Totally Starcross'd



  Totally Starcross’d

  A Novella

  S.D. Wasley

  Copyright © 2016 S.D. Wasley

  Cover Art: Simply Defined Art

  Editor: Dominion Editing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Invitation

  Join the S.D. Wasley VIP Readers’ Club for a bonus loveletter from Julian to Romilly.

  Dedication

  To my high school English Literature teachers, for introducing me to the wonders of Shakespeare.

  Romilly

  I hated these political events. They were always interminably dull and there was something demeaning about being paraded around in front of campaign donors by your parents. I felt like a prize spaniel on display.

  My mother seemed born to it and could small-talk for hours without a break. Despite multiple training sessions with my father’s media and publicity coach, I still felt horribly awkward. I dreaded being caught by reporters the most. I’d become good at lying and glossing over anything controversial but the one question that always threw me was the very unoriginal, “So, what’s it like to be the daughter of a top running contender for Governor of Verona?”

  The answer I always had to suppress was: “It kinda sucks, actually.”

  Tonight it was a debate. Half an hour into the proceedings and I seriously wanted to skip out of the rest the show. I loathed the conservative candidate and couldn’t bear listening to the hostile back-and-forthing between my father and that dumbass Todd Capulet on topics like gay marriage and the coal industry. The crowd was howling like badly trained circus animals now things were in full swing.

  I looked around for an escape route. Tonight’s debate was being held in the conference room at the Museum of Fine Art. I’d been here recently on a school excursion and knew the corridor containing the bathrooms led straight into the main foyer where a bunch of comfortable lounges were dotted about. Perfect for hiding.

  “Going to the ladies’ room,” I mouthed to my mother.

  She gave a flappy wave that probably meant something like, “Take one of the security guards with you!”

  I pretended not to understand. This debate was a closed event, ticketed only, so I was pretty safe. And I doubted anyone would miss me during the rest of the debate. I slipped away from our group with relative ease, letting myself into the corridor and shutting the door on the ruckus behind me. There might be some fallout later for disappearing. Worth it, I decided.

  Out here, the museum was practically abandoned. Much better. A woman wearing a Montague for Governor! button emerged from the bathroom and clacked by on heels. She gave me a quick smile and went back into the debate room. Now I really was alone. I wandered down the dim corridor and edged cautiously into the gallery foyer. There was an attendant at the desk and she glanced up at my arrival but went straight back to her magazine. Evidently she didn’t consider me a threat to the collection. There was nothing I could steal here even if I wanted to, with all the artworks enclosed in Perspex cases. Anyway I was so straight-looking in my garden tea-party dress, picked by my mom.

  I browsed aimlessly. To entice visitors to cough up the few bucks they needed to go through into the main gallery, they had a few big-name pieces on display in the foyer. A Degas. A Picasso. I hovered before the Picasso. It wasn’t one of his famous cubist works. It was quite a sad painting of a woman with a child.

  “I wonder what made him start experimenting like he did,” came a voice beside me.

  “Not sure,” I said, glancing around. A young man was standing a short distance away, gazing at the painting. I made a brief assessment: neat clothes—jeans but dressed up with a jacket. Top knot in his golden-brown hair. I dropped my gaze. Uh, flip-flops? Hmmm, hipster styling, knew about Picasso. Montague supporter for sure.

  “You’re missing the debate,” I said.

  He gave me a quick smile. “Am I? That’s a shame.”

  I laughed. “Dragged here by your parents as well?”

  He nodded, losing interest in the Picasso and coming closer. “I was only ever in it for the caviar-topped blinis.” He said this with just the right amount of irony so I knew he meant it but he was also laughing at himself. Cute and smart.

  “They certainly know how to cater these political things, huh?”

  “Conservatives always cater well. Making a good impression is of prime importance. Campaigning 101.”

  I cocked my head. “And the other guy?”

  “The other guy should know that the caviar isn’t dolphin safe and the wait staff are underpaid.”

  I burst out laughing this time. “I hope you’re joking. I don’t want to be eating something that hurts dolphins, or accepting service from exploited workers.”

  He shrugged. “I may have made up the dolphin thing. But you should probably tip the waiter generously.”

  I appraised him again. This guy was intriguing. He couldn’t have been much older than my sixteen years but he conversed like a much older man. And now he was closer I saw how cute he was. Dark blue eyes, tanned skin and gorgeous angular cheeks. He investigated my face with similar interest.

  “What’s your name?” he asked me unexpectedly.

  I didn’t particularly want him to know I was Alan Montague’s daughter after his snappy political commentary of a few moments before. I snatched at the first thing that came into my head. “I am the girl who wanders galleries at night.”

  He cracked up laughing this time. “Mysterious, indeed.” He stuck out a hand for me to shake. “Hello, Girl Who Wanders Galleries at Night.”

  “Girl Who, to my friends,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Guy Who Came for the Caviar Blinis.”

  “Guy Who,” he said, nodding gravely. Then we shared a grin.

  Through the glass foyer walls I saw a sight that made me roll my eyes. A leggy blonde was climbing out of a sleek car in front of the gallery. “Oh, god. It’s her.”

  He followed my gaze. “Her?”

  “Paris Addison. In the Capulet camp,” I explained. “Her dad owns half the coal mines in the state and when she’s not tweeting about her dog or Instagramming her nail art, she’s schmoozing with the conservatives on her father’s behalf. Her dad’s trying to get a major new mine through environmental planning so the Addisons are being pretty friendly with the party most likely to help them out.” I made a face.

  I’d meant it as a joke but his face fell slightly. Perhaps he was more serious about politics than I’d realized.

  “Hopefully Capulet keeps his ethics in check long enough to get through the election,” he said.

  I gave him a dubious glance. “Uh-huh. Let’s see how that works out.”

  Julian

  Right. So just how bad does it feel to hear someone you’ve just met accuse your father of political corruption? And, as unreasonable as it is, how much worse does it feel when the person is a pretty, funny, smart girl you’re wildly attracted to?

  What ‘Girl Who’ didn’t know was that I’d unwisely let Mom talk me into something tonight before we headed out to the debate—and that something involved Paris Addison.

  “Jules,” she’d said, coming into my room, “what do you say to the idea of having a steady girlfriend?”

  I nearly spat my soda. “What?”

  “Well, you’re eighteen now,
off to college in the fall.”

  “Uh, yeah. So what?”

  “You know Paris Addison?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s a cousin, twice removed, of Vice President Escher.” I’d raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was heading. “She noticed you at the party fundraiser last month.”

  “Yeah?” I could see my mother’s eyes sparkling like they always did when she had some ambitious scheme lined up for me.

  “She asked your father about you.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “Good for her. Not interested.” I returned to my soda and my book.

  She pouted, sitting on my bed. “Julian Capulet. By the time your father and I were your age we were engaged to be married.”

  “Yeah, things have moved on since then,” I informed her, slurping soda. “There’s this thing called having a life. Lots of kids are doing it these days. I was thinking of giving it a shot.”

  “Don’t be snide,” she said, becoming stern. “Paris Addison is coming to the debate. I want you to chat with her and I want you to be nice to her.”

  I shrugged. “Sure, whatever. And I’m always nice, by the way.”

  “Hmm.” She sounded dubious.

  So here I was at the debate, waiting to entertain Paris Addison at the after-party ... like a chump. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I had a beautiful dark-eyed girl to try to charm.

  “Tell me, Girl Who,” I said as we moved onto the Matisse display. “Which bet did you lose to end up here tonight?”

  “I have parents who like to drag their kids to dull political events, too,” she said.

  Her parents were Montague supporters, I guessed. She’d made her position pretty clear. Unless she was a rebel like me, pretending to support the Capulet campaign while secretly rooting for the other guy. Except this was a massive betrayal on my behalf because Todd Capulet was my dad. An uproar arose from the debate room—cheering and boos.

  “Sounds like it’s heating up in there,” I said.

  She tucked a loose bit of dark hair behind one ear and gave me a sideways look. “All the more reason to avoid.”

  “I’m with you,” I said, totally earnest.

  She gave me a more concentrated stare. Wow. She was really pretty. Beautiful, in fact. I noticed a simple pendant hanging on a silver chain around her neck: smiling and crying theatrical masks.

  “You live local?” she asked, sounding a little shyer this time.

  “Yeah. I’m going to college in the fall though.”

  “Oh, cool. I’ll be a senior then. You going far—for college, I mean?”

  As far as I can go without leaving the country, I was about to say but, irrationally, I decided not to reveal that plan. For one thing, it would prompt her to ask why I wanted to get so far away. For another, it might put her off me to think I’ll be gone far away in the fall. And no matter what the truth was, I didn’t particularly want to put her off me.

  “Haven’t made any decisions yet,” I shrugged. That was sort of true.

  “I’d like to travel before college,” she said, gazing at the Matisse. “Europe, maybe. I could do a working holiday.”

  Lucky girl. If only I had the freedom to make choices like that. My wildest independent decision in the past year had been to grow my hair long. And I only got away with it because Dad’s PR team approved my look, saying it might be useful in reaching a new demographic.

  We moved onto the Cezanne. “So not a fan of Todd Capulet?” I asked it casually but I was keen to hear how much my father was ruining my chances with a girl like this.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Uh, right. 1950s morals for a new millennium world? No, thanks.”

  “Maybe it’s a utopian ideal,” I suggested. “Maybe the guy is nostalgic for a more innocent time of wholesome values and simpler roles.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe so. But he can get his wholesome values off my best friend Merrick, who’s gay … and extract his simpler gender roles from my own career aspirations, thanks.”

  Oh, wow. She was so smart. And so hot. Crap! I knew I needed to get back inside the debate room soon and then this whole charade would be over because she’d work out who I was and hate my guts. And then I could spend the rest of the evening entertaining the airheaded Paris Addison. Was there any chance I could get Girl Who’s number first? Make contact after the debate and try to convince her I’m not like my father?

  “Hey, Girl Who,” I said impulsively. “I’ve gotta get back to the bun fight but … do you want to maybe go for a coffee this week?”

  She was startled but her cheeks went pink and I detected a small smile playing around her lips. My spirits rose.

  “Sure. I know a good coffee shop in the East Quarter. They don’t quite do caviar blinis but their latte art is da bomb.”

  Did she actually just say that? I think I’m in love. I grinned like I’d won the party fundraiser raffle and whipped out my phone. “Can I have your number?” She recited it and I saved it in my phone. “Girl Who, with a W?” I asked and it made her laugh again.

  Down the hall a door opened and a woman emerged, standing in the shadows. She stared at us for a moment before calling out, “Romilly! Come on!”

  The girl shot me an apologetic look. “Catch you later, Guy Who.” She ran down the hall in her white flats and cute dress. Looking adorable.

  Romilly, huh? I updated the new contact in my phone to ‘Girl Who (Romilly)’ and trailed after them. Was her mom taking her home already? That was promising. Maybe there was a chance she wouldn’t realize who I was tonight and then I’d have more of a chance to get to know her before she rejected me on the basis of my political parentage.

  Inside, the debate was winding down. The host was making some final remarks and people were laughing at his lame jokes. Waiters hovered at the edges of the room with trays full of food and drinks.

  “But before we move on to the social part of the evening,” the host was saying, “let’s take a moment to thank our esteemed candidates for their efforts in tonight’s debate. Come back up here, guys—and bring your families. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alan Montague and Todd Capulet.”

  Mom caught my eye and tipped her head to say ‘get up there!’ I complied, meeting her on stage with Dad and Ty while the crowd applauded. I scoured the crowd for Girl Who. In the sea of faces I picked out Paris Addison in a tight black dress and five-inch heels, giving me a gigantic smile and a wave. I couldn’t see the adorable Romilly in her green-and-white dress anywhere. She must have gone already. I relaxed.

  But then I glanced across the stage to where Alan Montague stood with his wife and daughter—and my heart dropped.

  Romilly

  “You’re lonely. You should totally date again, Romy.” Merrick stared at me expectantly, pausing with a handful of peanuts halfway to his mouth, while Benita nodded energetically beside him.

  “Oh, great idea, guys!” I said, not even hiding the snark. “Because that went so well last time.”

  Benita groaned. “Ross was bad news from the start. Obviously we don’t want you to get all unrequited with a self-absorbed jerk like him again. You know, I saw him at the mall the other day―Ross and that Ty Capulet thug he hangs with. I gave him a triple strength death glare and he flipped me the bird. The guys at school are all douchebags, Romy.”

  “Hey!” Merrick protested.

  She pulled an apologetic face. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “But seriously,” Merrick went on, forgiving her immediately, “there must be loads of hot young guys on your dad’s campaign trail, right? Interns and idealists? Guys just waiting to have their dreams made and hearts broken?” Merrick gave me a beguiling grin.

  My thoughts flew to the debate night. “The only guys on the campaign trail are creeps.” Including the fascinating, hot … but deceptive Julian Capulet. He’d actually had the nerve to send me a message on my phone the next morning:

  Figures, huh? Maybe that
latte artist can do a representation of ‘totally awkward’ for us?

  Uh, if he thought I was still going for that coffee with him after I found out he was Capulet’s kid, he couldn’t be more wrong. I didn’t reply, and just hoped he wouldn’t rat me out to the press for the stuff I said about his dad and the Addison coal mining family.

  “Where can we introduce Romy to some nice guys?” Benita was asking Merrick, completely ignoring my protests.

  “There’s a party on the beach tonight,” he said. “Some older people, a good mix.”

  “Ross will be there,” I objected.

  “Seriously, girl. Once you’ve seen some of the other guys at the party you won’t even know Ross exists.”

  “Ross will look like the swamp thing next to some of these guys,” Benita added.

  I shrugged glumly but several hours later found myself being dragged toward a strip of beach beyond some old warehouses by my two well-meaning friends.

  “Wait, guys,” I said, coming to a sudden stop as I saw where the party was being held. “Do you realize we’re on Addison property?”

  “Huh?” Merrick was baffled.

  “The Addisons. Coal miners. They’ve got the Capulets in their back pockets. If I get seen here it might end up in the news and my parents will go ballistic.”

  Benita rolled her eyes. “Romy, you’re not that famous yet. No one will even know who you are.”

  I allowed myself to be pulled along to the party, not wanting them to think I had delusions about my own importance, but I had a growing feeling of anxiety in my stomach.

  Julian

  “Hey, Jules. You coming to this thing tonight?” My younger brother lay sprawled across the couch killing things on his video game.

  “Nope.” Secretly, I’d rather stay home and mope over the Romilly Montague incident from Debate Night. I’d sent her a phone message the next morning, trying to be witty and ironic. No reply.

  “What thing are you going to, Ty?” Mom piped up from the next room.

  “Paris Addison’s party at the beach,” he told her. On his game, he asked for advice from a witch and then slayed her for no reason other than that was what Ty did.

  Mom appeared. “Will Paris be there?”

  “Well, she organized it,” was Ty’s scornful reply.

  Mom’s focus instantly switched to me. “Julian, you can go, too.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She glared at me, eyebrows knitting. “Julian. You will go. You can keep an eye on your brother.”

  “I don’t need him to keep an eye on me,” Ty scowled.

  “Seriously, Mom. I don’t want to go, either to socialize or to keep an eye on Mr. Punch-first-Talk-later.” I shot Ty a look and he gave a proud smirk.

  “You should totally come, Jules,” he said. “Paris is hot for you.”

  I gave him a glare. “Thanks, Ty.” Mom stared at me expectantly and I heaved a sigh. “Fine. Whatever.”

  “You make sure you’re really nice to Paris tonight, Julian,” she said, returning to the kitchen with an air of grim satisfaction. “You didn’t seem at all interested on Debate Night, young man.” She banged around with a pot or two, muttering that she didn’t know what was wrong with the men of today.

  “I think I should get a say in who I’m interested in, Mom,” I called after her, aggrieved.

  “What’s not to be interested in when it comes to Paris, man?” Ty remarked. “I’ve heard she’s a wild chick, if you know what I mean.” He made a disgusting gesture.

  “I’m embarrassed to be your brother,” I said and Ty laughed.

  “So, what’s your problem?” he said.

  Oh god, that torturous conversation with Paris after Debate Night, punctuated by her high-pitched giggles while Romilly stood across the room with her parents, refusing to look my way. “Have you ever tried talking to Paris? She really doesn’t have much to say.”

  “Who wants to talk to Paris Addison?”

  I walked away. Ty and I could not be more different and I hated the thought of spending the whole evening with him. It wasn’t the first time Mom had made me babysit him at a party. Well, I’d be staying as far as possible away from my brother and leaving this party as soon as I could drag him away.

  Almost as soon as we arrived, Ty got into an argument with a random kid as they stood at the makeshift bar. He caught my attention, shouting aggressively at his bemused adversary.

  “You touched my ass!”

  “In your dreams,” the young man drawled back at him. “Rednecks aren’t my thing, girlfriend.”

  Ty clenched his fists at his sides. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself, faggot,” he growled.

  I went to grab my brother and tell him to shut his stupid mouth, but Paris Addison appeared and they both stepped back.

  “Hey, guys!” she said brightly, “What’s going on?”

  Ty fought to control his anger but the other guy gave a carefree grin and explained. “All good, Paris. Capulet here flatters himself that I was fondling his derriere, but I assure you he’s mistaken. It must have been one of the girls in the line. She was probably deranged from thirst and mistook him for an attractive male specimen.”

  I had to conceal a smile but Paris took Ty’s arm and, with a haughty look, left the other guy at the bar. “Ignore him, Ty,” she advised. “That’s the problem with these open invitation parties. Anyone could turn up.” My brother muttered about faggots again but Paris had noticed me by now, her eyes lighting up.

  “Jules!” she cooed. “You came!”

  “Hi, Paris. Great venue.” I attempted a polite, friendly attitude. Not too friendly.

  Ty headed back toward the bar. Great. Ty and alcohol were never a good combination. Paris evidently agreed. “Don’t get drunk, Ty-bae!” she called after him. “And no fighting at my party!”

  Paris looked like she was trying to find us somewhere to sit and get cozy but my saving grace was a bunch of girls who rushed up to air-kiss her and squeal about the blue pocket-handkerchief masquerading as a dress that she was wearing for her party. She shot me an apologetic look and I gave her what I hoped was an understanding wave.

  “Julian!” came a familiar voice from behind me.

  Ahhh—rescue! Laurence was here.

  Romilly

  “Thanks, girls.” Merrick’s voice was full of sarcasm. “I nearly got into fisticuffs with Ty Dumb-as-a-Brick Capulet and you’re over here clinking margaritas.”

  “This is a mocktail,” I corrected him quickly. “And what are you talking about?”

  “That halfwit Ty thought I was touching him up and I swear I didn’t do it. He was ready to deck me. He said some rather unflattering things about those of my particular sexual persuasion.”

  “Ugh. Creep.” Benita said, peering around for Ty. “There he is at the bar. And there’s his brother.”

  My heart almost stopped. I followed her gaze to the bar and saw Julian Capulet, who stood watching his younger brother order a beer at the pop-up bar. Suddenly all my worries about seeing Ross here tonight dissipated out of my head. I turned away, flustered.

  “The brother’s rather luscious,” Merrick observed. “I wonder why he’s talking with Laurence Fry.”

  That made me peep back over my shoulder. Laurence wasn’t exactly a Montague supporter but he openly hated the Capulets’ party. The whisper was that Laurence was a full-on underground environmental terrorist. What the hell was he doing here—at an Addison event? Casing out the enemy? Carrying out a mission?

  No, it appeared he was chatting with Julian Capulet in a friendly manner.

  I pushed my mocktail into Benita’s hand. “I’m going to get a water.”

  I headed for Laurence and Julian. Halfway there I lost courage and hesitated. What the hell would I say to Julian after what had happened? After our meeting, my agreement to go on a date with him, and then our bizarre moment on stage, gazing at one another from opposing political camps? I tucked myself into a group of people close to my tar
get and eavesdropped as best I could.

  “It was my worst nightmare.” I caught Julian’s sentence semi-shouted to beat the general party noise. “The girl of my dreams. Gorgeous. Smart. Funny. I’m standing there on stage with Dad and I can’t see her anywhere in the crowd so I’m thinking I’m safe and I still have a chance. And then I look over and she’s standing on stage too ... with Alan and Caroline Montague.”

  I ducked lower behind the crowd, going hot and cold. He was talking about … me?

  Laurence paused and then burst into laughter. “Are you referring to Romilly Montague?”

  Julian laughed too but his voice was bitter. “You got it. Romilly Montague.” He said something I couldn’t quite hear. I strained my ears. A guy in the random circle I’d joined seemed to be staring at me so I faked a bleary drunken grin and stared vaguely into space. He focused back on his friends.

  “What did you do?” Laurence asked.

  “What could I do? I stood there like a good Capulet boy and smiled at the crowd.”

  Laurence still had a laugh in his voice. “Pop goes the potential relationship.”

  “Know what stinks? If she was anyone else … a cousin, a friend of the family. A freakin’ employee of the Montagues … it could have worked. But she’s Romilly, Alan Montague’s daughter, dammit. Why does she have to be Romilly Montague? Any other name on the planet. I mean, couldn’t she be … I don’t know, Agnes Smithbutt? Cornelia McClinker? She’d be just as pretty and cute and clever—just as perfect—but she wouldn’t be Romilly Montague. Then I’d have a chance with her.”

  Was I actually hearing this? My heart pounded. This lovely, hot, special guy … felt like that about me?

  “You need to see the humor in this, Jules,” Laurence said. My logic fought for my attention over the noise of my thumping heart―why did the radical Laurence Fry have time for the son of Todd Capulet, that corrupt conservative who would raze a rainforest to build a coal mine as soon as look at it? “I mean, kismet,” Laurence continued. “It was either meant to be—or meant to be a damn good laugh.”

  “Not funny.” Julian’s voice was flat. “I really connected with her. I’m totally bummed about it. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “And Paris?”

  “What about Paris?”

  “Word is, you and Paris are a thing.”

  “Jesus, Laurence. Don’t you know me better that that?”

  “Chill, man. You know I do.” There was a silence. Laurence Fry and Julian Capulet are buddies? I thought, stunned. “Hey, you still coming to the meeting Sunday?”

  “Yeah, of course. You sure no one knows?”

  “They all think you’re a working class ne’er-do-well who was raised on the streets. They’d never suspect you’re the son of a conservative politician who wants to take down the system from within.”

  Julian was laughing. “Shut up, asshole.”

  I slunk back to Benita and Merrick, who stared at me. I was too stunned to explain. Julian Capulet was an underground rebel. And he was smitten with me.

  All I knew was that I needed to somehow shake my friends. I had to talk to Julian alone.

  Julian

  I steered Ty toward the parking lot. We only had to stop for him to take a pee once.

  “Get in the car.” Ty obeyed, spilling into the backseat. When he was this drunk, he was more compliant than usual. I went around the car to get in the driver’s side. Ty already appeared to be asleep.

  “Hey.”

  I turned and had to pretend I wasn’t utterly freaked out when I saw who it was. Romilly Montague.

  “Oh. Hey.”

  She was silent, watching me.

  “You were at the party?” She nodded. “By yourself?”

  She glanced around. “I had friends here. But I wanted to talk to you.” Her voice sounded different. More serious than I expected.

  “Did you give them the slip?” I half-joked but she nodded seriously. I realized this was not the time to joke. Her intense dark eyes were on mine. Maybe something was wrong. I stepped closer. “Do you need a lift somewhere?”

  “Could you drive me home?”

  I so wanted to drive her home. I had to stop myself from scrambling in a very uncool manner to the passenger side so I could open the car door for her. She approached the open door but instead of climbing in, she stopped and faced me, eyes boring into mine.

  “Any other name?” she said. I stared at her blankly. “You want me to have any other name? Agnes Smithbutt?”

  What. The. Hell. For a moment I imagined Laurence had caught Romilly and told her everything I said tonight. No, he wouldn’t do that to me. She must have overheard me somehow. I deflated against the side of the car.

  “That’s not fair. I didn’t say that to you. I never intended for you to hear it.”

  “Yeah, but I did anyway.”

  Why was she here? Why wasn’t she running a mile after hearing my way over-the-top confession? “Romilly …”

  “No.” She smiled suddenly. “Any other name, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d prefer me to have any other name. So don’t call me Romilly. I don’t particularly want to be Agnes Smithbutt, but I’ll be Girl Who.”

  I couldn’t help a soft laugh. Damn, she looked gorgeous. Was this really happening? “Girl Who. It’s not very fair that you got to hear how I feel without me even knowing you were there. I think you should do the right thing and tell me how you feel.”

  “I’m far too shy to do that.”

  Oh, my god. She was flirting with me. I caught her hand and pulled it toward my mouth, dropping an impulsive kiss on it. “You’re not shy.”

  “That was a very old-fashioned kiss.”

  “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. Just means you deserve someone who will woo you.”

  “Woo?” She laughed. “You want to woo me?”

  She’d moved even closer by now. “You know I want to woo you. But I told you, it’s your turn. You heard me say how I feel. Now you tell me how you feel. Or are you just doing this for a bit of fun?”

  The smile dropped from her lips immediately. “That’s not me.”

  “So?”

  It was a challenge. Romilly licked her lips nervously. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at those lips. Her eyes were deep and dark in the dim lighting of the empty parking lot. My god, she was beautiful.

  “I like you, too,” she admitted at last, voice trembling. “And I want to go for coffee with you.”

  My head swam. “Can I really be this lucky?”

  She pushed me. “Stop it.”

  “I mean it. I swear on…” I looked around desperately, “… on my Ford Luna!”

  “Don’t swear on a Luna,” she said with a smirk. “They’re notoriously unreliable.”

  “You’re funny,” I said, but I wasn’t laughing anymore. Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip again. Okay. Now I was fixated on that mouth. “Girl Who,” I said, taking her other hand. “Can I kiss you?”

  “Guy Who,” she said. “You’d better.”

  Romilly

  “Where the hell did you go?” Merrick had his face so close to the screen I could see that mole he called his beauty spot in 10x magnification.

  “Sorry, what was that? You’re breaking up.” I pretended to mess with the settings on our video chat.

  “Stop it, Romilly, this is important. We were panicking. Benita almost called the cops!” He gave me a narrow-eyed stare. “Did you sneak out and meet Ross?”

  “Ross!” I laughed. “God, no. It wasn’t Ross.”

  “So it was someone?”

  “Bad connection,” I said hastily. “Can’t hear you.”

  “Stop that, Romilly. Who is he?”

  I sighed. “Okay, Merrick. But if you tell anyone I will personally destroy your entire Beanie Bear collection. Even the ultra-rares.”

  He looked impressed. “This has gotta be juicy.”

  “Do
you know a guy called Julian?”

  He frowned for a minute. “No. Well, only Julian Capulet and I’m guessing it’s not him.” I maintained a guilty silence and Merrick’s shriek nearly split my eardrums, even through the tinny computer speakers.

  “Shut up!” I hissed.

  “But …” He went from screeching to silent, a deep frown on his forehead. “But he’s a Capulet.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not like his dad or Ty! He’s really sweet. He like, cares about the environment and stuff. And he knows about art. And he’s absolutely gorgeous.” I was gushing. I forced myself to shut up.

  Merrick looked unconvinced. “Romy, he sounds nice but you’re not exactly known for your discerning taste in men.”

  “Hey!” I thought about Ross and had to concede. “Yeah, okay, I don’t always get it right, but this one’s different.”

  “I don’t know Julian personally. He was never at Verona East High. I think he was at some kind of specialist art school, or something, and he’s just graduated. I mean, he’s a hot looking guy—but he’s Ty Capulet’s brother and I don’t see how they could honestly be that different.”

  “He’s friends with Laurence Fry.”

  “What?” Merrick gave this some thought. “Hmm. Okay. Maybe he is quite different from Ty … who, by the way, informed me as we were leaving that he would beat the shit out of me if I ever came anywhere near him again.”

  “Jeez, Merrick,” I breathed. “That guy’s a psycho.”

  “Yeah. And I’m highly insulted he thinks his ass is worth my notice.”

  I couldn’t restrain my glee any longer. I bounced on my bed. “I’m going for coffee with him this afternoon. Julian.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Leopard Blue in the East Quarter.”

  “Oooooh, funky. I like, I like.” Merrick peered at me though the screen. “Well, Romy, I can’t help but be astounded that, out of all the guys in the City of Verona, you go and choose a Capulet. But you honestly look and sound super happy. Who knows, maybe it could work!”

  “Yeah, but I’m not telling anyone at the moment, okay? For example, my parents.”

  “Uh, yes. I’m with you.”

  I ended the video chat, wanting to spend a little time getting ready for my date. Then I caught a bus to the East Quarter, thankful both my parents were at work so I didn’t have to lie to anyone about where I was going.

  I saw his little Ford Luna parked in the alley next to Leopard Blue as I approached and my heart started jumping around. There he was ... sitting in a corner, fidgeting with a menu. Damn, he was a fine-looking guy. He had cargo pants rolled up mid-shin and his usual flip-flops. While I watched, he fumbled the menu and dropped it on the floor. Nervous? How adorable.

  I joined him. “Hi.”

  His face lit up when he saw me and he jumped to his feet. He leaned in to kiss me briefly on the cheek. I was glad he didn’t go for the full passionate kiss in public but I certainly hoped we’d find somewhere more private today to allow for a repeat of our parking lot session from the other night. His kisses ... I wrenched my mind back to the here and now.

  “How you been, Girl Who?”

  “Good. I love being on vacation.” Awkward pause followed by shy smiles. “Did your brother say anything after you dropped me off the other night? Like, did he realize who I was?”

  “He said something about being the next Wolverine but aside from that, no. He didn’t mention you so I’m guessing he remained unconscious for the whole ride. But he didn’t vomit in the Luna this time, so that’s a bonus.”

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah, he’s a gem, my baby brother.”

  “He tried to beat up my best friend, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. He thought Merrick tried to feel him up. Yeah, Merrick’s gay, but he’s not a molesting creep.”

  “That was your friend?” Julian looked genuinely distressed. “God, I’m so sorry. Ty is a loser sometimes. Well, a lot of the time, I guess.”

  A waitress swung by our table and asked for our order. We both ordered lattes―for the art―but she hesitated, giving me a quizzical look. After a moment her brow cleared and she grinned. “Oh, hey. I’m voting for your dad.”

  “Oh! Thanks.” I gave her a bright, fake smile and she switched her gaze onto Julian with interest before departing. I looked at him, panicking.

  He understood immediately. “You want to leave?”

  “Please.”

  “Come on. We can sneak out the side exit. I know somewhere we can go.”

  Julian

  I took Romilly to Laurence’s place. He lived in a renovated warehouse in the East Quarter, so it was only a couple of minutes by car. Laurence’s place must have been worth a bit of money but I’d heard it was owned by his grandmother and she let him live there rent-free. We waited at the door, Romilly checking over her shoulder every few moments like she thought the paparazzi might be on our trail. Fortunately Laurence was home. He opened his eyes wide when he saw us but let us in without question.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Julian Capulet. And little Romilly Montague.” He looked pointedly at our hands clasped together between us.

  I couldn’t help laughing at his pseudo-scandalized amusement. “Leave it alone. We needed somewhere to go where the wait staff wouldn’t stare.”

  “Poor kids.” He was probably teasing but there was some genuine sympathy in there, too.

  “Any chance of a coffee?”

  “Sure, I’ll make you both one but then I need to get back to what I’m doing.”

  “Suits us. Maybe we could just chill here for a while? We won’t get in your way.” He grunted acquiescence as he led us to the kitchen. “Any progress on the research project?” I added.

  Laurence shot me a swift glance that said, shut the hell up in front of the newb. I shrugged at him. I knew we could trust Romilly. Her dad was opposed to the new coal mine anyway, as far as I knew.

  He sat us at the table while he made coffee but halfway through the grinding process I remembered how messy his living room normally was. Could I go and do a sneaky clean up before bringing Romilly in there? Most people could handle a bit of mess but maybe not the toxic waste dump of half-eaten pizzas and cereal bowls Laurence liked to live in. I excused myself and headed for the living room to reconnoiter the scope of the problem. Hmm. I’d seen worse but it was still pretty bad. I shoved the food scraps and rubbish into a couple of shopping bags hanging on the door handle and gathered up the used crockery into a stack. Then I shoved the lot into the coat closet. Lastly I shook the crumbs and dried up pepperoni slices off the throw rug lying on the sofa and kicked the bigger scraps underneath. Better.

  When I got back Romilly was looking at me strangely and her cheeks seemed slightly pink. Maybe this situation was more awkward for her than I thought it would be. Laurence gave us our coffees and disappeared into his study.

  “Are you close with Laurence Fry?” Romilly asked when we were settled on the sofa.

  “Yeah, I consider him a good friend.”

  “Does your family know that?”

  “Uh, not really.”

  “So you’re consorting with him and me against the wishes of your parents?”

  “Consorting?” I couldn’t help a chuckle. “I’m not sure I’d call it that.”

  “Are you trying to rebel, or something?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. With Laurence, I met him at art school. He got me involved with … his work.”

  “What does he do, specifically?”

  I tried to tell her without betraying Laurence’s trust.

  “He looks into environmental stuff. You know … reports generated by big companies, stuff like that. He tries to expose cover ups.”

  “I heard he’s a vigilante. Sabotages machinery out on construction sites and stuff like that.”

  Crap. She knew about that? How many more people knew? “What he does—the research he does—it’s important
,” I tried. “It matters.”

  She nodded. “He seems kind of worried about … this. You and me.”

  I loved the way that sounded: ‘you and me.’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He does?” I asked, getting lost again in how gorgeous she was.

  “Yeah. He gave me the third degree.”

  That got my attention. “Huh? What about?”

  “He’d heard I was dating someone else for a … very short while. Recently. Someone who turned out to be a bit of a jerk. I think Laurence is worried I’ll play you.”

  Well, that was embarrassing. I’d need to have a word to my friend about this interrogation.

  “You don’t strike me as a player,” I assured her.

  “I’m not. Not like … Paris Addison, for instance.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So you’ve heard about her, too?”

  “Just that you two were a bit of an item.”

  “According to my mom, yeah. But me? Nope. No way. Ohhhhh, no.”

  Romilly laughed. “You don’t fit the Capulet mold, Guy Who.”

  “Because I don’t want to date Plastic Paris?”

  “For lots of reasons. Take your brother, for example. He’s acting out—underage drinking, getting into fights and stuff. But he’s still playing out your dad’s politics. You know?” Her dark, intelligent eyes looked right into mine, searching for answers. “Your dad’s opposed to gay marriage, your brother’s homophobic. Makes sense.”

  My eyes dropped. “Yeah, you can’t choose your family, huh?”

  She took my hand. “You seem different.”

  “I’m not homophobic. I don’t think women should stay at home and look after the kids if they don’t want to. I think taxpayer funding should be provided for public schools. I don’t think it’s fair that jobs traditionally held by men pay more highly than those held by women. I don’t want to see the Balthasar Forest Reserve cleared for another Addison coal mine. Does that cover everything?”

  “You forgot to tell me your stance on refugees.”

  I laughed but Romilly kept her eyes on me. “How does all that go down with your parents?”

  “Not well,” I admitted. “I try not to talk about it with them too much. I’m just biding my time until college.”

  She had a funny look on her face. “You’ve got to stand up for what you believe in, though. Right?”

  “Uh, yeah. So long as you don’t have to spend Christmas with the people you’re standing up to.”

  A smile appeared on her lips. “Okay, I guess that complicates things. It must be weird living in that family situation. How did you even escape the Capulet genes to start with?”

  “It isn’t my whole family that’s like that,” I protested. “I’ve got an aunty who’s, like, a vagrant artist who lives in a beach shack with her lesbian lover and they worship the moon goddess. That’s pretty liberal, even by Montague standards.”

  “Huh. And I’ve got a grandma who runs her church’s baking collective and thinks gay people belong in jail or a psych ward … she’s pretty conservative even by Capulet standards.” Romilly grinned and drank her coffee. And licked the foam off her lip. Okay, move over coffee. My turn. I took the cup out of her hand.

  “You, Girl Who, are far too smart and sexy for your own good.”

  She went red again. “Even if I’m not Plastic Paris?”

  “Don’t even say her name. You’re the only girl I’m interested in.” She responded to my soft kiss, her eyelids fluttering closed. “And you’re the only girl I’ve been this interested in for … well, for a very long time.” I didn’t say ever because I didn’t want to freak her out. But I definitely thought it.

  “That other guy—the one Laurence was asking me about,” she breathed into my cheek, “whatever his name was. I didn’t like him really. Not like this.”

  I caught her face in my hands and we sank into a kiss. It got more heated as we pulled each other closer and kissed harder, tongues entwining as I moved my mouth against her impossibly soft lips. When we broke the kiss, Romilly’s cheeks were pink and her dark eyes shone. We both breathed heavily, gazing into one another’s eyes at close range, wanting more.

  I really did want more. Not just of the physical stuff―more of her. More of Romilly Montague in my heart and my life. I wanted to hear her talk about herself, describe her friends and what she was interested in. I wanted to take her out and explore the city with her. I wanted to paint her portrait. My head was spinning with the impact she had on me.

  Sometime … soon, I guess, I’d need to work out how I was going to tell Mom and Dad about this.

  Romilly

  Julian drove me almost all the way home, parking around the corner so no one would see us together.

  “Well, that was fun,” he said. “If a little weird.”

  I nodded. “Weirdest date ever. This whole thing we have is weird.”

  “Good weird, though.” He caught me in his blue-eyed gaze again. “The weirdest thing is how fast it’s happening and how right it feels, despite all the obstacles in our way.”

  I went hot and kind of melty inside. And even though I didn’t say anything, I was silently agreeing with every word he said. His eyes landed on the pendant hanging around my neck.

  “That’s pretty,” he remarked. “Are you into acting? Drama?”

  “Oh, uh …” I hesitated, not really wanting to tell the lame story connected with the necklace―the story Mom thought was so adorable. I tried to skim over it. “I saw it in a shop when I was just a kid. I didn’t know what it represented but I wanted it anyway. I called it the happy-sad faces and said I wanted it because that was exactly how I felt.”

  Julian smiled. “That’s gorgeous. But why are you happy-sad?”

  I shrugged. “I was a kid. I don’t know what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant,” he said. “All the best things in life hurt as well as making you feel good. Happy-sad.”

  He kissed me and I knew he was absolutely right. Even the sweetness of his kiss was touched with the sadness of knowing we were parting. The more we kissed, the harder it was to say goodbye. We’d kiss and I’d say something like, okay, I’m going now. And then I’d catch sight of his amazing eyes and I couldn’t help myself. I’d go in for another kiss. Or I’d actually make a move to get out of the car and he’d catch my hand and pull me back again while I giggled like a preteen. The sun dropped and streetlights blinked on as the goodbye-kiss minutes stretched into hours.

  “At this rate we’ll still be saying goodnight tomorrow morning,” he laughed, stroking my hair back from my face.

  That made me focus on my surroundings and realize the time. “Oh, crap! Dad’s gonna kill me.” I jumped out and leaned back in for the last kiss. Okay, the second last kiss. “See you soon!”

  I ran all the way home and scrambled through the front door. “Where have you been?” Dad demanded as soon as I got inside.

  “I’m so sorry!” I puffed. “I was with Benita and Merrick and time totally got away from us.”

  He went into mute thundercloud mode while Mom took up the rant duties. “Romilly Montague. You know the rules about getting in touch if you’re going to be late. We’ve been calling and messaging you since we got home from work and you haven’t even bothered to reply.”

  “Oh, god.” I checked my phone and flicked it back to sound-on. I’d had it on silent since I met Julian at Leopard Blue. There were loads of messages and some missed calls—mostly from Benita but also a few from Mom. “I had the sound down,” I moaned. “We were watching a movie … and …”

  “Rules are rules,” Dad said grimly. “No outings for the rest of the week.”

  I cursed myself inwardly. For the sake of a few extra kisses with Julian I’d just screwed up my chances of seeing him again this week. My phone buzzed in my hand and I glanced at it impatiently. Benita again. I caught the message preview and it contained the words ‘CALL ME … as soon as … worried.’ Her, too? Jeez, wasn’t a girl allowed a bit
of time to herself anymore?

  “Okay,” I said to my parents with a sigh. “Do you want help with dinner?”

  Mom’s face softened a tiny bit. “No, it’s all under control. Just don’t scare us like that, Romy. The further your father gets in politics, the more of a target you’ll become for weirdos. We don’t expect you to be a hermit―all we ask is that you let us know if you’re going to be late or get caught up somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I get it. I’ll go wash up.”

  I checked my messages from Benita on the way. They started out frantic and got worse from there. I sank onto my bed, reading them all with growing alarm. Finally I stopped and went into the call log so I could try to put her messages and calls in order.

  Romy, you around? Merrick and I are heading downtown. Want to meet up?

  Romy, M told me you’re on a date. OMG who is he? Meet afterwards for debrief? We’re at The Globe.

  Hey Romy. We’ve decided to leave. The vibe here is weird. It’s too hot inside The Globe and lots of jerks around, including that asshat Ty Capulet.

  Shit Romy. Shit shit shit. Merrick’s hurt. I’m on my way to hospital with him.

  Next there was a photo of what appeared to be Merrick’s face. My stomach rolled as I gazed at the misshapen bloody mess with swollen eyes and a smashed nose under an oxygen mask. His eyes were closed and in the background I could see the arm of a paramedic extended up to a mobile IV unit.

  The next message hit just as hard.

  It was Ty. He beat the hell out of Merrick out the front of The Globe. No one would help. I was so scared.

  Romy we’re at St Peter’s in emergency. Can you come?

  Merrick’s Mom and Dad have arrived now. My dad said he’s going to pick me up. The police want to talk to me.

  Romy, I need you. Please call.

  Next was a voicemail message. Benita spoke through sobs. “Romy, Merrick’s in intensive care. They’ve put him into a coma. I’m so … so scared.” She said something else I couldn’t make out and then a man’s voice could be heard in the background. “I’ve gotta go and give a statement about Ty Capulet. I’ll talk to you soon, Romilly.”

  Then the text messages resumed:

  I’m waiting at the police station. I’m scared.

  The policewoman took my statement. They won’t let me leave yet.

  They want me to do a line-up to ID Ty! His mom says he was with his brother all afternoon and it couldn’t have been him. The police think maybe I was mistaken and it wasn’t Ty. I can’t believe this.

  Oh god, Romy, that was horrible. All these thugs and Ty standing there looking like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I identified him but Mrs. Capulet’s still howling down the station.

  I just saw Ty’s brother arrive. I hope he tells the truth but he IS a Capulet I guess.

  Of course, Benita would have no idea about me and Julian yet. Merrick wouldn’t have told her who I was dating: he always let people tell their own news. Nausea rose again. Was Merrick okay? Would Julian tell the truth about his brother?

  Romy, they’ve let me go home. I don’t know what Ty’s brother said. Please CALL ME as soon as you get this message. I’m really worried about Merrick.

  I phoned and Benita answered with a sob. “Where the hell were you, Romy?” she demanded through her tears.

  “I’m sorry!” I wailed. “I switched the sound off and then I forgot about my phone altogether. How’s Merrick?”

  “He’s still unconscious. They want to keep him that way while they treat him and do some scans. They’re worried about—” another sob—“brain damage. He hit the ground hard when he fell.”

  “Oh, god.” I clutched my stomach to try to settle it. “What the hell happened?”

  “It was insane. We saw Ty in The Globe and decided to leave. He kept posturing at Merrick. We were standing outside trying to decide whether to take a cab or a bus and Ty just attacked Merrick from the back, screaming horrible things at him about being gay. Merrick fell down and then Ty was kicking him, in his face and head …” Benita broke down and I couldn’t speak either, tears dripping off my cheeks into my lap.

  “Should I go to the hospital?” I managed.

  “No, they won’t let you see him. They wouldn’t let me see him anymore as soon as his parents arrived.”

  “I don’t know what to do!” I said.

  “Could you come stay with me?” Benita asked in a small voice. “I need someone to talk to. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course,” I said instantly―and then remembered I was grounded. “Oh, crap. Uh. Let me check. I was late home and my parents banned me from going anywhere for the rest of the week, but maybe they’ll make an exception under the circumstances. I’ll call you back.”

  I raced back to where Mom was serving dinner. I could hear Dad on a call in the front room. I gave her a breathless explanation and she gasped in utter disgust at the behavior of Ty Capulet, saying she knew that family were a bunch of bigots but this was beyond anything. I threw myself on her mercy, begging for permission to stay with Benita.

  “Wait,” she said, frowning. “When did this all happen? I thought you were with Merrick and Benita this afternoon?”

  I froze. She waited. “Um, it happened after I left them …” I was digging myself in deeper every moment and my mom’s face indicated she didn’t believe a word I was saying. Dad finished his call and came in.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, recognizing the tense silence between us.

  Mom gave him a look that seemed to hold a lot of significance. “Alan, could you phone St Peter’s and see if they’ll tell you anything about the condition of Romilly’s friend Merrick? I’m calling Benita’s parents to get the full story.”

  Julian

  Mom sounded like a hissing viper when she was this mad, her S’s spat at me in a rapid succession of cold sibilance.

  “Julian Capulet. You will do as I say. He is your brother.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not saving his ass this time, Mom. He needs to wear this. He beat a guy into unconsciousness just because he’s gay. That’s a hate crime, for chrissake.”

  She abandoned hissy and went to shrieky. “How could you betray him like this? He’s your baby brother! And the young man he fought with was harassing him.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “Ty wouldn’t lie to me.”

  I watched Mom sadly. She was deluded about my brother. But no matter what she threatened me with, I sure wasn’t about to lie to the cops and say Ty was with me that afternoon. “There’s probably CCTV footage, Mom. He’s not going to get away with this.”

  “The police haven’t mentioned any CCTV and there’s only one girl who says it was Ty. And she happens to be a close friend of Alan Montague’s daughter. It’s probably a smear campaign against your dad.”

  My jaw dropped. So that was who Ty had beaten up? The same guy from Paris’s party―Romilly’s best friend? I felt sick. For a moment I wished Ty wasn’t my brother.

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  “He’s upset, obviously. Panicking. That’s why he needs his brother right now. Stand up for Ty, Jules. Please. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Mom.” I gazed at her evenly. “I wasn’t asking about Ty. I was asking if the guy he bashed was okay.”

  Mom looked like she was going to lose her shit right there in the police station waiting room. “Julian. This is not a joke. If you don’t do the right thing by your brother right now, he could lose all his opportunities for college, jobs and more.” A sob broke from her, which tugged at my heart.

  I didn’t even get a chance to say I hadn’t been joking and I really did want to know if Romilly’s friend was okay because at that moment the cop came back into the room and asked me to go with her. Mom gave me the ‘do as I say!’ face and I felt even sicker.

  The cop sat me down and pushed a glass of water toward me. She asked me a few questions … my name, date of birth, what I do. Then she remarked that I ha
d no history of being in trouble with the law. That was unsettling. I nodded, trying to work out what she was getting at.

  “How do you get along with Ty?” she asked unexpectedly.

  “Uh … we get along okay.”

  “Are you aware he claims he was with you this afternoon even though he’s been identified as the lone perpetrator of a bashing outside The Globe entertainment precinct?”

  An image of Mom’s face twisted in grief and fear for my idiot brother flashed into my mind. I didn’t speak. The cop watched me for a few moments with a somewhat blank expression, like she’d been well-trained in how to hide what she was thinking.

  “Julian, I’m going to level with you,” she said at last. “Your brother has been accused of a pretty horrific crime and if he’s convicted, he will probably serve time.” My jaw tightened. Maybe that would be good for Ty. It might teach him you can’t go around beating the crap out of someone just because you don’t like his sexual persuasion … or opinions … or face. “What’s more, with your dad being in such a public position and the election in a month or so, Ty’s actions could really damage the campaign.” She leaned a little closer as though this next bit was just between her and me. Yeah right, officer. “I don’t believe you and Ty were together. I think he bashed that young man who’s lying in intensive care at St Peter’s. Tell me, Julian, is your brother trying to create an alibi? Did your mother ask you to say Ty was with you?”

  This threw up a new question: who was going to get into more trouble if I told the truth? Ty? Or would my mom go down for trying to cover for him? As much as I disagreed with her methods, I didn’t want to throw Mom under a bus, as well as my brother. Either way, Dad’s campaign looked screwed.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask for a lawyer. Then I remembered Romilly’s remark: sometimes you’ve got to stand up for what you believe.

  The police officer watched me, waiting for a reply.

  Romilly

  They didn’t let me go stay the night with Benita. Dad and Mom were fuming that I’d lied about being with my friends and when I refused to tell them where I really was, they stepped the disciplinary volcano up a notch: they confiscated my phone.

  I went straight back to my room and got on my laptop. I checked out the news on social networks. Unbelievably, no one had caught the attack on phone camera, but it was still big news in our social circles and beyond. Benita tweeted that she’d witnessed a cold-blooded act of violence against an innocent person and wouldn’t stand for homophobia in her town. I was proud of her. Her words went a little viral, too. I retweeted to show my support … then that bimbo Paris Addison weighed in. She tweeted that people should check their facts before assuming the worst. She even replied to me directly, using the hashtags #TruthNotLies and #TakesTwoToTango. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I sent some angry replies before my dad suddenly appeared in my bedroom and removed my laptop. He told me to stay in my room to await their punishment plan.

  I moped around, swinging between desperate worry about Merrick, feeling like a heel for abandoning Benita in her hour of need, and wondering what the hell Julian would say when the police asked him whether he would vouch for his brother’s whereabouts. More selfish worries crept in, as well. How could Julian and I realistically be together after what had happened? His brother had bashed my best friend senseless and then his family had lied to protect Ty Capulet. Julian himself may have lied to save his brother’s ass. If his mother had succeeded in pressuring Julian into lying, then that was us, over, almost before we even began. And despite loathing the thought of him lying to protect that violent creep Ty, my heart felt like it was splitting in two when I contemplated not seeing Julian anymore. Stupid brain. Stupid heart. What was the point of worrying about any of this? It was pretty clear my parents were unlikely even to let me see my friends, let alone a guy, ever again.

  When it got to midnight I couldn’t stand it any longer. I marched into my parents’ room and glared at them sitting in bed together. Mom was frowning at her phone in her nightgown and Dad was on his laptop.

  “I can’t sleep until I know how Merrick is.”

  Mom glanced at Dad. “There’s no news yet, Romilly. The doctors have placed him in an induced coma while they do testing and treat his injuries.”

  “I spoke to the staff at St Peter’s,” Dad added. “They said they’ll let me know if there’s any change.”

  “And Benita? Is she okay?”

  “Her dad says she’s shaken up but she’ll be okay. I’ll let you talk to her tomorrow,” Mom said.

  That was something. “What’s happening with Ty?” I asked stiffly. In other words, what did Julian say to the police?

  “He’s been charged with assault and will stay in custody for the night. Benita identified him in a line-up―”

  “I know,” I interrupted, “but Mrs. Capulet said he wasn’t even at The Globe.”

  My father looked at me keenly. “That’s right. She said he was with his brother, Julian. The police are investigating the matter.”

  “Weren’t there cameras around?”

  “Yes, there’s some security camera footage. They’re examining it.”

  So that was it? No answers yet? My shoulders slumped and I wanted to cry.

  “Romy.” Mom extended her hand and I came closer. “Will you please tell us where you were tonight?”

  Should I just tell them the truth? Well, Dad, I was in a parked car getting hot and heavy with the son of your biggest political opponent. God, I couldn’t tell them that. And what if it turned out Julian did back up Ty’s story? Not only would I have to admit I’d been with Julian Capulet, but I’d have to admit I’d been with lying, selfish Julian Capulet who had zero integrity. My throat got so tight I wouldn’t have been able to speak if I’d wanted to.

  Mom sighed. “I hope you’ll change your mind by morning, Romilly. It’s impossible for us to trust you if you won’t even tell us where you were today.”