Rebel with a Cupcake

by Anna Mainwaring

  “Now, that’s better.” And it is. We get out our phones and swap numbers. “I’d love to stay but I have to be off. How strange to meet you here! I have a thing for nineties’ one-hit wonders. What brings you here?”

  I feel a sense of pride for Dad, though I don’t think that has ever happened before today. “I’m Steve Jones’s daughter.”

  Imogen claps her hands in glee. “Perfect. Of course you are.” She looks thoughtful. “Okay, Jess, I think it would be really cool if you wrote something for my blog. I emailed you, didn’t I? But you never got in contact.”

  Oh my days.

  “I’d love to …” I start with a rush of emotion. “But I’m just not sure what I’d have to say that would be of any interest.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve got to run. I need to write this up for a newspaper and get it out before anyone else does. But I’ll be in touch. Good to meet you, Jesobel Jones.” And with a hug, she’s off.

  I look in the mirror. Imogen wants to go shopping with me. Imogen is my new best friend. I’m so excited by this, I’ve completely forgotten about Matt. Or about going to the toilet. Getting those jeans up and down is an ordeal, especially with the long fake nails that Hannah has stuck on me, and it takes ages. The nails are a HUGE issue when … let’s say, you could easily remove/damage important parts of your anatomy if you’re not careful with them.

  All hot and bothered, I rush as quickly as the shoes will allow. They really are just a patriarchal instrument to stop women taking an active part in life. I peer through the crowd for Matt, but spot my dad instead. He’s surrounded by friends and fans, but I wave enthusiastically and give him a big thumbs-up when he sees me.

  That’s all good — my daughterly duty is done. But where is Matt?

  I see a tall figure leaning against one of the pillars in shadow. “Matt?”

  He steps forward. I sigh with disappointment. “Hey, Alex. Do you know where Matt is?”

  “I do. Can you walk in those shoes?”

  Vaguely annoyed by him changing the subject, I say, “Evidently. I was there. Now I’m here. I think you just saw me walk. Why?”

  Alex seems amused. “Nothing. It’s not your normal look, that’s all.”

  “A girl can have more than one look. A girl can express herself through clothes however she wants.”

  “Of course a girl can. I just thought that you would normally laugh at shoes like that and say that they are a patriarchal way to oppress women.”

  I look at him in surprise. Is he a mind reader? Instead, I just sniff. “I don’t take fashion advice from a Ron Weasley wannabe.” It’s a bit cruel but he just laughs. “Seriously, where’s Matt?”

  A shadow passes over his face. “He sent me to wait for you. He’s sorry but an amazing thing happened. He got talking to a promoter who’s interested in the band, and they’ve gone off to listen to the demo we did.”

  “Oh,” I say. The word oh can contain so much. Like, that’s great for him but what about me? The best night of my life has peaked too early.

  “I’ll give you a lift home if you like,” Alex offers. I had really been looking forward to the lift home. All warm and cozy in the Mini. Matt’s hand on the gear stick, inches from mine. I might have accidently brushed it while getting something from my bag. The chance of a goodnight kiss. All gone. Oh.

  “That would be great.” I look around. Dad’s busy, Matt’s gone, even Imogen’s just disappeared. There’s nothing here for me.

  I take the shoes off. “I’ve decided I don’t like this look anymore.”

  Alex grabs Mum’s heels from me. “I accept that you can express yourself however you wish but these are stupid shoes.”

  “I never want to see them again.” I sigh. With one expert throw, he chucks them in a nearby bin.

  “Alex! They cost £500!”

  “Waste of money. You could get a good guitar for that.”

  I scrabble through the bin. “You idiot, I’ve got to give them back.” Thank God, they’re just on the top so I don’t have to get my hands too far down in the rubbish. “It’s not funny.”

  Alex thinks otherwise. “It’s a bit funny. And you think they should be there, really.”

  “Maybe. I think they’re great. Unless you have to walk.” I’m suddenly very tired. All the days of anticipation, all the hours to get ready, all the emotions this evening. And here I am, removing a pair of shoes that I don’t even like from a bin.

  “Can you take me home?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Going home on my own is not how I imagined this night to end, I think sadly. But then I remember the party. I do have a second, final chance.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Invisible Rule #61:

  Only thin people can exercise. Which is ridiculous whichever way you look at it.

  To fill the void of not eating, and to distract myself from seeing if Matt texts at all, I play some poker with Gran. She says it keeps her mind sharp, and she beats me every time, so there’s nothing wrong with her mind. But normally she takes keen enjoyment from beating me, and this time her mind doesn’t seem to be with us.

  I’m waiting for her to have her turn and she’s just staring into space. “Gran?”

  She slowly moves her focus from wherever she was. “Ah, yes,” she mutters and promptly drops her cards. This is not the Gran I know and love. As I bend down to collect them all up, I notice that she’s drifted off. My phone rings and she doesn’t react. Normally, she makes some sarcastic comment about how my phone is permanently attached to my hand and that I’m a willing slave to technology, but this time … nothing. It’s Hannah, and I want to take the call but I feel a little guilty.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I say. Mental note to self: I need to do something here. But first — Hannah.

  It’s hard to know what she’s saying as she’s squealing like she just found a first edition of Sense and Sensibility in the charity shop for 50p. When I finally start to get some sense out of her, Hannah is babbling about a website that I have to go on. Phone in hand, I find the site she’s going on about.

  I’m at it again. For someone who has no interest in being famous for anything apart from beautiful macarons, I do seem to keep finding myself online.

  On my screen under the headline “Chip Off the Old Rock,” there’s a huge photo of me and Matt taken from the other night. It’s a blog about Manchester news and it’s full of shots from the gig. Including this one. As Hannah continues to communicate in a high-pitched tone that is only audible to dolphins, I ignore her and focus on the photo. It is, I have to say, a glorious shot. In black and white, just to be extra moody, it’s overexposed so that our faces are super white and every angle is emphasized. Matt’s cheekbones are to die for and me … well, I look okay. The mega hair and panda eyes don’t look ridiculous. They look … I look … good. It’s like someone’s taken my daydream of me and Matt hanging out in permanent bliss and turned it into reality. I’m almost winning at life again. Matt and me in public, close together, like a couple, for all the world to see.

  By this time, Hannah’s voice has almost dropped to a normal level and I can hear what she’s saying. “Zara will explode when she sees this.” I agree and quickly copy the photo to my Instagram feed. Take that, Zara.

  My stomach rumbles and I try to ignore the ache from the constant hunger that’s always with me. It gets me down, but moments like this make me think that it might be worth it.

  Hannah’s tinny voice has spoken while I was distracted. She repeats herself again. “Well, what are you going to do next?”

  “You mean, how I am going to get on the Internet again?”

  “Don’t be silly. How are you going to get closer to Matt? You have his number, don’t you?”

  I do, but I don’t like using it unless I have a purpose. “Well, Alex said that I should
go and watch the band rehearse, so maybe I’ll do that.”

  Hannah goes silent for a moment. “Wait, do you think that’s a very bad idea?” I ask.

  “No, I’m just wondering if we can use Alex at all. He’s gone a bit moody on me is all. He gets grumpy and stalks out if I ask him anything about Matt, so I don’t think he’s going to be any help. But, yeah, that sounds like your next move.”

  I’ve been planning it for days. But the thought of texting him makes me sick to my stomach. He might say no. Even worse, he might not reply. Being in limbo is better than being rejected, so it’s easier to do nothing. I also think lack of food might be at the heart of my inaction. Currently, just lying on my bed all evening seems to take up all my energy. Oh, yes, and then Cat drags me out for some workout from hell. But Hannah and I chat on for a bit and I promise that I will text Alex to make sure that it’s still okay to go, and then I can tell Matt that I’m going. I tap out a quick text to Alex, and shortly it’s decided that I’ll go to the next rehearsal in two days. That bit is easy. Then my fingers hover over my phone. What do I say to Matt? I can’t stop looking at the photo of the two of us. It would be a stretch to say that it’s a photo of two people who are madly in love. We’re looking at the camera and not at each other. But his arm is draped around me. We look like we fit together. And that’s the first time I’ve felt that.

  If I want anything to happen with Matt, I can drift around hoping that fate will just draw us together. Or I can do something. So, I text him.

  Nothing.

  Even more nothing.

  My phone buzzes; my heart races as I grab it up.

  Not Matt but Izzie. Have you seen Zara’s feed?

  Why do I get the feeling that I don’t want to see it? I scroll through pictures of perfect smiling girls and perfect food to find Zara’s account. It’s a bit of a strange one for Zara, whose account is normally nothing but highly filtered pictures of her wearing very small clothes and pouting like a fish.

  It’s an image of a pig wearing lipstick.

  I don’t get it. But then it hits me. That old saying — a pig that wears lipstick is still just a pig. That is, you can’t change someone’s true nature. My stomach lurches like I’m in a lift, dropping. She means me. I’m the pig.

  Zara–1, Jess–0.

  *

  In the morning, I feel a bit better until I remember about not eating and that I have a physics test in a few hours. But the one shiny thing that glimmers on the horizon is the rehearsal tomorrow night. That keeps me going through a long thirty-six hours of near starvation and manic exercising with my sister.

  Hannah won’t go with me as she’s got a thing about the band. She thinks Alex is a better singer than Matt and, though she doesn’t say so, clearly thinks Alex should be the lead. Izzie says loud music hurts her aura so she doesn’t want to go. That means that yours truly ends up standing outside a church hall on her own, feeling like the original Billy No-Mates. I think Izzie might have made the right decision cos currently my ears are feeling somewhat stressed and I’m standing outside in the graveyard. I think even the long-since-departed are probably hearing this. I’m not even sure I want to go in because a) I’m nervous and b) I don’t want to end up having to lie if they are absolutely terrible. The second option is even more terrifying when I consider that they are supposed to be playing at our Leavers’ Ball in a few weeks.

  “Coming in or not?” Alex is suddenly standing beside me.

  I jump like I’ve just had an electric shock. “Don’t do that! I thought I was alone. Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

  “I’m late.” I follow him in as he opens the huge wooden door for me.

  Suddenly, the vibe changes. It goes from full-on thrash metal (I do hope that’s not what they play for Leavers’) to just a guy and a guitar.

  Matt sits on the edge of the stage, his fingers picking out a melody on the strings. He’s in his own little world but there’s something magnetic about him. I know I’m obsessed with him but he just looks like he’s in the right place. He’s barely doing anything but it’s just so EXCITING!

  Then he starts to sing. It’s a bit croaky to start off with, even I will admit, but his voice has real power and a gorgeous rocky rasp that makes him sound like he smokes and gargles with whiskey. It’s an acoustic version but soon his voice is bouncing off every rafter in the building.

  “He’s good,” I whisper to Alex.

  “Yep, he’s certainly got it.”

  “What?” I say, not able to look away from Matt.

  “Star quality. There are better singers out there but he just looks …”

  “Like he belongs there,” I finish.

  Alex nods ruefully. I wonder about his sad face. An old memory surfaces through. About two years ago, I’d gone on holiday with Hannah and her family to their holiday home in Wales. We’d spent an evening on the beach, under the stars with the waves crashing in the dark, while Alex played his guitar next to a fire. Goosebumps suddenly appear on my arm and I shiver. Alex notices.

  “You’re cold? Do you want my jacket?”

  “No, I’m fine. I just remembered how good you are at singing. Remember that night on the beach in Wales?”

  “You remember?”

  “’Course. Well, I’d forgotten but it’s just come back.” I look at Matt and then at Alex. “You know, I’m not sure who I would say is the better singer.”

  Alex laughs. “That’s the thing. It’s not just about the voice. It’s also about the looks.”

  Awkward. Clearly I fancy Matt but I don’t want to be a cow. “You sing if you want. You’re great. It’s about the confidence, isn’t it, not the looks? I think Mick Jagger is hideous but I like watching him perform.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m hideous?”

  The smile suggests he’s teasing me, but still, I end up backtracking. “Of course not, I’m saying great singers in bands are about the voice and the stand. If you stand as if you’re rooted to the stage, like it’s your place, then that’s what matters. You can do that if you want to. It’s all in the head.”

  A burst of applause breaks out. I stop looking at Alex and realize that Matt is standing there; the set is over. He’s looking at me and Alex with a raised eyebrow. Immediately, I stand up and start to applaud enthusiastically to make up for my momentary distraction. Matt leaps down from the stage and is up with us in a few strides. As I admire how he does it, I can’t help but think that if I did that, I’d fall on my face somehow or break the floorboards when I jumped down, turning myself into a re-creation of Rumpelstiltskin.

  “Hey, Jess. How’s things?”

  “Great,” I say. “Fantastic set.”

  He glows in my praise. “Glad you liked it. You should bring your dad down one night.”

  “He’d just end up on stage with you and try to steal the limelight.”

  Matt leans in. “But that would be awesome. Alex, persuade her. Get her to bring Steve down.”

  Drily, Alex says, “I’ll leave the persuasion to you. But Jess was just telling me what a good singer I am.”

  Confusion clouds Matt’s lovely face. “You were talking about Alex during my set?”

  Alex might be smirking but I could kill him right now. The only heavy object on hand is a large bible, and that would be wrong on so many levels, so I just kick him. “I suddenly remembered hearing him sing, that’s all. But we both agreed that you look like you belong on stage.”

  Have I saved the moment? This is not going as planned at all.

  “Okay,” Matt says, “but who is the best singer between the two of us? Who’s better — me or Alex?”

  Ouch. Matt looks at me; Alex looks at me. I look at the floor. Come on, Jess. This is your moment. Forget about Alex, it’s Matt you want to impress.

  “On tonight’s performance, you edge it.”

  Alex�
�s face falls; Matt starts dancing around. “Burned, man. Ha, I’m the best.” Then he stops. “What do you mean, I edge it? That I’m only a bit better than him?”

  “I chose you. Enough,” I say. Time to change the subject. “Did you see that article about the gig that had a photo of us on it?”

  “Show me,” Matt says and so I get up my feed.

  “Sweet,” he says and takes his phone out. “Gotta put this out there.” As he does so, he drops it. Not just me who’s butterfingers, then. I pick it up and the photos are open. I can’t resist having a quick scroll through but then I see something that I really wish I hadn’t.

  I hand the phone back, suddenly sick to my core. “See you later.”

  Matt grabs my arm. “Don’t go. You’ve only just got here. Alex, tell her.”

  “Stay for a bit. You should hear us all play.”

  And so, I stay. But my heart’s not in it. All I can think of is what I saw and what I’m going to say to Cat.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  Invisible Rule #15:

  If a boy sleeps with a girl, he’s cool. If a girl sleeps with a boy, she’s a slut.

  Going to the rehearsal was supposed to be all about me and Matt. But like a gone-off strawberry in an otherwise perfect cheesecake, what I saw on Matt’s phone spoiled the whole beautiful time for me. Maybe I got it wrong. I just don’t think I did and now I don’t know what to do. I can’t concentrate at school. All I can think about is what I saw.

  As I picked up the phone, there was a photo of Matt, and Jack, and Jack’s ex. Jack and the ex weren’t kissing but they were hanging all over each other. I can’t even say it was an old photo because one thing I do know about Jack is his obsession with the latest fashion. That was a new shirt. He wore it to our house last week. There is no way on earth the photo is more than a few weeks old. So, at some point in the not too distant past, he was hanging out, up close and personal, with his ex. When he was supposed to be going out with Cat.