Star-Crossed Read Free

me a reason, soldier! Do not speak unless spoken to! That is not the way to get ahead! If you are set a task, then you complete it, and move on to the next until all your tasks are done! A good soldier always follows orders, and if they don’t, they have to be punished. Out the back, boy!”
    William turns around reluctantly, and is marched quickly to the bottom of the garden.
    â€œForward!” growls his father menacingly, and William shuts his eyes and opens the door.
    The outside toilet smells like decomposing excrement and rotting vegetables. It makes the boy wants to heave.
    A small shove between the shoulder blades launches William into the confined space. The door is shut behind him, and the sound of a bolt being drawn echoes in the boy’s head like a gunshot.
    â€œYou will stay in there until I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson!” his father barks. “A true soldier learns from discipline. You will learn from this.”
    William feels tears burning in his eyes.
    â€œYou will be a good soldier, William.”

You wake up smiling – unusual for a Wednesday, because it’s your worst day, due to lack of drama class and an hour of algebra to kick off the morning. You look around your room at the posters of your favourite actors and actresses of all time: Marilyn Monroe, Robert De Niro, Julia Roberts, Michael J. Fox, Richard Gere, Matthew Perry, Katharine Hepburn . . . the list goes on. There are so many posters you can hardly see the deep red walls underneath. You pull your duvet over your head and curl up in a ball, grinning happily, remembering the wonderful applause yesterday.
    I can’t wait to get to school! you think.
    Your eyes flip open.
    Did I just think that?
    You laugh quietly and unfurl yourself, pushing the duvet off you. Your clock reads 7.17 a.m. You groan, wanting to stay in bed for ever, but the doorbell rings. You slip out of bed and pad down the stairs in your soft pyjamas, opening the door. You smile at the person standing there, and say what you say to him every day.
    â€œYou know that you can just come in. Every schoolday morning for the past four years you’ve been here for breakfast at EXACTLY 7.20 a.m. Why should you ring the bell? You know that the spare key is in the hanging basket, and I know that the only person who’s coming in is gonna be you.”
    Reuben walks in through the door and through to the kitchen, and you follow him, stretching and yawning, rubbing your eyes. You sit down as he wanders over to the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice, putting it down on to the breakfast bar with two glasses. He smirks, and answers how he answers you every day.
    â€œBut, Ms Anderson, the thing is – if I didn’t ring the doorbell, your dear mother would have a heart attack, and you would have a freak-out.”
    You nod in agreement. Once again Reuben knows you better than you know yourself. He hands you a glass.
    You hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and your mum appears at the door of the kitchen. She looks young for her age; her dark hair is still thick and shiny like yours. She’s dressed in a well-cut suit that flatters her slim body, which is important because she works on TV. Your mum is a newsreader. She is about to leave for her lunchtime shift, but she needs her regular wake-up coffee before she goes. Her dark hazel eyes light up when she sees Reuben.
    â€œGood morning, Reuben. How is my favourite adopted son this morning?”
    You love it that your parents are so used to Reuben being here, at your house. It’s like he’s part of your family. Rubes smiles right back and reaches over to flick on the kettle, while she gets a mug and the coffee jar.
    â€œCouldn’t be better, Christine, thanks. Oh yeah, before I forget, my mum says that she saw some shoes that she likes and wants you to go see them with her on Sunday … I think … anyway, she’ll ring you