The last notes died away and the three of them ran from the stage.
Dad was looking around. ‘Come on. Let’s go find this party, shall we?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. And I didn’t. I didn’t know anything about anything.
‘You need something to eat,’ said Dad. ‘They always have food at these things.’
He guided me down some steps, me stumbling like I’d only just got over the flu, and then went off through an open door, and I could hear music and laughter, and I stood, my head resting on the wall, my eyes half closed, trying to make some kind of sense of what was happening to me . . .
‘Well? Still think we’re plastic?’
I opened my eyes, and there he was.
‘Yes, actually,’ I said. ‘You totally had a wind machine. That bit where you all walked forward, with your shirts flapping about? That is exactly what I was talking about.’
‘Ha! Yeah, all right. But—’
‘And you all sat on bar stools. Er, cliché much?’
‘They were not bar stools! They were . . . just . . . high stools that we . . . all right, they were bar stools.’
‘And that video, the one they projected while you did the song about the party. With you all jumping around. You were on a camper van. And then you all walked off into the sea at the end!’
He was really laughing now. ‘You know why we had our backs to the camera? It was so cold when we were filming that Kristian was crying.’
‘Really? Ha!’
‘Anyway. Thanks for coming. I’m sorry you didn’t like it. I’ve never played like that before. I wanted you to . . . I’m just sorry that I couldn’t convince you that we’re not what you think we are.’
I could sort of feel my heart hammering in my chest, the blood pulsing in the very tips of my fingers, as I said:
‘There were a few bits that I didn’t completely hate.’
He looked up. ‘Wow. The praise is too much for me to bear.’
‘I liked that riff you did on the beginning of the one about your mum.’
‘Huh. I was trying to be The Edge.’
‘Well, you weren’t. But, it still sounded good. And that first song, the bird one, was . . . kind of . . . amazing.’ There was a silence. My breathing felt far too loud. To cover it up, I said, ‘Plus, you have an OK voice.’
‘Just OK?’ He laughed that lovely laugh. ‘Katie, fess up. I saw you cheering.’
‘I was not.’
‘You started out just standing there. By “Big Love” you were jumping up and down. And at the end there I could see you singing along.’
‘Stalker!’ I had to stop myself from thrilling at the idea that even while he had all of the O2 to sing to, he’d noticed me.
‘Should’ve got you onstage.’
‘In front of that many people? I don’t understand how you can do it.’
‘I wasn’t confident to begin with,’ said Kurt, like he was telling me this great secret. Maybe he was. He was talking fast, his cheeks all flushed. ‘But . . . I love being onstage, making music. It’s the only time I ever feel like I’m really being me.’
‘I feel that too,’ I mumbled. ‘Like, I can’t say stuff well at all, I’m totally failing English, half the time I can’t even have a proper conversation. Lacey, she’s my best mate, she’s always getting the wrong end of the stick, she reckons I have verbal dyslexia, which I don’t think is a thing but if it is I absolutely have it. Only, when I’m singing . . .’
‘You’re being your true self,’ said Kurt.
‘Yes.’
I had to make a conscious effort to remember that I didn’t like him.
‘It’s funny,’ Kurt was saying. ‘I saw your video of “Just Me”, and it was like, like a bomb going off in my head. I thought – I understand her. I get where she’s coming from. That sound, pure, spontaneous – we need to get back to that.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ said Kurt. ‘And then, when I heard “Can’t Stand the Boy Band” . . . it hurt.’
My phone was going in my pocket. Mum. Many, many missed calls. ‘Look, I have to get home. Where’s Dad?’
We looked across the room to see him laughing in the middle of a big group of people.
‘Your dad’s pretty fun. I loved that song you did about him.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Everyone else hated it.’
‘It’s nice that you’re close. Mine went off when I was seven. Came back when the band got big, of course.’ He dropped his eyes. ‘Anyway. Doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m lucky,’ I said.
‘You are.’
There was this moment.
‘About this stupid chart battle . . .’ he began.
‘Oh. That.’
‘May the best man—’
‘Or woman,’ I said quickly.
‘May the best man or woman win.’
Then he turned, and went into his party.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘So to conclude, Katie, why should viewers buy your single and not theirs?’
‘Because they are fake, and I am the real deal. I’m Katie Cox and my music is true. That’s why.’
‘With the two singles now out and battling for the top spot in the charts, only time will tell.’
I looked up from Paige’s iPad and across our form room to see Savannah’s top lip curl in a way that, on anyone else, would not have been pretty. Since it was on Savannah, it was still quite pretty.
‘Babes, what happened?’
‘Were you nervous?’ said Paige.
‘Um, I suppose so.’
‘Because that was –’ Savannah searched for a word, then, not finding one, went with two – ‘car-crashy.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ said Lacey.
‘My boyfriend Kolin is seriously upset about it all,’ said Savannah. ‘I mean, he’s totally rising above it because that’s what he’s like, but he is upset.’
‘I’m sorry I upset Kolin,’ I murmured.
‘I think Kolin can look after himself,’ said Lacey.
‘But you were so weird,’ said Sofie. ‘It’s like you’d forgotten how to speak, or something.’
‘Like she was ill. Or mad. Like she was having a breakdown!’
And I was starting to think that maybe I was, when Lacey spoke up.
‘Come on, Katie, let’s go.’
We went down the main stairs, past the drama noticeboard, which was crowded with drama types all looking at some drama thing, and then the sports noticeboard, crowded by sports types all looking at some sports thing.
‘Sorry about Savannah,’ said Lacey.
‘Hey, that’s OK,’ I said. ‘It’s not like you’re in charge of her.’
Lacey scrunched up her face. A face that, I noticed, was lightly coated in some kind of moisturizer that made her look sort of damp.
‘What?’ said Lacey, her hand going to her cheek.
‘Just, your skin . . . ?’
‘Oh. Yeah. It’s supposed to be “dewy”.’
‘You want your face to look like wet grass?’
‘I did when Sofie got us all sample bottles. Is it awful?’
‘No. Just a bit shiny.’
She smushed it around with her palms, leaving two patches of pink. ‘Better?’
‘A bit. But, Lace, don’t let me stop you from looking dewy.’
‘I won’t,’ said Lacey, slowing down to give the vending machine a longing stare. ‘I’m stopping myself. Anyway, if I wanted to buy a pot, it’d be thirty-eight quid. So it was never going to be a long-term thing.’
I wanted to ask her whether she actually liked hanging out with Savannah and co., but maybe that was my answer. Reaching into my pocket, I found a pound coin, and popped it in. ‘Whaddya want?’
‘Oooh. Kit Kat?’
There’s always a worry with vending machines that the chocolate will get stuck and then I’ll shake the thing to try to get it out and the whole lot will tip over and crush me to death, wh
ich apparently happens more often than you’d think. I once said this to Amanda, who replied that I worry too much, and told me that people get killed by everything, from bee stings to their own bed linen, which gave me even more to fret about. Luckily, on this occasion at least, the Kit Kat came tumbling straight down into the bottom.
‘Here.’ I offered Lacey half, and she took it. ‘Um, you know . . . in the interview . . . on the TV last night . . . Was I really that bad?’
‘You were fan-freaking-tastic,’ said Lacey.
Which meant that yes, I was.
‘I wish you’d been at the concert with me,’ I said, and I did wish it, too. ‘You keep me sane.’
‘I wish I’d been there. You watched Karamel from the side of the stage. What a waste.’
‘Lacey,’ I began, ‘what I told you. About . . . them. Karamel. I think maybe I said some stuff I didn’t mean. Well, that I did mean, at the time, but now . . .’
Lacey was now into her second stick of Kit Kat, peeling away the last few flecks of silver foil. ‘Katie, it’s OK. I understand.’
‘You do? Thank goodness! So here’s the thing, I’d heard them before, of course I had. But I’d never heard them, until last night. And—’
‘And now you’re lying about how you feel to be my friend again.’ I was about to set her straight, when she carried on. ‘Which is really nice of you and everything. But, I don’t want you to tell me that you like them.’
‘You don’t?’
‘You’re you, Katie, and you hate Karamel. You don’t like their music or their fashion or their high production values or even that they’re popular. You hate the mainstream. And that’s not something we agree on, honestly, but it’s who you are and you are my friend and your life is difficult enough right now without me abandoning you too.’
‘Um.’
‘Friends forever!’ said Lacey.
‘Er, yes.’
‘It’s like you said. You’re real and you’re true. And sometimes we’re going to disagree. But you need to be able to be yourself. Or what’s the point of us being mates?’
‘Mmm.’
She took a bite, then grinned at me, a tiny blob of chocolate on her front tooth. ‘So, what was the worst thing about last night? The most annoying thing they did? You’re going to tell me anyway, so I might as well ask and get it out the way.’
I was feeling extremely uncomfortable, and not only because Amanda had shrunk my skirt in the wash.
‘I don’t know that I could pick a specific moment. There was a chord sequence that went into this song about a sunset beach, it was actually technically incredibly accomplished . . . and also very, very bad. In a technically accomplished way.’
Lacey threw a handful of wrapper at the bin. ‘What else? Go on, you know you want to.’
‘Er. OK. I didn’t like the way Kurt – that’s his name, right? – Kurt looked out into the audience like he was about to kiss them all. He did this thing with his eyes. And his hands. It made me feel weird.’ That, at least, was true.
‘I know what you mean,’ said Lacey. ‘It does seem a bit like they want all their fans to be in love with them so they can sell them music. And, I dunno. I’ve been thinking. And I do love them. But—’
‘Because I’ve been thinking too,’ I said, quickly, ‘and I don’t mind if you want to talk about them a bit. Like, not loads, because you’re right, it’s way boring. But if you, say, wanted to lend me a couple of their albums or something then we could play them and chat about them, maybe after school tomorrow if you want? Bring everything you have.’
‘I don’t want to do that,’ said Lacey. ‘Because I know you wouldn’t like it.’
‘I’m just saying, if you did, then I’d be totally up for it. As a favour to you. Tomorrow. Or tonight. Or the day after tomorrow, if you’d rather. Whenever, basically.’
‘Katie, it’s fine.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not. I know you’re pretending you don’t care about them as much as you did, but secretly deep down I think that you do. And so I am willing to put my . . . er . . . prejudices aside, for one night only, or a few nights, and do a complete Karamelathon, completely immerse myself in their work, in order to save our friendship.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Katie. But honestly, our friendship doesn’t need saving.’
‘Doesn’t it? Because, I dunno, recently, I’ve been getting the feeling that –’
I stopped, because Lacey wasn’t looking at me. She was looking at her phone.
And I did think, if this girl is about to tell me we are BFFs while simultaneously texting Savannah, then I will . . .
‘Look, K.’
She held it out. There, in her iTunes library, was ‘Can’t Stand the Boy Band’. Artist, Katie Cox.
‘I bought it.’
‘But you already have it. I sent it to you. Way back. That’s how all this started.’
‘Yeah, but Katie, this is a chart battle. And if there’s going to be a battle, of course I’m fighting for you.’
‘Oh, Lace.’
Sensing that I was about to do something incredibly embarrassing like cry in the corridor, she brought out a pair of headphones. ‘Shall we?’
We looped them in one ear each, and sat on the dining hall steps, very close.
Can’t stand the boy band
‘It’s you!’ Lacey squeezed my hand. ‘Your new single.’
‘Yes.’
‘You were so worried, and now, here it is. I’m proud of you, GF.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, in my smallest voice. We listened, as well as we could over the noise of a load of year sevens coming past. Even with that, and with the fact that I could only hear it through my right ear, I caught a scratch in my voice as I went into
On the skin that’s perma-tanned
Plus, the guitar seemed thin, all on its own, without even a bass line to shore it up. My brain reminded me of the lushness that was Karamel, and I found myself saying:
‘You don’t think it sounds a bit, er, underproduced?’
‘To me it does,’ said Lacey. ‘But then, we know I like my music overproduced. So I don’t think my opinion counts.’
‘It does!’ For the second time in ten minutes I found myself wanting to cry. ‘Your opinion totally counts!’
‘It doesn’t,’ insisted Lacey, ‘because I don’t know about music like you do.’
‘Maybe I don’t know about music. Maybe I’ve been shouting my mouth off about something without taking the trouble to really understand it.’
She smiled. ‘You wouldn’t do that.’
‘Lacey,’ I said, because I was genuinely worried that my head might explode or fall off or something, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘But . . . we’re listening.’
‘I know.’ I had to get away. ‘Sorry. But I have a bus to catch.’
‘Can’t you get the next one?’
‘No. I said I’d be home for six. It’s the chart announcement.’
‘Good luck,’ said Lacey. ‘Not that you need it.’
Death by Vending Machine
You can die by duvet
Or pillowcase
You can die from a storm
If you’re in the wrong place
You can die from bouncing off a trampoline
Or being crushed by a chocolate vending machine
You can die by wasp
You can die by bee
You can die from slipping
On a single pea
Or getting caught in the wheels of a pink limousine
Or being crushed by a chocolate vending machine
You can die onstage
Or in your room
You can die of guilt
You can die of gloom
You can die of regret for what might have been
Or being crushed by a chocolate vending machine.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Twenty minutes later I was
curled up on the front seat of the bus with my head resting on the window, its frame vibrating against my cheek. I had my lyric book out, but for some reason the page kept filling up with curly K’s, plus the occasional aramel. All right, more than occasional.
‘What are you writing?’
Jaz had strayed from her usual backseat territory to come and peer over my shoulder.
‘Just songs,’ I said, moving my palm to cover the page. Which, to any normal person, would have been a signal that my words were private and not to be looked at.
Unfortunately, while Jaz had clearly noticed part one of the signal, part two was not on the agenda. She shoved my hand out of the way and stared.
‘Why do you keep writing the word “Karamel”?’
‘That doesn’t say Karamel,’ I said.
We both looked at the tangle of biro. It very obviously did say Karamel.
‘Because I hate them so much.’
Jaz didn’t seem ever so satisfied with this explanation. ‘Are you secretly obsessing about Karamel?’
‘Lay off, Jaz. I’m not secretly anything.’
‘Touchy.’
‘I am not being touchy!’ It came out disturbingly high, like I’d sucked in helium. Which Amanda had done once, at Cousin Dean’s wedding, and then freaked out about it and had a very squeaky panic attack. ‘I’m so not!’
Clearly sensing she was on to something, Jaz leaned in.
‘Ve-ery touchy.’
Time to do some damage control. I straightened my features and pushed back my hair and cleared my throat. ‘Jaz. Listen. I know you like a bit of scandal and I get that you think you’re on to something here. But, if you remember, I hate Karamel. Really hate them. I hate them so much that I’ve written a song about exactly how much I hate them, which is loads.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Jaz.
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve got that sorted.’
The bus rumbled along for a bit and I allowed myself to relax. The car behind us honked. And I was just feeling my cheeks get back to a normal kind of temperature when:
‘I’m just saying,’ said Jaz. ‘If there’s anything you want to get off your chest . . .’
‘There isn’t!’ I said.
Face the Music Page 12
