Pinch me, I'm dreaming...

by Maggi Gibson

  ‘Until tomorrow, that is,’ Ben chuckles. ‘We have big plans for you.’

  I stare at the sheet. It’s a timetable. Zing passes another copy to Mum.

  ‘So,’ says Zing brightly, ‘let’s just see what’s planned. Today’s Friday. Tonight’s the opening night and of course, Sassy, you’re free to go along and enjoy that. Tomorrow, though, we have a big day planned –’

  ‘But I really was hoping to hang out with my friends tomorrow!’ I splutter.

  Mum shushes me. ‘You have to listen to Ben and Zing. This is a great opportunity. They’re the professionals. They know what they’re doing. You can play with your friends any time.’

  ‘OK, OK!’ I say, but my heart sinks. Right now my two bezzies are down at the beach having a ball, and they probably won’t be missing me at all. Which hurts more than just a little.

  Zing pulls some glossy sheets of paper from her briefcase. ‘Yeah,’ Zing says. ‘We got this fantastic opportunity from Tween Qween Magazine for Sassy to do a fashion photo shoot, you know, using the festival as a backdrop –’

  ‘But I don’t want to do a fashion shoot!’ I gasp. ‘I don’t want to be a model!’

  ‘But I do,’ Pip pipes up. She turns her best smile on Zing and Ben and twirls a few times.

  ‘Your little sis has a good attitude,’ Ben grins at me. ‘But you’ve misunderstood, kiddo. We’re not trying to turn you into a model, we’re trying to get you publicity, get you noticed. Think about it. Record companies pay a fortune to buy ads in magazines. So when Zing found out that Tween Qween Magazine was looking for a thirteen-year-old –’

  ‘– I immediately thought of you, Sassy! You’re perfect,’ Zing enthuses, scattering photos of cool-looking Tees and tops and jeans and shorts on the coffee table.

  ‘What’s more,’ Zing continues, ‘this is right up your street. The clothes are part of an eco-friendly fashion range, all made from pure 100 per cent organic cotton. Let’s see.’ She rummages through some of the papers in her lap. ‘The range is called LOVE YOUR PLANET, and 10 per cent of all profits will go to charities like Protect the Polar Bear –’

  ‘This sounds perfect!’ Mum says, flicking through the photos. ‘I mean, it does seem to tie in beautifully with what you’re about, Sassy.’

  ‘If Sassy doesn’t want to, I’ll do it!’ Pip exclaims. Then she fixes Ben with a serious look. ‘Is there a fee?’

  ‘Well, actually, yes,’ Ben laughs. ‘But we thought, for publicity reasons, that instead of taking the fee for the modelling contract Sassy might want to –’

  I brighten suddenly. I can see where Ben is going. I don’t want to be a model, and I don’t care at all about getting money for myself, but there is something I desperately need some dosh for.

  ‘OK,’ I say, excited now. ‘I’ll do it. So long as whatever money I get paid goes straight to Agnes.’

  ‘Agnes?’ Zing asks, puzzled.

  ‘My adopted donkey,’ I explain. ‘She’s spending her twilight years in the Dorset Donkey Sanctuary. I’ve pledged to send a fiver every month, and let’s just say –’ I throw Mum a meaningful look, which, I’m afraid, is lost on her – ‘I’ve been finding it a bit hard.’

  Ben chucks his head back and laughs. ‘OK, Sassy. Do the photo shoot and we guarantee that Agnes will spend the rest of her days in donkey luxury.’

  ‘Great!’ Zing beams. ‘So that’s sorted. As you can see from the timetable the photo shoot starts at one, so we’ll come for you at eleven and take you to our trailer in the performers’ enclosure –’

  ‘Ooooh,’ Pip squeals, ‘is that where Phoenix Macleod’s staying?’

  Zing smiles. ‘Well, yes, but he’ll be in a different trailer from Sassy, obviously.’

  My heart skips a beat at the mention of Phoenix’s name. I don’t want it to, but it does.

  ‘So, as I was saying, we’ll take you to the trailer,’ Zing continues, ‘then Chantelle, the make-up artist will do your hair and make-up –’ I open my mouth to explain that I’d rather not wear make-up, but Zing raises a hand to silence me. ‘Chill, Sassy. We don’t want to change the way you look. We love it! It’s so fresh and natural, and well, different. But everyone needs a little help in front of the cameras. We know what we’re doing. So we’ll pick you up at eleven, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘That all sounds cool.’ To be honest, I’m hot and sticky. Outside the sun is shining and the sky’s a brilliant blue, and more than anything I want to get down to the beach before Cordelia and Taslima forget I exist and Megan slots herself neatly into my place in the friendship triangle.

  Zing runs through the rest of the timetable. ‘The photo shoot should be finished by three, then it’s back to the trailer. We’ll sort out your set, you know, the songs you’re going to sing, then maybe grab a bite to eat.’

  ‘After that,’ Ben says, ‘we want you to rest for a couple of hours. There’s a room for you in the trailer. Then it’s a shower, make-up again and straight over to the main stage.’

  ‘So, does that sound OK?’ Zing asks as she stuffs all the photos back into her bag. Zing always has a huge bag with her, overflowing with papers. She sees me looking at it. ‘It’s my portable office,’ she jokes. ‘I operate a very advanced filing system.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ben teases. ‘It’s called “Chaos”. Zing hasn’t joined the laptop age yet.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, then,’ Zing says. She gives Ben a playful push, and I realize I’m lucky to be working with Ben and Zing. They’re such fun to be around.

  At the door Ben turns. ‘Trust us, kiddo. We know what we’re doing.’

  ‘Yeah, making stars is our business.’ Zing gives me a hug. ‘And I’ve got good vibes about you, Sassy.’

  Then they’re gone and I grab my towel to head out to the beach at last, when Cordelia and Taslima and Megan come bundling in, their hair wet, their faces sun-reddened and gleaming.

  ‘Oh,’ says Megan, throwing herself on to one of the sofas, ‘the beach was brilliant, Sass. Why didn’t you come?’

  All afternoon people have been arriving at the festival. While Mum makes the tea she sends us off exploring. Cars and motorbikes and vans and campers are slowly bumping their way along the farm tracks to the camping fields, where a village of blue, green and orange tents is springing up.

  They’ve set up stalls too. Wild-looking people with colourful clothes and long untidy hair and earrings and studs and sun-browned skin. Some stalls are laden with handmade jewellery, while others display candles and incense sticks, handmade cotton dresses and wind chimes. Still others offer body-painting, tattoos, piercings. Most of the stall-holders seem to know each other and everybody’s smiling and hugging and good-natured in the sunshine. In the distance we can see the main stage.

  ‘Omigod! Isn’t that scary?’ Megan gasps, linking arms with me. ‘Just think, Sassy, tomorrow night you’ll be up there, performing, in front of hundreds of people!’

  My tummy wobbles dangerously, but I don’t want to let anyone know. Somehow I feel that would make it even harder to keep my nerve. ‘No sweat!’ I lie. ‘It’s cool.’

  ‘You are so lucky!’ Megan continues. ‘If it was me I’d be worried sick about all the things that could go wrong.’

  ‘But nothing will go wrong,’ I lie again, trying to suppress all the horrendous scenarios I’ve been secretly worrying about. I pick up a pale-blue, egg-shaped stone from a ‘healing crystals’ stall. The label says it’s angelite and it has calming properties. ‘Don’t you think this is the most beautiful colour?’ I say, hoping to change the subject.

  ‘But just think,’ Megan continues, ‘the mike could blow up, or… or… you could just lose your nerve at the last minute, or totally forget how to play your guitar… or… you might even trip up as you cross the stage!’

  ‘Honestly, Megan!’ I blurt. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to make me nervous! Pleasepleaseplease stop talking about what could go wrong, will you?’

  Megan drops her arm from mine. He
r face collapses and for a moment it looks like she’s going to burst into tears.

  Cordelia quickly links arms with me and Megan. ‘Oh come on, you two,’ she says brightly. ‘Nothing bad’s going to happen on stage. I cast an extra-special spell last night to make sure it will all be awesome –’

  ‘Oh no!’ Taslima laughs, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Last year you cast an extra-special spell to pass your maths – and they lost your test paper!’

  ‘Yeah, so maybe I DID pass!’ Cordelia giggles. ‘It’s just we’ll never know. Anyway, no way would I mess things up for you, Sass.’

  ‘Thanks, Cordelia,’ I say shakily. ‘Whatever happens once I go out on stage, I’ll just have to cope. I mean, that’s what this gig’s all about. Ben and Zing want to see if I can sing in front of a crowd. If I’ve got what it takes.’

  ‘And you have, Sassy. In bucket-loads!’ Taslima puts an arm round my shoulder. ‘So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’

  Silently, secretly, I cross my fingers.

  I so hope Taslima’s right.

  When we get back to the tent Mum has a lovely big dish of pasta ready for us, with a super tomato sauce and tons of grated cheese on top, and tasty side dishes of chopped cucumber and apple. We gobble it down, then all muck in with the washing up.

  ‘OK!’ Mum says when the last pan is finally dripping on the draining board in the little kitchen area. ‘No more Cinderellas in my yurt! Off you go and make yourselves beautiful. I want nothing but princesses with me tonight!’

  Cordelia dresses up in her complete Scotty Goth look. A red vest-top with black lacy sleeves, a tiny tartan kilt, black fishnet tights and Rocket Dog boots with tartan laces.

  Then she sits on a log outside the yurt and patiently paints each of her fingernails a different colour: red, purple, green, black and yellow. In the camper she puts purple eyeshadow on her eyes and outlines them with smudgy black liner. She pulls her long black straight hair up in high bunches and ties them with two big floppy tartan ribbons. Finally, she puts on her diamanté dog-collar choker and wristbands – and looks fantastic! In a weird, tartan, Cordelia sort of way.

  Taslima is browner than ever after being down at the beach. She and Megan take ages riffling through the piles of tops and skirts and jeans and shorts Megan’s brought.17 In the end Taslima chooses a little lemon crop-top with pretty straps that really shows off her cappuccino complexion.

  ‘You don’t think this top’s too… er… revealing?’ Taslima says doubtfully as she teams it with a pair of cut-off jeans and flip-flops.

  ‘Not at all!’ Mum reassures her. ‘You’ve such gorgeous skin, Taslima. You look lovely.’

  Taslima smiles gratefully. Mrs Ankhar would have a fit if she thought Taslima was going out in anything other than a sensible Tee or polo shirt.

  Megan insists on wearing a white miniskirt, even though Taslima points out it will probably get all grass-stained. Then she tries on about ten different tops before she chooses a tight low-cut look-at-me one. When she at last emerges from the yurt Mum does a double take.

  ‘Oh, Megan, that top’s lovely but… emm… maybe it’s a bit on the scanty side?’ Mum stammers. Megan’s face falls and Mum adds quickly, ‘Tell you what, take a cardie. A big cardie. In case you get a bit chilled. It’ll probably get quite cool when the sun goes down.’

  And me? I think about wearing the T-shirt Twig gave me. You know, the Paradiso’s are Parasites one. I’d like to wear it cos it makes Twig seem closer. In the end, though, I decide against it, cos I’ve promised I’ll wear it on stage tomorrow night, and knowing my luck I might spill juice down it, or accidentally squirt it with tomato ketchup, or get a nose bleed and splatter it with blood. So I leave it safely in my rucksack and go for a vest-top and jeans.

  Pip, on Taslima’s advice – thank goodness she listens to someone! – puts on a really cute turquoise top with a glitter star on the front, and a sugar-pink frou-frou skirt with lemon leggings. Megan has braided her hair with beautiful yellow ribbons and Cordelia has face-painted a big sunflower on one of her cheeks. She looks incredibly pretty. Like an exotic flower. Or a delicate ballerina doll, the kind you get in a music box.

  ‘OK, my princesses!’ Mum says at last. ‘Everyone ready?’

  We all nod, grinning. It’s a gorgeous evening, the heat of the day lingering, the sky cloudless, the sun a huge red ball of fire slowly sinking behind the distant mountains, streaking the sky turquoise, pink, lemon, apricot. The smell of wood fires scents the air. Already we can hear the music from the warm-up band floating across the fields.

  I pop Brewster into the back of the van, check that the window’s open, and give him a bowl of water and some doggy chews. Kris-with-a-K wolf-whistles softly when Mum emerges from the yurt and I fire him a warning look.

  ‘Have you phoned Dad yet?’ I ask Mum, loud enough for Kris-with-a-K to hear.

  ‘Didn’t have to,’ Mum says quietly as Taslima and Megan go on ahead, Pip dancing happily between them. ‘He phoned me. Got a bit of a crisis on his hands.’

  ‘Crisis?’ I ask, curious. Since Dad became an MP, i.e., one of those we trust to run our country, there have been several crises.18 ‘But we’ve only been gone eight hours,’ I gasp, checking my watch. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘Don’t tell Pip,’ Mum whispers in my ear, ‘but Houdini’s on the run again.’

  The opening concert is amazing!

  As well as the band there’s a fire-eater and a juggler and man and woman on stilts. It’s like this weird alternative universe where you can be as outrageous as you want, and everyone’s friendly and laughing. But Mum warns us not to get too carried away with the party atmosphere and to stick together.

  ‘Where any big group of people are gathered in one place, girls,’ she says solemnly, ‘there’s bound to be a few weirdos.’

  Yeah, I think. And that Kris-with-a-K is one of them! Dad should have given Mum a pep talk before we left. She’s much more at risk than I am. She has far too trusting a nature.

  We’ve all been dancing for a while and waving our hands in the air when I realize that the sun has disappeared completely. It’s totally dark, except for the stage lights, all different colours, constantly changing against the pitch black of the mountains behind. It looks quite magical. I gaze at the performers on the stage, playing their guitars and strutting their stuff, and it’s really hard to believe that tomorrow night I’ll be up there and everyone will be listening to me.

  And I’m just starting to freak out, my heartbeat racing and my palms going all sweaty, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I jump about twelve feet in the air.

  ‘Sorry!’ Phoenix Macleod shouts in my ear. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’ He nods to the band on stage, then takes a swig from a bottle of Hi-Vi.19

  ‘Yeah!’ I nod. ‘Cool!’ Cos I can’t think of anything more intelligent to say.

  ‘So where’s your dog?’ Phoenix asks. ‘The one who’s the same age as me?’

  Megan and Cordelia and Taslima are staring at me, pop-eyed. I didn’t tell them about meeting Phoenix. I mean, it was all so embarrassing, what with Brewster’s poo and all.

  ‘He’s in the van. Back at the yurt.’ I say hurriedly. ‘He can’t take the noise.’20

  ‘Can’t blame him,’ Phoenix smiles, leaning in close so I can hear him over the sound of the band. ‘Has his stomach settled down now?’

  I feel my colour rise, and I’m so glad it’s dark. Phoenix is so close I’m worried he’ll be able to feel the heat radiating from my face. Just then someone tugs at my arm.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Megan hollers, fluttering her lashes.

  I do all the introductions, and Phoenix shouts, ‘OK, so you’re Cordelia, you’re Megan, you’re Taslima.’ Then, just as the music dies down at the end of the song, he turns to me and says in a quieter voice, ‘And I know who you are.’

  ‘You do?’ I stammer.

  ‘Zing told me. She
’s over there.’ He points through the crowd and Zing waves happily and gives us a thumbs up. ‘So I thought I’d say hi… You’re doing the gig with me tomorrow night, aren’t you?’

  I nod. He takes a mouthful from his bottle of Hi-Vi.

  ‘Want some?’ he says. ‘It’s good for you. Honest. Zing and Ben would never let me have anything else.’

  I can hardly refuse, can I? So I take the bottle and sip, terrified I’m going to choke and snort it down my nose like I did once before when I was a bit over-excited. But it goes down fine and I pass the bottle back. Phoenix hands it round the others. Cordelia and Taslima take tiny polite sips and pass it on to Megan. Megan takes a mouthful, then another, then another, then just stands, staring at Phoenix, dreamily clasping the bottle.

  ‘You can keep it if you want,’ Phoenix teases, and Megan thrusts it clumsily towards him, spluttering an apology.

  Phoenix grins at me as he turns to leave. ‘See you at the gig tomorrow, then. If not before.’ Then he wanders back through the crowds towards Zing.

  Cordelia and Taslima and Megan all ask me questions at once. I try to act cool, but secretly I’m pretty chuffed. I may have missed out on the beach, but I did get to meet Phoenix Macleod. We move a bit further away from the music so we can talk. I tell them all about how sweet he was with Brewster, but don’t tell them about the dog-poo fiasco. That would have spoiled the glamour of the story more than just a bit.

  Then the music stops and everyone moves to another field to see the big Wiccaman bonfire. Soon it’s blazing and crackling and everyone is ooh-ing and aahh-ing. Then there’s a fantastic fireworks display and we watch in wonder as rockets whoosh up into the sky and explode high above us with rainbow colours.

  ‘Mu-u-u-m,’ Pip whimpers, and wilts suddenly like a little flower that desperately needs water. ‘I’m tired.’

  Mum heaves Pip up in her arms and insists we all go back to the yurt. By that point I’m pretty tired too, so I don’t really mind, but Megan pouts a bit.