I sit on the carpet and stare at the dog hairs that are all over my tracksuit bottoms. ‘I hate you,’ I say. The room glows blue from the TV screen.
‘Yeah, you said.’
Heart pounding, I get up and go to my room. I feel like it was my throat that he squeezed. I pick up the sock and put it on my pillow, then I pull on my trainers, grab my keys and lock my bedroom door. I walk past Alfie and out of the house, letting the door slam shut on the sound of a cheering crowd.
Head down, I walk down the track, gasping mouthfuls of the frosty air. My wet hair whips in my face and I hold my hoodie tight under my chin. As I head for the dual carriageway, a thin mist of rain starts to fall.
Cars and lorries fly past, their lights picking me out at the side of the road, but no one notices me. I pause at the top of the underpass, look down the slope at the puddles and the flickering yellow light. I turn away and walk towards the traffic.
I stand with my toes hanging off the pavement. The cars are so close I could touch them. I see a gap and I step out, walking across the road as horns blast and lights dazzle me. I keep going until I reach the grass in the middle. A passing lorry makes my body shudder. I wait, then, seeing my chance, I step over the barrier and out into the endless stream of traffic. I stare straight ahead and I walk, and I don’t care what happens.
THIRTY
Hoshi’s dad answers the door. ‘Hello?’ he says, staring at me.
‘It’s me.’ I pull my hood down. ‘Hoshi’s friend.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t recognise you.’ My hand automatically goes to the bump on my forehead, then I remember that I’m not wearing any make-up. I always wear make-up. ‘Come in,’ he says, standing back. ‘Hoshi’s in her room.’
I leave my trainers in the hall and go barefoot up the stairs, my feet leaving damp patches on the fake wood. I stand outside Hoshi’s door, then I knock and go in. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing a spotty onesie. ‘Hello!’ she says, looking up. She smiles. ‘What are you doing here?’ I sit down next to her, flop back and stare at the ceiling. ‘You look –’
‘Like crap,’ I say. ‘I know. No make-up. Wet hair.’
‘Like a pretty ghost,’ she says. I turn and look at her, eyes narrowed. ‘See.’ She holds up the comic she’s reading. ‘You’re like Chika.’ She taps a drawing of a pale girl with huge eyes. ‘She was killed on prom night and now she haunts the school, luring hot boys to their deaths.’
‘It does sound like something I might do.’
‘Your hands are blue. You’re freezing.’ She gets a blanket from the bottom of the futon and throws it over me.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say. ‘What’s this music?’
‘It’s songs from the Studio Ghibli films. They’re Japanese cartoons. Do you like it?’
I listen to the sweeping piano music. ‘No.’
Hoshi laughs. ‘Have you ever seen a Ghibli film?’ I shake my head. ‘My favourite is Princess Mononoke.’
I curl up on my side and pull the blanket under my chin. ‘Princess Mono-whaty?’
‘Mononoke.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I say.
She wriggles round to face me. ‘There’s this Emishi warrior, Ashitaka, and he gets involved in a fight between humans and nature gods.’ She starts talking about wolf goddesses and monks, waving her hands around and occasionally slipping into Japanese. Soon I feel my eyes closing, lulled by the music and Hoshi’s voice, and totally exhausted with being me.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am, then I feel a prickly blanket and remember that I’m at Hoshi’s. Oy is dead in my room. My lips drank that tea.
I sit up, my head muzzy. A Hello Kitty clock tells me it’s nine. I’ve been asleep for nearly two hours!
I head towards the voices coming from the kitchen, but when I get to the door I don’t know what to do.
‘Pearl?’ Hoshi calls. I push open the door and blink into the bright light. ‘I’m making us Japanese food,’ she says. ‘You woke up just in time.’
She’s standing at the cooker, still wearing her onesie, but with an apron over the top. Her dad is sitting at the table behind a laptop. ‘Hello,’ he says, glancing up. He’s holding a bottle of beer, drips of condensation running down the side of the green glass. ‘Did you have a good rest?’
I nod and pull my sleeves over my hands. ‘Sorry. I was tired from work.’
I’ve still got that lump in my throat and it’s making talking hard.‘Come and sit over here,’ says Hoshi, nodding at a stool. ‘Ignore Dad. He looks like he’s doing work, but he’s actually building his Minecraft Godzilla.’
‘I’m doing her teeth,’ he says, not looking up from the screen. ‘It’s difficult.’
I watch as Hoshi chops spring onions into tiny circles. ‘Can you stay the night?’ she asks, turning back to the cooker and spreading an omelet out thin. She starts folding it over and over on itself until it makes a roll. ‘We can go in to the rehearsal together in the morning.’
I lean on the counter, put my chin in my hand and look at Hoshi. She’s wearing the kitten ears tonight, but they’re almost hidden by her hair. She glances at me. ‘OK,’ I say. Rain drums against the black window but the kitchen is dazzlingly lit by rows of spotlights.
She grins. ‘In a minute, we’re going to watch Princess Mononoke.’
‘A cartoon?’
‘The best cartoon.’
I yawn. ‘No way can it be better than The Lion King.’
All of a sudden, Hoshi’s dad starts to sing ‘Hakuna Matata’, tapping his beer bottle on the table in time to imaginary music. His voice is surprisingly deep and he goes red when he notices us watching him.
‘Dad!’ Hoshi cries.
‘I vote Lion King,’ he says with a shrug.
Hoshi looks at me and I nod. ‘Two against one,’ she says. ‘You win.’
We eat in front of the TV, plates balanced on our knees, a white Christmas tree twinkling away in the corner of the room.
It might be the best food I’ve ever tasted. I eat everything I’m given: strips of pepper fried in batter, cold noodle salad, rice with green beans and the rolled-up omelets – tamagoyaki. As ‘The Circle of Life’ crashes out and Scar dangles a mouse over his mouth, Hoshi uses her chopsticks to point at the food on my plate. ‘Edamame,’ she says, ‘daikon, katsuo. It should be better, but Dad’s a vegetarian and as it’s his birthday I thought I’d only make things he could eat.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I say, looking up and noticing the cards on the mantelpiece.
‘But that’s why it’s so cool you turned up,’ says Hoshi.
‘Shh,’ says her dad. ‘I love this bit.’ It’s a shot of a misty plain, rain falling over distant mountains. ‘It reminds me of Japan.’
Hoshi gets me seconds – it’s like nothing can fill me up – then we eat this sweet pink squidgy stuff called chi chi dango. I dip a piece in my tea and suck off the icing sugar as Scar and Simba rip into each other.
Suddenly, I can’t eat another thing, so I put the last bit of chi chi down on my plate and curl up on the futon. I watch The Lion King, my feet next to Hoshi’s, my arms wrapped round a cushion, and in my head I sing along to every song.
I borrow one of Hoshi’s T-shirts and she lets me have the best side of her futon. Then we lie in the dark, and she tells me about her life in Japan, about what it’s like having a British dad and being a ‘halfie’. She says that people think she’s pretty because of her nose. ‘People in Japan say it’s hana takai, which means “high”. I basically got into Baby Girlz because of my big nose.’ She laughs.
‘You’ve got a tiny nose,’ I say.
‘Not in Japan. It’s massive there.’ Then she talks about her mum. ‘I miss her noodle omelet,’ she says. ‘And I miss her. It’s the longest we’ve ever spent apart. The funny thing is, when I was at home I always wanted her to go away. You know, everything about her annoyed me. Even her voice.’
‘I don’t think I see enough of my mum for
her to annoy me.’ Hoshi’s cartoon music is still playing in the background. ‘Your dad is nice,’ I say. ‘Quiet.’
‘I know. Some people think he’s in a mood, but he just doesn’t like talking. What’s your dad like?’
‘Fat.’
She laughs. ‘What else?’
‘I don’t know. He might not be fat now. I hardly ever see him.’ I explain that he lives in Liverpool with his new family. ‘I used to visit with Alfie,’ I say, ‘but his wife gets on my nerves.’ I roll on to my back and stare at the ceiling. Hoshi has left the curtains open and the street lights are shining in. ‘She’s got a tattoo of Elvis on her shoulder and wears wet-look leggings with bullet holes printed on them.’
‘She sounds cool.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d had to walk round Tesco with her.’ A car goes past, lighting up the room. ‘Actually, she’s not that bad. She’s nice to me.’ For a second, we both fall quiet. Way off in town, a police siren wails.
Just when I think Hoshi might have fallen asleep, she says, ‘What about your brother? What’s he like?’
I nearly say ‘an idiot’ or ‘a freak’ because that’s what I always say, but the lump is coming back into my throat and I’m not sure I can speak. Outside, a car door slams and the Hello Kitty clock ticks out the seconds. ‘Today he killed one of my fish,’ I say. ‘He killed Oy.’
‘What?’
‘And he throws stuff. Hits me.’ It’s the first time I’ve ever said these words out loud. Except to Mum.
‘He can’t do that!’ She’s sitting up, looking at me.
‘I hit him back … Well, I used to.’ I say.
‘Everyone hits their brothers and sisters when they’re little,’ says Hoshi, ‘but not when they’re, what, seventeen?’
‘How do you know?’ I say, my voice hard.
‘You should tell your mum.’
I laugh. ‘Mum knows.’ I roll to face her and pull the duvet up round my shoulders. ‘She says I’ve got to stop winding him up.’
We stay like that for a moment. ‘It’ll be OK, Pearl,’ Hoshi says and she puts her hand on my shoulder.
I stare at her. What does she know, with her dad who just drinks two beers then has a cup of tea, and her shiny laminate floor and her three bank cards crammed into her panda purse? Hoshi can’t even begin to understand why this will never be OK. ‘I’m tired,’ I say and I shut my eyes, but I know she’s still staring at me so I turn my back on her. Soon I hear her lie back down.
‘I could help you,’ she says. ‘The girls too. Have you told them?’ I shake my head. ‘I know you can sort this out. You’re a strong person. It’s one of the things I first noticed about you when I saw you standing up on the stage.’
‘Alfie’s stronger,’ I mutter.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she says.
I pull the duvet up higher. ‘You’ve never met him.’ I lie still and silent until eventually I hear her breathing getting deeper.
But I can’t sleep. My heart is racing and my mind won’t calm down. More than anything I wish I could take back what I just told Hoshi and hide it away again. I press my face into the pillow, squeeze my eyes shut and wait until the sick feeling inside me starts to fade.
THIRTY-ONE
Ms Kapoor hands me a white bin bag. ‘TYBALT’ is written on the side in thick marker pen. ‘I think you’ll like it,’ she says. ‘It’s mainly black.’
All around me, students are pulling their costumes out, squealing and holding up vests and dresses to show friends. I tip out a pair of ripped black jeans and a white T-shirt with a leopard’s face covering half of it. A pair of hoop earrings and a leather jacket land on top.
‘You’ll need to wear boots or trainers,’ says Miss. I pick up the jeans and put my fingers in the rips. It looks like the leopard has run its claws through them. ‘OK, Pearl?’ I look up. I’ve been in a daze all morning and Hoshi practically had to drag me to school. ‘You look pale.’
‘It’s just that I used Hoshi’s make-up,’ I say. ‘She’s into the natural look.’
‘I like it.’
‘I don’t,’ I say, touching my eyebrows. Today everyone can see how pale my eyebrows and eyelashes are.
‘What do you think of your costume?’ she asks. I feel the soft leather of the jacket. ‘I used to wear that at college.’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘Miss!’ Betty appears in the studio wearing a baggy khaki shirt over a tight vest and denim cut offs. ‘I love it. I look badass!’
‘Have you made those shorts shorter?’ Ms Kapoor starts to examine the turn-ups.
‘Don’t touch them,’ says Betty, running away. ‘Mercutio would definitely have been into hot pants.’
All the Montagues’ clothes are vaguely military, while the Capulets are going to wear black. The exception is Hoshi.
‘Do you like it?’ she asks me. She’s holding up a white skater dress and swishing it from side to side. The dress has tiny holes cut all over it and a fitted bodice.
I shrug. ‘It matches your hair.’
‘Seriously, Miss?’ says Kat, staring at a khaki shirt. ‘There’s nothing else in our bags.’ Bea’s also got one of the shirts and is trying it on over her top.
‘I ran out of money,’ says Ms Kapoor.
‘Buying cool clothes for everyone else!’ Kat holds the shirt at arm’s length, like it’s contaminated. ‘Please tell me I can pimp this shirt,’ she says, looking at Hoshi’s dress through narrowed eyes. ‘So unfair …’
‘Right.’ Ms Kapoor raises her voice. ‘Everyone get changed. I need to see what you look like and if everything fits.’
‘It would fit my dad,’ mutters Kat as we head for the toilets.
After we’ve wandered around in our costumes and Ms Kapoor has checked us over, we change back into our normal clothes and start to rehearse. We do most of the show, skipping the odd scene that we haven’t fully prepared. We stop and start and at one point we spend half an hour perfecting three minutes of a song. With just over a week of rehearsals left, we’re all aware that we’ve not got long to sort out any problems.
Very quickly, the mucking around and laughing stops and the crying begins. It always happens just before a show. Evie cries because Betty elbows her in the boob during a dance; Bus Kelly cries because her cat died three weeks ago; and Kat cries because Miss says she’s going to need her to ‘stop doing that weird thing with her lips’.
By the end of the rehearsal, we still haven’t managed to get the opening dance right and I think Ms Kapoor might cry. Instead she goes with screaming.
We all stand and watch her as she crouches down, puts her head in her hands and screams quietly into her knees. Mr Simms stops playing the piano.
‘Is she actually pulling her hair out?’ Jake whispers in my ear.
‘I think she’s acting,’ I say.
She stays curled up for a moment longer, then looks up. ‘That’s it for today,’ she says with a mad smile.
‘Good idea,’ says Mr Simms. ‘Remember, it’s Juliet, the nurse and her parents rehearsing after school tomorrow.’ He goes to help Ms Kapoor to her feet and we all drift out of the studio.
After saying goodbye to the girls, Hoshi and I walk across the playing field.
‘Do you want to stay at mine?’ she asks.
‘No. I’m fine,’ I say. All through the rehearsal she’s been glancing at me anxiously and I’ve been regretting what I said last night.
‘Or I could come back with you to your place.’
I laugh. ‘No way.’ I don’t want Hoshi sitting on our stained sofa in the dark living room, her feet finding a space on the carpet between the abandoned mugs and ash trays.
‘I could tell your mum what Alfie’s been doing, about your fish. How Alfie hit you the other day, because that is what happened, isn’t it?’
‘Oh my God, Hoshi,’ I say, walking a bit faster. ‘I told you Mum doesn’t care. And no, he didn’t hit me. He threw a remote control at me.’
&
nbsp; Hoshi grabs my arm. ‘You can’t go home, Pearl. You need to do something!’
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ I say, pulling away from her and walking on.
‘There must be … You could tell Ms Kapoor. You could call the police!’
This makes me laugh. ‘Hello? Is that the police?’ I say, speaking into an imaginary phone. ‘My brother and I had a fight and he was mean to me … You’ll send someone to arrest him? Cheers!’
‘Hey!’ she says, catching up with me. ‘You can make jokes, but whatever Alfie is doing, you can’t keep ignoring it!’
I stop walking and face her. ‘Why not?’ I say, my voice rising. ‘Because that’s what I’ve always done and I’m alright, aren’t I?’
We stand in the muddy field, staring at each other. Hoshi’s wearing her Montague Santa hat and her face is lit up by the setting sun. After everything I did to her when she arrived, this is what’s finally wiped the sunny smile off her face.
‘Look, I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘When Alfie does something like this he feels bad. He’ll leave me alone for ages now.’ A shout across the dark field makes us turn round. Jake’s running towards us.
I know Hoshi wants to say something, but she can’t because Jake has caught up with us. I step to one side so he can walk between us. ‘How mad was Ms Kapoor?’ says Jake, throwing his arms round us, drawing us closer.
‘She didn’t like it when you asked for a tighter vest,’ I say.
‘The audience deserve to see my ripped chest. It’s what they’re paying for … So what were you two talking about?’
‘Your ripped chest,’ I say.
‘Thought so!’ he says, then we walk across the field together and I laugh extra loud at everything Jake says.
He stays with us all the way to Hoshi’s road. He says his dad lives round the corner, but I’m not so sure. We stand on the pavement, talking about the show, until I realise Jake’s not going anywhere. In fact, I think he’s waiting for me to go away.
Star Struck Page 13
