by Juno Dawson
‘I know!’
Sally tried to keep her tone even and non-judgemental. ‘And he shouldn’t be going through your stuff like that. Do you hack into his Facebook too?’
‘No! Well, maybe a couple of times … if he leaves himself logged in.’
Sally sighed. ‘Jen! That is so messed up!’
‘I know, but I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why he’s ignoring me.’
‘Because he’s a knoblin,’ Stan mumbled.
‘What?’ Jennie looked to him.
‘Because he’s annoying,’ Stan said, joining them on the bed. ‘Jennie, he’s making you über-miserable.’
Jennie scowled at him. ‘No, he isn’t!’ she said vehemently. ‘I love him.’ In that moment, she sounded young and Sally fought an urge to shake her friend by the shoulders.
But Sally held her tongue, the way she always did. ‘Jennie, you and Kyle fall out all the time. You always work it out in the end. It’ll be fine.’
Stan started to argue. ‘This is bullsh—’
‘Stan, you’re not helping.’ Sally’s voice was steady but firm. ‘But he shouldn’t be checking your Facebook. It’s a violation of privacy and it’s not cool.’
Her cool tone seemed to lure Jennie off the ceiling. ‘I know. I know. Thanks, Sal.’ Jennie flung her skinny arms around Sally and squeezed her tight. Too tight. The tattoo burned and Sally’s eyes bulged in pain.
‘Ow!’
Jennie let go. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She lied again, but too quickly. She felt like a little kid standing inside the pantry, icing all around her mouth.
‘What’s going on?’ Stan asked, scrutinising her.
‘Nothing,’ she repeated, before adding, ‘That time of the month.’
Stan dropped it at once, the way she suspected any guy would. ‘Oh. Right …’
She could have so easily told them, but she didn’t want to share. Molly Sue was hers.
Later that night, Sally couldn’t sleep. A mugginess had crept in, the first taste of spring with any luck. It was more than that though: the tattoo. It was sore, it was itchy and Sally couldn’t lie on her back. All evening she ping-ponged back and forth from feeling like the most rock-and-roll girl in all of Saxton Vale to I have made a terrible, terrible mistake. She shifted, trying to get comfortable. In the end she kicked back her duvet and just lay on top of the bed with the window open a crack.
The slide into sleep was so gradual she didn’t even realise she was asleep until she awoke with a start.
There was someone in her room.
She heard a voice. Or voices. She couldn’t tell which. Low, muttering voices.
Who is it? Where are they?
Her first instinct was to freeze, lie as still as she could and play dead; she held her breath.
Nothing.
Eyes open, but facing into her pillow, she could only see the corner of her rug. There could be someone standing at the foot of her bed. Worst-case scenarios arrived in her head. Has someone broken in? Burglars? Are Mum and Dad dead in the next room? Am I next?
Sally waited, still not exhaling. The room was silent. Her second thought was to get the hell out, to get her dad. She sat upright in bed, ready to grab anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon.
Her room was empty.
Sally swore there’d been voices.
You were dreaming, go back to sleep, she told herself.
She listened more closely.
There it was again. A low whispering so quiet that Sally could hardly distinguish the words. Someone giggled. This time, she definitely wasn’t imagining anything.
‘Sssssssss …’
She couldn’t make out words, it was little more than a hiss.
‘Aaaaaahhhh …’
It didn’t sound like her mum or dad, though. Not daring to hang her legs off the bed where they’d be exposed, she oh-so-slowly lowered her head off the edge of the bed. Her hair trailing onto the carpet as she hung upside-down, she peeked underneath. There was nothing, not even dust bunnies.
‘Sssssssaaaaaahhh …’ There it was again … in the distance, but somehow close by.
Confident she was alone, Sally swung her legs off the bed and walked to her window. She pulled the lacy curtain to one side and looked out across their immaculately mown back lawn. The cherub water feature babbled into the pond and the wind chime in the Randall’s garden clattered like cowbells, but she couldn’t see anyone talking.
She heaved up the sash window and stuck her head out into the night. The voice continued.
‘Eeeeeeeee …’
At least that’s what it sounded like. The voice was far away, maybe around the front of the house. It was hardly human at all. There was something almost snake-like about it. Sally listened for a minute longer and her neighbourhood fell silent again. Her owl was elsewhere tonight.
Maybe a big snake ate it.
Looking to her left, she saw Stan’s bedroom window on the side of their house. He too had his bedroom window open a crack, the ash black curtains billowing through the gap. Green light flickered from within – he must have fallen asleep in front of the TV or something. Suddenly it made sense. The voices must be from whatever he was watching. Probably Satanville.
Satisfied, she ducked back through the window and slid it down. The heat of her healing back reminded her that yesterday most definitely hadn’t been a dream.
Oh God, you’re stuck with it now, she told herself. This is going to look awesome when you’re forty.
Now wide awake, she crossed to her en-suite and flicked on the light above the mirror. As well as she could, she craned her neck around to see the reflection of her back.
Sally’s eyes were fuzzy from sleep. She blinked hard. For a second there, it had looked like Molly Sue had her eyes closed, but she now saw it was just a trick of the light. The tattoo’s eyes were wide open. Sally shook her head and sloped back to bed.
On the very brink of sleep, so close she wouldn’t remember when she awoke, Sally idly wondered if the airy hiss was sounding out the letters of her name.
Chapter Six
By the time Sally reached the benches outside the library the following morning, two things were clear. One was that spring had truly arrived. It was already pleasantly warm by eight thirty. Sally couldn’t bear to think what the temperature would be like by midday. The thought of her T-shirt riding up and revealing Molly Sue scared Sally so much that she’d opted to wear a tent of a shirt over it – one she normally wore only to sleep. She was going to boil to death. The tattoo was already itchy and she’d only just applied the ointment to it.
The second obvious thing was that Jennie and Kyle had made up and wanted the whole world to see. Jennie sat on his lap at the picnic table, stroking his hair. He ran his fingers up and down her bare arm like he was playing a harp. The mere thought of his hands on flesh made Sally’s own skin crawl but the really sad part was that Jennie looked delighted. For now, she was winning. Based on what she’d seen at school, Sally sometimes wondered if that’s all relationships were – one big competition to gain the upper hand.
‘Oh my God!’ Jennie beamed as she approached. ‘Sal, I’m hot just looking at you! Lose a layer!’
‘I’m fine,’ Sally lied. ‘It’s not that warm.’
Beside her, Stan had bust out shorts for the first time that year and a vintage Green Day T-shirt. ‘You do look pretty hot,’ he said before turning a distinctive radish shade in the cheeks. Kyle laughed like Nelson from The Simpsons. ‘Not like that,’ Stan quickly amended.
‘Slick, dude.’ Kyle said. ‘Slick.’
Stan gave him a look of barely concealed hatred. Stan wasn’t subtle at the best of times and Sally saw Jennie tense ever so slightly.
‘Hey.’ It was Annabel Sumpter, one of their B-friends. She was OK, but like really intensely Christian, which Sally found off-putting. She’d once made a big speech about ‘Muslim Hell’ which hadn’t sat well with Sally at all. ‘Given that this co
uld be the entire British summer in one day, we might go for a picnic up at the lake right after sixth period, if you fancy it? Ollie says he’ll drive. He’s got the people carrier.’
‘Ooh, that sounds like fun!’ Jennie clapped.
‘I can’t,’ said Sally, although she knew her parents didn’t like her going up to the lake, anyway (the ‘wild parties’, the ‘drinking’, the ‘wrong crowd’). ‘It’s the first Little Shop rehearsal.’
‘Oh, bummer.’ Stan looked genuinely disappointed.
‘You should go anyway,’ Sally told him.
‘Well,’ Stan said, ‘Jen and I said we might come and offer our services to the production team …’
‘Yeah. Kyle’s in the show band, anyway, so it could be fun,’ Jennie added.
‘You guys are the best.’ Sally feigned excitement. She was already nervous about rehearsal – and now she’d have a keen-eyed audience.
The rest of the day was as average a school day as you could imagine. The highlights, if they could be considered such, were the ice lollies they found to serve in the canteen, a glimpse of Mr Rudd, the gorgeous PE teacher, in his gym shorts, and Stan continuing his Satanville fanfic in French – even if his shipping of Taryn and Angela was getting a little X-rated.
The day passed without troubling Sally too much mentally, even if her back was on fire. School never felt especially nourishing – more like brain chewing gum. The work was just too easy for her, but she certainly wasn’t going to draw attention to herself by announcing her brilliance from the rooftops. What was the point? She couldn’t do any better than the A-grades she was already getting. The last thing she needed was the likes of Melody calling her ‘swot’ and ‘nerd’ and ‘teacher’s pet’. Keeping her head down and playing the game had worked out well enough so far and she intended to keep it that way.
Of course, now she had to stick her head way above the parapet.
Sally’s palms were damp as she climbed the endless stairs to the top corridor, which led to the main hall, the venue for the first rehearsal. There was a giggly buzz as the cast assembled for the first time. Naturally, Melody was at the epicentre of the attention with Eleanor and Keira like bookends beside her. Sally noted that Melody had adopted her leading man, Joshua, as one of the gang. Two-faced bitch, thought Sally. She’d heard Melody calling him ‘gay boy’ and ‘faggot’ on numerous occasions. With utter horror, she wondered if she might get the same treatment until Melody threw her enough side-eye to cause her to stumble right into Stan’s arms.
‘You drunk, Feather?’ he chuckled.
‘Melody Vine death stare,’ she whispered. ‘DON’T look!’
‘Oh, wow. She finally developed telekinesis. Bummer.’
Sally turned to Stan, gripping both his arms. ‘Stan, can we just go? I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘Of course you can. You’ll be dope.’
She laughed despite herself. ‘Dope?’
‘Yeah. What? I’m street. Just, y’know, sing.’
‘Like it’s that easy.’
Stan shrugged. ‘Why isn’t it? You’re the best singer in our year.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Don’t forget I can hear you across the back garden. I leave my window open because you’re better than whatever’s on the radio.’
Sally considered him with a tilt of her head. ‘You listen to me sing?’
He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in his feet. ‘Yeah, sometimes. You’re pretty loud, you know. But good. That’s how I know you can do this. Just look for your inner lion or something.’
Or something. Sally remembered the powerful creature at the base of her back and tapped into the strength in Molly Sue’s eyes. What did Rosita say? Her own secret strength. She could do this. And she would.
Mr Roberts entered the hall, balancing a stack of photocopied scripts and song-sheets in one arm and a coffee in his spare hand. Immaculate as ever, today he wore a matching tangerine shirt and tie combo. He’d barely had a chance to set his coffee down atop the piano before Melody advanced on him, Eleanor and Keira still at her side.
‘Mr Roberts,’ Melody said sweetly. She brushed her hair over her shoulder as if she were offering her bare neck to a vampire.
Barking up the wrong tree there, thought Sally.
‘We had an idea we wanted to talk to you about.’
Roberts sighed. ‘Can it wait, Melody? We need to get started.’
‘It’ll only take a minute.’ She smiled. ‘We just thought it’d make much more sense if Eleanor was Chiffon instead of Sally. That way we could rehearse more because we always see each other outside of school.’
Sally looked to her feet. The conversation wasn’t quiet and Melody knew Sally was in earshot. Luckily, the teacher didn’t look thrilled at having his directorial choices questioned. ‘No, Melody, absolutely not. I’m not changing the cast now.’ He looked worriedly over at Sally but she pretended she hadn’t heard.
Suddenly a new voice rang around the room. It boomed in Sally’s ears. A strong, American voice with a distinctive southern twang. ‘WHAT A GODDAMN BITCH!’
Sally hid a giggle behind her hand and turned around looking for the source, but only saw a last few stragglers arriving in the hall. Everyone else was going about their business. That was weird.
‘Oh, darlin’,’ said the voice, as clear as day. ‘Don’t worry, there’s only you that can hear me. It’s me, Molly Sue.’
Chapter Seven
‘Can you hear that?’ Sally grabbed Stan, pulling him away from his conversation with some B-friends.
‘What?’
‘That girl?’ Sally once more scanned the hall.
The American spoke again. She was so loud, she must be close by. ‘Girl, when you’re done whippin’ your head around, we should probably talk alone.’
Stan frowned. ‘Sally, I can’t hear anything. Are you OK?’
Sally felt the colour purge out of her face. Her legs turned to spaghetti and she realised too late she was going to fall. She clung to Stan.
‘Sally!’
That got Mr Robert’s attention. ‘Sally? What’s wrong?’
‘God, what a drama queen.’ Melody rolled her eyes.
The American seemed to agree. ‘Five Gs, baby. Good God, Girl, Get A Grip.’
‘Sally?’ Jennie, who’d been with Kyle, came to her side.
‘I’m fine,’ Sally blurted out. ‘I … I just need the bathroom.’
‘Oh, that’s nice,’ Melody sniggered.
‘Didn’t her mama learn her no manners?’ the voice said.
The voice only I can hear, thought Sally.
‘You want me to come with you?’ Jennie asked, clearly concerned.
‘No! No. I’m fine. I promise.’ Sally just had to get out of the room. If her head was going to explode – and it felt like it might – she didn’t want anyone to see. Trying as hard as she could to walk in a straight line, no small feat with the ground spinning, Sally made it to the exit and into the corridor. Steadying herself against the wall, she felt her way to the disabled toilet, knowing no one would disturb her in there.
She locked the door behind herself and collapsed onto the toilet, gripping the handrail. Bleach and illicit cigarette smoke assaulted her nostrils.
This isn’t happening. This SERIOUSLY isn’t happening.
‘It surely is, darlin’,’ the voice replied. ‘Get used to it.’
Sally jammed her hands over her ears. ‘Go away!’ she hissed, worried someone would hear her.
‘Now where amma gonna go?’
This can’t be real. I’m cracking up. Oh God, I’ve gone mad like Uncle John.
‘Sugar pie, we need to get past this. I know it’s a shock and all, but the quicker y’all adjust, the better it’ll be for ya. It’s gon’ be fine and dandy, just you wait.’
Sally stood and faced the mirror. Scared to look but unable to not, Sally lifted the baggy shirt and vest underneath. Turning around, she saw Molly Sue, still pee
ring over her shoulder.
And then Molly Sue turned.
The tattoo moved, fully animated, turning to face her.
‘No!’ Sally cried aloud.
Molly Sue’s ruby lips moved. ‘I’m gon’ square with ya. I know this must be a trip. But ya wanna try being a tattoo sometime! How’d ya think I feel?’
Sally dropped her shirt and stumbled backwards, colliding with the sanitary bin. ‘What …? I don’t understand … am I going mad?’
‘No, ma’am. I am one hundred per cent the real deal. I sure am sorry I didn’t say somethin’ last night. It takes a few shakes to sink in, y’know? I wasn’t gon’ say anything ’til we were alone, but that Melody Vine sure is a piece o’ work, ain’t she?’
Sally clutched her head, squeezing her skull as hard as she could. She tasted tears running into her mouth. ‘Please, stop …’
‘Now lookee here. It’s gonna be fine, sugar.’ The voice changed – cooler and more authoritative. ‘All you need to do is get yo’ pretty little ass back into that hall before someone comes a-lookin’ for ya. Think ya can do that?’
‘No!’ Sally slid down the wall. The floor was tacky and strewn with stray white squares of toilet paper.
‘Aw, c’mon! This ain’t such a bad thing. Look! I’ll shut ma trap til ya get home. How ’bout that? You won’t even know I’m here. And you don’t have ta worry about talkin’ to me – I can hear ya thoughts loud ’n’ clear. Whatcha say, darlin’? Think ya can keep it together for a bitty rehearsal?’ Molly Sue purred in her ear, her voice like Texan silk.
Sally nodded, although tears still ran down her face.
There’s a talking tattoo on my back. NO. I’m cracking up.
Hearing voices: never a good sign.
‘C’mon,’ Molly Sue said. ‘You got this. Get up. Get up an’ knock ’em dead.’
Sally hauled herself to her feet. The reflection in the mirror wasn’t pretty – she looked like a wreck: her eyes, nose and lips soggy.
‘Atta girl. Splash some water up on your face.’
Sally did as she was told and looked fractionally better.
‘There. Now let’s go hear this angel voice I been hearing all about.’
