Daizy Star, Ooh La La!

by Cathy Cassidy

  I glance at Pierre and he smiles encouragingly.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply solemnly. ‘I do realize, really I do. If you can wait until tomorrow, I’ll try to do some more paintings too. OK?’

  Jacques Genet shakes my hand. ‘Very well, I will collect it tomorrow afternoon from the Hotel Escargot. I shall look forward to this. It will be an honour to work with such a promising young artist, Daizy Star!’

  I blink, amazed. A promising young artist? Me? Wow!

  Sadly, Miss Moon is not quite as impressed. ‘Oh dear!’ she says, when we spread out our pictures back in the café at the Hotel Escargot. ‘What a pity, Daizy! It’s ruined!’

  My shoulders slump. One minute my picture is a work of genius … the next it is back to being a wreck again.

  ‘It’s supposed to look like that,’ I say stubbornly. ‘It is a powerful comment on twenty-first-century life!’

  ‘It looks like a big red squirrel,’ Ethan says. ‘In an abstract sort of a way, of course. What inspired you, Daizy? Are red squirrels a favourite of yours?’

  ‘Shut up, Ethan!’ I howl, outraged.

  ‘Now, now,’ Miss Moon sighs. ‘Ethan is just trying to be helpful.’

  I know better, of course. Ethan Miller does not have a helpful bone in his body. He is trying to stir things up, make me squirm, and he has succeeded. I look to Beth and Willow for support, but that’s a mistake too. When will I ever learn?

  ‘Looks like you found it in a rubbish bin,’ Willow smirks.

  ‘It’s like an explosion in a paint factory,’ Beth grins. ‘Never mind, Daizy!’

  But I do mind. I am outraged. How can my friends be so harsh, so dismissive? I am a promising young artist, a genius of modern painting, and all they can do is mock me.

  I can’t wait until tomorrow, when Jacques Genet turns up to take my picture to the exhibition. My friends will be sorry they laughed and Miss Moon will realize that she has had a genius in her class all along.

  I eat my lunch alone by way of protest, but Beth and Willow are so busy flirting with Ethan Miller they don’t even notice. Seriously, with friends like these, who needs enemies?

  I am still not talking to Beth and Willow later as we take a boat trip down the Seine, but they don’t seem to have actually realized yet, which is deeply annoying. Murphy is clowning around with some of the boys and I am left alone at the back of the boat with my clipboard of sketches. It feels very lonely.

  Is this what it will be like at Brightford Academy? Will I be a loner, an outsider, a friend-free zone? Will I drop so far off Beth and Willow’s radar that they forget I ever existed? Secondary school is looking grimmer by the minute, and I am not even there yet.

  Afterwards, we walk along the Left Bank and eat crêpes at a riverside stall. I focus on my sketching, but even that isn’t looking good. I need inspiration, or mud and footprints and oil paint at the very least. I smear a bit of my chocolate crêpe across a sketch of the Seine, drop it into a puddle and jump up and down on it a few times.

  It’s not easy being a genius of modern art. Actually, it’s not even fun. I am not totally sure I’ve found the right star quality for me, but as there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of choice I am probably stuck with it.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Murphy asks, peering over my shoulder.

  ‘Modern art,’ I sigh. ‘I want to make another painting like the red squirrel one. You know the sort of thing – a powerful comment on twenty-first-century life. Only I can’t quite get it to work …’

  ‘How did you do it before?’

  I bite my lip. ‘It was an accident,’ I admit. ‘A cat spilt paint on my drawing, a bicycle ran over it, the wind blew it right across the square and then a man with a bow tie said it was a work of genius. He’s coming to pick it up for an important exhibition tomorrow afternoon, and I need to do some more by then.’

  ‘Ri-ight,’ Murphy sighs. ‘A work of genius, huh? Looks like you need a cat, a bicycle and a small whirlwind. At least you’ve got till tomorrow to think of something.’

  ‘I will,’ I say. ‘This is my star quality, Murphy. I’m an artist – why can’t Beth and Willow be happy for me?’

  Murphy frowns. ‘I think they’re worried you’re trying too hard,’ he says. ‘Setting yourself up for a fall – like when you were going to be a thrash-punk-metal star, or the first pre-teen supermodel. They know how sad you were when those things didn’t work out. They don’t want you to get hurt, Daizy, that’s all.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I insist. ‘This will work out, you’ll see! I thought you of all people would understand. You’re going to a special arts school, aren’t you, so you can be a designer?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Murphy shrugs. ‘I haven’t decided yet. Sometimes, Daizy, friends are more important.’

  What does that mean? I used to think friends were the most important things in the world, but now I am not so sure. This Paris trip is not working out the way I had hoped. Instead of bringing Beth, Willow, Murphy and me closer, it seems to be pushing us apart.

  Back at the hotel, Madame Le Chapeau makes us hot chocolate and we sit in the café chatting about the day’s adventures. At least, I would be chatting if I wasn’t feeling so miffed, and if Beth and Willow could tear themselves away from Ethan Miller.

  Outside the window, the stray cat dawdles past, gazing in with slanted green eyes. She is probably feeling almost as lonely as I am. It is no fun at all to be lost, alone, unloved.

  ‘There’s that poor cat again,’ I say, breaking my silence with Beth and Willow. ‘Should we try to rescue her, d’you think?’

  ‘I don’t see any cat,’ Beth says irritably, tearing her eyes away from Ethan for a millisecond.

  ‘It’s just a stray,’ Willow huffs. ‘What were you saying, Ethan?’

  I roll my eyes. When Ethan is around, my best friends may as well be on another planet.

  Once upon a time, they’d have helped me in my quest to rescue the little stray, but it looks like I’m on my own with this. Am I the only one around here who actually cares about homeless, starving cats? Looks like it.

  ‘Miss Moon?’ I appeal. ‘I think that little cat out there is lost. It needs a home. Can we take it back to Brightford with us?’

  ‘Daizy, that wouldn’t be allowed,’ my teacher says. ‘There are very strict rules about taking animals to Britain. I’m sorry.’

  I turn to Murphy. ‘Maybe we could get the Hotel Escargot to adopt the stray cat?’ I appeal. ‘That’d be really cool!’

  He frowns. ‘I don’t think so, Daizy,’ he says. ‘There are loads of health and hygiene regulations for cafés. I don’t think cats are allowed. Although Pierre might let it stay in his studio shed …’

  ‘Great idea!’ I grin. ‘You’re a hero, Murphy Malone!’

  I run across to where Pierre is sketching, and the story of the stray cat tumbles out. ‘Please can you give her a home?’ I beg. ‘She’d be no trouble, a perfect artist’s cat. It’s all because of her that I – um – created – my masterpiece of modern art. She spilt the paint on it and then the wind whisked it right across the square …’

  I stop, realizing I have just confessed that my painting was an accident and not the result of my inner artistic genius, but Pierre doesn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Ah,’ he nods wisely. ‘I did wonder. Don’t worry, Jacques Genet need never know – and if he says it is a work of genius, then of course, it is! As for the cat, yes, she can stay in my studio shed. Let’s go and find her …’

  ‘Thank you, Pierre!’ I say.

  Half an hour later, the cat has been fed, watered and given a cushion to sleep on. Pierre names her Picasso and says he has always wanted a cat, and that perhaps she will bring him luck.

  I am glad for Picasso because she isn’t lost or alone any more, but as I watch Beth, Willow and Murphy, playing a board game now as they eat macaroons and sip hot chocolate, I know I feel lonelier than ever. I have found my star quality here in Paris, but … it doesn’t feel as good as I thought
it would because, somewhere along the way, I seem to have lost my friends …

  ‘Today,’ Beth sighs, brushing her long fair hair until it gleams, ‘today we are going to the Eiffel Tower, the most romantic place in the whole of Paris. And there, finally, Ethan will ask me out.’

  Willow smirks. ‘Good luck with that,’ she says, painting silver sparkles across her cheekbones. ‘It’s me he likes. He’ll most probably ask ME out, Beth, so try not to be too disappointed.’

  ‘It’s YOU who will be disappointed,’ Beth says snippily.

  The alarm went off exactly five minutes ago, and already my friends are scrapping over stupid Ethan Miller. This is the last day of our Paris trip, our last chance to chill out and have fun, and already it has disaster written all over it. Not only have I fallen out with my best friends, now they’re falling out with each other too.

  ‘Stop squabbling,’ I huff, pulling on cut-off jeans, my stripy top and beret. ‘You can’t argue over a boy! It’s ridiculous!’

  They turn on me.

  ‘You’ll understand one day,’ Willow says. ‘When YOU fall in love!’

  ‘Trust me,’ I scowl. ‘That is NEVER going to happen.’

  Beth and Willow exchange one of those smug, knowing looks that make me want to scream. ‘Paris is going to work its magic for one of us today, I just know it,’ Beth says, bright-eyed.

  ‘Hope so,’ Willow grins. ‘Y’know, Daizy, it might even be you!’

  I roll my eyes, but today does feel special, somehow. Maybe Paris will work its magic on me, helping me to re-create the kind of cool, crazy colour explosions that made Jacques Genet fall in love with my red squirrel painting. I pick up the clipboard and look at it again. I can’t quite see what all the fuss was about, but Jacques is the expert, after all.

  I have finally found my star quality – and this time it will not go wrong, whatever Beth and Willow think. Jacques will arrive later to pick up my painting … and life will never be the same again. Forget the Star of the Week award, maybe I’ll end up studying art in Paris! That would show Beth and Willow. Who needs Brightford Academy? Who needs lovesick friends and giant red squirrels and Ethan Miller? Not me.

  Miss Moon puts her head round the bedroom door. ‘Dreaming again, Daizy?’ she says. ‘Hurry, girls – we’re meeting downstairs in five minutes! It’s our last day, we don’t want to waste a second of it!’

  There are about a million stairs inside the Eiffel Tower, but we have queued for ages and it is a relief to be climbing upwards at last.

  Beth and Willow haven’t even bothered to wait for me – they raced on ahead after Ethan Miller, who is sprinting up the stairs as if he is trying to escape.

  Murphy and I struggle out on to the first viewing platform, and I take a deep breath. Paris is spread before us, a patchwork of rooftops, river and greenery. It’s amazing. I’m sure I can get inspired and create a masterpiece from up here.

  ‘We’ll take a short break, Class Six,’ Miss Moon tells us. ‘Ten minutes … and then up to the next level!’

  Murphy wanders away, taking photos, and Ethan Miller appears at my side. Great.

  ‘Hide me, Daizy,’ he pleads. ‘Beth and Willow won’t leave me alone! Every time I look round they are there, fluttering their eyelashes and flirting …’

  ‘How awful for you,’ I sigh.

  ‘It’s not my fault they are crushing on me, is it?’ he shrugs. ‘I didn’t ask them to! I mean, obviously, they have excellent taste …’

  ‘You are the vainest, most annoying boy I have ever met,’ I huff.

  ‘You like me really,’ Ethan smirks. ‘I can tell!’

  ‘You really can’t,’ I say. ‘Trust me on that.’

  Beth and Willow rush up and link arms with Ethan. ‘There you are!’ they gush. ‘We’ve been looking for you! Isn’t this the best view in the whole world? Isn’t it romantic?’

  Ethan smiles in a slightly alarmed kind of way, but I have no sympathy. I walk away, leaving Ethan to his fate, and a few minutes later Miss Moon has us climbing upwards again. It’s even more of a slog this time, but once on the second viewing platform we barely stop to catch our breath before Miss Moon herds us towards the glass-walled elevators. The doors slide closed behind us.

  ‘Ethan!’ Beth is saying. ‘I’m scared of heights! Stay with me!’

  ‘I can’t look!’ Willow yelps, burying her face in Ethan’s shoulder.

  We begin the ascent to the very top, and although my tummy flips over once or twice, I don’t feel the urge to squeal and clutch on to anyone’s sleeve. I am way too excited for that. The lift whooshes to a halt and we swarm out on to the final viewing platform, higher than I have ever been before.

  When you have seen Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower, you know you can do anything. I feel literally on top of the world. I can see my life spread out around me, beautiful and slightly distant, like the Parisian landscape. I can see it all, the hopes, the dreams, the possibilities. I know that I will remember this moment forever.

  ‘Awesome,’ Murphy breathes.

  ‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘It’s … wow. Just wow.’

  Then I catch sight of Ethan Miller squished in between Beth and Willow, and my heart sinks. Whenever I pictured this day, I imagined the four of us together, laughing, inseparable, forever friends. It hasn’t turned out like that at all. I want to be here with my best, best friends and they have deserted me for a vain, football-mad pest who doesn’t even like them all that much.

  I thought that Paris would bring us all together. Instead it looks like it has broken us apart for good.

  It’s funny how Paris can still look so beautiful, even through a mist of tears.

  Back down on the second viewing platform, Miss Moon tells us we have an hour to spend any way we like. While the rest of the class head for the café and souvenir shop, I take out my clipboard and lean on the railings, determined to make another painting for Jacques Genet.

  Paris is like a huge patchwork blanket wrapped around the foot of the tower. I sketch in the winding ribbon of the River Seine, the parks, the boxy rooftops, the tracery of streets that hold it all together. The drawing pulls me in. A little bit of magic has found its way on to the page, without the help of spilt paint or paw prints or muddy tyre tracks. This is all my own work.

  I unclip yesterday’s red squirrel picture, studying it. Jacques Genet wants more pictures like this, but I don’t want to spill paint on today’s drawing, or throw it into a puddle. I like it just the way it is.

  I’m so deep in thought I don’t even notice Ethan Miller sneaking up behind me to steal my beret and sunglasses.

  ‘Ethan!’ I yelp. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Hiding,’ he says, pulling on the disguise. ‘Your friends are driving me nuts. Every time I turn round, they’re there –’

  ‘You shouldn’t have strung them along all this time,’ I say, and Ethan snorts and says that he has spent most of the year trying not to encourage them. This may be true. Beth and Willow don’t need any encouragement when it comes to Ethan.

  ‘The thing is, I like someone else,’ he sighs. ‘I’ve been trying to let her know all year, but she doesn’t seem to notice me at all.’

  ‘Sensible girl.’

  ‘I’m not sure she is sensible,’ Ethan considers. ‘But she is definitely very kind and very cute and quite eccentric.’

  He peers at me over the rims of the stolen sunglasses, his blue eyes smouldering. I wonder if he has spotted a spider on my hair, or possibly a stray crumb from my breakfast croissant, but then he winks and grins at me, and I panic. Ethan Miller is not very bright, but surely he couldn’t actually be foolish enough to fall for ME?

  Sadly, with Ethan, you have to expect the worst.

  ‘Daizy,’ he whispers. ‘You are the only girl for me!’

  My blood runs cold. This is a disaster, a nightmare! I want to run away, but I’m halfway up a really tall tower, and totally trapped. Great.

  ‘I am actually not the only girl
for you,’ I tell Ethan briskly. ‘At all!’

  ‘You are!’ he insists. ‘It’s fate!’

  I feel cold all over, as if someone has poured leftover nettle soup down my neck. I mean, seriously? Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

  ‘It’s so not fate,’ I say. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, Ethan, I am immune to your so-called charms. I am not interested in you. Not. One. Single. Bit.’

  His face lights up. ‘I know!’ he gushes. ‘It’s amazing! I think that’s why I have fallen for you, Daizy Star. I like a challenge!’

  ‘It’s not a challenge, it’s an impossibility,’ I tell him. ‘Why not go for Beth or Willow? They actually seem to like you, though I can’t think why …’

  Ethan laughs. ‘I don’t care about Beth or Willow,’ he says. ‘I like YOU. Please give me a chance!’

  ‘Never,’ I huff.

  The full horror of Ethan’s announcement begins to unfold in my mind. The boy my friends are crushing on has fallen for me … this is a disaster, a car crash, a full-on nightmare. My friendship with Beth and Willow is on the rocks as it is. Once they find out about this, the shipwreck will be complete. They may never speak to me again.

  Ethan shoots me a sly grin and snatches the exploding-squirrel picture from my hands, waving it high above his head.

  ‘C’mon!’ he teases. ‘Be my girlfriend and I’ll keep your dad’s dodgy job a secret. OK? Otherwise … well, I might just happen to tell everyone that he is actually a giant red squirrel.’

  ‘That’s blackmail!’ I howl. ‘Give me that picture back!’

  I lunge forward to rescue my masterpiece just as Ethan leans in, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on my ear. It is traumatic, like when you’re little and your mum comes at you unawares with a warm, soapy flannel, only much scarier. If this is romance, you can keep it.

  I make a grab at the squirrel picture just as Ethan tugs it back, out of reach. There is a loud tearing noise as the painting rips, and Ethan drops it in a panic. The wind whips the torn pieces up into the air, and I watch in horror as they drift above the barbed-wire safety barrier and float away on the breeze.