don’t ever ‘flip out’!” you hiss.
    He raises his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, Jen, whatever you say. I’ll just forget about the time when Maddy wrecked your brand-new shoes and you screamed the house down, and also that time your dad couldn’t make it home for your birthday party—”
    â€œI was nine years old!” you burst in.
    Rubes raises his eyebrows. “But if memory serves, you still made quite a scene…”
    You shake your head. “Whatever. Get back to the point, boy, before I get violent.”
    He stops smiling, sighs, and then looks down into his steaming mochaccino. He coughs slightly. “Chrisbannersplayingromeo.”
    â€œWhat?” you say, not hearing a word of his slurred mutter.
    He casts a look around the room. Everyone is minding their own business: light-heartedly moaning to each other about coursework, gloating about their glittering social lives, or just chatting about nothing in particular. He twists his hands, watching his fingers interlock. “Maybe I should have told you in private…” he mutters.
    â€œJust tell me !”
    â€œChris Banner is playing Romeo.”
    You stop breathing.
    â€œChris  … Banner … ?” you hear yourself whisper.
    â€œSorry, Jen, but er  … yeah. Chris Banner…” He trails off, leaving you to take in this new development.
    Chris Banner? you think. Chris Banner? Chris Banner?!
    You shoot a piercing look at your best friend, your voice shaking slightly but staying quiet. “The Chris Banner who belongs to the Banner family? The Chris Banner whose family has argued, insulted and otherwise frozen out my own family for twenty-five years ? The Chris Banner whose coward of a father chose his job over his loyalty to his best friend? The Chris Banner whose guts I hate?!”
    You say the last three words with surprising venom, your voice not sounding like your own, each syllable shaking with anger.
    Reuben looks at you with pity. “Yeah. The very same. What are you going to do?”
    You shake your head slowly, your options racing through your mind. I could quit the play … but then I wouldn’t be Juliet. I wouldn’t have my part … and I don’t want to give that slimy son of a betrayer the satisfaction of having me back out because of him. I know I can act circles around him, but can I actually be on stage with that bastard without kicking the life out of him? What do I do?
    You look at Rubes, who gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand. Suddenly you don’t want your hot chocolate any more. You feel sick.
    What do I do? What the hell do I do?

You sit on your own in your form room, silently seething and cursing Chris Banner. You haven’t spoken a word since Reuben told you about Chris being Romeo, because you don’t know what will happen when you open your mouth – if you will scream with frustration or swear until you run out of colourful words. You are infuriated with Mrs Walker and Miss Phillips.
    Why did they cast him? you think. He’s a complete and utter prat at the best of times. He can’t act. And he’ll look like a complete idiot in Romeo-style clothes. He won’t take it seriously either.
    You look around the room, glaring at every object, like it’s that thing’s fault that Chris is a complete and utter idiot. Your eyes travel across the familiar room: the film posters, groaning bookshelves that are about to fall down, the defaced tables, Mr Bowden’s big old desk. You stare absent-mindedly at the desk. It’s always been the same – littered with bits of paper, textbooks and pens. Your gaze falls on one particular item. It