Accidental Superstar

by Marianne Levy

  I’m a little hazy on that last part because I’d only been listening, vaguely, probably picking my nose or drooling or feeling around in one of my back teeth for trapped Coco Pops or something similarly embarrassing, when I started to notice that things were slightly . . . off.

  Like how you don’t realize for a little while that you’re running a temperature, and instead find the world has gone a bit funny? Well, I could feel the weight of a thing happening. As though I was heating up, only I wasn’t, or like I’d accidentally sat under a hand-dryer, which I hadn’t.

  My eyes slid from the stage, down to my lap and across to the next row. A load of jumbled-up arms and legs, frayed bits of uniform, a few things that definitely weren’t uniform, a smell of feet and farts and . . .

  Eyes. Eyes everywhere, and all of them looking at me.

  The heat that I’d been feeling was the collective gaze of nine hundred and fifty people. Nineteen hundred individual eyes, although really I should say eighteen hundred and ninety-nine because there’s a poor kid in year eight who has to wear a patch.

  The Head finished her speech and we all stood up. Now, we’re not allowed to talk in assembly, and on the way in, people are pretty good about it. On the way out, though, everyone’s in a hurry, the teachers are distracted, and everything’s a bit more chatty.

  Which is when I heard snatches of Just Me.

  Not just from the bus crew.

  Not even just from my form.

  But from every corner of the hall.

  And it just didn’t make sense. No one knew about that song except for me, and Lace and Mands and Adrian. And Nicole and Jaz and Jaz’s phone . . .

  Oh God.

  Oh GOD.

  The year sevens, singing on the bus . . .

  Finlay, calling me messy . . .

  The whole entire assembly hall . . .

  OHGODOHGODOHGOD!

  It was Savannah’s bum all over again.

  Only this time, the bum was me.

  According to the clock I had eight minutes until the start of Maths. So I tore through the crowds and up the stairs into the tech lab, logging in with shaking fingers, then hammering my name into Google. And there was the video. Jaz had tagged it ‘Katie Cox sings Just Me Quirky Kooky Feisty SO REAL’ and there’d been seven hundred and fifty-seven views and it was . . .

  Blocked.

  Stupid school computer!

  I tried again and it came up and just as quickly went away.

  But it was there . . . it was definitely there . . .

  And everyone had seen it.

  I raced back down the stairs and there was Dominic Preston by the lockers, watching me with his gorgeous eyes, eyes which must have seen the video because then he actually smiled at me.

  Aaaaaargh!

  And into the form room, and I was panting now and I didn’t even care because there was Savannah with her gold-plated phone.

  ‘Can I please borrow that?’ I said, making a grab for it.

  She gave me a Savannah look, one of the particularly withering ones, and said, ‘Er, you do not touch my phone, thanks, babes.’

  ‘But, the video . . .’ I said.

  ‘It’s my phone,’ said Savannah. ‘Get off.’

  I went in for another swipe. ‘Please?!’

  ‘DO NOT TOUCH MY PHONE,’ said Savannah, with Paige and Sofie sliding in on either side of her as backup.

  The bell was ringing for Maths. I couldn’t go back out into the corridor . . . not with the whole school laughing at me. Maybe I should go to the office and tell them I was feeling ill. Or skip that stage, do a Mad Jaz and just walk out.

  Even I could see, though, that trying to skive off after the entire school had spent assembly staring at me probably wasn’t my finest idea.

  So, instead, I took a few deep breaths.

  ‘Savannah, I don’t want to touch your phone, I promise. I just want to watch the video, because I haven’t seen it. Apparently I’m the only one.’

  She rolled her eyes, and then, amazingly, she unlocked it and let me lean in.

  There I was, singing away, everyone else playing in the background, while in real life Savannah hovered beside me in her non-regulation heels, smelling of Gucci eau de toilette.

  I looked at the screen, trying to make sense of it. Something odd was going on. Perhaps my eyes had gone funny. Or maybe the shock of it all had given me brain damage.

  Because just a few minutes ago there’d definitely been seven hundred and fifty-seven views.

  Now, there were ten and a half thousand.

  I thought I might pass out. Everything went hot and cold and then hot and a bit swirly for good measure.

  ‘Ten and a half thousand,’ I said. ‘Ten and a half thousand. Ten and a half thousand.’

  Voices, far away.

  ‘Why does she keep saying “ten and a half thousand”?’

  ‘Maybe she’s ill.’

  ‘She looks ill.’

  ‘No, that’s just her face.’

  ‘Katie? Katie!’

  ‘Put your head between your knees . . .’

  ‘Er, can I have my phone back first? OMG. Paige. She has eleven thousand hits.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why she’s passing out. Katie!’

  It was the most intense moment of my existence. I’d never felt so . . . well, I couldn’t put a name to the feeling. Should have worked harder in English, I suppose.

  First there was embarrassment. Huge and monstrous, like I was being stomped on by the Godzilla of cringe.

  Then there was shame. On so many levels. The shame of my hideous room, which wasn’t properly unpacked and wasn’t even in the right house and also was a complete and revolting disgrace. And that’s before we got anywhere near my clothes, my hairstyle (or lack of) and my face . . .

  Yes, that was the worst. That I was just singing away into the camera as though it was totally normal. As though no one was watching me.

  And I’d have probably died of the cringe, right there on the spot, only, here’s the thing: we – I – sounded all right.

  Even so, though. Even so.

  I opened my eyes to see Savannah’s face entirely filling my vision. Interestingly, her cheeks had this microscopic coating of white fuzzy down on them, like a peach. I examined the fuzz for a while, until I noticed that her mouth was moving.

  ‘Babes. Babes! You need to focus. You have eleven –’ she glanced down at her phone – ‘fourteen thousand hits. Also, you need to go to Maths.’

  My legs somehow began working again and lifted me up and into an approximation of a normal person.

  ‘Fourteen thousand?’

  ‘It’s going up again,’ said Sofie. And Savannah said:

  ‘Can people please stop touching my phone.’

  I made my way over to Maths and the world seemed to be crackling with electricity. Walking through the corridor, up the stairs, all I could think was – who were all these people?

  And why were they listening to me?

  I plunked down into my seat next to Lacey. Thank goodness for my best friend! Whatever craziness was going on in my life right now, she would rescue me. I wouldn’t be facing it alone.

  ‘I cannot believe this is happening,’ said Lacey.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘Everyone in the school has seen it. Like, everyone.’

  ‘And –’

  ‘Everyone,’ said Lacey.

  ‘I know, I just saw. Fourteen thousand people! Probably more by now. I don’t think I can even imagine what that looks like!’ I had a quick go. ‘Nope. I can’t.’

  ‘Fourteen THOUSAND?’ said Lacey. ‘This is crazy, Katie. This is bananas.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I laughed, semi-hysterically.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘When you’ve made me look so stupid!’

  Hang on, what?

  I thought back to my bedroom floor, and my blackhead cream and my school uniform, and the boxes a
nd the way my eyes closed when I sang the hard parts and the fish-and-chip wrappers and I said:

  ‘I’ve made you look stupid?’

  ‘People keep telling me to cheer up. And asking me what I’ve done with my tambourine.’

  ‘It’s Adrian’s tambourine.’

  ‘KATIE!’

  ‘What? I’m just saying.’

  In films, you have major dramas on the tops of buildings, or cliffs, or jumping between spaceships. Not in Maths C, third row back.

  ‘You have to take it down.’

  ‘I didn’t put it up! Jaz did! Lace, I’m as embarrassed about it as you are!’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Of course I am! It wasn’t like I planned for this to happen.’

  ‘I never gave you my permission. I know you sound nice and it’s catchy and everything but I’m not going to be a part of this.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll fizzle out soon enough,’ I said. ‘I mean, that’s what happens with these things, isn’t it? They come, they go, they –’

  ‘Good morning, everyone.’ Miss Allen swept in, all big jewellery and scarves. ‘Katie, stop talking. Now.’

  ‘I’ll ask Jaz,’ I whispered, when Allen had finished telling me off. ‘I’ll get her to take it down.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  But it wasn’t that simple tracking Jaz down, what with her not behaving like any kind of normal person. For example, if I’d wanted to find Lacey, I’d have tried the vending machine. Or the top corridor radiators, because Lace is one of those people who is always cold, even in the middle of summer. I called her Elsa for a while but it didn’t go down well, so I stopped.

  To find Jaz I’d have to think outside the box. I’d have to use all my cleverness and cunning. I’d have to investigate places I’d never been to before, really get into the underbelly of the school, all the dark corners I’d never normally visit.

  Or, I could get Nicole to text her, which is what I did.

  And it turned out she wasn’t in school at all. She was spending a day in town.

  Which worked for me, as my need for a new phone had gone from dire to extra super extremely desperate. All those zillions of people, watching me, and I couldn’t even get online . . .

  They could use it as a form of torture. I reckon it would break anyone. Even James Bond.

  After the slowest, strangest day in the history of time, where every classroom echoed with snatches of Just Me and even the teachers were looking at me funny, I finally got myself to the high street.

  According to the Tourist Information leaflets, Harltree high street is one of the two main attractions of Harltree. The second one is the station, and I’m not completely sure that counts as a Harltree attraction because if you’re going there it’s because you’re trying to leave.

  I looked up and down, my Mad Jaz radar on full alert. The usual suspects were out in force, mothers and their tank-sized buggies, some kid screaming over a dropped ice cream, a group of scary-looking blokes and their scary-looking dog. And . . .

  ‘Katie!’

  She was standing right next to me.

  ‘Hey, Jaz. I was just looking for you!’

  ‘Want some body lotion?’ Jaz opened her bag and showed me about ten bottles. ‘I’ve just been to Superdrug.’

  ‘Why did you buy so much body lotion? Oh, you didn’t buy it. I see. No thanks, I mean, it’s kind of you to offer, but I’m OK for lotion just now.’ I walked her around the corner in case a security guard was about to come running out and throw us into prison for the next hundred years. ‘Um, about the video.’

  ‘I know. Have you seen?’

  ‘Not recently,’ I said. ‘On account of Finlay breaking my phone. I was just on my way to get another one.’

  ‘Great,’ said Jaz, striding off towards the phone shop. ‘I need some new headphones.’

  Trying not to think about whether Jaz was planning on paying for the headphones, I followed her inside. The sales assistants were all busy, mostly talking to each other, so I went and stood as far from audio accessories as possible.

  ‘Here’s the thing about the video,’ I began. ‘You need to take it down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s really embarrassing.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘I know you put it up for a laugh and everything but . . .’

  Jaz was contemplating an iPad, which, thankfully, was bolted to the wall. ‘I thought you liked writing songs.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And you sang at everyone on the bus.’

  ‘But this is different.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Jaz. ‘Or is it the same, but better?’

  ‘The whole thing has been humiliating,’ I said.

  ‘I thought you sounded fine,’ said Jaz, which was, full stop, the sweetest thing she’d ever said to me.

  I decided to try something different. ‘Look, Jaz, everyone’s seen it now.’

  ‘If everyone’s seen it,’ said Jaz, ‘then why take it down?’

  I didn’t have a good answer, which was a shame.

  ‘And anyway,’ said Jaz. ‘Not everyone has seen it. Two hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one people have seen it. That still leaves the rest of the world which hasn’t.’

  ‘Two hundred thousand?’

  ‘You’re smiling,’ said Jaz.

  ‘I’m in shock.’

  ‘You’re pleased,’ said Jaz.

  She was looking at me, hard, and I thought all over again how strange it is that someone can be making a complete mess of their life and yet still be incredibly clever. Jaz could see exactly what I was thinking even before I’d quite realized it myself, and yet she hadn’t noticed that she was a disaster area who terrified everyone around her and was probably about to get expelled.

  ‘For the record, I am not pleased. I am horrified. And humiliated.’ I picked at the loose skin around my thumb. ‘Sorry, did you really say two hundred thousand?’

  ‘Last time I checked. It’s probably gone up since then.’

  ‘When did you check?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe half an hour ago?’

  ‘So it probably has gone up . . .’

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A bored-looking bloke came ambling across the shop. He didn’t look like he wanted to help me. He didn’t look like he wanted to help anyone.

  ‘Er, yes. My phone’s broken. I need a replacement.’ I gave him my name and address.

  He scrolled up and down on his computer until he found it. ‘Got you. Replacement handset, yes?’

  ‘Yes please.’ From the corner of my eye I could see Jaz doing something awful to a rack of leaflets.

  ‘A hundred and eighty.’ He said it in this bored way, clearly not noticing that his words meant misery and doom.

  ‘Pounds?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Cold sweat came prickling out from wherever cold sweat comes from. ‘I haven’t got a hundred and eighty pounds. I’ve got fifteen pounds.’ I mentally added on my emergency tenner and a few days’ worth of lunch money. Lacey would share her sandwiches. ‘Maybe forty. At most.’

  ‘Then you can have this,’ said the bloke, and he pulled out the worst, the most useless, the brick-iest phone anyone has ever seen.

  ‘Does it have internet?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Apps?’

  ‘You can use it to make calls,’ said Mr I Really Don’t Care. ‘And text. Oh, and we’re giving away a free Karamel single download with every purchase. But you won’t be able to play it on that.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, cursing inside that I wasn’t old enough to have a job and earn money and instead had to depend on Christmas and birthday presents to meet my technology requirements. ‘Thank you.’ And I went to the till and handed over my cash.

  Jaz was waiting by the door. ‘Got it?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s pretty much useless.’ I showed her the box. ‘Did you check? How many?’


  ‘Three hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and thirty-three. This could change your life. You could . . .’ Jaz stopped walking for a second, clearly trying to think of some things that could happen. ‘You could get a decent phone. One made of gold, like Savannah’s.’

  I wouldn’t normally go to Jaz to predict the future. Also, silver looks better with my skin tone. But I did begin to think that maybe, she might just have a point. Maybe, somehow, this could change my life. I wasn’t quite sure how, but . . .

  ‘If you want me to take it down, I will,’ said Jaz. She had her phone out, her thumb hovering over the screen. ‘I can do it right now.’

  For a moment, I hesitated.

  Because I had promised Lacey.

  Because having the whole entire world look into my bedroom was super spooky. No, scratch that. The bedroom thing wasn’t nearly as weird as the fact that I’d sort of shown the whole entire world the contents of my head.

  Only, in another way, wasn’t it sort of great that they’d seen it? That they were watching because they liked it . . . ?

  And then, all at once, I knew I just couldn’t ask Jaz to take it down, not when this was by a million miles the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I’d have to be mental to put the brakes on now.

  ‘Maybe leave it,’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘For now. Might as well see how far it goes!’

  ‘All right,’ said Jaz, swinging off towards the bus station, her bag hanging heavy and low with body lotion and goodness knows what else.

  I’d just tell Lacey that Jaz had refused. It was believable enough.

  And it wouldn’t be a lie, exactly, or at least, only a very small one.

  It was, I told my stomach, definitely the right decision.

  Song for a Broken Phone

  I loved your camera

  I loved your apps

  I loved your GPS and your maps

  I loved your screen

  I loved your charger

  I loved the way you made pictures larger

  But your screen is smashed

  And your case is broken

  Messages gone

  Voicemail unspoken

  He threw it as a joke

  But it wasn’t very funny

  And I can’t upgrade you

  Cos I haven’t got the money.

  Adrian came home that night as happy as anything, with a great big bag of ham and pineapple pizzas.