by Melody James
Ben grabs a scarf from the floor and, wrapping it round his head, crosses his eyes. He looks like a drunk granny. Treacle’s shaking beside me. I daren’t look at her in case I explode with laughter.
Savannah’s still lecturing. ‘But don’t stop at the hemline, check the shoes. They’ll give you another clue about whether the designer’s going for glamour, grunge or a mash-up style.’
As she reaches us, Ben sticks his nose in the air and flutters his eyelashes. He doesn’t notice Savannah halt and crashes into her.
She spins like a surprised cat. ‘What’s going on?’
Ben staggers backwards and falls onto a pile of books.
I leap forward. ‘Ben!’
He’s not moving.
‘Are you OK?’
With a snort, he rolls onto the floor and hoots, helpless with laughter. ‘Fashion shows are fun!’ he gasps, clutching his sides.
Treacle splutters and collapses, giggling uncontrollably.
I stare at Savannah. Confusion flashes in her eyes as she looks from Treacle to Ben.
‘I’m sorry.’ Guilt floods me. Savannah takes fashion very seriously. It’s not fair to make fun of it.
Her face suddenly creases.
‘Savannah?’ I prepare to hug her. But she’s laughing!
Shuddering, she plumps down beside Treacle and flops back onto the floor. I press my hands over my mouth as giggles bubble up.
Mum appears in the doorway. ‘What on earth is going on?’
The music is still shaking the house. Treacle, Savannah and Ben are rolling on the floor, roaring.
‘Sorry, Mum.’ I wipe the tears from my eyes as Mum flicks off the music. ‘We were practising for a fashion show.’
Mum gazes round the room. ‘It looks more like a battlefield.’
The crushed laundry basket rolls over a book and bumps to a halt against a crumpled towel.
Ben sits up, hiccuping. ‘It’s my fault, Mum,’ he confesses. ‘I was pretending to be Savannah.’
Savannah lifts her head, her cheeks wet from laughter. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mrs S, but I think Ben wants to be Britain’s Next Supermodel.’
Mum leans down and ruffles Ben’s hair. ‘Britain’s Next Supernoodle more like.’
Midday sunshine lights up webzine HQ. This week’s webzine went live this morning and Barbara and Cindy are crouched over a PC, scrolling through the articles while watching #GreenParkEzine tweets flash up on Tweetdeck.
Everyone else is outside enjoying the sun. Cindy and Barbara have the HQ to themselves. I’ve popped in to ask Cindy a question. But Barbara gets one in first.
‘What’s your star sign, Gem?’ She looks up from the screen.
‘Libra.’ I lean over the monitor and check the screen. ‘Why?’
‘I was just reading the horoscopes.’ Barbara points at the screen. ‘Did you know Jessica Jupiter’s got her own hashtag?’
‘Really?’ A smile bubbles up inside me.
Cindy flashes me a warning look. Does she think I’m going to betray my secret identity? No way! I don’t want to be remembered as Jessica Jupiter. Still, it’s pretty cool having my own hashtag.
Cindy taps the side of the monitor, making her bracelet jangle. ‘How’s that serious article coming along, Gemma?’
Barbara jerks up her head. ‘Are you writing something for the webzine, Gemma?’ She smiles at me encouragingly.
‘I haven’t started it yet,’ I confess. I haven’t found my killer subject. I meet Cindy’s icy stare. I could write a piece on the world’s coldest places. I could slide Cindy’s heart between Mount Everest and the Arctic.
‘Well, good luck with it,’ Barbara gushes. ‘You deserve to have something published. You’ve worked so hard on the webzine.’
You have no idea, I think bitterly.
‘I’ve gotta go.’ I pick up my bag. ‘I’m meeting my friends for lunch.’
‘Why are you here anyway?’ Cindy asks.
‘I was looking for you,’ I tell her. ‘I wanted to know what time to meet you tomorrow.’
‘For the fashion show?’ Cindy tucks her hair behind her ear. ‘Mr Harris wants to miss as much rush-hour traffic as he can, so be at school for seven am.’
Seven? That’ll mean getting up at five-thirty so there’s time to put on some make-up and get my hair under control!
I give Cindy a pretend smile. ‘Great.’ I unzip my bag and slide out a dog-eared old book. Syncing diaries with Cindy isn’t the only reason I’m here. ‘Can you give this to Will, please?’ I hold the book out to Barbara.
She takes it, looking puzzled. ‘Wuthering Heights?’ It was the first book I grabbed from the living-room bookcase. ‘Did Will lend you this?’
I shake my head. ‘No. It’s an experiment,’ I lie. ‘For social studies.’
‘What kind of experiment makes you give books to Will?’ Cindy leans forward.
‘I’m doing research on random acts of kindness,’ I tell her.
‘Shall I tell him it was from you?’ Barbara asks.
Cindy grabs the book from Barbara’s hand. ‘That wouldn’t be very random,’ she says. ‘Besides, he’s so arrogant he’ll just think Gemma’s got a crush on him.’ She smiles at me coldly. ‘I’ll give it to him. I’ll tell him it’s an early birthday present. Is that random enough for your experiment?’
‘Whatever.’ I reach for the door. I don’t really care who gives Will the book, just so long as it proves Jessica right. ‘Thanks, Cindy,’ I call over my shoulder.
I head for the field. On a hot July day, the only place to eat lunch is beneath the horse-chestnut trees at the end of the field.
Savannah and Marcus are lying in the grass, flicking crisps at each other. Sally and Ryan are sitting up with open lunch boxes, gorging on sandwiches. Treacle is leaning against the gnarled trunk of a tree, sucking on the straw in her juice carton.
I flump onto the grass beside her and pull my packed lunch from my bag. The shade feels good. It’s a long walk across the field. I de-lid my lunch box and start nibbling on a sandwich. ‘Where’s Jeff?’ I ask with my mouth full.
Treacle points to the distant football pitch. ‘He’s got practice.’
I don’t envy him running about in the sunshine.
Chelsea wanders past, clutching Josh’s hand. Chelsea and Josh are in our class. They’ve been dating for months; Chelsea acts like she deserves an award for staying faithful. We think Josh deserves an award for staying sane. She treats him like a pet. She’s always grooming him and petting him and giving him orders. He’s trotting along beside her now, his fingers crushed white in Chelsea’s grip.
Treacle leans close to my ear. ‘One day she’ll let go and he’ll make a run for it,’ she whispers.
I cover a giggle with my hand.
‘Is something funny?’ Chelsea gives me a dangerous stare.
I smile sweetly. ‘No.’ I’m not picking fights. Chelsea’s been a hair-puller since Year Three.
‘Hey, Ryan.’ Sally nudges Ryan as Chelsea and Josh wander away. Sally’s looking extra pretty today. And she’s wearing a new shade of lipgloss. ‘Do you want a bite of my sandwich?’
There’s a flirty tone in her voice. You’d have to be a Year Nine boy not to spot it.
‘No thanks,’ Ryan grunts. ‘I don’t like tuna.’ He glances at her sandwich. ‘Besides, you’ve got lipgloss on the bread.’
‘Have a bite, Ryan.’ Savannah screws up her crisp packet. ‘It’s nice to share.’ She leans down and kisses Marcus, her hair flopping over his cheek. ‘And lipgloss tastes nice, doesn’t it, Marcus?’
Marcus folds his hands behind his head and smiles. ‘Yep.’
Savannah sits up and shakes crisps from her collar. ‘Has anyone read Jessica’s horoscopes yet?’ She slides her smartphone from her pocket and starts jabbing the screen.
Treacle nudges me and I grin. I told her at break that Jessica’s hoping to make another love match this week.
I take a bite from my sandwich as Savannah
reads her horoscope out loud. ‘Pisces. You lucky little fish-face. This week will bring sunshine and love. Keep your sunblock with you at all times, but don’t forget your chapstick. Even in the height of summer, kissing can dry out your lips.’ She holds her phone out for Sally to see. ‘Jessica can even predict the weather. And she’s right about the chapstick. But I’m not sure why she warns me to watch out for flying fruit.’ She hands Sally her phone and reaches into her bag.
Sally scrolls down. ‘Is anyone Sagittarius?’
‘I am.’ Without opening his eyes, Marcus lifts a hand.
Sally starts reading. ‘Sagittarius. If your love life is blossoming, you’re luckier than most. But don’t let clutter build up in the rest of your life. It might just trip you over when you least expect.’
Marcus lifts his head lazily and gazes about. ‘I can’t see any clutter,’ he murmurs and rests back onto his hands.
‘Shh! I’m checking my horoscope.’ Sally flaps her hand as she reads from Sav’s phone.
I remember it. Aries. Star-ling, stop hinting and get to the point. You’re a prize ewe among sheep, but sheep aren’t known for their intelligence. If you’ve set your heart on one of the flock, you’re going to have to make your feelings absolutely clear. No ifs and definitely no buts.
Sally looks up at Ryan thoughtfully.
‘Why not read Ryan’s out?’ I suggest quickly.
Sally flicks the phone screen and starts reading. ‘Leo. Star-ling, wake up! You’ve been acting the clown long enough. Someone has a crush on you, but you’ve been too busy joking around to notice. Stop kidding and get serious or you might miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’
A smile creeps over her face, ‘Hey, Ryan,’ she teases. ‘Someone has a crush on you.’ Her eyes are sparkling invitingly. ‘Who do you think it is?’
Ryan shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But who would you want it to be?’ Sally prods.
Ryan rolls his eyes. ‘Boring.’
‘Oh, go on,’ Sally insists.
‘OK.’ Ryan sniffs then makes a sudden lunge at me. ‘Gemma, oh, Gemma! I never realized you felt the same way. I love you. I can’t live without you. Please be mine!’ He collapses beseechingly on the grass beside me.
It’s obvious he’s being sarcastic, but Sally’s face crumples like a crisp packet. ‘Jessica’s right. You should grow up, Ryan!’ She leaps to her feet and flings the phone at Savannah, before marching away.
‘Sally!’ Savannah catches the phone with a gasp. She scrambles up. ‘Sally! What’s wrong?’
Sally ignores her. Marcus is chuckling.
‘What?’ Savannah turns on him crossly.
‘Jessica told you to watch out for flying fruit,’ he tells her.
‘What fruit?’ Sav snaps.
‘Your iPhone. It’s an Apple,’ Marcus points out.
Treacle’s watching Sally flounce across the field. ‘Should we go after her?’
‘No,’ I answer softly. I’m watching Ryan. Normally, he’d take the flying fruit joke and squeeze every drop of juice out of it. But he’s looking at Sally.
‘Someone should go after her,’ Treacle insists.
‘I’ll do it.’ Ryan grabs his book bag and jumps to his feet. He runs after her. ‘Sally, wait!’
Savannah raises her eyebrows. ‘What’s going on there?’
Marcus sniffs. ‘Sally and Ryan are always bickering.’
‘That wasn’t bickering,’ Savannah corrects him. ‘That was a fight.’
Ryan catches up with Sally and falls in beside her.
I nudge Treacle. ‘Do you think Jessica’s plan worked?’
Treacle holds up crossed fingers. ‘Time will tell.’
Sally and Ryan walk past Will lying alone in the middle of the field. He’s stretched out, his long legs crossed, still in his leather jacket despite the scorching sun. His head is resting on his backpack and he’s reading a Penguin Modern Classic through shades.
I wonder if he’s read his horoscope yet.
As Ryan and Sally disappear into school, I spot Cindy and Barbara coming out. They head for the field and make straight for Will. I shield my eyes, squinting to see better as they reach Will. I’m too far away to hear anything, but I see Cindy kick the sole of his shoe. He lets his book flop onto his chest and looks up at her.
I run his horoscope through my head. It’s burned on my mind.
Aquarius
Star-ling, it’s time to show your softer side.
Cindy unzips her bag and pulls out Wuthering Heights.
This week will provide a perfect opportunity. Someone will give you a book.
Will flinches as Cindy drops it into his hands.
Say thank you. A little sweetness spreads a long way.
Will sits bolt upright, like she’s just tossed him a severed head. He lifts his shades and stares at it.
I feel a jolt of delight. I can guess by his shock that he’s read his horoscope. The last thing he expected was for Jessica Jupiter to be right.
The afternoon bell trills through the shimmering air.
‘Time to go.’ Marcus hauls himself wearily to his feet.
I shove the lid back on my sandwich box as Treacle gets to her feet beside me. She dusts the grass off her skirt.
Savannah scrabbles on the ground, sweeping crisp packets and cartons into her empty lunch bag. ‘Ryan’s such a litterbug,’ she complains.
‘Let him pick them up.’ Marcus shrugs his backpack on and heads towards school.
‘Wait!’ As Savannah looks up, Marcus catches his foot in the strap of her book bag. Clumsy as a toddler, he staggers and falls, landing on the grass with a groan.
‘Are you OK?’ Savannah leaps to his side and checks him for breaks.
‘I’m fine.’ His face reddens.
‘The stars have spoken!’ Treacle laughs. ‘Jessica warned you not to trip over.’
The hum of vacuum cleaners echoes through the empty corridors as I climb the stairs to webzine HQ. I like being in school when it’s empty. The last bell rang twenty minutes ago. Apart from chess club and the cleaners, I’m the only one left. It’s very Zombie Apocalypse, but without the corpses.
Afternoon sunshine streams through a skylight. It blinds me as I make the final turn.
‘Hi, Gemma.’
I nearly bump into Sam. He’s on the top step.
‘Hi.’ Shielding my eyes from the glare, I look up.
He’s framed by sunshine like Zeus on Mount Olympus, his mop of blond hair ablaze with light.
I avert my gaze before I turn into a pillar of salt. ‘Are you heading for HQ?’
‘Kind of,’ he mumbles.
‘You’re either going there or not.’ I try to pass, feeling a blush rising in my cheeks.
He doesn’t make it easy. He moves sideways, steering me away from the storeroom door. ‘I guess I was looking for someone.’
I feel a prickle of irritation. He’s looking for Cindy. Why not just say it?
‘Are you going to the prom?’ he asks suddenly.
I stall in the sunshine. ‘Why?’
‘Have you got a date?’ He sounds casual. Suspiciously casual. My irritation deepens. I bet he’s got a desperate friend who needs setting up. Why did he assume I’d be available? Does he think I can’t get a date?
‘I don’t have a date.’ I lift my chin. ‘Because I don’t want one.’
‘You don’t want one?’ He stares at me.
‘Is that against the law?’ Why does everyone act like you have to have a date? He’s obviously so wrapped up in the thought of being with Cindy on prom night that he can’t even imagine it’s OK to be alone.
I stare hard into his blue-blue eyes. ‘I’m happy on my own.’
I push past him. This time he doesn’t block me and I head into the storeroom. It’s empty. The smell of polish fills the warm air. I glance back. Sam’s hovering in the hallway. ‘Cindy’s not here,’ I tell him.
‘Oh.’ Not meeting my eye, he shoves his h
ands into his pockets. ‘I guess I’ll be going.’
‘See you.’ I slam the door shut, surprised at the fury churning in my stomach.
I sit heavily in a seat and flick on a PC. I can feel my heart racing. What is everyone’s obsession with dating? I feel like the last dodo waiting beside the ark while the other animals march two by two up the gangplank. Noah’s got a clipboard and he’s ticking it with Cindy-like briskness.
‘Why can’t I go on-board?’ my dodo self asks him.
‘You’re not in a pair.’
‘But I’m the last dodo alive.’
‘Tough.’ Noah shunts me aside with a nudge of his sandalled foot.
I zap back to reality, my fingers tingling as an idea buzzes in my head.
I’m not waiting for a killer idea. I’m going to write a piece now. About how it feels to be the dodo. It might not be what everyone wants to read. But it’s my truth.
I start typing, hitting the keys hard.
Make the Most of Being Single
Do you want a date for the prom? Of course you do. You’re a teenager. Your hormones are raging; a new spot erupts every day; you obsess about how everyone sees you. How great would it be to have one person in the world to tell you that you’re fabulous? A date for the prom would be the final, absolute, total and complete proof that you are OK.
At least that’s what you believe.
You’re surrounded by couples; you can’t cross the dining hall without hearing the sound of teens sucking face. They’re groping in the hallways and swapping knowing smiles during lessons. You must feel like you’ve stumbled onto Noah’s ark.
But is dating really that great?
Dating is when you discover that the person you’ve been crushing on for the last year isn’t the person you’d imagined. Love flies out of the window when reality sets in.
Picture poor, dumb Cinderella. She thought that her prince was handsome, charming, loyal and kind. She saw his mop of blond hair and swooned with passion. His blue-blue eyes made her weak at the knees. And their first dance made her heart beat so fast she thought she would die.
But, when the ball was over, her carriage wasn’t the only thing to turn back into a pumpkin. Prince Charming turned out to be just an ordinary boy. A lame, immature, heartless boy. And, thanks to her glass slipper, Cinderella was stuck with him.
