Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid

by Melody James

  Poor Rachel! I quickly type a reply.

  Star-ling, don’t worry. The danger is over. If the cat’s not surprised you by now, then you’re safe.

  You’re free as Tweety-Pie when Sylvester’s at the vet’s. And looking at your star chart, I can see that your future is utterly feline-free.

  Kisses

  Jessica

  I open the next.

  Jessica,

  I’m a boy so I don’t read horoscopes but last week you told Scorpio to wear less make-up.

  (Cindy’s Scorpio. Enough said.)

  If I did read horoscopes that would be stupid, unless I was some sort of Goth (which I’m not), so please make your horoscopes less girly, in case a boy does decide to read them (which they won’t).

  Cheers,

  Anonymous

  jezevans145@hotmail.com

  Jez Evans clearly isn’t exactly a rocket scientist, but it’s a fair point. I make a mental note not to let my horoscopes get so personal in future. I don’t want to ignore half my readership.

  Dear Anonymous,

  How thoughtless of me.

  Do forgive.

  From now on, I promise I’ll give as much advice to boys (and Goths) as I do to our prettier readers, even though you’ll never read it.

  Much love

  Jessica

  The next one is from someone called matchstick-girl@gmail.com. I start reading, wondering what nonsense it’ll be this time.

  Dear Jessica,

  Thank you so much for your wonderful horoscopes. They’ve really helped me in the past. I just hope you can help me now. I’m in love with a boy called LJ.

  (Join the queue, I think.)

  I saw him at a gig on Friday and he was so nice to me but, at the end of the evening, he left with someone else and he hasn’t spoken to me since. My heart is breaking.

  Please tell me if we’re compatible or if my love is doomed. He’s a Taurus and I’m Pisces. I’m sure we’re meant to be together, but if the stars don’t agree I’ll know it’s hopeless.

  Yours desperately,

  matchstickgirl

  Oh, no! This isn’t just any girl who’s love-sick for LJ, it has to be from Savannah! Worry grabs me and pushes me back in my chair. Was I wrong to interfere? Perhaps I shouldn’t have made her dress like an emo. LJ might have walked her home instead of Bethany. And Savannah would be happy instead of heartbroken.

  Guilt nibbles at me as I start typing. I’m going to put things right.

  Dear matchstickgirl

  I have wonderful news! Pisces and Taureans are made for each other. Pursue your love. He’s a lucky boy. Let nothing get in the way of this match made in heaven!

  Yours fondly,

  Jessica

  I hit send and vow never again to make Savannah’s love life unhappy. From now on I’m going to be nothing but positive and supportive of her romantic dreams. It’s not up to me to decide what’s best for her.

  Outside the window the sky is dark. Streetlights are flickering on. I’d better head home before Mum starts to worry.

  I power down the computer and shrug on my jacket. My schoolbag’s heavy with Monday-night homework. I lug it over my shoulder and flick off the storeroom light.

  The corridor echoes as I head for the stairs. Classroom lights are on as the cleaners make their rounds. My shoes click-clack on the chipped stone as I run down the stairs.

  The emergency exit at the bottom is held open by a heavy Hoover. The cleaners must be taking the shortcut to the bins. I slip out. I can cut past the PE block this way and leave by the back gate. It comes out right by the bus stop.

  I zip my jacket up as the cold wind hits me and follow the path past the bins. As I round the corner of the PE block, I hear voices. Boys are laughing and joking in the sheltered entrance. I can’t see who it is, but my journalistic curiosity takes over and I slow my pace to listen.

  ‘No way, guys!’ I recognize an American accent.

  ‘Then why did you spend Friday night flirting with her?’ a teasing voice challenges.

  I peer round the corner. LJ’s hanging with two Year Tens – Mark Eagles and Harry Cosenza.

  ‘It’s just fun.’ LJ’s leaning against the wall, one knee bent, foot pressed against the brinks. ‘It’s cute the way she trails around after me.’

  ‘She is really fit,’ Harry comments. ‘Even dressed like an emo.’

  They’re talking about Savannah!

  ‘I’d date her,’ Mark adds.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ LJ’s dismissive. ‘Who wants to date a Year Nine? Their moms probably still decide their bedtime.’

  I resist the urge to jump out and argue.

  ‘I think you fancy her,’ Harry teases LJ. ‘You just won’t admit it.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ LJ pulls a face. ‘I’m a model, not a child-minder. Why bother with a girl when I can get any woman I want?’

  Fury rises like lava inside me. I step back, balling my fists. I’d like to punch that arrogant jerk right on the nose.

  Then I remember Jessica’s email.

  Oh no!

  I’d encouraged Savannah to try harder with LJ because I thought it would cheer her up. Now she’s going to end up even more heartbroken.

  Hunching my shoulders, I stride past LJ and his stupid friends. My gaze strafes the ground and I dig my hands in my pockets and vow to work doubly hard to stop Savannah mooning over LJ.

  ‘I still can’t believe it!’ Savannah’s clutching her smartphone to her heart while Mrs Dalton walks the aisles of the English room, dumping copies of Romeo and Juliet on each desk. ‘We’re a match made in heaven.’ She shows me the email from Jessica again. ‘The stars are on our side. I knew Jessica would get it right about LJ!’

  I droop, dismayed. It’s eighteen hours later and LJ’s mocking comments are still ringing in my ears. Poor Savannah has no idea he’s amused by her crush and I’ve just made the situation worse with my stupid advice.

  Mrs Dalton stops beside our desk. ‘I’m glad to hear your stars aren’t crossed, Savannah.’ She arches an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you’d like to read Juliet?’

  ‘Oh no, Miss.’ Savannah clutches her throat. ‘I think I’m coming down with something.’

  Treacle leans in from my other side. ‘She’s got a bad case of American fever.’

  Mrs Dalton arches her other eyebrow sceptically. She’s a master of facial expressions. I think she must have been a mime in a previous life. ‘If you have, keep it to yourself, dear.’ She marches back to the head of the class. ‘Marcus?’

  Marcus jerks up his head as she calls him.

  ‘You made such a fine job of Byron’s love poem in assembly, will you come and read Romeo for me?’

  Bilal hoots from his desk. ‘Yo, Romeo. It’s time to get your love on.’ He waves his arms, making gangsta fingers.

  Mrs Dalton stares Bilal down. ‘Have you been watching too much MTV again?’

  ‘You know it, Miss.’ Bilal grins wide.

  Marcus hauls himself to his feet and walks like a condemned man to the front of the class.

  Ryan catcalls from the back. ‘Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’

  Chelsea glances over her shoulder at him. ‘He’s standing by Miss, stupid.’

  Mrs Dalton sighs and hands Marcus a copy of the play. ‘Page sixty-eight,’ she instructs.

  While Marcus is fumbling with his book, Mrs Dalton holds up another copy. ‘And who will be our Juliet?’

  Savannah grabs my hand and lifts it like a boxing ref declaring the winner. ‘Gem would love to do it!’

  I snatch my hand away, a blush running like scarlet fever over me. ‘No I wouldn’t.’

  Mrs Dalton smiles warmly at me. ‘It would be good experience,’ she encourages. ‘If you can face thirty Year Nines, you can face anything.’

  I glare at Savannah but she just smiles sweetly and whispers, ‘This could be your chance to reel Marcus in.’

  Oh my God. She still thinks that I have a crush on Marcus!

>   ‘I told you I don’t like him!’ I hiss.

  ‘I know that’s what you said, but—’

  Mrs Dalton interrupts our whispered discussion. ‘Come on, Gemma.’

  I get up and put one foot in front of the other till I’m level with Marcus at the head of the class.

  I don’t look at him. I just take the book from Mrs D and flick to page sixty-eight.

  ‘Start from the top,’ Mrs Dalton orders.

  I obey.

  ‘If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.

  Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,’ I’m reading Juliet’s lines like a robot.

  ‘I’ll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,

  So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.’

  Woo? This is worse than I even imagined. I’ve just said ‘woo’ out loud. In public. I keep my eyes on the text and press on.

  ‘In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

  And therefore thou mayst think my havior light;

  But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true

  Than those that have more cunning to be strange—’

  Mrs Dalton interrupts me. ‘Try and give it a little warmth,’ she suggests. ‘After all, Juliet is o’erwhelmed by love.’

  I don’t have to worry about blushing. All the blood has rushed to my toes. I feel pale as the moon as I launch into the next lines.

  ‘I should have been more strange, I must confess,

  But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ware,

  My true love passion.’

  I steal a glance at Marcus. Someone’s ripped off his head and stuck a beetroot in its place. His agonized gaze flashes toward mine.

  Oh no.

  My heart plummets.

  There’s a look of apology in his eyes.

  He feels sorry for me! Marcus thinks I’m meaning every soppy word of the script. I screen him out. The rest of the class snicker and whisper. I focus on getting through the next few lines.

  ‘Therefore pardon me,

  And not impute this yielding to light love,

  Which the dark night hath so discovered.’

  I make it to the end of my speech and cling to my book as Marcus clears his throat and starts reading from his text.

  ‘Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,

  That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops.’

  I take over.

  ‘O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon,

  That monthly changes in her circle orb,

  Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.’

  Bilal sticks up his hand. ‘Does anyone know what they’re talking about?’

  Mrs Dalton steps forward. ‘Good question, Bilal.’ She scans the class. ‘Does anybody know what they’re saying?’

  A bemused murmur ripples through the class. Then Treacle sticks up her hand. ‘You can’t trust the moon?’

  Ryan laughs. ‘Maybe they’re werewolves.’

  ‘Or vampires,’ Sally adds. ‘Go on, Romeo,’ she calls to Marcus. ‘Sink your teeth into Gemma’s neck. It might make it a bit more interesting.’

  Marcus shifts beside me.

  I died about four minutes ago, so I don’t care.

  ‘What do you think it’s about, Gemma?’ Mrs Dalton’s question catches me by surprise. I glance back over the lines, relieved to engage my brain in something other than death by humiliation.

  ‘I guess Juliet’s saying that she wants Romeo to tell her he loves her, but she’s worried she’s put him off by being too honest about the way she feels. She’s wondering if she should have played more mind-games with him before saying how she felt, but there wasn’t time for that because when she said she loved him she thought no one was listening . . .’

  My rambling explanation stumbles to a halt.

  Bilal pipes up. ‘It’s a bit like she’s accidentally declared her love in her Facebook status.’

  The class roars with laughter.

  ‘And now she’s hoping he’ll declare it back.’ Chelsea pushes home the point.

  ‘Now, now, class.’ Mrs Dalton calms the laughter. She looks puzzled and delighted by the sudden enthusiasm. ‘You’ve got it exactly but we need to keep the volume down. There are other classes trying to work.’

  Marcus is staring at me like a celebrity confronting a stalker.

  Chelsea’s on a roll. ‘Maybe if Juliet hadn’t squawked like a lovesick parrot, Romeo wouldn’t have died at the end.’

  Mrs Dalton is pacing now, eyes bright. ‘But would that have been a better ending?’

  ‘It would’ve been better for Romeo,’ Ryan calls.

  ‘But was Shakespeare writing the play for Romeo?’ Mrs Dalton presses.

  I hand Mrs Dalton the book and head back to my chair.

  ‘Thanks, Gemma.’ Mrs Dalton hardly notices as she launches into her post-match analysis.

  I slide down low in my seat.

  Marcus does the same.

  Savanna whispers in my ear. ‘You should go for him, Gemma.’ She nods toward Marcus. ‘Did you hear how he was reading Romeo’s part? I reckon he’s a real romantic.’

  ‘But I’m not interested in him,’ I mutter.

  ‘Then why were you blushing so much?’ Savannah gives me doe-eyes and I silently wish I had a hunting rifle.

  ‘Marcus is a real sweetie.’ Savannah sighs.

  My frustration ebbs as I hear wistfulness in her voice. Perhaps there’s still a chance to re-focus Savannah’s gaze on to Marcus. She clearly thinks he’s Definitely Dateable.

  Savannah doodles a love-heart on her jotter. ‘I bet LJ’s a sweetie when you get to know him.’ My spark of hope sputters and dies. ‘Hearing Romeo and Juliet being all gooey has inspired me.’ Savannah’s embellishing her doodle with mini-hearts. ‘I’m going to find LJ at break and tell him how I feel. Maybe he’s like Romeo and just needs to hear me say it first before he can commit.’

  It’s cute the way she trails around after me. LJ’s mocking conversation echoes in my head. ‘You can’t!’ I gasp.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Savannah reassures me. ‘I’m not going to say it to his face.’ She lifts her jotter to reveal a folded piece of paper. ‘I’ve written him a note.’

  ‘Savannah Smith!’ Mrs Dalton barks from her desk. ‘We’re trying to have a discussion here and you’ve talked your way through the whole lesson!’

  ‘But I was quiet for the balcony scene!’ Savannah objects.

  Mrs Dalton frowns. ‘That’s not good enough. I want you to stay behind for break and do some extra reading.’

  ‘Oh, Miss!’ Savannah slumps back in her chair, defeated.

  I give her arm a sympathetic squeeze and feel her twitch.

  ‘Here.’ Savannah thrusts the note into my lap. ‘You can do it.’

  I’ve one eye on Mrs Dalton.

  She’s reading from the play. ‘I have no joy of this contract tonight. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden.’

  ‘Are you nuts?’ I hand it back under cover of the desk.

  ‘Please,’ Savannah begs. ‘You only have to slip it in his locker.’

  Mrs Dalton looks up from the text. I’m scared Sav will get into more trouble for talking. I snatch the note from her hand. ‘OK,’ I agree through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Are you coming, Treac?’ I glance over my shoulder at her as I’m swept out of the English room in the flood of students heading for the vending machines.

  ‘I promised I’d meet Jeff,’ Treacle calls.

  Savannah’s note is burning holes in my fingertips. ‘Can’t he wait?’ Now would be a good time to bring Treacle up to speed on LJ’s real opinion of Savannah. Then we could decide together what to do with this note.

  But Treacle’s caught up in her own drama. ‘He’s got county try-outs this afternoon, I need to help him practise his tackling.’

  It looks like I’m flying solo with the note. ‘OK,’ I concede gracefully. There’s no need to lay a guilt trip on Treacle. I wave her goodbye a
nd head for the lockers. I don’t know why. After overhearing LJ’s boy-talk yesterday, I know I’m not giving him the note. It’s bound to be filled with soppy nonsense. My heart twists as I imagine LJ making fun of its contents with Mark and Harry. Poor Savannah.

  Perhaps I can lose it. I could tell Savannah that someone accidentally knocked it out of my hand and it blew out of a window.

  But I know she’ll worry at the thought of her innermost desires fluttering around the yard.

  Then I have a better idea.

  I could use this note to bring her closer to Marcus.

  The idea zaps me like lightning. It’s so brilliant it could win an award. If I slip it into Marcus’s locker instead of LJ’s, he’ll think Savannah has a crush on him and he might ask her out again.

  It’s the perfect solution.

  Marcus’s locker is 318. I know that because it’s two down from Treacle’s. The hall crowds are starting to thin out. I cross the corridor and follow the line of dented locker doors till I reach the three hundreds.

  315, 316, 317.

  Smiling, I slip the note through the vent at the top of 318.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  I jump at the sound of Marcus’s voice behind me.

  Oh no!

  There is a God, and he hates me.

  I turn round, babbling. ‘Hi, Marcus. What are you doing here? I thought your locker was way over there.’ I point wildly along the corridor.

  ‘You know my locker’s near Treacle’s.’ Marcus looks at me like I’ve gone insane while he undoes the padlock.

  I freeze, horror-stricken, as Savannah’s note slides out and floats gently to the floor.

  Marcus bends down and picks it up, looking puzzled. ‘Is this from you?’ He opens the paper and reads.

  I’m backing away, my stomach knotting as I watch Marcus turn red.

  He looks up at me, waving the note helplessly. He’s turned zombie; his mouth is moving but no words are coming out. What on earth has Savannah written?

  Oh God, did she sign it?

  ‘It’s not from me!’ I tell him quickly. ‘Someone just asked me to deliver it for them.’ I keep backing away, wanting to turn and break into a sprint.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, Gem.’ Marcus’s eyes glitter with sympathy. ‘I thought we’d talked about this. I’m really flattered. Really. You’re a nice person but I just don’t feel the same way.’