by Maggi Gibson
I’ve booked Pip to do some corkscrew-curl magic on my hair at half past five. Dad’s offered to give me a lift to the town hall, but with all the electricity Pip’s going to be using to transform my hair, as well as the amplifiers and lights at the benefit gig, I reckon I’ve used up my carbon allowance for the week, so I insist I’ll be fine walking.
I try lying down, but I really can’t. I’m far too hyped up, so I’m flicking through the clothes in my wardrobe, wondering what to wear, when my hand brushes Phoenix’s shirt and I get this weird sensation, almost like an electric shock. I take the shirt out and sit on the edge of the bed, holding it, thinking about Phoenix and how much I like it when he calls. It’s strange to think too that Sindi-Sue dreams about marrying Phoenix. That Megan likes to sleep with his poster above her bed. I smile to myself. For hundreds of girls, I suppose, Phoenix is a dream boyfriend. And OK, he texts me once in a while, but he’s going off to the States soon. He’s going to be a big star one day. He’s bound to forget about the girl who sang with him at the Wiccaman festival.
Just then the grandfather clock in the hall chimes. If I don’t get a move on I’ll be late! Quickly, I hang the dream boyfriend’s shirt on its hanger and shove it to the back of the wardrobe, then I shut my eyes and pull something out at random. Yay! It’s my oversized ‘Save the Siberian Tiger’ T-shirt. Good choice! I pull it on and jump into a pair of black leggings and I’m about to stick my feet into my fave Birkenstocks when Pip pokes her head round the door.
‘Miss Pip, beautician and hairdresser to the stars is ready for you now!’ she announces. I follow her through to The Pink Palace where she’s got the tongs all heated up in front of a make-up mirror with lights all round it. Expertly, Pip twists my hair into a mass of glossy corkscrew curls. Then it’s a touch of glimmer on the eyes, mascara on the lashes, a smidgeon of gloss on the lips –
‘Presenting Miss Sassy Wilde!’ I announce grandly, throwing my arms wide and twirling a few times when she’s finished. ‘What do you think, Princess Pip?’
Pip purses her lips. ‘Mmm … I suppose you’ll do,’ she says at last. ‘Personally, I prefer pink. And dresses. And maybe a tiara?’
‘Well, I think I look great, little sis. Thanks a million!’ I hug her till she squeaks, then dash back to my own room, grab my guitar, clatter downstairs two-at-a-time, leap over Brewster, shout ‘Bye-eee everyone, see you there!’ and rocket out the door – THIS IS IT!!
As I approach the town hall, zillions of worry worms hatch in my tummy, all wriggling, squirming and squiggling as all the worst-case scenarios crowd my head:
Beano gets stage fright and won’t play
Megan throws a wobbly and storms off
Twig just doesn’t turn up
The audience doesn’t turn up
I lose my voice
I don’t lose my voice, but I sing totally out of tune like Sindi-Sue, and everyone boos me and throws things.
For an awful moment I think I’m gonna have a total panic attack, then someone will find me hyperventilating on the pavement, grasping my chest, and think I’m having a heart attack and call an ambulance. Next thing I’ll be lying in hospital with an oxygen mask on, protesting ‘I’m fine – you’ve got to let me go, I’ve got a gig to do at the town hall.’ And they’ll think I’m hallucinating and send me to a mental-institution-type-place and I’ll never ever get out again!
Just in time I remember the calming-down advice Taslima gave me yonks ago – ‘Breathe through your heels.’28
So that’s what I do. And as I climb the steps to the big main doors of the town hall, the heel-breathing starts to work its magic and my tummy settles and my breathing returns to normal. Wey-hey!
The hall looks great! There’s a low stage with big loudspeakers either side, and a dance floor in front; then further back – cos it’s pretty huge – there are little round tables and chairs.
Cordelia arrives right after me. She looks gorgeous and otherworldly in a rainbow frou-frou skirt dotted with tiny silver stars. On her feet she’s wearing silver ankle-strap sandals, and instead of tying her hair up with ribbons, she’s used silver tinsel. It sparkles stunningly against the jet black of her hair. To finish the look she’s brushed her eyelids and cheekbones with pale blue glitter and wound strings of tiny crystal beads in pastel colours round her neck and wrists.
‘It’s my Fairy Goth look,’ she says, twirling an imaginary wand.
‘Good fairy or bad fairy?’ Magnus, who’s looking really cool in a black T-shirt and black jeans, asks.
‘Good fairy, of course! I can make your dreams come true!’ She smiles sweetly … before adding mischievously. ‘Unless, of course, you annoy me!’
Just then the hall doors burst open and Megan clatters in, hauling various bits of drum kit. Magnus immediately rushes over to help and for a moment they stand grinning at each other like half-witted Cheshire cats. Cordelia and me exchange a look.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Cordelia giggles.
‘I guess I am,’ I smile.
Magnus is carrying the drums now, and Megan’s tossing her hair and laughing – and it is SO OBVIOUS that they fancy each other!
‘Actually, I think they look sweet together,’ Cordelia sighs.
And they do. It’s like they’re both glowing in a golden bubble and everything outside of them has ceased to exist.
And though I’m happy for Megan and Magnus, I feel sad for me. Cos that’s what it should be like. And the truth is, it’s not like that with me and Twig. Not any more.
Cordelia turns and stares at me like she’s reading my thoughts. ‘You’re gonna have to tell him,’ she says quietly.
‘What? Who? What d’you mean?’ I bluster.
‘Twig. You’re not into him any more. There’s no point in putting it off.’ Cordelia holds my gaze and I know there’s no point in lying to her, of all people.
‘OK, I know I should. I’ve known for a while,’ I sigh. ‘The thing is, I don’t know if I can … Twig’s so sweet. I don’t want to hurt him.’
Just then Beano shouts from the stage. ‘Hey, Sassy! Stefan’s ready to do your sound check!’
With a heavy heart I hurry up onstage, strap my guitar on and tune it up. Twang. Twa-a-a-ng. Twang.
Moments later, Twig arrives. He takes out his shiny blue electric fiddle, smoothes his bow and smiles at me through his flop of hair. And even though I want there to be, in that moment I know for sure. The magic between us has gone. I don’t understand why, and maybe I never will, but over the past few weeks something has changed between us.
Cordelia’s right, I think miserably as I adjust the height of the mike, I do have to tell him. But now’s not the time. Whatever’s gonna happen between me and Twig will have to wait till after the gig.
30
While we’ve been doing the sound check and Magnus has been staring all dewy-eyed at Megan, Cordelia and Sindi-Sue have been busy setting up a system for collecting the money.
‘We’ve put a row of buckets with Earthquake Appeal Fund labels on a table by the entrance,’ Sindi-Sue explains as I stop on my way to the dressing room that Stefan’s told us the band can use. ‘We’re gonna ask people to donate at least two quid as they come in.’
‘And if they even think about not putting something in –’ Cordelia says, her eyes glittering, – ‘they’ll be sorry.’
In the dressing room I check my make-up one last time. Thankfully, it’s OK. Not a smudge of mascara anywhere it shouldn’t be, though I figure there’s not even a trace of gloss left on my lips. And I’m on my way back to the hall when Twig appears at the far end of the deserted corridor, obviously heading for the dres
sing room too.
I can’t help but think how gorgeous he looks. And I wonder if I really do want to split up with him. I mean, he’s always been so sweet with me. He never gets angry or moody or huffy. And he gets on so well with Pip. Even Brewster adores him. Maybe I’m expecting too much from having a boyfriend. Maybe you can only have that magic thing at the start of a relationship. Thing is, me and Twig have been together for a couple of weeks now. Maybe it’s not realistic to expect the romance to stay. Maybe if I tried a bit harder I could make things work out.
Twig’s almost level with me now. He smiles kinda shyly through his flop of hair. And I don’t mean to. I really don’t. But before I can stop myself, I’m blurting, ‘Twig-I’m-sorry-I-don’t know-the-right-way-to-do-this-and-maybe-this-isn’t-the-right-time-and-it’s-not-that-I-don’t-think-you’re-great-cos-I-do-it’s-just-I … I … I don’t think I can be your girlfriend any more.’
I clamp my hand to my mouth. Too late. The words are out now. Hanging in the air between us, like tiny bombs detonating.
Twig stares at me, his tanned face suddenly pale. And I feel so awful. Like a hunter who’s just pounced on a totally innocent baby seal and bludgeoned it with a great big emotional club it didn’t see coming.
Instantly, I want to undo it. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just confused …’ I gabble, tears springing up in my eyes. ‘It’s probably nerves, you know, with the pressure …’
‘No, no, it’s OK.’ He runs his hand through his hair. ‘I’ve been thinking about things too … Remember that time we were walking home – well, I was on my skateboard – and you asked why didn’t I go to school? Do you remember what I said?’
‘Yeah, you said you were a free spirit …’ I mumble miserably. ‘And you caught a butterfly, and you said that if you went to school it would be like putting it in a jar …’
‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Twig’s voice is soft. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you either, so I couldn’t say anything. But this whole boyfriend thing … it’s been making me feel kinda hemmed in, kinda pinned down … I mean, I love hanging out with you, having fun and everything … and I think you’re great. But really, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while. I’d rather we were just friends.’
I take a huge breath and fall back against the wall. ‘You have no idea what a relief that is!’ I gasp, drying a tear from the corner of my eye. ‘I was terrified I was gonna hurt you –’
‘Relax,’ Twig says softly. ‘I’m not hurt at all.’ Then he reaches his hand out, gently touches my hair and looks deep into my eyes. ‘You’ll always be special to me, Sassy Wilde. You’ll always be my first girlfriend. The first girl I ever kissed.’
And when he says that, something in my heart twangs, ever so softly.
31
Back in the hall, Beano’s lounging on a chair, looking totally cool.
‘Aren’t you nervous?’ I ask, amazed.
Beano shakes his head. ‘Nah, I’m pretending I’m Jimi Hendrix, my all-time hero. He wouldn’t be nervous, would he?’
‘Hardly,’ Megan giggles, fiddling with a plaster on her blistered finger. ‘He’s dead.’
Just then Magnus shouts from the stage. ‘Hey, Sassy and the Wilde Bunch! Stefan says would you like to do a song all the way through to settle your nerves before we open the doors?’
‘That’s not a bad idea.’ Beano stretches like a sleek black cat. ‘Not, of course, that I have any nerves to settle.’
‘How about “My Imaginary Friend’s Not Sweet”?’ Twig suggests as we make our way up on to the stage. ‘It’s funny and fast and it’s what we’re planning to open with, so it’ll get us in the mood.’
Moments later we’re all set. Megan starts battering into the drums, then me and Beano join in with the guitars and I belt out the first lines:
My imaginary friend’s not sweet –
She’s big and she’s mean
And she’s got giant feet.
Twig grins at me as he comes in with his fiddle, and I fly into the second verse.
My imaginary friend’s real fierce.
Gonna pick on me? Gonna push me around?
Gonna name–call or tease?
Then you’d better think twice
Cos she’s really not nice …
Megan batters the drums ferociously and clashes the cymbals, then we all blast out together so by the time we finish we’re totally buzzed up and every nerve in my body is zinging.
‘OK, folks! It’s quarter past seven. Time to open the doors, let the public in,’ Stefan announces over the loudspeakers. ‘Everyone ready?’
‘Group hug!’ Sindi-Sue squeals, throwing her arms round a startled Twig. Laughing, we all join in.
‘This is it!’ I whoop. ‘Let’s do it for Taslima!’
When Stefan opens the main doors we do a double take. There’s a huge queue of people! Tons of kids from our year stream in, all in their party gear. And lots of seniors. And kids I’ve never seen before. I even see Miss Cassidy coming in, looking fab in a funky black dress with a zingy pink sash. And she’s not alone! She’s with a dark-haired man I think must be her boyfriend. And he’s totally eye-meltingly, toe-curlingly GORGEOUS.
I’m busy waving ‘HI!’ to people, when Mum’s hippy friend Cathy struggles through the swing doors with a huge box. Twig rushes over to take it from her before she drops it.
‘It’s lemonade to keep you all hydrated,’ Cathy explains, pushing back a few strands of hair from her glistening brow. ‘There’s another couple of crates to come in from the camper.’ Midge and Magnus dash out to get the rest of the boxes, while Cathy commandeers a table at the back of the hall. ‘I’ll put a couple of bowls out for donations,’ Cathy smiles. ‘Any money collected can go towards the benefit fund.’
‘Thanks, Cathy,’ I beam and give her a big hug.
‘Nullo problemo, chica,’ Cathy laughs as she busies herself with setting out bottles and cans and recyclable paper cups. ‘What you and your buddies are doing is great. Love and peace is all very well, sweetie, but people in crisis need hard dosh too.’
Tons more people arrive while Cathy’s getting her juice bar set up, including Miss Peabody and Mr Hemphead, who retreat towards the relative quiet of the chairs at the back.
Then Karim Malik arrives with his dad who runs the Indian restaurant, The Wee Curry House, in the town centre.
‘Karim told me all about what his classmates were doing,’ Mr Malik says. ‘So I wanted to donate something too.’ He waves his hand and four waiters come hurrying over laden with take-away boxes.
I stare in wonder as Stefan sets up more tables at the side of the hall and the waiters arrange dozens of dishes filled with pakoras, samosas, bhajis and poppadums.
‘Just in case you all get a bit peckish,’ Mr Malik grins.
‘This is so exciting!’ Sindi-Sue squeals. ‘We’ve got everything we need now for a fab party!’
‘Yeah, we’ve got everything all right,’ I exclaim ruefully as Mum and Dad come in with a pink Princess Pip in a prom dress and flashing-light tiara. ‘We’ve even got my parentals!’ And everyone laughs.
Every time another clump of people arrives Sindi-Sue wiggles over, flapping her hands and squealing, ‘Hi! So glad you could come!’ while Cordelia stands by the row of collection buckets, making sure everyone puts something in. All I have to worry about now is whether or not Sassy and the Wilde Bunch can actually hold it together for an hour!
As I skirt down the side of the hall to get to the stage, Pip comes rushing over in a swish of taffeta, her face shining. I’m sure she’s got lipgloss and mascara on, and are those false eyelashes?! But even worse – she’s got three boys in tow.<
br />
‘This is my big sister, Sassy,’ she tells the boys, who gaze at her adoringly. ‘She’s gonna be a star.’
I make a mental note to tell Pip three things later.
A. I’m not gonna be a star.
B. She is far too young to have a boyfriend – let alone three!
C. Being single is a wonderful thing. I am the living proof of that – I feel so much better being on my own!
Up on stage I look out over the crowds of excited people spilling about the hall and my tummy lurches dangerously. I honestly never thought that so many people would come. And the more there are, the less sure I am that we can actually pull this off.
Nervously, I take my guitar from its stand and loop the strap over my shoulder. Twig picks up his fiddle, Beano straps on his guitar and Megan settles in behind her drums. Stefan gives us a thumbs-up and turns the hall lights down. Slowly, the crowd falls silent. For a split second there’s total darkness. Then the stage floods with swirling blues and pinks and reds, Megan lifts her sticks to start the drum intro, and we’re about to launch into the first number – when there’s a kerfuffle at the back of the hall.
Megan hesitates – unsure whether or not to start, when suddenly the hall lights flicker on once more. Everyone turns and stares as the doors at the back burst open – and a silver-haired lady zooms in on a motorized scooter. She’s got brightly coloured balloons tied to her handlebars printed with HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PEGGY! 100 TODAY! Instantly, I recognize her. It’s the elderly lady from Fossil Grove Old Folks’ Home, the one who told me I shouldn’t give up singing. And she’s followed by a whole gang of old people! Some with walking frames, some walking arm in arm, some in wheelchairs, some pushing wheelchairs, all babbling excitedly.
