by Melody James
‘A Year Nine?’ He sounds surprised. ‘Got a name?’
‘You may find this shocking, Will, but all Year Nines have names.’ A new voice makes me jump. Sam Baynham – lead singer of the best band in the school and another Year Ten – is standing in the doorway. He flicks his shaggy blond hair away from his face and smiles at me. A small silver earring glints in his left ear. ‘You’re friends with Savannah, right?’
I slide my bag to the floor, then feel naked without it and drag it back on to my lap. ‘Yes. G-Gemma,’ I stutter. Savannah’s so cool, everyone knows who she is. I wish she were here right now.
Cindy’s face has turned from ice queen to cheerleader. She’s beaming. ‘So glad you could join us, Sam.’ And she sounds like she actually means it this time. She points at a pile of chairs. ‘Grab a seat.’
As Sam makes himself at home, I stare hopefully at the door, leaning forward as it opens.
Phillip and David Senior walk in. Identical twins. Identically nerdy. And identically in Year Ten. I slump back. This time when the door opens, I don’t even bother to move.
Barbara Tweed walks in. Barbara is Cindy’s best friend and, surprise, surprise, another Year Ten. Her blue eyes look like saucers behind her super-thick glasses, and her mousey hair is twisted into two uneven plaits. No one knows why über-babe Cindy Jensen is best friends with a sweet but undeniably fashion-challenged geek like Barbara Tweed. Savannah reckons that Cindy likes to hang out with someone who makes her look pretty. Treacle says that’s a dumb explanation – Cindy doesn’t need help looking pretty. Her theory is that Cindy likes having someone she can boss about. I just think they’ve been friends since way before it mattered who’s cool and who’s pretty; that’s a bond even high school can’t break.
As Mr Harris grabs a chair for Barbara, Cindy looks at her watch. ‘I guess that’s everyone then.’
Everyone? Did I get it wrong? Were people outside Year Ten even invited? I try to picture the flyer on the English Department noticeboard. It’s red. It says WEBZINE in big letters at the top. I feel sweat form icy beads on my forehead as I try to remember the wording underneath. Storeroom. Wednesday. 3.45 pm. Email Cindy Jensen if you need more details. But what else did it say? Everyone welcome? Or was it Year Tens only? My heart’s racing. Maybe it didn’t need to say Year Tens only. Maybe, if I’d bothered to email Cindy, I would have found out. Duh! Why am I so dumb? I clutch my bag closer to my chest. I shouldn’t be here. It’s obvious. I feel like an idiot. Why did I assume I—
Mr Harris stands up. My stampeding thoughts skid to a halt.
‘OK, well, thank you all for coming and welcome to the very first meeting for the brand-new Green Park High webzine. Now, as you all know, Year Eleven are all a bit preoccupied with their GCSE work right now, but it’s great to see so many here from Year Ten.’ Then he smiles at me. ‘It’s a shame we have no Year Eights, but at least we have one Year Nine to represent the younger voice of the school.’
I feel torn between relief and irritation. The younger voice? Thanks, Mr H.
‘Thank you, Cindy, for suggesting we start this webzine.’ He nods at her warmly before continuing. ‘I think it’s very important that this publication feels owned by you, the Green Park students, so I’m going to be stepping back now. If you need anything, I’m here, but really I’m just your point of contact as a member of staff. This is your magazine. And this is your new headquarters.’ He looks around the cluttered storeroom sheepishly. ‘The caretaker will be clearing it up for you this week – bringing in some computers and suchlike. But anyway, that’s enough from me . . .’
He gestures towards Cindy as he sits back down.
She’s on her feet and in front of her desk in the blink of an eye, clipboard in hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Harris. Since this webzine was my idea,’ she announces, ‘and because of my father’s background in journalism, it seems sensible that I should be editor-in-chief. Clearly, I have more experience than the rest of you.’
‘Experience in what?’ Will flashes her a look from under his hair.
‘Of working in the press,’ she says pointedly. She glances down at her clipboard. Her super-long, immaculately curled lashes flutter over her doll-face cheeks.
I hastily rub a finger beneath my eyes, suddenly aware that my mascara will have smudged me into a panda-face by now. My hair isn’t the only thing that tends to have gone nuts by home-time.
‘Wow! Which paper does your father work for?’ one of the twins pipes up.
Cindy appears to blush, but I decide it must be a trick of the light in the dingy room.
‘Is it one of the broadsheets?’ the other twin asks excitedly.
‘The-Green-Park-Advertiser,’ Cindy mutters so quickly it seems like one word.
‘The what?’ Will immediately asks with a smirk.
‘The Green Park Advertiser,’ Cindy repeats and now I can see for sure that her cheeks are aflame. ‘But anyway, that’s beside the point,’ she continues. ‘The webzine will be sent to every student’s school email address as an attachment each Wednesday. This means I’ll need your articles handed in promptly on Monday to give me a chance to read them and make any rewrites I think necessary. We’ll have an editorial meeting every Monday after school for you to hand in your articles, but this room will be open for us to use during the week too.’
Will’s head jerks up. ‘Do we get a final say on your rewrites? I’ve won prizes for my writing. I don’t think I’m going to be needing your help.’ He says ‘help’ like he’s spitting out a slug. Wow. Doll-faces mean nothing to this boy. Unless the sparks I feel shooting between him and Cindy are sparks of passion.
No.
I trash the thought. Will is obviously the sort of boy who ruffles Cindy’s feathers and, looking at her sleek’n’shiny shoulder-length hair, I decide ‘ruffled’ is probably not Cindy’s style.
‘Of course I’ll give you a chance to provide your input,’ Cindy says to Will. ‘But I’ll be pressing the Send button, so I’ll have the final say.’
Will opens his mouth to argue, but Mr Harris butts in. ‘I know you’re a very accomplished writer, Will, but even the best writers need an editor. Let’s just see how it goes, eh?’ he suggests soothingly.
Cindy continues. ‘We’ll also have our own page on the school website so we can get feedback directly from our readers.’
‘Cool,’ Sam says, nodding.
‘I want this webzine to be read by every student at Green Park.’ Cindy unhooks a wad of paper from her clipboard and starts handing out sheets to each of us. ‘I want publication day to be a day the whole school looks forward to.’
I take a sheet and look at it.
Green Park High Webzine Mission Statement.
Will groans.
‘Thank you, Will.’ Cindy gives the last sheet to Mr Harris. ‘Your thoughts will be welcome, once we’ve read through the text.’
‘Yes, Miss Jensen,’ Will says with a smirk.
Barbara’s unzipping her pencil case and rooting for a pen. ‘I think it’s a good idea to get our goals sorted out before we begin,’ she says, unsurprisingly backing up Cindy.
Jeff sniffs. ‘The only goals I’m interested in are on the pitch.’
Cindy rolls her eyes at Mr Harris. ‘Any tips on how to engage the boys, Mr Harris?’
‘You’re doing wonderfully,’ Mr Harris tells her.
Personally, I’m on the boys’ side. This is a school webzine, not a global corporation. But I don’t comment. If this is what it takes to get every student reading my articles then I’m OK with it.
‘Now,’ Cindy begins, ‘my father says all the best publications are guided by a comprehensive mission statement. I don’t see why our webzine should be any different.’ She starts to read from her sheet. ‘Point one: the Green Park webzine aims to be the best friend today’s teen is searching for.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Barbara’s nodding. ‘We must be a voice our fellow students want to listen to.’
‘Exactly,’ Cindy a
grees.
Will rolls the corner of his sheet between his finger and thumb. ‘How long have you two been rehearsing this?’
Barbara blushes bright red. ‘We haven’t.’
Cindy gives Will a look that would wither a cactus. ‘Barbie and I have been friends for a gazillion years. Is it really so surprising we’re on the same page mentally?’
Jeff rubs his nose. ‘Mentally is right.’
Sam chuckles. ‘Give her a break.’ He flicks his sheet. ‘She has got eleven more points to get through.’
‘Yes, well.’ Cindy clears her throat. She looks like she never expected this to be so difficult. ‘Let’s skip to the last point, which is the most important one. You can read the rest yourselves later.’ She scans through the words, pausing at the bottom of the page, ‘Point twelve: our webzine seeks to enhance the wonderful sense of community already enjoyed by the students of Green Park High.’
‘More enjoyment.’ Sam folds the paper in four and stuffs it in his pocket. ‘I’ll go for that.’
‘Exactly, Sam.’ Cindy tugs another piece of paper from her clipboard. ‘Above all, I hope we can have some fun with this project.’
‘And share that fun with our readers.’ Barbara sounds excited.
I feel excited. Even with Cindy’s naff mission statement, this webzine is going to be great. I can’t wait to get started. Once I’ve saved the bike shed, I can move on to longer lunch breaks, shorter lessons, unlimited Wi-Fi on school grounds . . .
Cindy interrupts my train of thought. ‘Thank you to those of you who emailed you’d be coming today. It’s given me the chance to assign each of you a role.’ She picks up another wad of paper from the desk. ‘I’ve typed you each a set of guidelines to help you.’
I sit up straight. I never emailed. What will my assignment be?
She turns to Sam. He’s practising guitar chords in the air. Cindy smiles at him patiently and he looks up, clearly surprised by the sudden quiet.
‘Sam, I’d love for you to be our music reporter,’ Cindy says. ‘Since you’re in a band.’
‘Great. Thanks.’ Sam nods and goes back to air-guitaring.
‘I’m giving you complete freedom to choose the bands you want to report on.’ She sounds a bit breathless. ‘I want your column to reflect your tastes and your thoughts.’ Her voice is soft and gooey. Is the Ice Queen melting? I suddenly picture her sitting on a perfectly pink bed in a perfectly pink bedroom, popping strawberry creams from a chocolate box and writing long love letters in exquisite handwriting. Could the Ice Queen have a marshmallow heart? Now that would make a great article – Jensen’s Soft Centre Revealed: In-depth Exposé.
Sam’s screwing up his face as though he’s trying to reach a particularly difficult chord.
‘Sam?’ Cindy prompts.
‘Complete freedom, my tastes, my thoughts,’ Sam parrots before taking his guidelines from her.
Cindy’s lips tighten and she turns to Will. ‘You’ll be our senior news reporter,’ she tells him.
‘OK,’ Will looks grudgingly satisfied as he takes his handout.
‘Phillip and David, I know you expressed an interest in technology in your email to me, so I’ve decided that you can be the gadget and software reviewers.’ Cindy hands the twins their own guidelines, which they immediately start to study eagerly.
‘And Jeff.’ Cindy taps her clipboard decisively with her pen. ‘You’ll be the sports reporter.’
Jeff looks over at Mr Harris. ‘Really?’
Mr Harris nods and Jeff’s face breaks into a grin. I file away my first mental note for Treacle – eyes sparkle when he smiles.
‘That’s great.’ Jeff picks up his sports bag from the floor. ‘Is it all right if I head off now? I’m late for football practice.’
‘Just one more thing.’ Cindy hands him his sheet of paper and clears her throat. ‘I’ll need a report on all the week’s matches – football, netball, hockey, whatever. Do you think you can manage that?’
‘Even the girls’ teams?’ Jeff raises his eyebrows.
‘Well, duh!’ Cindy tucks a hair behind her ear. ‘Half our readership will be girls.’
Excellent! This is even better than I could have planned. Jeff will have to watch Treacle in action on the pitch. Hopefully, once he’s seen her play, he’ll be blown away. I imagine him standing on the goal line, stunned by her skill as she lands one in the back of the net. I picture him cheering, his eyes glowing with admiration. ‘Oh, Treacle, you were brilliant!’ he cries, catching her in his arms as she runs off the pitch and swinging her round. ‘I don’t know how I never saw it before.’
Back in the real world, the door swings shut behind Jeff as he leaves for practice and Cindy turns her attention to Barbara. Barbara blinks up at her eagerly. She reminds me of a doting puppy waiting to be thrown a treat.
‘Barbie, you’ll be lifestyle features writer,’ Cindy tells her. ‘I’ll need five hundred words a week on something that’s important to the students at Green Park High.’
‘Yes, Cindy.’ Barbara scribbles a note in her jotter before taking her handout.
Now I’m blinking at Cindy like a puppy. She’s giving out great assignments. What will mine be? Even if I didn’t email her, there must be something left. Current affairs reporter? Student news editor? My palms itch. I want to blurt out my plan for the bike shed piece, but my tongue is welded to the roof of my mouth. How can I, a lowly Year Nine, tell these Year Tens my idea? What if they think it sucks?
Cindy doesn’t even look at me. ‘I’ll be writing the weekly beauty and fashion column,’ she announces. ‘I want to make sure that our first edition is really great, so I think we should have an extra meeting this week too, now that everyone has their assignments. We’ll meet here tomorrow at one.’
Will gets to his feet and heaves his backpack on to his shoulder. ‘Fine, I’ll tell Jeff about the extra meeting,’ he says, making his way to the door.
Sam drops his air guitar. ‘Are we finished?’
Cindy makes a final tick on her clipboard and then flashes him a smile that would burn through fog. ‘Yes. See you tomorrow.’
Sam nods and grins at me as he walks past and out of the room. The twins follow him, chattering excitedly about which computer game they will review first.
Mr Harris tries to button his jacket, but can’t find a button, just the empty threads where buttons used to be. ‘Nicely done,’ he praises Cindy and heads for the door.
‘I need to get some books from my locker, Cindy,’ Barbara calls, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘I’ll meet you at the gate.’
‘Great.’ Cindy is zipping her clipboard into her bag as Barbara and Mr Harris exit the storeroom.
It’s over?
Is that it?
I feel stunned. ‘What about me, Cindy?’ My question comes out in a squeak. I swallow and summon all my courage then say louder, ‘What’s my assignment?’
Cindy looks at me blankly, as if she’d forgotten I was even there. Probably because she had. After a few seconds’ silence, she starts to smile. But her eyes remain cool. ‘Ah, yes, Gemma, is it? I have just the thing for you.’
I hold my breath. This is it. My first writing assignment. In my head I’m holding up that award again ‘. . . thank you, Spellcheck, thank you, Google . . .’
Cindy’s smile now seems more of a smirk. ‘It’s something no good webzine can be without. I’m sure that you’ll be perfect for it . . .’
‘The horoscopes?’ Treacle falls back on the sofa, bellylaughing so loud that Mum shouts down the stairs.
‘Cut the cackle, girls! I’m trying to get Ben to bed!’
‘Sorry, Mum.’ I swing the living room door shut with my foot and smother Treacle’s squawks with a cushion. My brother Ben has cystic fibrosis so he needs a good night’s sleep to keep his strength up.
Treacle fights me off and sits up. ‘Nice career move, Mystic Mug.’
I flop down on the rug and hug the cushion. ‘Cindy said I’d be perfect for
the column.’
‘Why? Does she think all Year Nines are psychic?’ Treacle rolls her eyes. ‘What did she say when you turned her down?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
I stare at the floor. ‘I didn’t turn her down.’
‘What?’ Treacle shrieks.
‘Shh.’
‘You said yes?’
I shrug. ‘I know it’s not what I’d hoped for but—’
‘The horoscopes?’ Treacle cuts in. ‘Do they hand out Nobel prizes for horoscopy?’
‘Astrology,’ I correct.
‘Whatever.’
‘It’s not like I had a choice. Being the only Year Nine in a pack of Year Tens is a bit like being Baby Bear in a room full of Goldilocks. They’re sharing out the porridge while I’m wondering who broke my chair.’
Treacle leans back into the sofa. ‘Don’t worry.’ She grins. ‘Baby Bears eventually grow into Grizzlies. At least you got a job, and I’m sure it will lead on to something better. Maybe next term she’ll let you do the problem page.’
‘Oh, ha ha.’ We look at each other and start to laugh.
Then Treacle’s smile wavers. ‘I saw Jeff at football practice today.’
She’s looking wistful. I could cheer her up right now by telling her Jeff is working on the webzine – which is practically a backstage pass to his life. But I’m saving the news for a maximum-impact headline. Besides, I have to let her dangle a bit longer while I follow my journalistic instinct and check the facts. ‘Did he see you? Did you say hi?’
‘Why would I say hi?’ Treacle’s open-mouthed. ‘He doesn’t know I’m alive.’
‘But you gave him his ball back in the playground this morning.’
‘That doesn’t mean I can Hi him whenever I like!’ Treacle lobs a cushion at me. ‘Don’t be dumb.’
‘But if you never Hi him, he’ll never Hi you back.’
‘But what if he blanks me?’ she says, looking worried.
‘Jeff wouldn’t do that.’
‘How do you know?’
