The It Girl in Rome

by Katy Birchall

  “No, why? What happened?” Stephanie asked innocently.

  “Just a coincidence, then?” Mr. Kenton said.

  “Must have been.” Danny shrugged.

  Mr. Kenton looked suspicious, but then his shoulders relaxed. “Well, anyway, just the five of you, then.”

  He looked at Mrs. Ginnwell, who inhaled slowly, deciding our fate. She let out a long, heavy sigh. “I’m afraid as punishment I can’t allow any of you to attend the end-of-trip party—”

  “Mrs. Ginnwell,” I interrupted, “if anyone has to be punished, it really should just be—”

  “Anna,” Stephanie said softly, shaking her head.

  I pursed my lips.

  “As I was saying,” continued Mrs. Ginnwell, “you will not be able to attend the end-of-trip party, and instead you will spend tomorrow night writing an essay about Rome’s beautiful landmarks, their background, architectural highlights, and what you have learned from them.”

  Jess groaned. Danny raised his hand.

  “Yes, Danny?”

  “Do we just discuss the ones we’ve seen, or should we add in other landmarks that are culturally significant, but which we haven’t been able to fit into our itinerary?”

  Jess hit him over the head while Miss Lawler gave a sigh of admiration.

  “Whatever you wish, Daniel.” Mrs. Ginnwell nodded. “Unless anyone has anything to add, you may all go to your rooms. Except you, Miss Huntley. Stay a moment.”

  The others filed out slowly, Jess mouthing, “We’ll see you in a minute.”

  “I just wanted to check you were all right, Anna,” Mrs. Ginnwell explained when the others had left. Having been concentrating on the patterns on the floor, too terrified to look at her, I raised my eyes.

  “You wanted to check I was all right?”

  “Yes.” She gestured for me to sit down. “We were all worried.”

  I looked from her to Mr. Kenton, Miss Lawler, and across to Mr. Crowne, all of them watching me intently. “Uh. I’m fine.”

  “It can’t be easy,” Mr. Kenton began, “to be in such a position at your age. What you did was wrong, Anna—you should never sneak away again. But having to face that amount of paparazzi without an adult or anyone to guide you through it? It must have been terrifying on your own.”

  “I did have someone to guide me through it,” I replied. “Four someones, in fact. I wasn’t on my own.”

  “Right.” Miss Lawler nodded. “You should know that we’ve spoken to the hotel and they are fully aware of the situation. They won’t be letting any journalists on the premises.”

  “Thank you.”

  I waited in silence until Mrs. Ginnwell gestured that I could leave, and then, mumbling apologies again for everything, I scuffled out and hurried up to my room where Sophie was lounging on her bed wearing a bright green face mask.

  “I take it, it didn’t go well,” she drawled, not even bothering to look up and flicking a page of a magazine as I collapsed onto my bed, suddenly exhausted.

  I closed my eyes, burying my head further into the pillow.

  “Connor called earlier by the way,” she announced when I didn’t say anything.

  “Really?” I lifted my head and a wave of nauseating guilt washed over me. Connor had strictly told me not to do anything rash or get into trouble and I had managed to accomplish both. He must be so worried.

  “He left a message.” She licked her finger and turned another page of the magazine. “He said to tell you that the comic-book agent he’s hoping to sign with wants a meeting and so he doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it to the airport when we land.”

  “Oh.” I paused, my heart sinking. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, although I can’t say I appreciated his tone when I gave him my opinion on comic books.”

  “Did he want me to call him back?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  I nodded. “Right. Thanks for passing on the message.”

  “Don’t expect it to happen again—I’m not some kind of secretary,” she huffed, putting down the magazine and sauntering into the bathroom to fill the tub with water.

  “By the way, Sophie,” I said, watching her dab at her face with a washcloth. “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

  “Whatever, it’s not a big deal.” She shrugged, continuing to wipe away the green mush. “I didn’t do it to help you out—I just want an invite to the wedding reception.”

  “Either way, thanks.”

  She didn’t respond. I pulled on my pajamas and slipped under the duvet, put it over my head, and wished it would just swallow me up.

  19.

  “ARE YOU JUST GOING TO sit there?”

  Sophie straightened up after digging around in her makeup bag, flicked her hair back, and then twisted it into a messy bun on the top of her head. Miraculously, even though it looked like she was receiving style tips from a pineapple, she also still managed to look like she’d just walked off a catwalk.

  “Uh . . .” I turned the page of my book. “Yes?”

  She opened the wardrobe and inhaled loudly through her nose as an artist might do before creating a masterpiece, staring at their canvas.

  “Josie is going to come in here to get ready for the party,” she informed me. “You might want to go read in Jess’s room.”

  “We’re not allowed. We have to stay in our rooms and write the essays on our own in silence.” I looked back down at my book.

  “All right, then, you can stay.”

  I was tempted to remind her that it was MY ROOM, but I still felt slightly indebted after she helped us escape from the hotel so I kept my mouth shut.

  “Do you have your makeup and hair done professionally before all those events you go to?” Sophie inquired, separating hangers and inspecting the garments hanging from them. “I mean, you look way better at those sort of things than when you’re, you know . . . just normal you.”

  “Thanks? Yeah, Marianne has a stylist who picks out what I’m going to wear and then someone sorts out my face and everything.”

  “That’s really cool,” she said with a smile. I smiled back and we held eye contact.

  Oh my goodness. That was a moment.

  SOPHIE PARKER AND I TOTALLY HAD A MOMENT. WE WERE BONDING.

  I put my book down in case she wanted to give me a hug or something now that we were bonding.

  “I mean, no offense, but you really need the help in the wardrobe department, you know,” she said, holding up a dress and then throwing it on her bed. “You can tell when you’ve picked an outfit yourself. It’s like a hobo vibe.”

  Maybe not.

  There was a knock on the door and Sophie, without even looking at me, went, “Can you get that? It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do,” as she continued to hurl items onto her bed.

  I dragged myself off the bed and opened the door to be greeted by Josie holding a pile of clothes and looking repulsed by my appearance. “What are you wearing?”

  “A onesie.”

  “You look like a blueberry.”

  “It’s an Eeyore onesie. You know, from Winnie-the-Pooh?” I turned and stuck out my bottom, giving it a wiggle. “See? It’s got the tail. I have matching slippers too.”

  Seriously, why do I do things like wiggle my bottom at the most popular girls in school? WHY?

  One day I am DETERMINED to act like a Normal Person.

  Josie raised an eyebrow and Sophie looked at me in exasperation from where she was sitting. “I really didn’t think you could get any weirder after the beetle comment at the beginning of the trip, but the butt wiggle just then?” She shook her head at me. “That was a low point for you.”

  “So, you were wrong about Marianne and Tom, then,” Josie said smugly. “I thought you said they were moving in together.”

  “I was wrong,” I told her curtly.

  “Well, that’s what happens when you date a rock star,” she sighed, as though she were well versed in these matters. “It n
ever ends well.”

  “Anyway, come on in, Josie,” I said through gritted teeth, standing back to let her pass. “Make yourself at home.”

  “Whatever.” She sauntered through and chucked the bag and all the clothes she was carrying across my bed.

  “I’m actually sitting there,” I said quietly, but was ignored as Josie launched into a speech about how she didn’t have anything to wear and she hated everything she brought and thank goodness she had a friend like Sophie who could instruct her on what to do.

  Wondering how on earth I had spent almost an entire semester putting up with Josie’s whining—back when they thought being an It Girl meant I would immediately change personality and be their best friend—I carefully shuffled some of Josie’s clothes down to the bottom end of the bed, slid under my duvet and picked up my book.

  “Shall we do our makeup first?” Josie asked, getting out all her cosmetics and lining them up proudly along the dressing table.

  Sophie nodded her approval of the plan and then the two of them began the process, perching neatly on stools and applying foundation to their already perfect skin.

  “Tonight is going to be fun, right, Soph?” Josie began, filling the silence.

  “Probably,” Sophie replied indifferently, sifting through her pencils and picking up an eyeliner.

  “Is Brendan coming here first so you can go to the party together?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  It wasn’t the answer Josie was expecting, but she tried to play down her surprise. “Really? Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

  “Is this about the fight you had last night?” Josie asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  “What fight?”

  “I heard you two had a big fight in the reception area . . . ,” Josie said timidly. “You can tell me.”

  “Oh, that.” Sophie’s eyes met mine for the briefest moment in the reflection of the mirror. “Brendan was being totally immature and a massive drama queen and you know I don’t have time for that. This trip has really opened my eyes. I decided it’s time to break up. I want to date an older man.”

  “Urgh, yeah,” Josie said, wrinkling her nose. “Boys our age are the worst. We need mature men.”

  I gaped at Sophie. She hadn’t mentioned that she and Brendan had actually broken up last night. Does that mean that their fight was real? And the reason Sophie sounded so convincing during the whole thing was because she was actually being honest?

  “Anna, why are you staring at us like that?” Josie sneered.

  “I wasn’t staring.” I quickly looked down at my book. “I was just thinking.”

  Their next stage of preparation was wardrobe, and after what seemed like a hundred outfit changes, Josie settled on a very pretty short blue dress that Sophie picked out for her, and Sophie went with skinny black jeans and a cream embellished top with thin straps.

  “Okay,” Sophie sighed, picking up two pairs of shoes. “The main decision. Which pair? I like the black.”

  Josie nodded vigorously. “I love the black.”

  “But then I do like the green,” Sophie mused.

  “I LOVE the green,” Josie agreed.

  “So which pair?”

  Josie blinked at her. “Er . . . which pair do you like?”

  Sophie pursed her lips and then something strange happened.

  “Anna,” she commanded, “which do you like?”

  I slowly raised my eyes from my book to see them both watching me, Sophie holding up the shoes, waiting for an answer, and Josie, whose expression had rapidly transitioned from stunned to furious.

  “Sorry, are you talking to me?” I squeaked.

  “Yes, stupid, I am talking to you. There are no other Annas in the room, thank God.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Which pair would you pick?”

  I considered both pairs, looked her up and down and then said, “I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but I think the black ones.” I paused. “If Marianne were here, she would go for the black ones with that sort of outfit. It’s more sophisticated. I may be wrong. Like I said, I don’t really know. I’ll stop talking now.”

  Josie and I watched Sophie move over to her bed and sit down before sliding her feet into the black pair. She stood up and posed in front of the long mirror. “You’re right, the black ones look good,” she said simply.

  Josie looked as though she had been slapped in the face.

  “Are you ready, Josie?” Sophie asked, grabbing her clutch bag and throwing her phone and lip gloss in.

  “I’ll go get my bag,” Josie mumbled. She eyed me suspiciously and then scampered out of the room.

  I shook my head and went to put my book down on the bedside table when I saw the magazines about Helena and Dad, still stacked up there.

  “Urgh,” I groaned, tipping them onto the floor. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

  “A little bit of extra publicity never hurt anyone,” Sophie declared, spritzing perfume onto her wrists.

  “It does in this case,” I replied. “I better phone my dad tonight. The whole Missing Marianne saga distracted me.”

  “Kind of proved my point, though, didn’t it?”

  “What did?”

  “Tom and Marianne,” she explained, spraying a loose tendril of her hair back into place. “Look, I’m not rubbing it in or anything. Just pointing out the facts.”

  “That was different,” I said defensively.

  “How?”

  “Because . . . Tom is just a horrible person.”

  “Or maybe he’s just a famous one.” Sophie shrugged. “Like you. And like your dad. It’s just that he knows the score. Fame and love don’t mesh well. That’s just how it is.”

  “So, what are you saying? My dad’s marriage is going to be a disaster?” I cried, exasperated. “That, because I’m famous now, I’ll never get a happy ending either?”

  “Hey,” she said, holding up her hands so that all her bracelets tinkled down her delicate wrists, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Sophie, are you ready?”

  “Coming.” She tucked her clutch bag under her arm, had one last mirror check, and tottered past my bed. “Good luck with the essay,” she said breezily as she left, the door slamming behind her.

  I picked up a magazine from the floor and looked glumly at the bold zigzags and heartbreak illustrations surrounding all the miserable-looking celebrities, Helena and Dad slap bang in the middle.

  I was staring at it so hard for so long that when there was a gentle rap on my door I jumped out of my skin. Guessing that Sophie had forgotten something, I reluctantly opened the door, ready for the wave of perfume and hairspray to hit me in the face.

  Instead, James slid into the room.

  “Hey! What are you doing? They’ll be around any minute to check on us.”

  “They’re getting everything sorted for the party first. We’ve got a few minutes.” He hesitated and ran his eyes from my head down to my feet. “Are you wearing a Babygro?”

  “No!” I cried, the heat rushing to my cheeks. “It’s a onesie. An Eeyore onesie. The donkey from Winnie-the-Pooh.” I pulled at it nervously. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone.”

  James laughed and moved to go and sit where Sophie and Josie had been doing their makeup. “I wanted to check you were okay after speaking to the teachers on your own. I hope they weren’t too mad at you. And also, in case you’re regretting it, I wanted to remind you again that what you did was really cool. Throwing water over that idiot. He deserved it.”

  I smiled at his earnest expression. “Thanks. That’s . . . really nice. Not that it made any difference—I think I just made everything worse. It was pointless anyway.”

  “What?” He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean it was pointless?”

  I waved the magazine at him. “It was never going to work between Tom and Marianne. Everyone else seems to know that. I shou
ld have just been realistic. Of course they broke up. After all, he is a rock star and she’s . . .” I paused, my heart sinking. “She’s an It Girl.”

  “So? What has that got to do with anything?” He gestured at the magazine in my hand. “You know better than anyone that those things are full of lies and rumors.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve got the gist of it, haven’t they?” I felt the tears pricking at my eyes. “Relationships and all that stuff. It isn’t real when you’re famous.”

  “If that’s your theory, you’ve proven yourself wrong.” James stood up, walked over, and moved my feet so he could sit next to me on the bed.

  “Tom has proven me right, you mean. Or proven Sophie right, anyway.”

  “Anna,” he chuckled, “you sneaked out of a hotel; you risked getting in trouble to try and find your future stepsister; you bluffed your way into a rock star’s concert to make sure that, wherever she was, she was okay; and you threw a jug of water over a jerk who was horrible about her when she didn’t deserve it.” He shook his head, bemused at my puzzled expression. “I think we can safely say that, famous or not, the way you feel about your family and friends is very real.”

  He picked up the magazine from my lap, rolled it tightly, and then lobbed it across the room and straight into the trash can before turning to look me in the eye.

  “And same goes for the way we feel about you.”

  20.

  JUST BEFORE WE WENT THROUGH arrivals, Mrs. Ginnwell called us all into a group next to baggage claim and made a long speech about how she hoped we’d had a truly cultural experience that would stay with us for the rest of our lives. It was really quite moving and I felt sad that our vacation was over, despite all the crazy things that had happened—and the fact that Connor hadn’t been able to be there.

  Then Sophie went and ruined the entire moment by asking if we could hurry things along as her dad was picking her up and they had a dinner reservation to get to.

  Letting Mr. Kenton lead the way through the arrival doors where all our parents would be waiting, Mrs. Ginnwell asked me to wait a moment. Jess, Danny, and Stephanie stopped with me, and even James brought his trolley to a halt, knocking Brendan’s arm and making him turn around too.