by Maggi Gibson
‘So,’ says Chantelle as she strokes some cleanser on to my skin, ‘I see you found your Prince Charming this afternoon.’
‘He’s not my Prince Charming!’ I object, my colour rising. ‘Anyway, I’m not looking for a boyfriend.’
Chantelle smoothes the faintest hint of foundation on my face with a soft brush. ‘But Phoenix is such a dish! Why, if I was twenty years younger…’ she laughs, her dark eyes twinkling.
‘Yeah, but I’ve already got a boyfriend. He just couldn’t come this weekend.’ I finger the friendship bracelet in my pocket. ‘So, you see, it doesn’t actually matter how sweet Phoenix is.’
Chantelle loads some blusher on to a feathery brush and flicks a tickly lick of it across my cheekbones. ‘Well, precious, I admire your loyalty. He must be very special to keep you back from that sugar-pie, Phoenix.’
‘He is,’ I say quietly.
In no time at all Chantelle finishes my make-up, then she quickly tongs my corkscrew curls, so I look all fresh and shiny again. I check my watch. It’s almost seven. I had expected Zing back ages ago. While Chantelle packs the make-up back into her toolbox, I pace the trailer. The nerves are beginning to build now.
‘Are you OK, sweetie?’ Chantelle asks as she’s about to leave. ‘I really need to go over to Phoenix’s trailer now. Give him a final polish.’
‘Does he wear make-up?’ I gasp, astonished.
‘Not so much make-up.’ Chantelle waves an imaginary wand. ‘More like a little magic!’
Just then Zing comes running up, all hot and bothered, and Chantelle leaves on her next fairy godmother mission.
‘I am SO, SO sorry, Sassy,’ Zing says breathlessly. ‘I meant to be back ages ago. There was a problem, but I’ve solved it. Anyway, how are you feeling?’
‘A bit nervous,’ I admit, pacing up and down. ‘But that’s OK. I think I’d be more worried if I didn’t feel nervous. I mean, I usually feel nervous before I’m doing something that makes me nervous, then when I’m doing it I stop being nervous and I’m…’ I take a breath. ‘… fine.’ I gulp another breath. ‘Sorry! When I’m nervous I kinda rabbit on a bit, but you were saying there was a problem?’
Zing takes something from the bag she’s holding.
‘This,’ she says quietly.
It’s my T-shirt. But not my T-shirt. Because where Twig had painted the beautiful blue Planet Earth, there’s now a huge hole, all singed brown round the edges.
‘I’m so sorry, Sassy. The iron wasn’t even that hot.’ Zing shoves her hand through the hole. ‘All the colours came off and stuck to it.’
I stare at the rag Zing’s holding. ‘But I can’t wear it now!’ I gasp. My mouth goes dry as the panic starts to bubble up inside me.
‘Course not!’ Zing says, suddenly brightening. ‘Didn’t I say there was a problem – but I solved it?’
She pulls something from another bag. It’s the pretty cream lace blouse and the little flounced skirt I liked so much on the photo shoot this afternoon. The outfit Phoenix said I looked so good in. ‘Isn’t it great?’ Zing spreads the outfit on the sofa. ‘Anna saved the day. Look, she’s even given me the shell necklaces. She says you can keep them too. So what do you think?’
I take a deep breath and sink down on to a chair. Twig made me a special top to wear for my first big gig and now it’s a sorry rag with a big hole burned right through it.
‘But this was a special Tee,’ I stammer, picking up the singed remains. ‘I really wanted to wear it tonight.’ I hear my own voice. Childish, like Pip. Tears spring up at the back of my eyes and I fight them back.
‘I’m SO sorry, honey,’ Zing sighs. ‘But look on the bright side. You looked absolutely fab in this stuff.’
I stare dejectedly at the pretty blouse. Zing checks her watch. ‘Look, I don’t want to rush you, but we really don’t have time to mess around, Sassy. We should be backstage by now.’
‘OK,’ I sigh, picking up the fashion-shoot outfit. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’
I’m in my room changing when something occurs to me. Is it possible that Zing and Ben keep creating situations for me to see how I cope? They spring a photo shoot on me with hardly any notice. They ruin the one thing I really wanted to wear for my first performance. Maybe, just maybe, I think as I pull the blouse on and step into the skirt and zip it up, they’re testing me. Trying to see how adaptable I can be under stress.
In which case, I think, as I pick my guitar up and check my reflection in the mirror, they’re going to find out that Sassy Wilde is not easily fazed.
This girl can deal with anything they throw at her!
Backstage is chaos when we arrive. Things have to be organized not just for Phoenix, but for his backing band too, and for the bands that will be on later. Roadies and techies are milling about, trailing black flexes, setting mike stands in place, flashing the spots off and on.
Zing takes me to a tiny quiet space just behind the big main power supply, where Ben’s standing watching the final preparations.
‘Now, whatever you do, Sassy,’ Ben teases as we pass, ‘don’t touch that switch.’ He points to the huge red mains handle. ‘We know what you’re like about saving power.’
I roll my eyes and force a laugh. I know Ben’s only trying to lighten things up a bit.
‘This is the closest you’ll get to a dressing room on this kind of gig,’ Zing says as she dumps her bag on one of the chairs and goes off to find the guy who’ll be on the soundboards. ‘Got to double-check everything!’ she says. ‘You can tune up here, Sassy.’
I take my guitar out of its case and strap it on. It always feels good when I put my guitar on. If I had to perform without it I’d feel quite naked. When it’s in front of me it’s like it protects me. In a few minutes I’ve finished tuning up, but my legs feel a bit wobbly, so I sit down on the edge of one of the chairs. I check my watch. The minutes tick slowly. I feel very, very lonely.
Then suddenly, who should appear from nowhere but Pip! In the prettiest dress imaginable. She twirls a few times, then bows deeply.
‘Surprise!’ she grins. ‘Mum got it for me at one of the stalls. AND it’s fair trade, so Mum says everyone who made it got paid properly.’
Then Cordelia and Taslima and Megan appear, grinning and giggling.
‘Surprise!’ Cordelia says, her green eyes flashing.
‘We just had to see you –’ Taslima laughs.
‘To wish you luck!’ Megan finishes.
Suddenly my nerves disappear and a big grin bursts out on my face. I take my guitar off and perch it against a chair, then we all have a great big hug.
‘It’s so good to see you guys!’ I exclaim. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me!’
‘Don’t be so silly!’ Taslima smiles gently. ‘We’ve been missing you.’
‘Yeah,’ says Megan. ‘We keep saying, Oh, Sassy would have loved this, or we know exactly what Sassy would say about that.’
‘Really?’ I ask, and I guess they hear the worry in my voice.
‘You’re our bezzie, Sass,’ Cordelia gives me a hug. ‘We’d never forget about you!’
‘We made this for you.’ Megan hands me a card.
‘Yeah, I can guess who designed this!’ I laugh. On the front is a spiky black cat with bright green eyes. At the top it says GOOD LUCK, SASSY!
‘Well, you might be wrong,’ Taslima smiles quietly. ‘Cos I did.’
‘And Megan and me coloured it in!’ Pip pipes up.
I wanted to give you this too,’ Megan hands me a pale-blue stone. It’s the angelite egg from the ‘healing crystals’ stall. ‘I thought it might help.’
‘Thanks, Megan,’ I say, and for the first time since our big fall-out in P7 I feel kinda close to her, like she really could be a best bud again.
Out front someone is saying one two one two over the sound system.
‘I think I’m going to have to run to the loo!’ I gasp, so we all have one last quick hug.
‘You’ll blow them
away, Sass,’ Cordelia says as she turns to leave. ‘I know you will. I’ve got this gut feeling about it.’
‘Yeah, so have I!’ I laugh as I leg it to the nearest toilet.
When I get back my best buds have gone and Zing’s waiting for me.
‘I like your flowers,’ she says as I check myself in the dusty old mirror that’s been propped backstage for the performers. ‘They’re gorgeous. And so right for you. Wild flowers for Sassy Wilde.’
‘Flowers?’ I repeat. ‘What flowers?’
‘Those flowers?’ Zing points to a pretty bunch of wild meadow flowers, all pinks and blues and golds and purples, sitting beside my guitar. ‘They’ll be from Phoenix,’ she adds. ‘That’s SO the kind of thing he would do.’
Just then Zing’s phone rings. She answers quickly, says a few words, then flicks it off again.
‘Well!’ she says. ‘The TV cameras are here to get some footage of Phoenix. That boy is super-hot at the moment. And as they’re all set up, who knows, they might well take some of you too.’
‘What? TV cameras? Will I be on the telly?’ I gasp. My tummy’s so full of butterflies I swear it could be declared a site of scientific interest.
‘Don’t get too excited!’ Zing says as she goes to stuff the mobile into her already overfull bag. ‘They film hours of stuff, then they show about three seconds on TV. Best not get your hopes up, but you never know!’
Just then Zing’s bag tips over and her papers go flying all over the floor.
‘Leave them!’ Zing says sharply as I immediately bend to gather them up.
But her words come too late.
A letter has landed at my feet. From Tween Qween Magazine. And my name’s on it. Zing goes to snatch it away but I stamp my foot on it. Across the top it says:
PHOTO SHOOT – PARADISO’S NEW TEEN RANGE – LOVE YOUR PLANET.
‘Paradiso’s!’ I gasp. As I pick the letter up the awful truth slowly begins to dawn on me. ‘You never told me I was modelling for Paradiso’s!’
Zing shrugs, tugs the letter from my hand and stuffs it into her bag. ‘Would you have done it if I had?’
‘Of course not! Their clothes are made in Third World sweatshops! They use child labour and pay them slave wages. That’s why they’re so cheap!’
‘Yeah, but they are a hundred per cent organic and environmentally friendly,’ Zing mutters as she scoops up the rest of the fallen papers and slides them back into her bag. ‘Look, Sassy,’ she sighs, ‘the world’s not perfect. Like we said before, it’s best to leave the business side to us. You DO want to be a star, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but not at any price!’ I place my guitar back into its case and bang the lid shut.
‘What are you doing?’ Zing says, alarmed.
‘I’m going home!’
‘You can’t!’ She stands in front of me. ‘There’s hundreds of people out there. All expecting a concert. And you have an agreement with Y-Gen Music.’
‘Stuff Y-Gen Music!’ I mutter, angrily snapping shut the clips on my guitar case. ‘You’re not the only recording company in the world.’
‘Sassy.’ Zing puts a hand on my arm and I shrug it off. ‘If you don’t go out there and play tonight no other recording company will touch you. Ever. There’s kids queuing up, all wanting their chance, their big break. If you pull out and let the audience down, no one else will ever take you on. Not Y-Gen. Not anyone. Do you understand?’
I take a deep breath in.
Time stands still for a long moment.
Zing’s right. And I know it.
She checks her watch. ‘The decision’s yours,’ she says, picking up her bag. ‘You’re due on stage in five minutes.’
And with that she leaves.
I pace the small space, thoughts swirling in my head like leaves. Can I really just walk away from this, my one chance at breaking through? How many nights have I dreamed of getting to this point?
I pick up the bunch of flowers and bury my face in them, as if their scent might calm me. A tiny envelope falls to the floor. I pick it up and open it with shaky fingers. The card’s handmade, not much bigger than a matchbox, with a crazy curly-haired girl hand-drawn on the front. Playing guitar. A big silver star shining above her.
I open it up. Inside it says one word.
TWIG.
TWIG! My pulse quickens. I spin round, almost expecting to see him there.
But I’m alone. There’s no one else. What a fool I am! Of course Twig’s not here. He probably made the card before we left and gave it to Megan to give to me.
The voice of the MC booming through the loudspeakers startles me back to reality. He’s warming the crowd up, telling them what a great night they’re going to have. Every so often the crowd cheers.
I sink on to a chair and try to collect my thoughts. If only Taslima was here, she’d probably give me good advice. Or if Cordelia was around I’d ask her to cast a magic spell and put time back to before that stupid photo shoot.
Just then Phoenix sticks his head round the curtain. ‘Have a good one, Sassy,’ he grins, giving me a thumbs up. ‘WOW! You look great in that outfit!’
Then he’s gone. And I’m alone. And that’s when I realize just how cleverly Zing has stitched me up. I’ve modelled Paradiso’s latest range of clothes for them. Paradiso’s! I probably won’t be able to stop those photos going into Tween Qween Magazine now. And no one will ever know I was conned into doing it.
I am SO angry! But if I let my anger whoosh up what good will that do? I take Twig’s friendship bracelet from my pocket and run it through my fingers like worry beads.
Suddenly my mind’s made up. Zing’s right on this much. This is my big chance and I’m a fool if I don’t use it.
Out on the other side of the stage the crowd cheers again.
Hurriedly, my fingers fumbling, I undo the clips of my guitar case. I tie the broken friendship bracelet round its neck, just under the tuning pegs, then strap the guitar on.
The MC is announcing my name, and the crowd is cheering, and I think of Taslima and Cordelia and Megan and Mum and Pip all down at the front, waiting for me to do what I came here to do.
To sing. To be the one and only Sassy Wilde.
My heart thudding against my ribs, I take a deep breath and burst out on to the stage.
The crowd’s huge. A sea of colour filling the whole field.
The applause dies down as I approach the front of the stage.
‘Hi!’ I say into the mike. ‘I’m Sassy Wilde. And I’d like to sing for you.’
A small cheer goes up. As I pick out the first few chords I notice Zing in the wings at the side of the stage. She gives me a triumphant smile and a thumbs up, but I don’t smile back.
Then I’m singing. And everything else fades away. Because that’s what it’s like when I sing.
At the end of the first number the crowd applauds. I spot Cordelia and Taslima and Megan right down at the front, waving a big banner saying SASSY, YOU’RE A STAR! Beside them Mum and Pip are clapping their hands above their heads and whooping and hollering.
‘That’s my mum down there,’ I say to the crowd. ‘She’s a bit over-enthusiastic.’
Everyone laughs and somebody shouts, ‘Go, Sassy, go!’ Out of the corner of my eye I see Phoenix standing at the side of the stage.
‘This second number’s a kind of love song,’ I say into the mike and my voice booms out over the huge speakers. ‘I’m only thirteen –’ a huge cheer goes up from the crowd and I wait for it to die down – ‘but I’m old enough to know when I’ve met someone special. This next song’s for him.’
I try not to look towards the side of the stage, but even so, I know Phoenix is there, watching. I strum the guitar gently and start ‘Pinch Me, I Must Be Dreaming’. It’s a slow song, moody and romantic, and the crowd seems to hold its breath while I sing.
Pinch me, I think I must be dreaming,
The sky is so blue, my head’s light as a cloud
And you’re
by my side, like I’m dreaming out loud
It’s too good to be true, that I’m walking with you
Cos you are the boy makes my heart fill with joy
Oh pinch me, I think I must be dreaming…
I pick up the pace as the song goes on, building it faster and louder, then I finish with a deep bow.
The crowd explodes with applause. I glance towards the side of the stage. Zing punches the air. Phoenix is gazing at me, a half-smile on his face. Once again I wait for the applause to die down. I’ve spotted the TV cameras now, but I try to ignore them, to follow Taslima’s advice, to simply be myself. I take a deep breath.
‘Before I sing this last song,’ I begin, taking the mike from its stand, ‘I’d like to ask Pip – that’s my little sister – to come up here with me.’ There’s a squeal of excitement from Pip, then the crowd moves apart to let her through. A tall guy at the front hoists her up on to the stage and she dances across to me, her face shining, and gives me a big hug.
‘Pip’s the best little sis in the world,’ I continue, ‘and last week she got a new dress from Paradiso’s. But she took that dress back to the store. And I’d like her to tell you why.’
I push the mike under Pip’s nose.
‘Because Paradiso’s clothes are made in sweat-shops by little kids,’ Pip says in a tiny voice into the mike. The crowd goes Aaaahh, and Awwww, and someone shouts Shame on them.
‘Thanks, Pip,’ I say, taking the mike back, then I take a deep breath and address the audience again. ‘And the thing is, I’ve just discovered that the clothes I was given to wear tonight were made by Paradiso’s too,’ I say, clipping the mike on to its stand. ‘By kids as young as Pip, working long hours. So before I sing my last song there’s something I want – no, there’s something I NEED – to do. And I’m doing it for all the sweatshop kids in the world!’
I take my guitar off and pass it to Pip to hold. Then I unbutton the lacy cream blouse and pull it off and throw it to the floor. The crowd gasps. I step out of the little flouncy skirt and kick it towards Zing. She fires me an angry look, and I guess I’ve just blown my chances of ever getting a recording contract. Pip’s mouth hangs wide open. Coolly, I take my guitar back from her and strap it over my pretty camisole and shorts – which, let’s face it, are more modest than anything Arizona Kelly has EVER worn on stage.
