“Give over, Jas,” Ben said as me and the others stopped giggling about Summer and turned to look guiltily at Jasmine.
Jasmine had been in a funny mood most of the week. I hoped she wasn’t building up to one of her mega flounce-offs. We were so close now, I could almost feel the cool metal of the trophy between my fingers.
“I’ve got the best look for us,” I said, keen to head Jasmine off at the mardy crossroads. “Don’t worry about Summer. We’re going – pink!”
“Oh no, we’re not,” Ben said at once.
“Hear me out,” I begged. “We’re talking hot pink, almost red, right? I’m doing a T-shirt for Ben. Me, Lucy and Mel can all wear pink tops with black footless tights – and Jasmine? Is there any way you can get some hot-pink skinny jeans? The rest is up to you – but the pink touches pull us together as a band.”
“I’m not wearing pink,” Ben repeated stubbornly.
“Don’t be so boring, Ben,” said Jasmine, fiddling with her guitar. “It’ll look great. Topshop have pink skinny jeans in at the minute. I’ve been after a pair for ages. Mum’ll give me some money if I tell her they’re for the Battle.”
Ben went into a sulk and didn’t say anything else for the rest of the rehearsal. He just hit the drums so hard that the walls shook around us.
“Is it just me,” said Mel as we wound up and agreed to meet at Lucy’s place tomorrow afternoon for the dress rehearsal, “or are those two going off the boil?”
We watched Ben stalking off down the corridor. Jasmine was making no attempt to catch him up.
“Don’t say that,” I said anxiously. “We can’t have them splitting up and leaving the band, not now we’re so close to the gig.”
And not now I’ve borrowed one of Dad’s white T-shirts, tied it up in a bunch of rubber bands and stuck it in a bucket of pink dye either, I thought privately to myself.
“Coleen,” Dad said, standing in his PJs on Saturday morning and frowning at the dye-bucket that was sat by the back door. “Please tell me that’s not blood in there.”
“Gross,” Em mumbled through a mouthful of chewed-up Weetabix.
“Course not, Dad,” I said, steering him back towards the breakfast table. “Here you go. Look, a lovely cup of tea for you. And I’ve done Marmite on toast, just how you like it.”
“It is blood, isn’t it?” Dad asked suspiciously. “That’s why you’re being nice.”
“Come on,” I protested. “Where am I going to get a whole bucket of blood from?”
“Your vampire victims,” said Dad in a ghoulish voice. “You must’ve bitten half the street to get that much in there. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Mum this morning.”
“Mum’s at the supermarket, as you well know,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Stop talking about blood or I’m gonna BE SICK,” Em announced.
When Dad and Em had gone for their usual Saturday-morning footie training, I covered the floor with newspaper, put on Mum’s rubber gloves and carefully pulled Dad’s T-shirt out of the dye. Then I pulled off the rubber bands that had been holding the tee in place.
“Yes!” I said in triumph as I stared at the coolest hot-pink tie-dye pattern you ever saw. I bundled it into the washing machine along with a ton of salt like the instructions said, and set the machine to its hottest temperature. Ben was going to love it!
Mel and Lucy whooped as I held up the finished T-shirt for Ben to admire over at Lucy’s that afternoon.
“What do you think?” I asked Ben.
Ben looked like he had a right cob on today. “It’s OK,” he said in a grumpy voice, and took it off me.
“Ignore Ben,” Jasmine said. She was already wearing her outfit: new pink skinnies with a bright red T-shirt and these brilliant stacked-heel shoes on the bottom. “It’s cool. How did you do the pattern?”
“Secret,” I grinned. “So, d’you like it, Ben?”
OK, so maybe I shouldn’t have asked his opinion twice.
“I said it was OK, didn’t I?” Ben snapped.
“Let’s all get changed and meet back down here in ten minutes,” said Mel, trying to jolly things along.
“What’s eating Ben this week?” I asked Lucy as we all went into her room to get changed.
“The usual,” said Lucy.
“Not Dave again?” Mel gasped.
Lucy nodded. “Ben’s heard more rumours. He doesn’t want to kick off about it because Jasmine got so mad at him last time, but it’s doing his head in.”
“Just so long as he can keep it together till the end of tonight’s gig,” I said, pulling on my footless tights beneath a long pink blouse of Mum’s that I had snipped here and there and pulled in at the waist with a belt. “Come on, is everyone ready? We look wicked!”
Me and my mates stood arm in arm and admired ourselves in Lucy’s wardrobe mirror. We looked brilliant. And just as I thought, our footless tights pulled everything together like a dream.
“Bounce Back rocks!” I shouted and punched the air.
“Yay!” Mel and Lucy squealed.
Bounce Back rocked all right. But if we’d known what was coming, we maybe wouldn’t have yelled quite so loudly.
There were now only a couple of hours left till the warm-up and the Battle, and my nerves were seriously starting to kick in. There was just one thing for it. Chocolate.
“Anyone fancy going into town?” I asked the others as we finished carefully packing away our costumes at the end of the dress rehearsal. Jasmine had wriggled off early with promises of seeing us at the Town Hall at a quarter to six, and Ben had stomped off to his bedroom where he was now playing heavy metal really loudly.
“You’re on,” said Mel.
“I’m getting dead nervous,” Lucy mumbled.
I knew what she meant. But as predicted, a chunky chocolate bar on a Hartley town bench cheered us all up no end, and we started to get seriously excited.
“Fame,” I said dreamily as we planned a gorgeous future for Bounce Back once we’d got our hands on the trophy. I closed my eyes between bites of chocolate, picturing it all. “Magazine front covers…”
“A massive recording contract and a sponsorship deal with Cadbury’s…” Mel added, and we squealed with delight at the thought of all the free chocs a deal like that would mean.
“Summer and her mates…” said Lucy.
I opened my eyes in confusion. What did Summer and her mates have to do with the future of our band?
Summer Collins, Hannah Davies and Shona Mackinnon had just appeared around the corner. They were carrying shopping bags and arguing about something – which meant they hadn’t seen us yet.
“Behind the bench!” I ordered the others, thinking fast.
A few passers-by looked weirdly at us as we slid off the bench and crept round behind it. Summer and her mates were getting closer now, and we could hear them talking.
“…much better on me,” Summer was saying. “Besides, Coleen’s wearing it, and as she’s the leader of that sad little crew, it’s only right that I get it.”
Behind our bench we gazed at each other in delight. Proof at last that Summer had fallen into our trap, hook, line and mascara!
“Are you calling us sad?” Hannah said in confusion.
Summer tutted in annoyance. “You can be dead thick sometimes, Hannah. I’m saying that I’m wearing the yellow, right? That’ll really show Coleen who’s queen of the scene! You can take the green and Shona can do red.”
“Are we definitely on before them?” Shona asked, trailing behind the other two as they walked right past our bench, their shoes millimetres from our noses. “Only, this is gonna look dead stupid if they go first.”
“I told you, dimwit,” Summer hissed, her voice fading away now. “I’ve got the running order. We’re sixth and they’re eighth…”
We all peered over the top of the bench, happily watching as the Fashionistas trotted on and out of sight.
“You know what?” Mel said. “I was looking forwar
d to tonight before. But now – I can’t wait.”
And I knew exactly what she meant.
Ten
“Sorry I’m late,” I gasped, rushing into the Town Hall at ten past six with my gear bouncing on my back in a plastic bag.
There was loads of activity everywhere, with guys in black T-shirts and headsets lifting massive amps around the stage and setting up light rigs that flashed through all the wicked colours I remembered from the Bubbly gig. The atmosphere was nervy and exciting with all the qualified bands pacing around and looking scared, waiting to be called for their sound-check. There were twelve bands in total from all over town, including Summer and her Fashionistas and the other band from our qualifier, Thrash Bunnies. And it looked like we weren’t the only band to have changed our lineup. Standing with the Thrash Bunnies was none other than Dave Sheekey, tuning his guitar and adjusting his new dark-blue band T-shirt.
“Where have you been, Col?” Mel demanded. “I said to meet here at quarter to!”
“Three lots have already done their sound-checks,” Jasmine said angrily. She was as jumpy as a frog on springs. “We’re dead lucky we haven’t been called yet.”
“Long story,” I panted, hugely relieved that I hadn’t missed our sound-check. I wanted everything to be perfect tonight, and everyone knows how important sound-checks are for adjusting the volume on microphones and all that.
“So what’s your excuse?” Lucy said.
I’d got home after seeing Summer in town to find Mum standing in the hall with her hands on her hips, wanting to know why her whole white wash had gone pink: knickers, socks, all mine and Em’s school shirts, Dad’s work overalls and Em’s football shorts included. After my stuttered explanation I got the Questions: how could I have forgotten to leave Mum a note telling her I’d used her machine for dyeing? How could I have dyed Dad’s best white T-shirt without asking him first? Then Mum got me at the sink with bleach, stain removers and instructions to come nowhere near the table for tea until everything was white again.
“And then she said I had to buy Dad a new T-shirt and walk Rascal for the next fortnight, starting with right after tea, and she didn’t care if I was late for the sound-check; I was lucky to be allowed anywhere near the Town Hall tonight, blah, blah,” I finished.
“You idiot,” Mel said, and started to grin.
“Bounce Back to the stage please,” came a voice over the microphone, making us jump out of our skins.
With chattering teeth, we all walked up the hall.
“Good luck, mate,” Dave said hopefully as Ben brushed past him.
Ben grunted something in reply which was either “Good luck yourself” or something a whole lot ruder. It was difficult to tell.
“It’s good that Dave and Ben are talking again,” Lucy said to me as we took our positions and tried not to feel too freaked out by the huge space of the Town Hall laying out in front of us.
“That depends what they’re saying to each other,” I said, glancing back at Dave.
The sound-check went fine. It was the craziest feeling in the world, hearing your own voice booming back to you through a massive sound system. It made me realise, maybe for the first time, just what we’d got ourselves into here. There wasn’t time to do the whole song – just the start and the finish. But it left my head ringing all the same.
Hartley’s Battle of the Bands was due to start at seven o’clock. People came flooding in as soon as the stage technicians said they were done with the sound-checks, and the Town Hall was filling up as fast as a welly in deep water. I gasped as I saw Deena from Bubbly take her seat with the rest of the judging panel at the front of the hall – and then I spotted my folks.
“You made it!” I said in relief, hurrying over to them as they came in the door. My eyes slid guiltily over Em’s still faintly pink England footie shirt.
“Don’t say a word,” Em growled.
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” said Mum, “however daft you’ve been.”
“I will get you a new T-shirt, Dad,” I promised, giving everyone quick hugs.
“’Course you will,” said Dad comfortably. “Just like you’ll get me a cup of tea in bed every day for the next week.”
“Good luck, Coleen love,” Nan said, patting me on the cheek with one warm little hand as the voice on the microphone summoned everyone to their seats.
The lights dimmed as I plonked into my reserved place beside Mel and Lucy. My heart was really going now. That special hush fell, the one you always get before a show, and Thrash Bunnies took to the stage.
“They were much better than I remembered at the qualifiers,” Mel whispered across at me as everyone cheered at the end of their set.
“Looks like Dave was a good extra,” I whispered back.
Jasmine looked like she was about to agree with me, but something stopped her – probably the thought of Ben hearing her saying nice stuff about his supposed love rival. I noticed she and Ben weren’t holding hands like normal and hoped it was just nerves.
We all listened as the panel – including Deena – said a few words on what they thought of Thrash Bunnies’ performance. They were pretty complementary. I closed my eyes and really, really hoped Deena would say some nice things about us.
The next four bands were scarily good. From where we were sitting, we could see Deena’s multicoloured hair as she bent towards another judge for a chat, then congratulated the band members on their excellent performances. Were we anywhere near good enough for this competition?
“Look out, world,” Mel said happily. “It’s the Fashionistas.”
We watched as Summer, Hannah and Shona lined up on the stage. Their make-up was even worse than it had been at the qualifiers. This was better than good. This was totally perfect.
Ben bent towards us. “Is it just me,” he said in a low voice, “or do they look like a row of traffic lights?”
I nodded, frantically biting back a mad desire to giggle as Shona, Summer and Hannah lined up, holding out their hands in front of them. Their backing track started up.
“Walk to me,” Summer began, beckoning with one finger, “come this way, cross the line, hear me say…”
“Wait for the green man first,” Mel sang out cheerfully.
A couple of people near us started chuckling as they saw the traffic-light resemblance in their costumes. Once you’d seen it, it was impossible to take the song seriously.
“You push my buttons, baby,” Hannah and Shona started grinding away in their red and green dresses. “I love you true, you push my buttons, baby…”
“Bus coming through!” roared a joker somewhere further down the hall.
“I love youuu…”
The Fashionistas pressed on valiantly, although it was beginning to dawn on them that something was going deeply wrong. The laughter began to spread as Summer’s lyrics pushed the joke to heights I had only dreamed of. By the time they reached: “Gimme the green light, green light for your love,” they couldn’t make themselves heard over the riotous laughter flooding the hall.
“Walk, don’t walk!” chanted the crowd in delight. “Walk, don’t walk!”
Summer stopped singing, completely purple with rage. “I hate you all!” she screeched, and ran off the stage with Hannah and Shona running after her. The hall erupted in tumultuous applause.
“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Dave Sheekey, wiping his eyes and leaning his arm over the back of his seat as he turned to us.
“Right on,” Mel sighed in complete satisfaction, high-fiving Lucy.
I couldn’t speak. “Hoohoo,” I gasped weakly as Deena and the other judges struggled to find something nice to say about the Fashionistas. I thought I was about to die with the joyful pain of it all. “Hoohoohoohahahoo…”
“Where’s your watch, Dave?” said Ben.
Dave looked surprised. He glanced at his bare wrist. “Dunno,” he said. “Must’ve left it somewhere.”
For some reason, my giggle
s dried up. This wave of tension ripped through me as I looked at Dave, and then at Ben, and then at Jasmine, who was sitting totally still.
“Bounce Back?” A stage technician was hunkering down beside our row. “Backstage, please.”
Ben leaped up and barged past us all.
“Wait,” said Jasmine, struggling out of her seat.
“Where’s the fire, Ben?” Lucy complained as we followed Ben, Jasmine and the techie down a little corridor that took us backstage. Jasmine kept trying to grab Ben’s arm, but he shook her off each time. I watched them with this growing feeling of doom.
“I don’t think it’s a fire we should be worrying about,” Mel said, echoing my thoughts. “What was that about Dave’s watch?”
“Ten minutes to change, and then you’re on,” said the techie, leaving us in this little dressing room.
I felt sick as the image of Dave Sheekey’s big black watch swam into my head. I knew exactly where I had seen it. It had been lying on the messy packing-crate table at Jasmine’s place. Which meant Dave had been there. Like me, Ben must’ve spotted it – and then forgotten all about it till he saw Dave’s bare wrist. Suddenly, the so-called rumour was looking less like a rumour, and more like…
“Ben?” Jasmine was saying. “Listen, don’t do anything crazy, OK?”
Ben was ignoring her, pulling on his tie-dye T-shirt and black jacket in silence. His face was like thunder.
“Er,” said Lucy in confusion, “what’s going on, guys?”
“Two minutes!” went the tannoy over our heads. “Bounce Back, this is your two-minute call.”
“We’re going on,” Mel declared, dragging on her footless tights. “Come on – my mum’s out there waiting to see us, and so’s everyone else’s folks. Let’s talk about whatever the problem is after, yeah? We’ve got a show to do.”
Dumbly I fixed my hair and pulled my black trilby on over the top with shaky fingers. We were about to hit the stage with a time-bomb on drums. I was so spooked at the thought of what Ben might do in front of hundreds of people that I didn’t even smile at the sight of a dumbstruck Summer, Shona and Hannah halfway down the corridor as they took in our totally un-traffic-light-like outfits.
Rock That Frock! Page 6
