by Lucy Connell
They would think I’m as big a loser as my sister.
‘Did you see Chase is working in Manchester today?’ I say to Sophie, keen to change the subject. ‘He was meant to be taking time off this week, but he is so dedicated.’
I swirl the tip of my finger gently over my current phone background: a black-and-white picture of him laughing, with his dimples very pronounced and all these cute crinkles round his eyes.
I sigh dreamily. ‘He’s just perfect.’
‘He really is,’ Sophie says enthusiastically, as Layla nods in agreement. ‘If only we knew him! Can you imagine meeting Chase? Like, face-to-face?’
She squeals loudly at the thought of it, causing Mrs Smithson, our form teacher, who has just sauntered into the room, to jump and splash her coffee all over the ˝floor. ‘I think I would pass out on the spot!’
Which brings me to the teeny, tiny snag in my otherwise perfect relationship with Chase Hunter …
I’ve never actually met him.
And the reason I’ve never met him is because he just so happens to be the lead singer in the globally famous band Chasing Chords.
But that doesn’t mean we’re not soulmates.
I know it sounds mad but I’ve been loyally supporting Chase since his band first uploaded one of their songs on to YouTube, which went viral in a matter of days and landed them a big record deal. I was the first one in our entire school to stumble across the video online of the band playing a song that Chase had written, in what I now know to be his mum’s dusty old garage. I lay on my bed and played it over and over on repeat, until Nina knocked on my door and went, ‘Can’t you put some headphones on?’ in an unnecessarily narky tone.
I didn’t care though because I knew then that I had stumbled upon something really special. I showed the video to everyone the next day at school, and by then the band’s YouTube hits had skyrocketed. I followed them on every possible social media platform and registered for their newsletters, so that I could stay on top of all their updates, like when they signed the record deal. I couldn’t stop listening to their latest song until they uploaded the next one, and then I couldn’t stop listening to that one either. I have always been into music– Nina and I used to pretend we were pop stars all the time when we were little– but no songs have ever had the effect on me that Chase’s songs do.
Layla and Sophie love Chasing Chords, but they don’t compete with my appreciation of Chase. They don’t really get him. Which is why I write the posts for the blog we created together, the one dedicated to our amazing fan fiction about the band. When I first suggested we set it up, Layla was really keen, but she never actually contributes anything. She just lies on her bed Snapchatting, while I sit at my laptop and work hard writing the stories, with occasional helpful comments from Sophie (although I have to put my foot down when Sophie suggests stupid plotlines like Chase and Miles, the band’s drummer, going on a space adventure with NASA).
It’s not like I always get As on my English papers or anything, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell anyone in case they thought I was a big nerd, but writing fan fiction about Chasing Chords is one of my favourite things to do. Through my stories, I get totally lost in the band’s world and I feel as if I know them better than they know themselves. I get loads of comments on my stories from fellow Chasing Chords fans begging me for the next instalment and I always secretly hope that the band might actually log on every now and then and read the stories, or even comment under another name.
Once the band replied to a tweet I sent them about how much I loved their latest single:
Chasing Chords @realchasingchords
@npalmer Thnx! Without fans like you, we’d be lost xox
I took a screenshot of it, which I printed out in a blown-up size, and then I bought a really expensive frame, and set the picture up on my dressing table next to my framed picture of Chase and my mirror, so I can read it every morning while I get ready.
I just have to meet Chase, and then everything else will fall into place. And ever since this morning, when the band announced they would be playing a surprise gig in London on Saturday, with tickets going on sale this week, I’d been coming up with a brilliant plan to make that happen.
‘I have to tell you both about this new app,’ I say, slightly distracted by Mrs Smithson, who was attempting – and failing – to mop up the spilt coffee with a piece of paper in absence of a tissue.
‘What is it?’
‘It gives me priority when buying any gig tickets in London,’ I explain eagerly, clicking on the app to show them. ‘We’ll get first dibs as soon as the tickets for the secret Chasing Chords concert go on sale!’
‘Amazing!’ Sophie squeals, just as Mrs Smithson raises her mug to her lips, making her jump again and spill what’s left in the mug down her shirt. ‘Is it expensive? Getting this priority thing?’
‘Who cares?’ I shrug. ‘It’s Chasing Chords. We HAVE to get tickets and this is our best chance.’
‘Will your mum mind?’
‘Sophie, you’ve met my mum.’ I sigh, sharing a knowing look with Layla. ‘It’s not like she’d understand anything about apps. She can barely work her mobile and it’s ancient. It doesn’t even have a camera.’
‘What?’ Sophie replies, stunned. ‘Do phones like that actually exist?’
‘Trust me, they do.’
I had tried to update my mum’s phone and I’d even got so far as to take her into a mobile phone shop in town, but that ended up being a total disaster. She completely embarrassed me in front of the really cute shop assistant by asking the WORST questions, like, ‘Why are young people so obsessed with your own faces? I’ll never understand this selfie malarkey you go on about, Nancy. Although, I do have to say, Nancy, you have a very beautiful face. Like mother, like daughter, eh?’
That wasn’t even her worst joke, and every time she made one she cackled really loudly afterwards when it was clear that I wasn’t finding any of them very funny at all. Then she insisted on making the cute shop assistant guide her round all the phones on display so that she could ‘gather all the facts’, before declaring to the entire store that she couldn’t POSSIBLY discard the phone that has loyally stuck with her through thick and thin for the past four years, and she wouldn’t be purchasing anything today, but did the cute shop assistant want to note down his number for her beautiful daughter, standing right there next to her.
It was MORTIFYING. I literally had to crawl out of the shop and couldn’t speak to her for the rest of the afternoon, making a promise to myself that I would never again attempt to lure my mum into any kind of modern technology.
Just thinking about the phone-shop incident was actually making my cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, even though it was months ago.
‘What is your sister doing?’ Layla suddenly says, looking towards the front of the classroom curiously.
I hadn’t even noticed Nina come in the room, but she must have been in there for some time because her notepads and pencil case were open on her desk, as though she’d been working.
I watch as Nina, with her clunky purple headphones round her neck like always, gets up from her desk and holds out a pack of tissues to Mrs Smithson, who is now standing looking in despair at the coffee stain on her shirt. She takes one gratefully before Nina quickly returns to the safety of her desk. But, of course, one of Nina’s shoelaces has come undone and she trips, stumbling forward and quickly steadying herself on Timothy’s shoulder as she passes his desk.
‘Sorry!’ she mumbles, as he jolts his head up in surprise.
Layla sniggers next to me.
Oh, Nina, I think, staring at her, you can’t even walk from the front of the class to your seat without somehow messing it up. Why do you have to be so embarrassing?
I don’t think anyone noticed except me and Layla, and Nina was only at the front of the class for a matter of seconds, but still I notice the familiar crimson blush appearing on my sister’s cheeks as she ducks her head down to her n
otebook, pulling her headphones back into place over her ears.
‘What is with her?’ Layla asks, shaking her head. ‘She is so clumsy. I swear I saw her trip in the canteen yesterday. It’s like she can’t handle her own feet!’
‘You two are so different, Nancy,’ Sophie chimes in.
‘Thank goodness,’ I quip, laughing nervously.
‘It’s really weird. Apart from your looks –’ Layla begins, leaning back in her chair, as the bell for morning registration trills loudly through the room – ‘I’d never guess you were twins.’
THE BEGINNING
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First published 2019
Text copyright © Lucy and Lydia Connell, 2019
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ISBN: 978-0-241-34030-1
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