Accidental Superstar

by Marianne Levy

  ‘It feels . . .’ I tried to put into words the electricity sparkling down into my fingertips, the way my stomach felt as though I was just getting to the top of a rollercoaster, the grin that kept tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  ‘Don’t tell me. Tell Adrian. He’s the one responsible for all this.’

  I turned, wordlessly, to Adrian, and Tony said, ‘Look at her, Ade. Remember that feeling?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I have to take a selfie,’ I said, getting my phone out. ‘The girls at school will lose it when they see me in here.’ I handed it to Tony, who said:

  ‘Where’s the camera on this thing?’

  Which was a fair question, because of course, my stupid phone didn’t have one. ‘Adrian . . . your phone . . . can you . . . ?’

  ‘What’s a selfie?’ said Adrian, and I decided to leave it.

  ‘Never mind.’ I looked around for somewhere to put my water bottle, and settled for the top of a speaker.

  ‘Careful,’ said the guy sitting at the desk, in a quiet way that suggested he was trying very hard to be polite while actually being quite worried.

  It was a voice I recognized well. Mum used it pretty much every time I borrowed anything of hers, even though the incident with the skirt and the nail-varnish remover was years ago and I’d said I was sorry about a million times and I’d have bought her another one if Marks & Spencer hadn’t stopped making them.

  ‘Katie?’ said the desk guy, while simultaneously pressing some of the buttons on his desk, ‘I’m Moe. Want to go tune up? It’s through there.’

  I unzipped my guitar. Having it in my arms felt easier. I can do this, I told myself. Moe followed me in and started fiddling around, putting headphones over my ears and making the microphone stand higher and lower and then higher again.

  ‘Happy?’ He looked at me like he felt sorry for me. Like how Savannah looked at me, only his eyes were kind.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Moe.’

  He seemed surprised.

  ‘What?’ I said, thinking that my big flappy mouth must’ve gone and offended him.

  ‘Not usual for the artist to remember my name,’ he said.

  ‘What artists have you had?’ I asked.

  ‘Recording here? A few biggies. Kylie did some bits, Elbow, they were a laugh, Lorde, we loved her . . .’ He touched my shoulder. ‘Relax. You’re going to be fine.’

  He was gone, shutting the door behind him. The room was now very, very quiet. Not the deep silence of the countryside at night or the scratchy hush of exams. This silence was flat and complete. As if someone had turned off my ears.

  Through the glass, Moe mouthed something at me. I thought that maybe this was what it was like to be one of Lacey’s mum’s tropical fish.

  ‘Katie? Can you hear me?’

  This time the words came through the headphones, but honestly, it was as though they had been injected straight into my brain.

  ‘Yup.’

  My voice had never been so clear. I could hear every last part of it, all the little creaks and clicks, the slight wet noise my tongue made against the roof of my mouth. I’d always thought of it as smooth, something that flowed, but now, close up, it was like wood; grainy and knotted and full of splinters.

  ‘Katie, hi?’ Tony, this time. ‘Ready to have a go?’

  I strummed a chord, and then another.

  ‘Let’s do a quick run, see how we get on, shall we?’

  Then my fingers were moving of their own accord, scattering notes this way and that, as the tune rose up in my throat.

  I’ve got mad skin

  I’ve got mad hair . . .

  When Adele had started out, she’d have been just the same as I was, now. Standing in a studio, full of music.

  And, call me crazy, but it was as though they were all there, my idols, lining up just behind me, cheering me on. Kate Bush, her arms wrapped around Amy Winehouse’s eeny-weeny waist, Dolly Parton, all boobs and hair, Joni Mitchell and Taylor Swift, Björk, who was for some reason dressed as a swan . . .

  Adrian winked at me through the glass, and as he did, I felt my heart leap.

  I’ve got mad love

  I’ve got mad hate

  I’ve got all my life to come and I just can’t wait

  And here’s the thing, I think you’ll agree

  We’re all in this together. It’s not just me.

  Later, much, much later, I was back in my bedroom. My bones were still vibrating with the memory of it all, so much so that I couldn’t quite seem to sit still and kept pinging between my bed and my desk and the window and the floor, round and round and round.

  There was the same tangle of clothes at the end of my bed, the same weird stain on the ceiling, the same old plate of pizza, with its ever-increasing mane of green fur. Nothing had changed, but somehow everything had. Which I suppose is what it will feel like when I actually have my first kiss, an event so far distant that they will most likely get a man on Mars before I manage to plant one on my mouth.

  I so wanted to tell Lacey about the day. How Moe had clapped me on the back and said that I’d played a blinder. How they’d asked me if I was hungry and brought me a chicken wrap when I’d said I was. How they had a big jar of pencils on the desk all with SQ Studios written on the side and how I’d pinched a couple at the end, one for me and one for her.

  But that was old Lacey. It would take more than a pencil to get her to like me again.

  Still, she’d come round. And the pencil would keep.

  How long until a pencil goes off?

  There was at least one person I could tell. One person who was scheduled to talk to me, who would be obliged to ask me how my day had been and listen to the answer.

  I looked at the clock again, and again and again and again, until finally, finally, it was time to talk to Dad.

  ‘Katie!’

  And oh, but it was good to hear his voice. Like buttered toast on a cold Sunday afternoon. Like a hug. Like . . . Dad.

  ‘So, my little pop star, I’ve been hearing great things! Let’s all sit down and have a cup of tea!’

  ‘You’ve seen the video, then.’

  ‘Have I seen it? It’s all I see! I put my email on, I get links to you. And people asking about you. Did I know my Katie was all over the internet, what do I think, can I get her to sign stuff for the girls at the store?’

  ‘It’s called a shop, Dad.’ Since he’d crossed the Atlantic, he’d developed a nasty habit of referring to sidewalks and zucchini. ‘People are listening to me in California? I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ He inhaled. ‘And that’s Adrian, huh?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Bit of a sloppy pianist, if you ask me.’

  ‘He’s all right.’

  But Dad was still going. ‘Nah, he’s rotten. And his dress sense isn’t much better. I’d have thought your mother might have gone for someone a bit more . . . well, a bit less . . .’

  The way Dad bangs on about Catriona, I couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to get my own back, just a tiny bit. ‘He might be doing some session work on the new Karamel album.’

  ‘No way!’ Dad sounded genuinely upset.

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I worked with anyone under the age of twenty-five.’

  ‘Come back here then,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to Tony, see if he can’t get you in on it as well. I’m sure you could stay on the sofa.’

  ‘Ah, you know, I said I’d help Catriona set up her new studio. Honestly, though, that Adrian bloke, he’s a piece of work.’

  ‘But you thought I was all right?’ I asked. Which was fishing, I know. But . . .

  ‘Katie, you were wonderful.’

  At last, a family member who appreciated me. It put me in such a good mood that I even asked, ‘So how is Catriona?’

  ‘She’s great! She’s just started two more classes, so she’s incredibly busy, but good busy. And she’s been m
aking me these terrific hot chocolates, sweetened with this Stevia stuff, it’s like sugar, only it’s not sugar . . .’

  This went on for a while. And reminded me why I don’t normally ask.

  ‘So, you should know,’ I said, ‘I’m going to release the song as a single.’

  ‘One of the girls was saying that’s exactly what you should do. Everyone’s at it these days, apparently it’s really easy. Just a few clicks, and maybe I won’t have to send you all that maintenance money. Joke!’

  Let’s be clear, Dad has always paid his maintenance on time. But oh my goodness does he go on about it.

  ‘Ha ha. No, it’s with Top Music, they’re a proper record label. We went to London today to record it.’ I had this sudden flash of fear, that maybe he wouldn’t be OK with it. That he’d freak out, break his code of silence with Mum and –

  ‘That is fantastic news! FANTASTIC!’

  ‘Y-you think so?’

  ‘Of course! Top Music? They’re huge!’

  ‘You’re not worried? You don’t think that it’s basically a bad idea?’

  ‘Of course not. Stop being so negative!’

  ‘Just, Mum’s been a bit, er, funny about it, Mum and Lacey, actually. And Adrian’s been going on and on about how they were going to make me miss school and change my sound and how stressed out I’d be and that the whole thing would be a fight. But it wasn’t like that at all! Tony, he’s the head of the label, he’s been completely nice and he let me record it exactly how I wanted. I did it in three takes. Literally!’

  ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘So you’re not going to jump on a plane and ground me or anything?’ I said.

  ‘Katie,’ said Dad. ‘You’re happy, right?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Why would I mess with that? You go out there, do what you want to do, then make sure you get on the phone and tell your old dad all about it.’

  ‘OK!’

  Clearly, this was the correct reaction. The normal reaction. The reaction of someone who cared about me.

  We talked for a while after that, about a scorpion Dad had found under his car and the ins and outs of opening a Pilates studio in a neighbourhood that already had three Pilates studios.

  And I told him how great our new house was and how much I was enjoying the bus ride to school and how everyone was getting along so well. By the time I put the phone down, I was exhausted with the effort of smiling so hard. A smile, due to recent broadband restrictions, that Dad couldn’t even see.

  ‘I’m glad you guys are happy,’ he said. ‘When I was around, everything seemed so hard. But you’re making it look easy!’

  For a second I faltered. And for some reason, Adrian’s words came back to me: I’m not taking parenting lessons from a man who leaves his kids to go and live on the other side of the world.

  ‘I wish you could come and see us,’ I said. Then, quickly, before I could change my mind, ‘It’s just, I miss you so much.’

  ‘You don’t need me,’ said Dad. ‘I’d just get in the way of this new career of yours.’

  ‘Um, OK.’

  ‘Bye Katie. Speak soon.’

  ‘Speak soon, Dad.’

  There was something wrong with Amanda. I could tell because she wasn’t eating her toast and because she’d not bothered getting dressed. Oh, and because she was crying.

  It wasn’t obvious crying, like the sort I usually do, which is supposed to make people come over and ask what’s the matter. For example, after Paige twisted my nipple in a particularly vicious game of hockey. I try not to do it too much as I’m not pretty when I cry. My eyes seem to drill themselves back into my head, and my nose turns into this enormous strawberry. A strawberry that emits snot.

  Amanda’s crying is much prettier, so she could absolutely use it to get as much sympathy as she wanted. Only, being a better and more noble person than I am, her tears are generally reserved for Really Bad Things Happening In The World. Like wars and famine and fluffy animals getting eaten in nature programmes.

  Now, I want to cry at those things, too. Really, I do, because I know that factually a whole city being bombed is worse than a nipple twist, even when the nipple twist was definitely done on purpose.

  Only the message never seems to make it through to my tear ducts.

  Anyway, Amanda was doing some proper breakfast table crying. The sort where tears leaked in little streams down the sides of her nose. What’s the word we used in English the other day? ‘Rivulets’. Baby rivers of sad.

  ‘What?’ I said, quite quietly, then, when she didn’t reply, ‘What?’

  ‘There’s just no point,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She looked around. ‘Just . . . this. I don’t know.’

  We both went quiet as Mum bumbled over to the back door, doing something with a load of plant pots. Once she was safely outside, Mands wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Don’t you ever feel like things are just a bit hopeless?’

  ‘This isn’t like you,’ I said. She shrugged. ‘Come on, there’s loads to be happy about! The sun’s shining. And we live in a world of opportunity. Anything can happen! Seriously.’

  I was feeling it, too. I’d just recorded my first single in an actual studio with an actual record label. Everything was basically awesome and would be from now until the day I died.

  And when I did die, they’d know what to play at my funeral. So even if people weren’t crying because I’d been a good person, there was a fair chance they’d cry at my amazing music.

  Result!

  ‘Anything can happen?’ said Amanda, slowly. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Miracles are possible. I am literally proof of that. Two weeks ago I was nobody. And now . . . !’

  ‘You are the exact same person that you were two weeks ago,’ said Amanda. ‘Just, more people have seen into your bedroom. Which, by the way, is a health hazard.’

  Arguing with her was clearly not going to get me anywhere, so instead, I said, ‘Has something upset you, Mands?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, actually, it has.’

  I waited, but all I got was more sniffing. ‘Is it me?’ I said, dropping my voice so that there was no way Mum could hear, even though she was safely at the end of the garden. ‘Because I’m going to tell her. I just want to wait a tiny bit longer, just so she can hear how amazing the single is and be proud of me and then maybe she’ll understand, that’s all . . .’

  It wasn’t helping. Watching Mands weep and weep made me feel so terrible that I was on the verge of getting up and fetching Mum and telling her everything. Only then she said:

  ‘It’s the shop.’

  ‘What, Adrian’s Disaster Emporium of Hopelessness?’ I laughed with relief. ‘I mean, seriously, what is with that place? Who even goes into a shop and buys music any more?! It’s like he’s literally trying to go bust.’

  ‘SHUT UP, KATIE.’

  Which was unexpected.

  All the softness had gone from her expression. In fact, in maybe a millionth of a moment, she’d gone from teary big sister to red-faced spitty-mouthed monster.

  ‘The shop is going bust. And Adrian won’t tell Mum because she’s so into the idea that he’s the head of this retail empire.’

  ‘But . . . can’t you . . . just . . .’

  ‘You think you know everything, just because you’ve been going up to London. You know nothing. Nothing. OK?’

  I just stared. Maybe my mouth flapped open and shut a few times.

  ‘Because I have TRIED. That shop was my dream, K. You know about dreams, right? I thought, maybe, if it was run by someone who was really passionate about music, who could talk to customers about bands, play them stuff they’d love, then maybe it could work. That I’d have unsigned groups do new-act nights and a noticeboard where people could sell second-hand guitars and get new drummers and we’d have regulars who’d buy up all the rare vinyl and maybe we’d arrange coach trips to festivals and do a podcast of things we were enjoying a
nd yes, Katie, I know no one buys music in a shop any more but I thought maybe I could change that. And now Adrian’s business is going to go bust and that’s my dream over. Done. Finished.’

  ‘But you never know,’ I said. ‘Anything is possible.’

  ‘We had one customer yesterday,’ she said. ‘One.’

  ‘Which is better than nothing!’

  ‘She didn’t buy anything,’ said Amanda. ‘She wanted directions to the station.’

  ‘But everything you just said, they’re all great ideas. It deserves to work. I mean, you do. It sounds like you’re being brilliant. Incredible. He’s lucky to have you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, and now the tears were back. ‘But it’s not enough. I’m glad you’re getting to live your dream, Katie. But it doesn’t mean I will.’

  There’s a patch of grass around the back of the school labs that’s supposed to be a wilderness garden.

  I’ve never quite known what a wilderness garden ought to look like, but I’m fairly sure no one meant for it to turn out how it did, which was this dark, damp corner of the school with moss instead of grass and a big row of recycling bins. Once, Lacey swore she saw a bluebell growing there but it was so obviously wishful thinking on her part that I didn’t even consider believing her.

  Being totally honest, things between me and her were not good. Just how not good, I wasn’t sure, as she wasn’t especially talking to me. I don’t think she was actively not talking to me, as she answered my questions and replied to my texts. But ever since Alien-gate I was aware that if someone came and tested our friendship levels they’d have found we were running pretty low.

  So I’d brought her outside in order to try a bit of BFF-style bonding. To really talk about our feelings, get close, and open up to each other in that way only besties can.

  ‘Um,’ I said.

  ‘Mm,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Er.’

  ‘Oh look,’ said Lacey. ‘There’s Savannah. Shall we go and sit with her?’

  ‘But, but . . .’ I began. Then, because Lacey was already parking her behind on the grass, ‘OK, then.’

  The Savanah-Paige-Sofie beast had found the one patch of sunshine in the whole area and had stretched out its six very long, very brown legs.