Star Struck

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘Tell me about idol groups, Hoshi.’

  ‘They’re stupid manufactured pop groups,’ she says. ‘Perfect girls sing songs that mean nothing. I hate them!’ She shouts this out.

  ‘What about Baby Girlz?’ I say. The wind blows dry leaves across the playground. ‘Do you hate them?’

  Hoshi lets her legs drop down and she comes to a stop. ‘Yeah. They’re the worst.’ She looks at me and laughs. ‘Clever Pearl,’ she says. ‘When did you work it out?’

  ‘Only last night,’ I say, sitting on the swing next to her. The chains are icy cold.

  ‘Have you told anyone?’ She stares at me.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’ We both watch as a woman jogs past the playground.

  ‘So … are you famous?’ I ask.

  ‘Only in Japan.’

  ‘Famous enough for those girls in London to know who you were.’

  ‘That was bad luck,’ she says. ‘Come on. Let’s see who can go highest.’ She starts to swing again and I join in. The woman has gone and now we’re on our own, swinging up and down, our feet moving in unison. ‘Baby Girlz is a young group – everyone’s under eighteen,’ she says, ‘and the team I was in did this mad acrobatic dancing – all synchronised. I performed with them for a year.’

  ‘How come you stopped?’

  She glances across at me. ‘If you did your research properly, Pearl, then I’m sure you’ve seen the video.’

  ‘I saw it, but I didn’t get it.’

  ‘I got kicked out of the Baby Girlz because I was caught kissing some boy and that’s against the group rules.’

  ‘The kiss that made you leave,’ I say. Leaves blow down from the tree above us, falling all around us as we swing.

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘But that’s stupid.’

  ‘We were supposed to be perfect.’ She reaches out and tries to catch a leaf with her hand. ‘We weren’t allowed to date in case it ruined our image. Anyway, someone took photos of us kissing – you’ll find them online if you look hard enough – and I was thrown out of the band.’

  ‘Who was he?’ I say. Then I slow down. I’m starting to feel dizzy.

  ‘No one.’ Hoshi slows down too and our feet scuff the ground. ‘That’s the funny thing.’ She laughs. ‘I didn’t even like him, but I still got chucked out!’

  ‘So you made the film.’

  She groans. ‘What a mistake. Some of the other girls thought it might work and I was so desperate to stay in the band that I did it.’ Hoshi stops her swing and looks at me. ‘I begged the fans to forgive me and put the film on YouTube. Then the press went crazy.’

  ‘How come you ended up here?’ I say. I can’t stop asking questions now. ‘Can you actually get thrown out of Japan for kissing?’

  She laughs. ‘Mum and Dad wanted me to try “ordinary life” for a while. Once I realised I wasn’t getting back into the Girlz, I agreed. So here I am … being ordinary!’

  ‘Busking at Covent Garden … starring in the school musical …’

  ‘Yeah. I’m a show off.’ She grins.

  ‘Come on, then.’

  ‘What?’

  I give her puffy shoulder a push. ‘Let’s hear a Baby Girlz song.’

  ‘What? Here?’

  ‘Don’t be shy. How many people used to go to your gigs?’

  ‘We performed at the Yokohama Arena to seventeen thousand.’

  ‘So performing for one should be easy.’

  Hoshi jumps off the swing. ‘I’ll do the song with the most English in it,’ she says, ‘“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”’

  ‘Is it about kissing?’

  ‘Ha ha.’ She turns her back on me and raises one fist to the black sky. ‘Ready?’ she says over her shoulder.

  I lean on the chain. ‘Ready.’

  She spins round and starts to dance. Just like in London, she’s slick and fast, but this time a huge smile is stuck on her face. ‘K-I-S-S, K-I-S-S, K-I-S-S, kissing with you!’ she sings, then she pouts and does a series of air kisses. ‘Then I did a scream,’ she says, ‘because I was “the wacky one”.’ She screams a delicate scream then flips over backwards, and starts singing ‘K-I-S-S!’ all over again before switching to Japanese. The dance is full of flips, but her face never shows that she’s putting much effort into them. The whole time she looks relaxed and thrilled to be dancing her ass off in a cold, windy park.

  She finishes by jumping into the air and yelling a final ‘Kiss!’ I clap and watch as her huge smile disappears and a more normal Hoshi-sized one appears in its place. Over by the fence a lady is staring at us, a poo bag dangling from one hand and a little dog yapping round her heels.

  ‘Cheesy?’ says Hoshi, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Totally … but who cares? You’re a real pop star!’

  Hoshi shivers. The wind has picked up. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’

  We leave the playground and walk through the park and past the locked tennis courts. Hoshi tells me about all the weird stuff she used to have to do. ‘Fans would pay to meet us in a booth,’ she says, ‘and, one time, we filmed a video in the middle of winter and they made us wear bikinis. We had to suck ice cubes so we didn’t have frosty breath when we sang.’

  ‘What was it like being famous?’ I ask.

  ‘Awesome … to begin with. I could make someone’s day just by looking at them.’ She snaps a twig off a bush and starts running it along the wall. ‘But I got tired of having to be good and being told how to act. I was faking it all the time and in the end that makes you miserable.’ We’re nearly out of the park now, walking down a gravelly path. ‘But now I’m happy,’ she adds.

  ‘Walking past a dog poo bin in the rain?’

  ‘Rain?’ She sticks her hand out. ‘I really thought it was going to snow!’ We walk on in the icy drizzle, then she says, ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘Why’s it such a big secret?’

  ‘Mum and Dad were right. It’s better being normal.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I say. We come out of the park by Tesco Express, then wait for the lights to change at the crossing. ‘K-I-S-S … ’ I sing under my breath.

  ‘Pearl!’

  ‘What? I can’t help it. It’s so catchy.’ Then the green man comes on and – in time to the beeps – I sing Hoshi’s song at the top of my voice and dance across the road.

  ‘Shut up,’ she yells, hitting me with her bag, but I sing it all the way to the mini roundabout. ‘When am I going to come back to your place?’ she asks. ‘I want to meet your fish.’ I’ve shown Hoshi loads of films of Oy swimming around. Her face lights up. ‘Why don’t I come back now?’

  ‘No way,’ I say. ‘My room’s a mess, and my house is right out of town. You’d need a lift home.’

  ‘My dad could pick me up.’ I try to imagine Hoshi picking her way between the bags of dog food as I lead her to my room, her face when she sees the lock on my door.

  ‘Maybe another day,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to go.’ I turn and walk down the road. ‘K-I-S-S!’ I call over my shoulder.

  ‘S-H-U-T-U-P!’ she shouts. I know she’s still looking at me, so I do her signature ‘cheeky jump’, my fist punching the drizzly sky, and her mad laugh follows me down the road.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I’m good at keeping Hoshi’s secret. We’re getting so close to opening night now, rehearsing every other day, and it’s fun watching Hoshi pretend not to be a pop star. Whenever she asks Ms Kapoor to help her with a simple move or she struggles over her harmonies, she glances over at me and we share a look, just for a second, and she knows her secret is safe with me.

  After Thursday’s rehearsal, Kat walks home with us. It’s freezing, but Miss worked us so hard we don’t really feel it. As we walk, we talk about the show and Christmas, and how we can’t believe we break up next Friday. Mr Simms turned up tonight dressed as Father Christmas and gave us all presents: Santa hats that either had Capulet or Montague written on them. We wore them all thro
ugh the rehearsal and they kept flying off whenever we did anything acrobatic.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pearl,’ says Kat, interrupting me, ‘but when are you going to mention Evie’s crop top?’

  ‘What?’ I think back to what Evie was wearing. ‘Oh yeah. A bit tacky.’

  ‘Tacky? That’s it? She had “I wish my brains were this big” written across her boobs. When she did that solo shimmy, I thought you were going to destroy her.’

  I shrug and push my hands into my blazer pockets. ‘I guess I didn’t notice.’

  ‘Too busy dancing,’ says Hoshi.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Kat looks at me through narrowed eyes. ‘You’re being way too nice these days, Pearl. It’s giving me the creeps.’

  ‘I’m always nicer when I’m in a show. I’m not so bored.’

  ‘Still …’ she says. ‘“I wish my brains were this big”!’

  ‘I get to be horrible on stage,’ I say. ‘Get it out of my system. Tonight was fun.’ After we’d learnt the dance, we ran through the scene we’re doing tomorrow – the big fight between Romeo, Tybalt and Mercutio, when Betty and I are murdered. We’re a bit bummed out to die halfway through the play, so Miss is resurrecting us for the chorus line. She says she can’t afford to kill off two of her best singers.

  ‘I’m coming to watch tomorrow,’ says Hoshi.

  ‘Me too,’ says Kat, then she nudges me. ‘Seeing you wrestle Jake Flower is going to be so memorable. I bet you can’t wait!’

  I laugh. ‘I’ve not really thought about it.’

  ‘I don’t believe that!’ says Kat.

  ‘It’s true! Maybe it’s because I’m seeing so much of him at rehearsals; it’s making me immune to the power of his face.’

  ‘As if!’ Kat says. ‘The gap, Pearl, what about his tooth gap?’

  ‘Bit too gappy?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No such thing.’

  I glance over at Hoshi. Although we talk about everything now, Jake seems to be off limits. ‘Anyway,’ I say, suddenly curious to see what she really thinks of him, ‘everyone knows he fancies Hoshi.’

  A silence falls over us, then Hoshi laughs and says. ‘No, he doesn’t!’

  ‘Yes, he does,’ says Kat, clearly delighted to be able to talk about this at last. ‘Jake told me you were “as cute as a button”!’

  Hoshi shakes her head. ‘He says stuff like that about everyone. He’s a massive flirt. He told me Pearl was “magnetic” on the stage.’

  Kat gasps and grabs Hoshi’s arm. ‘What’s he said about me?’

  She thinks for a second, then says, ‘Oh, when you were playing the ukelele the other day, he said it made your hands look massive, like a giant’s.’

  Kat stares at her hands. ‘Not what I was hoping to hear, Hoshi …’

  We separate at the roundabout and I walk home in the dark, shouting my lines out loud to the cars that fly past along the dual carriageway. I must look crazy, but I don’t care. ‘“Thou art a villain”!’ I say to a Primark van; ‘“Wretched boy”,’ I hiss at a battered Range Rover.

  When I get to the footpath that leads to the farm, I sing for the cows that are standing still and silent, like statues. First I do ‘Capulet It Go’, then the chorus of ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ It really is catchy.

  As I’m walking past the next field, I find one of the horses, Tonto, standing by the fence. He arrived at the stables years ago and I spent hours training him with Mum. I liked pretending he was my horse. We look at each other for a moment and I take in his huge beautiful eyes. ‘Haven’t you got big?’ I say, holding out my hand to him. He takes a step closer. ‘Mum not put you away yet?’

  With a sudden flick of his tail, he turns and walks towards the shadowy trees. ‘It’s me,’ I call after him, ‘Pearl!’ but he doesn’t turn back.

  I let myself into the kitchen, dump my bag on the floor and start hunting for food. Since Mum’s last big shop she’s just brought milk and bread from the garage, but I find crackers at the back of a cupboard and some chocolate spread. I make a pile of cracker sandwiches and carry them into my room.

  I put music on and feed my fish, kicking clothes and shoes out of the way as I go round my room. A slammed door followed by thundering paws and a series of barks tells me Mum’s home. This is my chance to do my solo for her. I couldn’t show her last night because Alfie was around.

  ‘Mum,’ I call as I go down the corridor. I stop in the doorway to the front room. It’s not her sprawled across the sofa: it’s Alfie. He’s flicking through channels and pushing Ozzie away with his foot. ‘Where’s Mum?’ I say.

  ‘She’s gone out with a friend so I had to get Ozzie.’

  ‘When’s she back?’

  Alfie shrugs and points the control at the TV. He’s choosing a film. ‘Late.’

  ‘Watch that,’ I say. Alfie has stopped on Ted. ‘It’s funny.’ As soon as I say this, he goes back to the main menu. This makes me laugh.

  ‘What,’ he says, scowling.

  ‘Nothing.’ I lean over the back of the sofa. I’m not going to let him bring me down tonight. He picks another film at random, something about a soldier in Iraq, and soon I find myself sitting on the beanbag and watching it with him. I only plan to stay for five minutes, but soon I’m gripped.

  ‘I’m going to do that,’ he says, pointing at the screen. A soldier is firing a machine gun at a dusty bank. ‘As soon as I’m eighteen.’ Alfie’s always wanted to join the army, but you need parental consent if you’re under eighteen and Mum won’t let him. It’s the main thing they argue about. Alfie takes a cigarette out of the pack on the table and lights it. ‘Want one?’ he asks, pushing the pack towards me.

  I stare at him. He rolls his eyes. ‘Do you want a fag or not?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Quickly I take a cigarette and Alfie chucks his lighter at me. Officially, I’m not allowed to smoke, so I never do it in front of Mum, but school’s internally excluded me for it so many times she must know I do it.

  A tank explodes and Ozzie tries to jump up on the sofa next to Alfie. ‘You stink,’ he says, pushing her away. She just tries to lick his face.

  ‘Don’t let Mum hear you say that.’

  Alfie actually smiles, just for a second. ‘The other day,’ he says, ‘I saw her brushing Ozzie with your hair brush.’

  ‘What? I found it full of grey hairs, but I thought they were Mum’s!’ Alfie laughs and Ozzie’s tail curls under. She comes over to me and sniffs my ear. I rub the top of her head. ‘Smelly dog,’ I whisper.

  We smoke and watch the film for a few more minutes, then I say, ‘Hey, Alfie, you know on Monday when it rained?’ He nods without taking his eyes off the screen. ‘Well, Mum used the shirt you’re wearing to dry Ozzie.’ His eyes narrow in disgust and I laugh. ‘She was soaked!’

  He sits up with a jerk, pulls off his shirt, scrunches it into a ball and chucks it at me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, but now I’m laughing even more.

  ‘Shut up,’ he says.

  But I’ve got the giggles and I can’t stop. ‘Did you wear it to college?’ I ask. He turns to look at me; his eyes narrow. I stop laughing. ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  But it’s too late.

  He pulls back his arm and hurls the TV control at me. Ozzie yelps and I turn my face, just as the control smacks into my forehead and falls on to the floor. My hands fly up and I press my fingers down to stop the stinging pain. ‘God …’ I sit still, waiting for the sick dizziness to fade. Slowly, hands in front of my face, I look up to see if he’s going to do anything else.

  He’s staring at the TV. ‘I told you to shut up,’ he mutters.

  I take my fingers away and see a smear of blood. My head throbs. I wipe my hand on the beanbag. ‘They’ll never have you in the army,’ I whisper. It’s the worst thing I can think to say to him.

  ‘If you tell Mum …’

  I shake my head. ‘I won’t.’ Ozzie presses into my legs. Through her silky hair I can feel her heart beating wildly. I hug her to me. ‘It’s OK,’ I
whisper.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I don’t tell Mum. Instead, I get up a bit earlier so I can hide the bruise with make-up. My head aches, but I do a good job and Mum doesn’t notice when we pass in the kitchen.

  I doodle all the way through drama and biology, then I’m with Hoshi for geography. ‘Why are you so quiet?’ she asks.

  ‘Just thinking,’ I say.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Fighting.’

  ‘Not long until the rehearsal,’ she says with a smile. ‘Ready to die?’

  ‘As long as I get to finish this first,’ I say, and I go back to colouring in my diagram of river landforms.

  *

  It’s a small rehearsal – the Friday night ones usually are – just Jake, Betty and me. Hoshi and Kat have come along to watch, but Bea’s gone late-night shopping with her boyfriend in Brighton.

  After a warm-up, we read through our lines, perfecting the dialogue that comes before the actual fight. ‘“I am for you”!’ I say to Jake, pulling a paint brush out of the waistband of my trousers and holding it centimetres from his face.

  ‘Oh, God! No! Don’t paint me!’ says Jake, cowering behind his hands.

  ‘Use your imagination, Jake,’ says Ms Kapoor. ‘The prop knives will be here next week.’

  ‘I still vote swords,’ says Betty. She’s standing next to Jake, clutching a bar of Galaxy instead of a knife.

  ‘Betty,’ says Miss, ‘our play is set on an estate. How many sword fights take place on estates?’

  ‘Loads?’

  ‘No, not loads.’ She starts to drag a block across the stage. ‘Jake, help me with this.’

  Betty and I jump off the stage and join Kat and Hoshi.

  ‘You two ready for your “close-contact grapple”?’ asks Kat, then she starts laughing.

  ‘Miss shouldn’t have called it that,’ says Hoshi.

  ‘Grapple,’ says Betty, and Kat starts laughing all over again. ‘Grapple, grapple, grapple!’

  I glance at my phone. I texted Mum to ask when she’s getting home, but, as usual, she hasn’t replied. Hoshi looks at me. ‘You OK?’