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Zayan shrugs bashfully, and Ben elbows his side mockingly. I watch the interaction carefully, confused.
When did they become such good friends?
‘I take it we all saw the tweets about the LSDCATS?’ Ben asks round a mouthful of pizza.
‘You mean the tweets where everyone was calling them saints and us evil villains?’ Anushka asks, neatly taking a bite out of her gulab jamun.
Zayan rolls his eyes, leaning back on his elbows, his body stretched out. ‘I saw those. It was infuriating. We’ve got to shift the narrative.’
‘That’s actually why I wanted us to come here today,’ I chime in. ‘Other than verbally ripping the LSDCATS apart, I wanted to know if you guys had any ideas for how we could challenge them.’
The Tragedies contemplate my question quietly, taking their time to offer something that’s worthwhile.
Minutes later, Ben has a light-bulb moment. ‘I’ve got it.’
‘Finally!’ Zayan replies, and Ben kicks his outstretched legs with his metal-toed boots.
Zayan hisses in pain, rubbing his leg. ‘Violent much?’
‘Annoying much?’ Ben snarks back, a wide grin on his face.
‘I say kick him again,’ David offers, and Zayan chucks a crumpled napkin at him – which he narrowly dodges.
Again, I watch them interact, and my heart twists uncomfortably. I thought Zayan said he wasn’t friends with The Tragedies. This doesn’t look like he’s not friends with them. What’s his angle here?
‘What’s your idea, Ben?’ Nur asks, refocusing the conversation.
‘We need to shift the narrative, right? Most of the interest surrounding our play comes from two things: when we called out the LSDCATS, and Farah and Zayan’s relationship. We need to really capitalize on Farah and Zayan. We should have TikTok Lives every rehearsal. We can show new things to the public. Behind-the-scenes stuff. Costume design. How the sets are made. The tech behind a major play. And while we’re doing that, we’ll have Farah and Zayan conveniently show up at some point. That way, people will remember that if they come and watch our play, they’ll get to see Farah and Zayan – their favourite power couple.’
‘Wow,’ Zayan says after a beat. ‘That’s actually a good idea.’
‘Your faith in me is great,’ Ben teases, before taking a gulab jamun for himself.
‘Zayan’s right –’ I begin, before he cuts me off with an exaggerated gasp. I ignore him and continue. ‘That is a really good idea.’ And to make sure I’m including everyone in this choice, I ask for their opinions. ‘How do the rest of you feel about it? I want us all to agree before we go forward and take any action.’
‘I think it’s brilliant,’ Nur adds. ‘I can’t wait to show off my costume designs.’
‘Yeah, and I think it’ll drum up way more support for both of you as well,’ David agrees. ‘This way, we can engage with our audience, get more public attention and eclipse the LSDCATS without stooping to their level. It’s brilliant.’
Anushka, ever practical, sees a possible complication. ‘It does mean more acting, though. From both of you. You’ll need to look like you’re in love with one another all the time. Can you do that?’
I meet Zayan’s eyes, and he’s got a bright glint in the brown of his irises. I think of how warm I felt sitting beside him in the escape room, of how I’m still attracted to him. Physically, at least. Being on TikTok Lives will mean being around Zayan for longer; it will mean enduring his presence and reminding myself on repeat that this can go nowhere.
The words to refuse are on the tip of my tongue, self-preservation kicking in, but the challenge of it all holds me back. I can’t be the one to concede, to let my attraction to him get the better of me. It’ll be exactly what he expected.
‘You think you can handle it, Gumdrop?’ Zayan asks, raising a brow.
I scoff, rolling my shoulders back. ‘I can handle it.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Even after a whole day of hanging out with The Tragedies, working out the kinks of the TikTok Lives, all I can think about is my LSDCATS audition.
I try to push the LSDCATS out of my mind as much as possible, but they keep rearing up like an unwanted pimple. Now our rivalry with them is growing, becoming so much bigger than I’d like, and for some reason this sends me right back there.
I replay it in my mind like clockwork. I walk on stage, announce myself, give my profile, say my lines, get interrupted, have my dreams shattered. The more I think about it, the louder Henry’s voice echoes in my head.
More classically British.
