Falling Fast Read Free Page A

Flynn. Start with Romeo’s line: Ah Juliet, if the measure of thy joy . . .’
    Emmi wiped her palms on her skirt.
    And Flynn, finally, looked up. He stared at the door as he spoke his first line, then he turned and looked at Emmi. His eyes wandered over her face as he spoke, then he looked away again.
    I watched him, mesmerised. He was good. Unbelievably good. Way better than everybody else. His voice was strong and clear and flexible. The lines contained lots of weird, old-fashioned
references that you’d have to really think about to understand. At least, that’s what I’d had to do when I read them. But Flynn made their meaning clear just by speaking them.
    As Emmi started with her lines, I stared intently at Flynn’s face. He wasn’t obviously good-looking. That is, he didn’t have the melting brown eyes and square-jawed features of
my fantasy guy.
    But there was something about him. Something that meant you couldn’t look away. The way his dark fringe flopped over his eyes. The way his nose turned up just the tiniest bit at the end.
The way his mouth curved as he spoke. Above all, his face was so expressive. Just the blink of an eye or the curl of a lip and you could see his whole being flood with shock or anger. Or love.
    I felt movement next to me and turned round. James Molloy was standing beside me, his eyes firmly fixed on Emmi’s bum.
    He must have sensed me looking at him, because he suddenly shifted his gaze to me – a sheepish, guilty look on his face.
    ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ he whispered.
    My mouth was dry. I nodded. ‘What’s his name?’ I said. ‘His first name.’
    ‘Patrick,’ James whispered. ‘He hates it, though. You have to call him Flynn or he won’t answer.’
    I turned back to Flynn.
    Emmi was still speaking.
    Flynn was staring at her. He looked bored. Like he knew she didn’t mean anything she was saying. Like he could see she wasn’t feeling it.
    Or maybe because he wished he was kissing her instead of having to listen to her speak.
    Emmi finished.
    ‘Lovely,’ crooned Mr Nichols. ‘Well done. Now, Flynn, the same again, but with River this time.’
    I blushed at hearing my name said in front of all these boys . . . in front of Flynn. No one ever heard it right the first time. I was forever being asked to spell it and while I rarely got
teased like I had at primary school any more, sometimes people made a face that suggested they thought it was weird . . . or funny . . .
    I didn’t want Flynn to laugh at me too.
    Emmi stepped backwards and I took her place, my copy of the play trembling in my hands.
    Flynn was an arm’s length in front of me now. God, why was I so short? My eyes were level with his chest. I stared at it. His tie was loose, his white shirt untucked. As he read his lines,
I could hear the same expressiveness I’d noticed before. But this time I could tell he was only going through the motions. Like his mind was on something else.
    Emmi, probably.
    I looked up into his face just as he said his last line:
    ‘ Let rich music’s tongue unfold the imagin’d happiness . . .’
    Our eyes met. Oh my God . His gaze pierced right through me, like he was trying to see who I was. Who I really was.
    No one had ever looked at me like that.
    And his eyes were beautiful. Greeny-gold. Set the perfect distance from each other.
    ‘. . . that both receive in either by this dear encounter .’
    There was a pause. Damn . It was my turn. I had completely forgotten what the next line was. I bent over the play in my hand, searching desperately for it.
    Flynn’s finger landed on the page in exactly the right place.
    I felt myself blush as I started reading.
    I put all the feeling I had into what I was saying. At first I was too self-conscious to look up. When I finally did, Flynn was frowning slightly.
    ‘. . . But my true love is grown to such excess . . .’
    And then I realised why he must be looking puzzled.
    My voice had shrunk to a whisper.
    In the same