Coleen Style Queen
With thanks to Lucy Courtenay
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Rockin Pocket Purse
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
OK, so a bit of advice here. Never go dancing in a strapless top. Especially if you’re at the gig of your absolute favourite band, Bubbly, whose songs make you want to go mental on the dance floor.
“You OK, Coleen?” my mate Mel yelled over the thumping music. She looked fab in a Bubbly T-shirt and a new pair of skinny jeans, with her huge cloud of hair catching the lights.
“I’m great!” I yelled back, dancing like crazy while hanging on to my top with both hands. I had a feeling I looked a bit weird.
All the old beardy-bloke portraits started wobbling on the Town Hall walls as Bubbly – the best band ever, by the way – revved up for the chorus of their massive hit, Wave Like You Mean It. The kids packing out the Town Hall floor started going even crazier, waving their arms madly in the air. I clutched my top with one hand and waved desperately with the other, wishing for the millionth time that I’d worn something a teensy bit more sensible.
“Get your arms up, Coleen!” my other mate Lucy laughed, her long hair flying all around her like a huge blond halo. As usual, she was plainly dressed in a neat little blouse and ironed jeans. “C’mon, go for it!”
“Wave, wave, wave like you mean it,” sang the band, along with the whole of the audience. “If there’s a better way, I ain’t seen it; wave, wave, wave like you mean it, whoo!”
The lead singer of Bubbly is called Deena. She looked totally wicked in her hot-pink skinny jeans, and I completely adored the cropped cardie she was wearing over a black top. Her hair was streaked all these different colours, and she was jumping around in high-heeled gold shoes like she was wearing trainers. You’ve got to admire that. The two girl guitar players, Lori and Jammie, were doing these leaps from side to side like a pair of funky kangaroos – Lori flicking her long, jet-black hair from side to side and Jammie’s bleach-blond quiff gelled straight up into the air.
“If there’s a better way, better way, we ain’t seen it, whoo!” Deena sang, pumping the air with her hands.
The song thundered on through Lori’s final guitar solo and a crash-crash-crash from the drummer, Belle, with her snaky blond plaits. This really was my last chance. Heaving my top up, I clenched the middle bit between my teeth and threw both my hands into the air, just as…
“Thank you!” Deena yelled as the song died away and the audience went bananas.
Typical.
“Hartley,” Deena went on, “you’re the best home town ever!”
I forgot about my top troubles at that and screamed, “Yay!” along with the rest of the hall. The whole of Hartley was dead proud of Bubbly. They had even gone to school at Hartley High – though that had been a bit before my time.
After two more encores, we all streamed out of the Town Hall, blinking a bit in the low-lying sunshine of the late afternoon. The music had been so loud that my ears were still ringing – plus my head was full of how I was going to recreate Bubbly’s look as soon as I got home. They were so cool, they were practically frozen!
“Wow,” Lucy giggled, pushing back her hair. “That rocked.”
“Wicked,” Mel agreed as she wiped her forehead.
“What?” I said to Mel, sticking a finger in one of my ringing ears.
“WICKED!” Mel roared at me.
“Trust Mel ‘the Mouth’ Palmer to be showing off on the Town Hall steps,” said a snidey voice behind us.
We turned round to see Summer Collins, Hartley High’s worst specimen, coming out of the gig. Her two best mates, Hannah Davies and Shona Mackinnon, were standing next to her. To say that Summer and her mates weren’t my favourite people in the world would be like saying chocolate-flavoured lip gloss was just OK: in other words, a massive understatement! Unfortunately they were all in our class so we had to live with them – like you have to live with a crop of zits when they pop up on the end of your nose.
Today, Summer and her pals were all wearing exactly the same pink hoodies and sparkle-encrusted trainers. They are so sad!
“Uh-oh,” I said, not missing a beat. “It’s the Three Clones.” I whipped my head around, pretending to look scared. “How many more of you are there? Are you taking over the world?”
Summer tossed her hair. “Come on, you two,” she said to Hannah and Shona. “We’ve got better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than talk to a bunch of losers.”
“So have we!” Mel called cheerily after Summer as she stalked away with her friends in tow. “Like finding the scientist who cloned you all and asking him really nicely to stop before he makes any more!”
“Anyone fancy coming with me for a drink?” Lucy said when I’d finally stopped laughing. “I’m meeting Frankie.”
The Frankie in question was Frankie Wilson. He had a brother in our class – Jimmy – and Lucy had just started seeing Frankie after a massive mix-up…but that’s another story!
“Can’t,” I said, catching my breath. “Stuff to do.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to do your homework,” said Mel in horror.
“There’s tomorrow night for that,” I said, waving my hand to kill the homework ghost before it ruined my weekend. “No,” I continued, “I have fashion plans.”
I’m famous for my fashion plans. It doesn’t take much to inspire me, and then I’m away on my Next Big Thing.
“Ooh,” said Lucy. “What are you planning?”
“Think Rock Chick,” I said, tapping my nose. “It’s my new inspiration. When you see me tomorrow, you won’t recognise me!”
We were going to the car-boot sale in Hartley’s central car park the next day. It’s world famous – at least, in Hartley. There are always bargains galore, and there’s nothing I like more than a bargain. We do it every month without fail, and it’s the best fun ever.
“What about you, Mel?” asked Lucy.
“I’ve got to get tea on for Mum,” said Mel. “Besides, I’m sure Frankie doesn’t want me tagging along.”
“He wouldn’t mind,” Lucy said. “But see you tomorrow then.”
“Sure. Ten o’clock, Hartley central car park,” Mel said, nodding. “See you there!”
“Hiya!” I shouted as I came through the door and tossed my bag on the hall chair. “Anyone home?”
“Em’s doing her homework upstairs,” came Mum’s voice from the kitchen. “How was the concert?”
“Fantastic,” I said happily. “I think I’m going to be in a rock band when I’m older.”
Dad appeared in the living-room door, holding a cup of tea. “So,” he said, grinning at me. “Actress, fashion designer, model and now rock star. That’s a lot of careers to fit in, Coleen.”
“They’re all the same thing these days,” I said, taking the stairs two at a time. “Hey, Mum?” I called, spinning around halfway up. “You know those old black high heels you’ve got in your wardrobe?”
“They aren’t that old,” Mum said, sounding a bit put out.
“D’you think I could spray them gold?” I asked hopefully, thinking of Deena’s shoes.
Dad burst out laughing at the sight of Mum’s startled face.
“I don’t get the point of high heels,” my little sister Em said, coming out of her room in one of her old tracksuits. “You can hardly walk in them, let alone kick a ball.
”
At the grand old age of seven, my little sister is already football mad. I’ve tried to show her that there’s more to life than the offside rule, but she never listens.
“You wouldn’t understand, sports freak,” I said kindly. “You’re too young.”
“So are you, Coleen,” Mum said, having recovered from the shock. “My black heels are way too high. And besides, they’re staying black, and that’s that.”
I sighed. I’d known that would be Mum’s answer, but if you don’t ask you never get. I grabbed an old pair of trainers from my cupboard and trotted back downstairs with them. So they weren’t heels, but by the time I’d sprayed them gold, they were going to look wicked…
Amazingly, Sunday was bright and sunny. I had been planning to wear sunglasses anyway because rock stars generally do, but it was good to be able to put them on and not have Em teasing me like normal. My newly sprayed trainers gleamed on my feet, and I’d carefully put on my tightest jeans and best black tee with an old cardie I’d cropped right down with Mum’s kitchen scissors.
“Now you just need the multicoloured hair,” Mel said as I gave her and Lucy a Bubbly-look twirl by the car-park entrance.
“Mum would never let me,” I explained regretfully.
Loads of people were around, all lured out by the sun. The whole of the Hartley central car park was buzzing, music was playing from various parts of the market and there was this festive feeling you usually only get on holiday.
There’s something about sunny days that makes me want to spend money – especially at car-boot sales, where the stalls all groan with cheap goodies. Before long, I was the proud owner of two studded leather wrist-straps, a handful of postcards, two CDs and a thin gold belt that wrapped twice around my middle. Then Lucy found a stall selling little china animals and spent ages deciding between getting a cat and a bear.
“Psst,” I said, suddenly grabbing Lucy. “Isn’t that Ben over there?”
Lucy’s big brother was walking down the next line of stalls along from us with his on-off girlfriend, Jasmine Harris. They are both in Year Ten, two years above us.
“Oooh, Ben,” Mel said in a silly-swoony voice. “I lurve you…”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said impatiently. It was true that I had a crush on Ben Hanratty, but it was hardly news. I’d liked him for what felt like half my life. No – I had a much more important question to ask Lucy.
“So are Ben and Jasmine back together then?”
“Looks like it,” Lucy said, shrugging. “Who knows with those two?”
To my horror, Ben and Jasmine were kissing now. I heaved a sigh. One day Ben Hanratty would notice me. But it wasn’t going to be today.
“What do you think of this?” Mel said, pouncing on something at the china-animal stall. She held up a little red, white and blue ceramic elephant with a raised trunk.
“For your mum?” Lucy asked, finally buying the cat. Mel’s mum collected elephants and had them all over their flat.
Mel nodded, looking delighted as she handed over twenty pence to the stallholder. “It’s exactly the same pattern as this huge one Mum’s got by the fireplace,” she said, and put the elephant carefully in her pocket.
Lucy’s mobile rang. “It’s Dad,” she said, looking at her screen. “I’ve got to go, guys – we’re going to my gran’s for Sunday dinner.”
As we waved goodbye, I caught sight of something that made me forget everything else in an instant.
“Look!” I gasped at Mel, pointing to a bright red poster that was fluttering on the side of a nearby car-park ticket machine.
BATTLE OF THE BANDS!
Are you aged between 12 and 16?
Think you’ve got what it takes to rock?
Make it happen!!
I snatched down the poster and studied it. “Qualifying rounds are in two weeks!” I read. “There’s four all across town, with the final taking place in the Town Hall a month after the qualifiers. Contestants must sing a cover version of a well-known song for the qualifying round,” I continued, squinting at the tiny print that ran along the bottom of the poster. “Original songs must be performed for the final.”
I looked across the top of the poster at Mel. “There’s a trophy!” I gasped. I’d never won a trophy in my whole life. “You know what I’m thinking?”
Mel goggled at me. “You want to enter Battle of the Bands?” she said. “But we haven’t got a band!”
“We can fix that,” I said, tucking the poster into my pocket. “Lucy’s got the voice, and you and me have got the attitude. What do you reckon?”
“What about a song?” Mel protested. But she was smiling, so I knew we were getting somewhere.
“We could cover Wave Like You Mean It for the qualifier,” I said, almost crazy with excitement at the thought of performing a Bubbly song in front of a cheering crowd. “We know it off by heart, don’t we? And as for the original song – I’ll write one tonight! I mean, how hard can it be?”
Two
“Coleen!” Mum shouted up the stairs. “Bed, now!” I stared hopelessly at the mountains of paper that lay all over my bedroom floor. I’d started about a million songs since tea and hadn’t got past the second or third line for each one. I mean, have you ever tried to find a rhyme for “orange”? Forget it! Even “love” is tough to rhyme after a bit.
“Love is a dove in a glove,” I said mournfully, staring at my latest creation. “I don’t think so.”
Mum knocked on the door. “It really is time for bed, Coleen,” she said. “You’ve got school in the morning.”
“Do you think ‘enough’ rhymes with ‘love’?” I asked hopefully.
“Not really,” said Mum, trying to be kind.
“I’ve got to write a song if we’re going to win the Battle of the Bands trophy,” I said as I pushed back my chair and wandered reluctantly over to my bed. “But it’s way harder than it looks.”
“You’ve still got to get through the qualifying round, haven’t you?” Mum pointed out. “Don’t you think you should be worrying about that first?”
“I want to be prepared,” I yawned, snuggling down.
“Prepare for school by sleeping,” Mum advised, tucking me in. “Night, love.”
Something niggled vaguely in the back of my head as I tried to settle down and stop rhyming things in my mind – something I should have done…But I was too tired to work it out. I slid into a weird dream-world of doves in gloves instead. It wasn’t the most restful night of my life.
“Earth to Coleen!” Mel poked me in the side ten minutes into our maths lesson the following day. “Anyone in there?”
“Hmph?” I said, my eyes flying open.
“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Lucy said, looking at me with wide eyes.
“This is maths,” Mel pointed out. “You can see Coleen’s point.”
“Of course I didn’t fall asleep,” I said at once, though I had a nasty feeling that I had. “I was just – daydreaming.”
“Coleen?” Mr Hughes the maths teacher was looming over me, holding out his hand and looking at me in this enquiring way.
“Hi, Mr Hughes,” I said, shaking his hand. I was still only half awake, to tell the truth. The class roared with laughter. It took me a couple of seconds to work out what was so funny.
“Your homework, Coleen,” Mr Hughes repeated. “Do you have it for me?”
The bell of doom rang through my head with a mighty bonnggg. Last night’s niggling thought…homework! Everything flooded back to me. We were supposed to work out percentages on a list of revised recipes – you know the kind of thing, how much extra fruit you have to add to an apple pie to make it stretch to six people instead of four like the recipe said. I’d planned to do it on Sunday night. But the Battle of the Bands poster had totally knocked it out of my head. And I’d wasted my Sunday night thinking about doves in gloves.
“You know, Mr Hughes,” I said, desperately fishing around for a decent excuse, “there’s a funny story a
bout my homework.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Mr Hughes. “Your dog ate it.”
Summer Collins wasn’t even pretending not to laugh. She and her mates were cackling like chickens as I felt my face flood with heat. Mel and Lucy gazed sympathetically at me as I floundered about.
“Not exactly,” I mumbled. “I mean, Rascal did once eat ten quid out of Dad’s wallet so he obviously likes the taste of paper – but…well…the truth is…”
“You didn’t do it,” Mr Hughes said with a sigh. “Am I right?”
I could see it was no good. “Yes, sir,” I said sheepishly.
Mr Hughes shook his head. “I’m sorry, Coleen,” he said, “but you know what that means, don’t you?”
I nodded sadly. Detention. I hadn’t had a detention in months. How could I have been so daft?
“Tomorrow afternoon,” said Mr Hughes. Summer and her mates were almost wetting themselves with delight. “Straight after school in my classroom.”
I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth. Tomorrow?
“Problem?” Mr Hughes asked.
Oh yes. There was a problem all right. A huge one. It was just my luck that Em’s latest footie match was tomorrow at four o’clock, not Wednesday as normal. We don’t usually go to Em’s weekday matches as a whole family, but this was her twentieth match for Hartley Juniors so it was a special one. My parents were completely going to kill me.
“No, sir,” I said dully. “No problem.”
It was hard to concentrate for the rest of the day. I kept picturing Mum’s reaction when I told her what an idiot I’d been. It wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Let’s talk about Battle of the Bands,” Mel said, trying to take my mind off things as I gloomily prodded my chicken pie across the plate.
“What battle?” Lucy said, breaking off from this funky little tune she’d been humming most of dinnertime.
We hadn’t told Lucy about the poster or our plans for it yet. She’d come into school with her dad that day, so we hadn’t seen each other on the bus – and break time was such a rush that we hadn’t got round to it. Tearing my thoughts from Mum, I explained as quickly as I could while Lucy’s eyes got rounder and rounder.
Rock That Frock! Page 1
