Star Switch

by Alesha Dixon

  Sometimes, to learn about yourself, you need a different view. Step into someone else’s shoes, tread in their footsteps, see things through their eyes.

  See how you shine.

  That’s when I notice it. The book is . . . wait, it can’t be. Is the book . . . glowing?

  WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!

  CHAPTER TEN

  Wow, this book is seriously cheesy. This whole chapter is a bit of a yawn to be honest, but this bit on its own in the middle of the page looks like it might be mildly interesting.

  Sometimes, to learn about yourself, you need a different view. Step into someone else’s shoes, tread in their footsteps, see things through their eyes.

  See how you shine.

  OK, I really need Simon to get back here pronto with that juice because I think something’s wrong with my brain. Is it just me or is the book . . . glowing?

  WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  (AS NAOMI)

  For a moment, everything is dark.

  I realize I must have fallen asleep and I sit bolt upright, blinking stupidly and panicking about how long I’ve been asleep for. My head aches but the dizziness has faded. The room comes into focus. I freeze.

  Wait a minute. This isn’t my room.

  This room is HUGE. About five times the size of my bedroom. And it’s really posh with a sparkling chandelier hanging from the ceiling, clean white walls decorated with expensive-looking art and tall windows with elegant grey velvet curtains. Dotted around the room are sleek vases filled with beautiful multi-coloured roses. I’m in a gigantic four poster bed with sheer fabric drapes and the softest silk sheets I’ve ever touched, and when I prop myself up, my hands sink into the mountain of squishy pillows behind me. The HOW TO SHINE book lies open on the page I was reading next to me.

  Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.

  I shut my eyes tight. I open them again. No, I’m still here in this strange room. I pinch myself hard on the wrist but nothing happens.

  “Is this . . . heaven?” I croak, clutching the sheets in fear and looking around this perfect room. “Am I . . . dead? I’M DEAD!”

  “No, don’t say that,” someone replies by the door. “This will all blow over.”

  I yelp in surprise and a man comes hurrying over, carrying a silver tray with some glasses of green juice on it.

  “Sorry! Sorry, I . . . I didn’t mean to frighten you! I did knock, I don’t know if you heard.” He holds out the tray. “Here! I made a few j-just in case. Sorry it took so long, I couldn’t remember the exact recipe and I didn’t want it to taste like pondweed so I took extra care.”

  I stare at him in horror.

  “Are you all right?” he says after a few moments’ silence. “You look . . . upset.”

  “Where am I?” I whisper, barely able to speak.

  “Sorry?”

  “Where. Am. I.”

  His forehead creases in concern. “You’re at home. In your bedroom.”

  “Is this some kind of joke? Some kind of prank? You look familiar. Did Roman and Reggie do this? Are you one of their friends? What’s happening? Who are you?”

  “I’m Sam, your assistant?” He gulps and picks up one of the juices, handing it to me. “I really think you should drink some of this. And I’ll go get your mum. You don’t seem . . . yourself.”

  He scurries out of the room, glancing over his shoulder with a worried expression as he goes. My heart is thudding so hard against my chest, I’m scared it will explode right out of there. This has to be some kind of dream but I’ve never had one so vivid, so real before.

  I put the juice down on the bedside table and lift the silk duvet, sliding my legs out of bed. I realize I’m wearing the most beautiful pyjamas I’ve ever seen, and when I go to run my hand through my hair, I feel an eye mask resting on my head.

  Who was that guy? I feel like I’ve seen him before but I can’t think where. What did he say his name was? Was it Simon? No. Sam. Sam, an assistant, he said.

  I click my fingers triumphantly. I know how I recognize him! He’s Naomi Starr’s personal assistant! I’ve seen him photographed trailing behind her before and I remember when she fired her last PA for selling stories about her to the press, social media went crazy about who would be next in line for the job. Apparently, Riley Starr, who was handling the process, received thousands of applicants. Beth had joked that I should apply.

  I giggle, embarrassed that I’m so obsessed with Naomi Starr and her life that I’m apparently now dreaming about living it myself.

  As nice as this dream is, I really should wake up. John has to be done in the shower by now and I don’t want to be late for school. I pinch myself hard on the arm again.

  The bedroom door opens and Sam comes in, but this time he’s not alone. A tall, striking woman with amazing cheekbones glides across the room towards me wearing a long red kimono. OH. MY. GOD.

  Riley Starr. It’s Riley Starr! Naomi’s mum! Walking towards me!

  THIS IS THE BEST DREAM EVER!!

  Without thinking, I jump to my feet and then, my brain frazzled with all this madness, I bow my head.

  She stops and shares a look with Sam, who is wearing the same baffled expression. She then folds her arms and sighs.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in a distinctly unimpressed manner.

  “Sorry. That was stupid. Sorry. I don’t know why I did that!” I laugh. “Hi, Riley Starr! It’s you! Here in my dream!”

  “What? What are you playing at?” She frowns. “Are you doing this for attention? What do you mean ‘here in your dream’? You’re not dreaming, you’re wide awake as far as I can tell.”

  Something about her tone and the way she’s looking at me makes the happy feeling I had about this whole dream thing start to fade away. She waits, tapping her foot impatiently, as I take a moment to scan the room. It’s all very . . . real. Usually a dream is kind of blurry, right?

  And are you ever this aware that you’re in a dream? And if you are aware, isn’t that when you usually wake up?

  “Wake up,” I say suddenly, closing my eyes and clenching my fists. “It’s getting weird now. Wake up! Wake up!”

  “I don’t know whether you’re playing up or whether you’re hoping that all of this was some horrible dream, but let me assure you it’s all too real,” Riley Starr tells me tiredly. “We have been working through the night for you. We’ve released a statement on your behalf.”

  “I’m sorry, can I just—” I take some tentative steps towards her, my hand outstretched. “I need to check something.”

  My hand shaking slightly, I get closer to her and then poke her in the arm. I wait a second and then do it again, just to be sure.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  “This is very weird. Very, very weird,” I say, backing away from her, my throat closing up in panic. “B-because you seem real. Am I . . . am I on a TV show? Have I won some kind of competition and blacked out from excitement and woken up in the middle of it all?”

  Riley Starr and Sam stare at me.

  “Because you’re Riley Starr,” I continue, pointing at her. “The Riley Starr. And I’m in this place.” I gesture around the room. “This beautiful, amazing place.” I bury my head in my hands. “What is happening? I’m so confused!”

  “Look, I think that everything has got on top of you after last night—”

  “The last thing I remember is reading the book,” I say, trying to think logically and get my brain in focus. “I was reading the book and then I felt strange. . .”

  “I cancelled your meeting for today,” Riley says, looking pained. “I got the message loud and clear. And the record label is VERY angry, so it’s probably a good idea to give it some time to blow over anyway. But what happened yesterday was completely unacceptable. You let thousands of people down.”

  “I-I let thousands of people down,” I repeat slowly.

  “I appreciate you owning up to it,” she s
ays, before taking a deep breath. “I also appreciate that this life is a hectic one. I never really had any days off when I launched my first few albums, but I also remember feeling overwhelmed at how chaotic my life was. So, with that in mind, I’m willing to put our discussion of yesterday’s events on hold and have a day off with you. I want you feeling dedicated to your schedule, and if time off is the way to achieve that, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  I wonder if Riley Starr has lost her mind.

  Then again, right now I’m wondering if I’ve lost my mind.

  “Um. OK.”

  “I have organized a few things for you, just in case you want to go out and have some fun, but if you want to just sit home and relax, you can do that, too.” She hesitates and then, as though convincing herself, says, “You’ve earned it.”

  “Would you like me to read the potential itinerary for the day?” Sam offers.

  I assume he’s asking Riley but they seem to both be looking at me for an answer.

  “Sure?”

  He begins to read aloud from a tablet.

  “We have a massage and a manicure appointment booked in for you at home; there is a table reserved at the Ritz for brunch with Ms Starr later this morning; you’ve been invited to attend the premiere matinee performance of a new musical opening on the West End, the best seats in the house of course; then Westfield shopping centre in Shepherd’s Bush has offered to close their doors to the public so you can shop for as long as you like this afternoon, everything you pick free of charge; and then this evening we have a selection of dinner reservations at London’s top Michelin-starred restaurants, but if you don’t wish to dine out twice in one day, we also have several chefs on call to cook whichever cuisine you would like at home. Oh, and I just got off the phone to Disney and they would love to provide an unreleased movie for you to watch in your home cinema this evening. They’re going to send me some options.”

  My jaw drops to the floor.

  “What do you think?” Riley Starr asks, examining my expression. “Any of those take your fancy? You can pick and choose – there is no obligation. If you want to stay in bed all day and catch up on some much-needed rest—”

  “ARE YOU KIDDING?” I start hopping up and down on the spot. “That all sounds AMAZING! I hope I never ever wake up from this unbelievable dream! Seriously, did I win a competition? Am I going to be on TV?”

  There’s a knock on the door and a woman pokes her head round.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb, but the beauticians are here. Would you like them to start setting up for your treatments?”

  Everyone turns to me again for an answer.

  “YES, PLEASE! Wow, this is the best!”

  Sam seems relieved.

  “We’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready then,” Riley says, turning to leave. “I have to do a bit more work and we’ll head to brunch when your treatments are finished.”

  “Can I get you anything before I go?” Sam asks, following Riley to the door.

  “No, I’m fine, thank you so much, Sam.”

  He gasps. “You . . . you called me Sam.”

  “Isn’t that your name?”

  “Yes,” he whispers, a smile spreading across his face. “Yes, it is. Thank you.”

  “Oh, wait, Sam, do you know where the bathroom is?”

  “The bathroom?”

  “Yeah.”

  He looks at me as though it’s a trick question, then says, “Your en suite is behind you, right through that door.”

  “I HAVE AN EN SUITE?”

  I race excitedly towards the door he pointed out and open it to find the most beautiful bathroom I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s floor-to-ceiling marble with a gold sink, a huge step-in shower and the biggest bath in the world.

  I shut the door behind me and lock it.

  “What is going on?” I whisper. “What is happening?”

  Above the sink is a large, gold-framed mirror. I take a few deep breaths and then, swallowing the lump in my throat, I walk towards it, turning to look at my reflection.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAaaAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  (AS RUBY)

  Something smells gross. Like dog’s breath. Ew.

  My vision is all blurry and I feel kind of dazed. I must have fallen asleep. I wonder what time it is. Why haven’t I had my juice yet? What is taking Simon so LONG? He’s lucky if I don’t fire him. I blink the sleep out of my eyes.

  My vision comes into focus and I realize there is a cold, wet nose touching mine.

  A dog is panting right in my face.

  “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhHHHHH!”

  I scream, jolting away from it and scrambling to get away, but the bed somehow disappears from beneath me and I fall off the side on to the floor. I get to my knees and carefully lift my head, peering over the side of the mattress. The dog is still there. It barks. I scream, ducking down.

  “MUM! MUM! THERE’S A MANGY DOG IN THE HOUSE ATTACKING ME! GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT! CALL THE POLICE! SIMON! MUM! COME QUICK!”

  The dog barks again and then jumps down off the bed and scampers out of the room. Breathing a sigh of relief, I get to my feet and look around.

  “What the—”

  I stumble backwards in shock and slam against the wall.

  I’m not in my room. I’m not in my room! No wonder I fell off the bed so easily; this bed is the size of a small coffee table! And this bedroom is tiny! I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room this small in my life! Am I in some kind of renovated cupboard?

  Where am I? What’s happening? Is this a nightmare?

  “OK, this isn’t funny. Wake up now, Naomi, wake up!”

  I close my eyes and open them, but I’m still in this horrible cubby-hole. I try patting my cheek with the palm of my hand, but I don’t seem to be able to wake up. I look down to see that I’m wearing flannel pyjamas with dogs all over them. I’ve never worn flannel pyjamas IN MY LIFE! As I clutch at my sleeve in horror at the pattern, I notice my nails. They’re DISGUSTING. They’re short and all the nail polish has been chipped! What’s happened to my beautiful gel manicure that I had done at the spa the other day? WHAT KIND OF MONSTER WOULD DO THIS?

  “I want to wake up now please!” I tell myself.

  Nothing happens. And the worse thing is, it doesn’t feel like a dream at all. Maybe I’m not asleep! Maybe this is real and I’ve somehow been brought here without my knowledge! Is this some kind of test? Has Mum decided to punish me for missing the concert last night and so has moved me in my sleep to a small bedroom/prison? That seems like an overreaction even by her standards.

  “Mum? Are you there?”

  No one answers. I don’t think she would go this far to show how mad she is, would she? MAYBE I’VE BEEN KIDNAPPED. The last thing I remember is reading that stupid HOW TO SHINE book and then. . .

  Wait. It’s there on the bed. The HOW TO SHINE book! Open on the page I was reading. That’s weird. Whoever kidnapped me must have taken the book, too.

  It’s a strange thing for a kidnapper to do, but whatever.

  “OK, don’t panic, don’t panic,” I repeat to myself, tiptoeing over to the door.

  There are clothes strewn over the floor and books everywhere. I wrinkle my nose as I navigate the mess. I’m just thinking about how badly painted the blue walls are when I notice that one of them is covered in posters of . . . me.

  Maybe it’s a crazed fan who has kidnapped me!

  “You are SO going to prison,” I hiss at whoever’s behind this.

  The bedroom door is open a fraction from when that gross dog went out and I can hear a lot of noise coming from the rest of the house. I gulp, scared that there’s more than one kidnapper. I see a tennis racket in the corner of the bedroom and I snatch it up, holding it at the ready. Peering through the door, I see the landing is empty and start to creep out silently.

  There are voices downstairs but everyone seems to be talking over each other so I can’t hear anything us
eful. There’s a lot of clattering and what sounds like cutlery scraping on plates.

  What is going on?

  Suddenly, a door swings open and a teenage boy strolls out in a towel.

  I scream, lunging forward and swinging the tennis racket with full force.

  He dodges out of the way and then bursts out laughing as my enthusiastic swing sends me off balance and I go flying into the wall.

  “Whoa,” he says through his chuckling, “calm that rage! I wasn’t that long in the shower and don’t blame me for no hot water again. Blame Jeroame and the twins.”

  And with that he walks into another room and shuts the door, as though nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.

  WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

  I need to get to a phone immediately and call the police. And my driver. And Mum.

  But before I can make any further progress, a woman appears on the stairs. She is wearing chequered pyjama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt that says “So Many Books, So Little Time” across the front. Her hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in weeks and she’s carrying some pieces of paper with scribbles all over them.

  “There you are!” she says, noticing me as I flatten myself against the wall, holding the tennis racket out in case she decides to attack. “Have you seen Daisy? Her paws are very muddy and I need to give her a bath before she ruins every bed in the house. I’m going to guess that she’s already made herself at home on yours.”

  I blink at her.

  “You had better get in the shower or else you’re going to be late for school,” she continues with a wave of her hand. “The boys are almost done with breakfast. It’s not like you to be running this late. I suppose John got into the bathroom before you, did he?”

  “If you don’t let me go,” I say as confidently as possible, every muscle in my body tense, “I will call the police!”

  “What?” She smiles and puts her hands on her hips as though I’ve said something funny. “If I don’t let you go where? Oh, it’s not that school field trip that Roman and Reggie want to go on, is it? Look, darling, if you want to go then I will give my permission, but I don’t think you’d enjoy rock climbing in Wales all that much.”