‘No hassle,’ Kady shrugs, still playing it cool. ‘It’ll be a laugh. See you around, Jack, OK?’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘And thanks!’
Kady links her arm through mine and we head for the door.
‘Wow,’ she whispers, the minute we get outside. ‘Wow! I can’t believe it, can you? Did you see his badge?’
‘Which one?’ I ask, because there have to be a dozen button badges stuck to the lapels of Jack’s black jacket.
‘Which one?’ Kady echoes. ‘The CND badge, of course! The peace badge! Can you believe it?’
‘Um … well, he seems kind of cool, so yeah, why not?’ I say, puzzled.
‘And the chocolate?’ Kady says. ‘He had chocolate in his bag …’
‘So? Everyone loves chocolate,’ I frown.
‘Don’t you get it?’ Kady laughs. ‘Don’t you see, Jess? He’s perfect! He’s perfect for us! The peace badge, the chocolate bar … love, peace and chocolate!’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘OK. What about love, then?’
Kady rolls her eyes and shakes her beautiful braids. ‘Jess,’ she says, hands on hips. ‘Do you really have to ask?’
3
hey jess! hav u finished yr maths hw? can’t settle. can i come round?
love, peace & chocolate,
kady xxx
kady – get marshmallows from the corner shop & i’ll put the kettle on. don’t b long!!!!
love, peace & chocolate,
jess x
We’re holed up in my room, sipping hot chocolate and melted marshmallows with chocolate flakes dipped in.
‘I can’t stop thinking about him,’ Kady tells me. ‘Seriously. It’s like an illness. At school, at home, when I’m working, when I’m eating, when I’m sleeping.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s scary. I don’t like it.’
‘I do,’ Kady argues. ‘It’s like I’ve never really been alive before, y’know? And now every single bit of me tingles every time I think of him. I feel like I could fly!’
‘It’s more like an ache all around your heart,’ I tell her. ‘Plus butterflies in your stomach, and shivers all up and down your spine!’
‘Sounds like indigestion with a bit of flu thrown in,’ Kady laughs. ‘We’re in a bad way, both of us. And there’s no cure – no cure except Jack!’
We sip our hot chocolates.
‘You know what’s really weird about this?’ I say eventually. ‘We both want Jack. It’s a bit like when we were seven and we both wanted Furbies for Christmas – remember? And all the shops had run out. In the end you got a grey one and I got a pink one, so we were both happy. Only this time …’
‘There’s only one Jack.’
‘Well, yeah.’
I dig my toybox out from under the bed, pick out the old pink Furby. It’s hard to imagine feeling so strongly about a scrap of fur fabric with a few wires inside, but I did. And when Mum let slip that Kady’s nan had found a Furby for her in a shop in Manchester, I was sick with jealousy. I didn’t want Kady to have what I couldn’t have.
Of course, in the end Dad found me one too, when he was on a business trip to London, so everything worked out fine. This time, though, things could turn out differently.
‘We can’t both have Jack,’ Kady says.
‘Maybe neither of us will,’ I shrug. ‘He’s probably so dedicated to his music he doesn’t have time for girlfriends. Or maybe he already has someone back in Liverpool?’
‘Hope not,’ Kady frowns. ‘I tell you one thing, though – if he’s going to have a girlfriend, and it’s not me … well, I hope it’s you, OK?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously!’ Kady says. ‘I mean, he’d have to be crazy to pass up the chance to date me, but hey, perhaps the guy’s short-sighted …’
I swat her with a pillow until she squeals and shrieks and begs for mercy, and we end up tickling each other and giggling and promising to be friends forever.
‘You’re so cool and clever and unusual-looking,’ Kady tells me. ‘And you’ve already bewitched him with your flute-playing. Jack’s going to fall for you, for sure.’
‘No, he’ll go for you,’ I argue. ‘He’d be nuts not to. You could be a model, Kady, with your dark eyes and your amazing skin and that wonderful hair. How could he resist?’
‘It could be one of us, Jess,’ she says softly. ‘Why not?’
I pick up the old pink Furby, stroke its fur dreamily. ‘One of us, though,’ I say. ‘How weird would that be? Because even if Jack does fall for one of us … well, it’s exactly that. One of us. Not both.’
‘Well, I hope it’s you,’ Kady says loyally.
‘And I hope it’s you,’ I echo, even though I’m not entirely sure that I do. ‘It would feel kind of strange, though, if he asked you out. I don’t know how I’d handle that.’
‘You’d be happy for me,’ Kady says confidently. ‘And I’d be happy for you, if it was the other way around. That’s what friendship is all about. No boy is ever going to come between us. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Best friends forever,’ Kady tells me. ‘No matter what.’
We lie back, eating the rest of the marshmallows and listening to The View so we can be sussed and knowledgeable in front of Jack.
‘Sometimes,’ I whisper, ‘I can’t work out whether Jack is the best thing that ever happened to us, or the worst. He’s something else, y’know? Scary!’
‘Tell me about it,’ Kady sighs. ‘He’s been at Parkway – what – a week? Already he’s turned everything upside down. He’s like a firework or something.’
‘Light blue touchpaper and stand well back,’ I say, quoting from the box of rockets and fountains Dad bought last Bonfire Night.
‘Exactly,’ says Kady. ‘Only who wants to stand on the sidelines when they could get a little bit closer? See the magic close up?’
That’s what’s happening with Kady and me – we know we should stay back, but we can’t resist. We don’t care about the danger. We don’t care that we’ll get our fingers burnt.
Us and about a million other Parkway girls.
4
hey jess, audition day! shall i wear my black combats or the little skirt with the frill? boots or sk8 shoes? can i borrow yr Razorlight badge?
love, peace & chocolate,
kady xoxox
hi kady. combats, deffy, and sk8 shoes – we want 2 look cool, not glam. i’ll bring the badge, & chocolate for courage. c u at the bus stop.
love, peace & chocolate,
jess x
Of course, Kady manages to look glam anyway. She’s wearing her combats so low a sliver of black thong appears at the back whenever she bends down or stretches up. A thong? I didn’t know Kady possessed such a thing. My mum still buys me pastel cartoon-print knickers from the kids’ section at Tesco, the kind that come right up to your armpits, just about.
Next to Kady, I feel colourless, dull, like a favourite top that ran in the wash and came out all faded and grey.
There’s a sizzle of excitement in the air, like something cool is just about to happen. Word has got out that Kady and I are helping with the auditions, and kids are asking us if they can come and watch.
‘No, sorry, it’s strictly business,’ Kady tells them. ‘Fallen Stars will be playing a whole bunch of gigs later in the term, but right now things are top secret. Musicians only! If you play an instrument, I can take your name and allot you a time …’
‘Can I audition to be the band’s personal stylist?’ one girl asks.
‘Does Jack look like he needs a personal stylist?’ Kady says witheringly, and the girl turns away, crushed.
Then we see Karl Williams. He’s flattened his usually spiky hair into a tousled Jack-style, couldn’t-care-less cut, and swapped his trademark mud-spattered joggers for black cord hipsters. They’re so low they may be in danger of falling down, and he has to pause every couple of steps to yank them upwards.
‘Did we really see tha
t?’ I ask Kady, as we reach the sanctuary of the lockers and collapse on each other with squeals and guffaws. ‘Was it real?’
‘Think so,’ Kady splutters. ‘Karl Williams gets cool! How weird is that?’
‘D’you think he’s auditioning?’ I giggle. ‘I never knew Karl Williams was a musician! What d’you think he plays?’
‘The triangle?’ Kady suggests. ‘The comb and paper?’
‘It’s Jack,’ I muse. ‘Ever since he arrived at Parkway, the place has gone crazy. All the girls are mad about him, all the boys want to be like him. Even the teachers act like he’s something special.’
‘Well,’ says Kady. ‘He is.’
Auditions are due to start at three thirty, in the music room. Miss Anderson has set up drums, keyboard, guitars, mikes and amps, and Kady is herding people in, checking names off on a clipboard. Pretty soon there are kids sitting on the tables, kids sitting on the window sills, kids sitting on the floor. They fill up every bit of the room until it’s like a sardine can, with kids shoehorned in everywhere you look.
At three forty, Jack lopes into the room, tall and skinny and smiley, guitar in hand. He steps up to the mike, and right away you can tell that he belongs there. The room is silent.
‘Thanks for coming along,’ Jack says. ‘I know I’m new to Parkway, but I’m not new to music – I’ve been writing songs and playing in bands for five years now. It’s my life. I asked you along here today because I want to find people I can work with, people who love music the same way I do. I want to find my new band – Fallen Stars!’
A ragged round of applause flares up, Kady ushers the first few kids forward and the auditions begin. It doesn’t take long to whittle down the applicants. Kady is ruthless – she weeds out the trumpeters, the saxophonists, the clarinettists, the Year Seven girls who turned up clutching recorders and batting their eyelashes. She gets rid of a speccy boy with a cello and a couple of chancers with a tambourine.
The Year Nine girls wearing micro-minis and shirts knotted up to show their bellies are way harder to shift.
‘What do you play?’ I ask them, pencil poised over my clipboard.
‘We’ll play whatever Jack wants us to play,’ the blonde one smirks. ‘We’re very talented.’
My cheeks flood with colour. ‘What instrument?’ I ask again.
The blonde girl rolls her eyes. ‘We’re the backing singers,’ she huffs. ‘And we dance, too. Jack knows all about us. He asked us along, personally.’
‘Right. Um …’
‘What’s up?’ Jack calls over, raking a hand through his hair.
‘Backing singers,’ I tell him. ‘Shall I ask them to wait?’
‘We’re a rock band,’ he shouts over. ‘No backing singers. Sorry, girls!’ He turns away.
The blonde girl raises an eyebrow at me, letting her eyes skim over my dull school uniform, my shiny shoes. ‘What do you play?’ she asks. ‘Oh, yeah, I know. Make-believe …’
Well, maybe I do. I make-believe that I belong in this music room, and I make-believe that Jack is my boyfriend. I make-believe I’m useful, checking names off my list, adjusting the sound levels when the amps go haywire, fixing a guitar when a scary Year Eleven goth snaps three strings doing a painful Marilyn Manson solo.
I even make-believe that I don’t care when this blonde would-be backing singer looks at me like I’m something nasty she just wiped off the sole of her kitten-heeled boot.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ a voice says, and Karl Williams slips an arm around the blonde girl, towing her towards the door. ‘You’re definitely the best backing singers we’ve seen, so if Jack changes his mind, you’ll be the first to know …’
‘Who are you, then?’ she asks.
‘I’m in the band,’ Karl says smoothly. ‘Jack’s kind of busy right now, getting the line-up right, but I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you girls later …’
He shoves them gently through the door, shuts it firmly, then turns to me, grinning.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Any time,’ he grins. ‘So … any chance you can get me up to the top of that list of yours? I’m the best drummer here. Jack needs me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I laugh.
But when Karl Williams picks up the drumsticks and belts out a frantic drum roll, everyone stops talking to listen. ‘That’s cool,’ Jack says. ‘You’re good. Stick around, Karl – you’re in!’
Bit by bit, the room empties until there are just a few kids left. A Year Nine lad gets the slot of bass guitarist, and an elfin Year Ten girl gets to do the keyboards. They start jamming together, getting used to each other, ending up with a wild version of Jet’s ‘Are You Gonna Be My Girl?’.
I’m good enough at make-believe to imagine Jack’s singing for me, but one look at Kady tells me she’s thinking the same thing, and my heart takes a dive.
Who am I kidding? Not even myself.
5
jess, can u believe it? we hav a date with jack somers! don’t let me faint or tell him that i love him, & if my knees start shaking, just kick me!
love, peace & chocolate,
kady xxxx
kady, it’s rude 2 txt when yr with the boy of yr dreams. calm down – & switch yr moby off, ok?
love, peace & chocolate,
jess x
‘What’s with the texting?’ Jack wants to know. ‘Parents want to know where you are?’
‘That’s right,’ Kady says. ‘Jess has very strict parents. They’re always texting to check she’s not out on the town with some gorgeous lad when she should be at home with her flute.’
‘Kady!’ I protest, blushing crimson.
‘Joke!’ Kady laughs. ‘Jess has lovely parents, seriously.’
Jack looks at Kady like he can’t quite work her out. I know the feeling – I’ve been trying to work her out since I was three years old, and I’m still no further forward. Of course, it’s just possible Jack is admiring the shrink-to-fit rock chick T-shirt and the little black skirt.
‘Like the look,’ I whisper to Kady. ‘What is it, Year Nine backing singer?’
‘You’re just jealous,’ she whispers back.
Well – yeah.
‘I wanted to say thanks for all your help with the auditions,’ Jack is saying. ‘I never really know what to say to the no-hopers, or the kids who have talent but play the wrong instruments. You took care of all that stuff. You were smart and kind and ultra-organized. You even restrung that guitar, Jess! So … I wanted to take you both for a meal, say thanks properly. Where d’you fancy?’
‘The local pizza place is OK,’ Kady says. ‘You’d like it, Jack. They do great chocolate cake, too!’
‘OK,’ grins Jack. ‘That sounds like a plan!’
We grab a window table in the pizza place and order a margherita with extra pineapple, olives and anchovies, just to see what it’s like. Then we discover that anchovies are fish, and Kady says that’s gross, so we pick them all off, one by one.
‘I’m so glad I met you two,’ Jack is saying, his dark blue eyes twinkling as he munches pizza. ‘You have dodgy taste in pizza, but you’ve been real mates.’
‘Any time,’ Kady says. ‘You’ve been pretty cool yourself.’
‘I can’t wait to start working with the new band,’ Jack says. ‘That kid on the drums is something else.’
‘You can say that again,’ Kady mutters.
‘He’s OK,’ I chip in, remembering how he rescued me from the stroppy backing singers.
‘Karl, isn’t it?’ Jack says. ‘And Lucie on keyboards, Alex on bass.’
‘It’s a great line-up, Jack,’ I tell him. ‘You’re going to be brilliant. Loads of kids have been asking when you’ll be playing gigs!’
‘Hey, I should make you two my managers,’ he grins. ‘I love the music bit, but I’m hopeless when it comes to the rest of it.’
‘Stick with us,’ Kady says. ‘We’ll make you rich and famous! Fancy playing at the summer-term disco?’
‘I’ll
give it a go,’ Jack shrugs.
‘Or … well, maybe we could do better than that,’ I say. ‘I mean, you have a bit of a following already, and if that Jet song was anything to go by, you’re going to be pretty good by the time you’ve got used to each other, had some practice. Maybe we could do a festival, a kind of benefit gig?’
‘Outside,’ Kady says slowly. ‘On the school playing fields. Like Glastonbury, but at Parkway!’
‘We could sell tickets, raise money for … I don’t know, famine victims in Africa, or that charity that campaigns against landmines,’ I suggest. ‘The kids would love it, and even the teachers would have to approve. We could call it … Parkway Peace Festival!’
Jack is looking at me like he never really noticed me before, like I’m the most wonderful person he ever met in his life. ‘Awesome,’ he breathes.
I know he means the idea, and not me personally, but still, my heart starts to race. It’s a good feeling – a great feeling.
Then Kady leans across, presses a napkin into my hand. ‘Jess,’ she whispers. ‘You’ve got mozzarella on your chin.’
I will never eat pizza again. How stupid can you get? You think a boy is looking into your eyes, hanging on your every word, but actually he’s trying to work out how to tell you you just dropped your dinner all down your chin. Yuk.
By the time the chocolate cake arrives, I’m back in the shadows. Jack and Kady are talking about the peace festival, adding new ideas, scribbling plans on the back of an unused napkin. Their heads are close together, glossy black braids and choppy caramel. They look good together. They look like they belong.
‘We could do stalls,’ Jack is saying. ‘Face-painting, that kind of thing …’
‘We could make a giant dreamcatcher and get everyone to write their dreams on to ribbons and tie them on!’ Kady offers.
‘Nice one. How about drumming workshops? Karl could get that one organized. And stilt-walkers, and jugglers, and a dance tent! What d’you think, Jess?’
‘Fine,’ I say, but nobody’s listening.
Love, Peace and Chocolate (Pocket Money Puffin) Page 2
