by Melody James
Mr Harris turns in his seat and stares at me. ‘Gosh.’
Cindy tugs open the passenger door and thumps down into her seat. ‘Gemma decided to hijack the show,’ she snorts.
‘I thought you were just reviewing it,’ Mr Harris ventures.
Cindy crosses her arms. ‘So did I. Clearly, Gemma had other plans.’ Her words are so pointed you could use them for kebabs.
‘I didn’t plan anything!’ I hurl back at her. ‘It just happened.’
‘Yeah, right.’
Mr Harris obviously senses tension and decides to make a move. He starts the engine. ‘You were quicker than I expected.’ He backs out of his parking space. ‘Did you get any good pictures?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I hear a sudden smirk in Cindy’s voice. ‘I got plenty.’
That sounds ominous.
Mr Harris pushes on bravely. ‘Did you manage to get an interview with a designer?’
Cindy’s head snaps round and she shoots me with freeze-beams. ‘Did you, Gemma? You seemed to be pretty friendly with Reuben.’
‘Who’s Reuben?’ I ask.
‘The designer?’ Cindy rolls her eyes, exasperated. ‘The man in the purple shirt who was hugging you.’
Mr Harris twitches nervously behind the wheel. ‘There was a man hugging you?’
‘It was the end of the show,’ I explain. ‘Everyone on the catwalk was hugging.’
‘You were on the catwalk?’ Mr Harris’s steering slips and the car jerks a little.
‘Mr Harris,’ Cindy says sternly. ‘Please concentrate on your driving. Gemma hijacked the fashion show, that’s all. It’s nothing important.’
Mr Harris fixes his gaze on the road. ‘It sounds like it’ll make a good story for the webzine,’ he ventures. ‘Will you be writing it, Gemma?’
I don’t get the chance to answer.
‘No, Mr Harris,’ Cindy growls. ‘I’m the fashion reporter. So I’ll be writing the story. I’ll be sure to mention Gemma’s triumph.’
I don’t like her tone.
For the rest of the journey, Cindy is wordless in the passenger seat. She’s not even texting. Mr Harris drives quietly and carefully, never braking too hard and pulling away so gently I can hardly tell we’re moving. It’s like he’s transporting nitroglycerine. One bump or shake and BOOM! we’re body parts and the car’s spread over half the county.
‘We’re here,’ he says at last, pulling into the school car park.
‘Thanks, Mr Harris.’ Cindy lets herself out. She heads towards the cloakroom.
‘Thanks for driving us, Mr Harris.’ I tug my door handle. ‘I had a great time.’
Mr Harris smiles at me past his headrest. ‘It sounds like you had quite an adventure.’
‘I did.’ I grin back. ‘I can’t wait to tell Treacle and Savannah.’
I climb out and run past the cars and up the slope to the field. There’s two minutes till the bell for afternoon registration. Students are wandering across the grass towards school. I spot Savannah and Treacle lounging beneath the horse chestnuts. When I wave, they spot me and leap to their feet.
‘Hi, Gemma.’ A familiar voice sounds behind me. I turn and see Sam loitering at the top of the slope.
He whistles as I face him. ‘You look great.’
I’d forgotten about my hair and make-up. Suddenly self-conscious, I touch my hair with my hand. ‘A bit over the top, isn’t it?’
‘It really suits you.’ Sam looks sheepish. ‘I love curly hair.’
‘Really?’ I blink at him, flattered.
‘Yeah.’ He casually scuffs a pebble with his shoe. ‘It’s much better than straight hair.’
Joy floods me. I feel like punching the air. One-nil victory for curly hair! Then I remember Cindy – the straight-haired girl he’s dating.
I freeze.
What a creep!
Does he tell Cindy he prefers straight hair?
Rage boils under my skin. How dare he? I can’t believe that Sam is such a fake. I thought he was lovely. Suddenly memories are flashing in my head like danger signs. The way he’s always really kind to me at webzine meetings. The way he turns up out of nowhere, like a stalker. Is he using me to make Cindy jealous? Or is he the kind of boyfriend who thinks it’s fine to hit on other girls? Either way, for the first time ever, I feel sorry for Cindy.
‘Gemma!’ I hear Treacle and Savannah hurtling closer. I don’t want them to see I’m angry with Sam. They’d want to know why. I barge furiously past him and head down the slope. They catch me up as I reach the car park.
Treacle hugs me. ‘You’re back!’
‘You look fabulous!’ Savannah stares at me admiringly. ‘Where are the photos?’
I glance back at Sam. He’s standing at the top of the slope like a dog that’s lost its stick. I scowl at him and turn away. ‘I had the best time ever!’ I hook my arms through Sav’s and Treacle’s. ‘I bet you can’t guess what I did.’
‘She can’t waste her new look.’ Savannah wide-eyes my mum. ‘It’s been created by professional stylists.’
Mum leans against the kitchen table and crosses her arms. ‘It’s a school night.’
‘We’ll be home by nine,’ Treacle promises. ‘How many times does a girl get a makeover like that? She needs to make the most of it. It’ll be smudged and messy by tomorrow. She has to go out tonight.’
Savannah and Treacle hatched a plot during double history. They decided that we had to spend the evening at the skating rink, showcasing my hair and make-up. When I reminded them about Mum’s strict not-going-out-on-school-nights policy, they escorted me home.
Now they are in our kitchen, pleading, while I stand in the doorway, chewing my knuckles.
Savannah’s laying it on thick. ‘If you’d just been turned into a supermodel, you’d want to show it off, right?’
Mum sucks in her lips. ‘You’ll be home by nine?’
‘Of course.’ Savannah’s eyes sparkle.
‘Homework done before you leave?’
‘Haven’t got any,’ Treacle tells Mum. ‘It’s nearly the end of term.’
‘OK.’ Mum nods and I whoop with delight.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ I push past Treacle and hug her.
‘Nine o’clock at the latest,’ Mum insists.
‘At the latest,’ I agree.
We’re on the seven o’clock bus to the ice rink. We bag seats on the top deck and watch the buildings flash past, bouncing up and down as the driver tries to break the sound barrier.
‘Sal and Ryan are meeting us there.’ Savannah’s looking cute in a pink minidress with a flared skirt.
‘Sally said Chelsea and Josh will be there too.’ Treacle’s glossy black hair cascades over the shoulders of her blood-red jacket. ‘Chelsea has a skating lesson on Thursdays. Apparently, Josh always meets her for a Coke afterwards.’
‘That’s so romantic.’ I fake a sarcastic swoon onto Treacle’s shoulder. I’m dressed low key, in a dark green tartan pinafore. I’m letting my flaming curls and carefully preserved make-up do the work. I don’t know what brand the stylists used, but it’s set into a doll-mask. I wonder if my cleanser will be strong enough to strip it off.
‘Do you think any Year Tens will be there?’ Savannah asks. She looks at me and I can tell by the sly glitter in her gaze that she’s hoping to pair me off with a boy.
‘Who cares?’ I reply lightly. I think of Sam. Boys are sleazebags.
‘But you look so gorgeous,’ Savannah moans. ‘We might find you a date for the prom.’
Treacle snorts. ‘Chill out, Sav. Gemma can find her own date.’
I ignore them. ‘I don’t want a date for the prom. I’m happy being single.’
Savannah looks at me sincerely. ‘You are? Really?’
I give her a withering look.
She doesn’t wither. ‘We’ve only got your best interests at heart, Gem.’
The bus pulls up at our stop. I leap to my feet, relieved to escape. I’m here to have fun. This is our last girls�
�� night out of the term. The next time we go out together will be the prom; Treacle and Savannah will have Jeff and Marcus in tow.
Inside Ice World, music is echoing in the high ceiling. The bright white ice is busy with skaters. They glide slowly round, like someone’s stirring them with a spoon.
We swap our shoes for skates and head onto the ice.
‘Gemma! Treacle!’ Sally’s cry bounces round the rink.
She comes flailing across the ice, Ryan at her heels. I fling out my arms to catch her as she slithers towards me. She hits me like a train and crushes me against the barrier.
‘Hello!’ Her cheeks are flushed. So are Ryan’s. He halts with surprising grace.
Savannah looks from Sally to Ryan. ‘Are you on a date?’
Ryan rolls his eyes. ‘No,’ he says as though only an idiot would assume something so way out there.
‘We’re not?’ Sally stares at him.
Ryan backtracks. ‘Well, not a date date. That’d be lame.’
‘Lame?’ Sally thumps him in the stomach. While he staggers backwards, skates clattering, she looks at us apologetically. ‘Boys, right?’
Treacle and Savannah nod knowingly.
Suddenly Savannah stiffens and points. ‘Oh my God!’
‘What?’ Treacle jerks round. I follow their gaze.
Chelsea is hanging out with Josh on the far side of the rink. I’ve never seen her looking so plain. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She’s usually plastered in jewellery, in a skirt even shorter than Savannah’s.
‘She’s not even wearing make-up,’ Savannah gasps. ‘I thought she was born wearing make-up.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Sally shrugs. ‘I watched her lesson. She’s, like, totally into it. And her coach is a monster. He kept yelling at her.’
Treacle blinks. ‘And she didn’t punch him?’
‘She didn’t even answer back,’ Sally tells us.
I stare across the rink as though I’m seeing Chelsea for the first time. She catches my eye and scowls.
I turn to Treacle as Chelsea heads towards us. ‘Watch out,’ I warn. ‘Here comes Flouncing on Ice.’
She turns as she reaches us, stopping with a professional brake that showers ice over our boots. ‘What are you lot doing here?’
Savannah squares up to her. ‘It’s a public space.’
Chelsea glares past her at me. She looks weird without make-up. I’d never noticed that she’s actually really pretty. Even when she’s hurling death stares. ‘And why are you dressed like that?’
Treacle puts her arm round my shoulders. ‘Didn’t you hear? Gemma was the top model at Reuben’s fashion show this morning.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Chelsea sniffs.
Josh stumbles to a halt beside her. ‘What’s going on?’ He catches sight of me. ‘Wow, Gemma, you look great.’
You sound like Sam. Rage boils up in me again. I scowl at him.
Chelsea’s more direct. She shoves him sideways. Caught off guard, he crashes onto the ice.
Ryan helps him up. ‘We need to stick together, bruv,’ he sympathizes. ‘Girls are vicious.’ He heaves Josh to his feet. ‘I just took a bullet for suggesting that dating was lame.’
Josh gawps at him. ‘Are you nuts?’
Sally gives Ryan a ‘duh’ look. ‘Boys are so dumb.’
‘Why do you date us then?’ Josh retorts.
Savannah tips her head to one side. ‘Because you’re so dumb.’
‘It’s cute,’ Treacle adds. Josh and Ryan exchange looks.
‘Let’s get something to eat, Josh.’ Ryan jerks his head towards the vending machines. ‘We’re outnumbered. If this was World of Warcraft, I’d have retreated already.’
The boys head away and Savannah swivels her attention to me. ‘Come on, Gemma. Tell Sally about the fashion show.’
I feel self-conscious with Chelsea eyeing me. I play for time. ‘Let me get a Coke first.’
I leave them on the ice and head after Josh and Ryan. As I pass a row of chairs, I spot a familiar figure. He’s picking abandoned cans and wrappers from the floor and shoving them into a bin bag.
‘Will?’ I blink in surprise. ‘Is that you?’
Will snaps straight like I’ve poked a gun in his back. ‘What?’ He turns on me.
Chelsea’s not the only one who looks different tonight. I’ve never seen Will without his leather jacket. Instead, he’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt and matching trousers. I grin, feeling suddenly wicked. ‘Have you joined the Girl Guides?’
‘I’m working, OK?’ Will moves to a bin and unhooks the lid.
I follow him. ‘I didn’t know you had a job.’
‘I’m saving up for a motorbike.’ He hauls out the bin liner and starts knotting the top.
‘You’re too young to ride,’ I point out.
He looks at me. ‘And you’re too young to wear that much make-up.’
I scowl. ‘Everyone else thinks I look great.’
‘You do,’ he snorts. ‘If you want to look like a phony.’
My confidence shrivels. ‘Sam said I looked great,’ I blurt desperately.
‘Sam would.’ Will drops his gaze and goes back to knotting his bin bag.
‘What does that mean?’ Does he know Sam’s a fake and a flirt?
‘Work it out yourself.’ Will heads along the side of the rink. I fight the urge to run after him and beg him to tell me everything he knows about Sam. Am I just a big Year Ten joke?
I feel my heart start to race. Why did I come out dressed like a freak?
‘Gemma.’ I hear Treacle’s voice and feel limp with relief.
‘Can we go home?’
‘What’s the matter?’ Treacle’s eyes cloud with concern.
‘It’s been a long day.’ It’s been the best and the worst day of my life. One minute I’m a supermodel; next I’m the girl that Year Tens joke about.
Treacle hooks her arm through mine. ‘Come on,’ she says softly. ‘Let’s fetch Savannah.’ She steers me back to the ice. Chelsea is leading Sally round in elegant figures of eight.
‘Look at me!’ Sally calls. ‘I’m dancing!’
‘Concentrate!’ Chelsea orders as Sally wobbles on her skates.
Savannah leans against the barrier, checking her phone.
‘Gemma wants to go home.’ Treacle stops at the gate.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I apologize. ‘It’s been a big day.’
Savannah looks up from her phone. Her face is grim. ‘I totally understand.’ She sounds ultra-serious. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll blow over eventually.’
I freeze. ‘What will blow over?’
Savannah stiffens. ‘I thought you’d seen it. Isn’t that why you want to go home?’
‘Seen what?’ I demand.
Reluctantly, Savannah shows me her phone. She’s checking Facebook. There’s a picture in her newsfeed. I recognize the catwalk and the gold dress. It’s a picture of me.
Treacle leans over my shoulder. ‘Wow.’ She whistles through her teeth. ‘Cindy really captured the moment.’
The photo glaring from Savannah’s newsfeed shows me landing in Anna De Vine’s lap. My arms and legs are flung wide. I look like a skydiver.
‘Who posted this?’ I demand.
She hands me the phone. Cindy’s uploaded it to the webzine’s Facebook page. Everyone at school’s going to see it.
I swallow. I don’t care. I’ve lived it and survived. ‘Cindy can post what she likes.’ As I speak, I suddenly picture Cindy huddled beside Sam. They’re snuggled round her laptop. She flicks back her hair and laughs as she posts the picture of me online. Sam slides his arm round her waist and grins. He thinks I’m just a big joke.
Stomach churning, I march away.
‘Gemma!’ Treacle clumps after me, clumsy in her skates.
I hardly know I’m wearing them. Blood is roaring in my ears. I can’t believe I got Sam so wrong. I thought he was really nice. Now I know he’s as two-faced as the Ice Queen. They’re perfect
for each other. I’m glad they’re going out.
When Sam walks into Friday’s webzine meeting, I stare at my knees. He’s late, we’ve started and I’m sitting next to Will, which is as far as I could get from the Ice Queen without dragging a chair out into the corridor.
OK. I take a tiny peek; one of those barely noticeable glances you use to check if the cute guy is really looking at you.
He’s not. And there’s no sign of his usual breezy smile.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he grunts.
‘Don’t worry.’ Cindy balances her clipboard on her knee and moves her Louis Vuitton off the chair beside her. ‘I saved you a seat.’
We’re discussing the articles for the final edition of the webzine.
As Sam slots in beside Cindy, Jeff finishes inputting. ‘. . . I’ll put together some league tables, score averages and a few words about the best matches of the season.’
‘If you need help spreadsheeting the stats, let me know,’ David offers.
‘Thanks.’ Jeff leans back.
Cindy makes a tick on her clipboard. ‘Great.’
Sam leans towards her. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘Not yet,’ she whispers back.
On her other side, Barbara shuffles papers. She’s been collecting readers’ questionnaires all morning and has a pile of profiles to collate for her big end-of-term piece: How Average Are You? The Green Park Student Revealed.
Cindy taps her clipboard with her pen. ‘I do hope you’ll all put a lot of effort into your last pieces. I know it’s the end of a long year, but I want to finish with an edition that will really make a lasting impression on our readers.’
‘You could lead with your resignation.’ Will’s flicking a page of A4 distractedly. ‘That’ll make a headline worth reading.’
Cindy points her pen at his paper. ‘Is that the second part of your school funding piece?’
‘Yep.’ He’s got his smug look on.
Cindy de-smugs him. ‘Well, unless you’ve discovered we’re being funded by Scientologists, I’m guessing most of our readers will skim-read it. Like last week.’
Will sits up, jaw twitching. ‘This is important stuff,’ he growls.
‘It might be well-meaning, but it’s never going to get you your own hashtag, is it?’ Cindy snipes back.
