by Beth Garrod
“But…” Rach looked a bit tearful. “That’s just it. You don’t know them like I do. They love their fans. They’re on our side.”
As I suspected, despite Rach going along with Tegan and me the other day, her heart wasn’t really in it. I felt like we were forcing her. As wrong as I thought she was, should we just agree to disagree?
“Erm, Rach.” Tegan finally spoke up. “I’ve got something which you’re not going to like. I, er, saw it a few weeks back.” She looked at the floor. “I think maybe it’s why I’ve been so unconvinced that they really are all about supporting their fans.”
Rach looked at me as if I could explain. I couldn’t. It was news to me too.
“What is it?” she asked, sounding more nervous than ever.
“I … I can’t really explain. You need to see it. Unless you don’t want to. It’s…” Tegan looked uncomfortable. “It’s some footage that was leaked of that shopping centre thing you went to.”
The colour drained from Rach’s face. “Wavy Crowd Girl one?”
Whoa. Tegan had gone there?! This must be serious.
“You don’t have to see. Your call. But if you want to, it might, well, I dunno. Change the way you feel about them.”
There was a pause before Rach answered.
“Show me.”
Watching the original Wavy Crowd Girl clip with Rach had been hard enough – the comments section filling up with people taking the mick out of her.
But this? It was clear from the first few seconds, it was way worse.
It was a couple of minutes of secret filming that had been leaked to a blog, allegedly by one of their support acts, who’d had enough of the way The Session behaved backstage.
Footage of Brian, Q, Raf and Matt on their tour bus, drinking beer and flicking through fan footage on the internet. It was like a sport to them – scrolling through to hunt out the ones they could laugh at.
Some people got their dress sense pulled apart. Others got laughed at for camping outside a venue. One guy they nicknamed Mushroom Head because of his hairstyle (in fairness, it was very mushroom-like, but maybe that was the look he was going for?). But one person they’d really let rip on was Crazy Hand Girl. Or as we knew her, Wavy Crowd Girl.
Rach.
She blinked back tears as the camera zoomed in on her smiling face as Q, the drummer, burst out laughing and compared her to a “moron dolphin who can’t stop flapping its dumb flippers”.
“I think we’ve seen enough.” Tegan clicked pause, not wanting to upset Rach even more. But Rach pushed her hand away. “No. I want to see the full thing.”
She pressed play but clamped her hand straight to her mouth as Brian then looked her up and down, smirking, “But it’s the kind of dolphin I definitely should have taken back after the gig. Should have told someone to go fetch her.” He then licked his lips before they all laughed together at Rach’s happy face waving away. On stage, the band were all happy gestures back and smiling at their fans. In real life they talked about them as objects, not caring that it was because of people like Rach and Mushroom Head that they even had a career.
She was shocked.
So was I.
Tegan just looked more determined than ever.
It was proof The Session had no respect for anyone.
And when it finally ended the first one to speak was Rach.
“Two things.” She stood up and looked at Tegan. “One, thanks. I needed to see that. And two…” She pointed at the screen, paused on the smug faces of The Session. “This. Is. War.”
The two of them were a force to be reckoned with – but I still had no clue how the three of us could actually make any difference.
“So now the organizers have gone down the ‘don’t blame us, we’re keeping thousands of fans happy’ route, anyone got any suggestions of what to do next?”
Tegan’s eyes lit up. “That’s it, Bells!”
“What is?”
“You’re a genius!” She shook my shoulders with excitement.
“Er – how exactly am I a genius?” (Exactly the kind of question an actual genius would never have to ask.)
“Because that’s what the organizers are bothered about. Keeping thousands of fans happy…” Tegan was waving her hands with excitement.
“Sooooo…?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t being too slow.
“So that’s what we have to do next. Convince the festival that even more people will be unhappy if they DO play!”
But how? I felt like it should be so obvious I couldn’t really ask.
Luckily Rach didn’t feel the same, and asked just that.
Tegan pulled her pen lid off and scrawled on a piece of paper.
PLAN: GET THOUSANDS OF SIGNATURES ON A #STOPTHESESSION PETITION.
Ahhh. A petition. That’s what she meant. And it made sense. So soon the three of us were hurling ideas around about how to make it happen. First thing we needed was a proper social media campaign – not just a hashtag.
Tegan paused in her note-taking.
“Bells – long shot, but could you get Jo on the case to make us something official? Logos or animations or something?”
To say my sister was ever in the mood for helping me out was a long shot. As in, a shot so long it would probably lap round the world and be catchable by the original thrower. But I was down to try.
“Sure – maybe some posts for Instagram, something to set up a site with?”
“Which I can do,” Rach jumped in. She’d just finished making a website for her mum’s new vintage tea-set hire business. “I’ll set up it now actually. Will only take me a minute and we can update it with some of Bells’ photos as we go.”
Tegan jotted it down. “And I’ll register some more @StopTheSession accounts. Message some official people from somewhere official.” She looked like she was processing a million ideas. “If we can really get thousands of signatures they’ll HAVE TO listen. And respond.” She looked up, determination all over her face. This was the Tegan I loved best. Pure thunder, all wrapped up in polite, measured calm, just like when she competed in her gymnastics. “Although…” She caught sight of the time on her TV box. “Look, we should get on with our revision. Just till tomorrow.” She looked a bit guilty, remembering how important this last exam was. Especially to me. As fired up as we all were, we HAD to prioritize tomorrow’s exam. So after messaging Jo, I pulled out my geometry textbook. But before I’d even read through the first paragraph about complementary angles (I could only hope they were the ones that said nice things about you), I’d got a reply.
JO: COUNT ME IN. I can’t believe they’re letting them get away with it! Scumbags. Lemme know what you want.
I fired back a massive, genuine thanks, and a list of everything we’d need. She replied with a
Jo studying graphic design was one of the greatest things that had happened to me. Mainly ’cos it meant she left home. But also because since she’d started she’d been my go-to designer – my profile pics had never looked so good. But just as I was getting dangerously close to thinking she might actually be OK, she messaged again.
JO: Btw, don’t think this means that I don’t think you’re really annoying.
JO: I just really like Tegan and Rach and hate
The Session.
I sent back the emergency picture I kept of Jo when she was twelve. She had a terrible fringe, and had just been horse riding. The saddle had given her a big dark patch on her pale trousers, making it look like she’d wet herself, but she had no idea and was grinning gormlessly. I pulled this beautiful image out whenever she got too annoying, just to remind her I still had some element of power in this relationship.
But despite receiving the normal flurry of abuse back in return, I was happy. Although the reason was gross, I loved being on a mission with my friends. And as I read my revision notes it turned out some of the stuff I’d learnt had miraculously stuck in my brain – it had just been hiding behind layers of song lyrics and dubious dog facts (t
he Besenji dog doesn’t bark! It yodels!) But soon it was time to go home, as I’d promised Mum I’d be back for dinner. And as we tucked into a jacket potato with chips, I told her all about what we were up to.
“Oh, Bells. I’m SO proud of you.” She beamed at me. “It sounds just like when me and my college friends had to protest about the road widening in our local forest. We really stuck it to them.”
I grinned back. It was kind of cool when she put it like that.
“Like mother, like daughter, hey?”
She smiled. “Sure is. I found protesting naked so raw yet SO powerful!”
Or not. I prodded at my potato, trying not to let that thought linger. “Saw you had a visitor again earlier?”
Thanks, brain, for latching on to “disturbing topics” as this evening’s theme.
“You saw right.” She looked a bit sad. “It was all over very quickly though. Not sure I’ll see him again now.”
She looked fed up. And when push came to shove, I’d much rather Mum was happy than I was spared a few alarming man-noises from downstairs.
“Don’t worry, Mum – just remember what you always say to me … everything happens for a reason.” And with one generic motivational quote her smile returned.
We spent the rest of the meal chatting about a new shop space she might have found for Give A Dog A Cone. Being spared the washing-up, I headed upstairs to get back to my revision. When half eleven rolled around I decided to call it quits. I’d done a mega-stint only stopping when Jo’s awesome artwork came through. She’d done an amazing job. Tegan and Rach were absolutely buzzing. I guess sometimes having a sister could be cool. Although I would never, ever say that to Jo.
But when I got into bed, desperate to get as much sleep as possible, I couldn’t switch off. My mind was racing and my body felt full of nerves.
Was it the exam tomorrow? I couldn’t mess it up.
Or was it taking on The Session? Could we really do it? If people found out we were behind it we could be absolute heroes – or completely hated.
What if their fans came after us?! What if the band themselves did?!
Argh. Why was it so hard to know what doing the right thing was?
If this was the right thing, why did I feel so unsure?
And why hadn’t Adam replied to me asking how his rehearsal was? Or even liked my picture of Mumbles asleep with her tongue out? Even as an impartial viewer, it was a classic.
When I eventually fell asleep, I got stuck in a nightmare of chasing Luke around school to ask him to sign the petition, only for him to answer in quadratic equations. When I woke in a panicked sweat, it was seconds away from my alarm going off and there was a message on my phone.
Adam had replied.
Forcing light into my sleepy eyes, I opened it and read.
And what it said made me spring straight upright.
Forget the biggest exam of my life.
Twenty words meant it was now nothing compared to the fresh terror that had just been unleashed.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
The message was from late last night but I’d had my phone on silent and had missed it.
It had started strong.
AARD: Hey Beefy.
Adam’s nickname for me. It may appear bovine, but had started off as my initials, BF, which morphed into beef, and now I was Beefy. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it but:
a) I loved that he had a nickname for me
b) I was happy to have something in common with his favourite flavour of Monster Munch.
AARD: Practice was OK. So much to do!
Wanted to say good luck for tmorrow. Am thinking of you (zero change there!).
Obvs I screengrabbed this and saved to my “FOR BELLA’S EYES ONLY” folder.
But… Well, then it took a turn.
AARD: Don’t suppose you fancy coming round for dinner after? Mum’s making veggie lasagne and it has your name on it.
Dinner tomorrow?! DINNER TOMORROW?!
AARD: I mean, your name’s not exactly on the lasagne but if that’ll help convince you to say yes, I’m sure it could be arranged.
Then a couple more:
AARD: Soz I didn’t ask earlier. My brain’s all over the place.
AARD: I totally get you might have other plans.
So no pressure. But also. YOU KNOW I WOULD
LIKE IT REALLY LOADS VERY MUCH LOTS.
And then a final one.
AARD: LEMME KNOW IN THE MORNING COS YOU’RE PROBABLY ASLEEP DREAMING OF PYTHAGORUS (not in that way) (I hope) [maths emojis]
Erm. What?! I’d spent five minutes reading and rereading them, checking I was actually awake and this wasn’t one of those half-awake-sleep dreams where you think you’re on a sinking ship that’s repeatedly honking, only to realize the honking was your actual alarm, and school starts in an hour and you wish you were on the sinking ship after all.
I perched at the edge of my bed, dealing with the carousel of emotions spinning round my head, no idea which one I should land on.
Happy? Adam wanted me to meet his parents!! He wasn’t trying to hide me from them after all!
Terrified? This meant actually meeting his parents?! I should be more careful what I wish for.
Even more terrified. ’Cos I HAD to do well in my maths exam but now all I could think about was B + AP = D2 (Bella + Adam’s Parents = Disaster2).
Argh. This was monumental. Mum-umental. (And dad-umental, but that didn’t work as well.)
My instant reaction was to contact Tegan and Rachel for reassurance, but out of maths-exam respect, I decided to wait until after it was over. So after composing ten different replies to Adam, I settled on a thumbs up.
I HAD to compartmentalize. Push Adam panic down underneath the things about triangles.
Exam first.
Then meal stress.
Then actual meal.
C’mon, Bella. You’ve got this.
And I didn’t know if it was Mum’s camomile tea, or me being so worried that I’d gone full circle into calm, but when I entered the exam room I had the focus I needed. Maths was something I knew I could do OK at. I’d revised everything. Well, everything except fractions, but they’d come up in our mocks, so I wasn’t worried.
Steadily I made my way through the paper, my confidence growing as I got question after question I could answer. Algebra. Trig. Even a rhomboid! What was the probability of that? (Answer: 0.0000001✓). I even had time to do readable handwriting.
Until all that was left were the last two big questions. Fifteen marks each.
I turned the page.
Interpreting graphs.
I couldn’t help but grin. I could do this in my sleep. I answered it quickly, leaving plenty of time for the final question – the only thing now standing between me and the decent mark I needed.
I flipped the booklet.
And gulped so hard I induced a hiccup.
IT WAS THE WORLD’S HARDEST QUESTION ON FRACTIONS.
I didn’t even know what one of the words meant?!
I blinked. Please when I open my eyes let it say something different.
But it didn’t. It said the same thing, just more blurry.
This was my big finish?!
How was this fair?! Yesterday I’d spent three hours revising congruent shapes and they hadn’t even been mentioned once!
Could I add an NB with all the spare stuff I had in my head that they were never going to know that I knew?
But I had to answer it somehow. So I gave it my best shot, but when I’d finished I still had two whole pages left for workings out, and I’d only used six lines to come to the answer “12”, which didn’t make me feel massively reassured. As I stared at the page, willing my brain to find the cheat code to open up a secret hidden bonus level of knowledge in it, the buzzer went for the end of the exam. My GCSEs were officially over.
Everyone cheered.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d messed it all up.
I hardly noticed walking out, too lost in wondering about whether they’d move on without me. Whether they’d forget me for their new, clever friends at college. How I was going to cope with results day.
OOF.
A human cannonball almost knocked me off my feet, long red hair and waving arms flying in all directions.
“WE’RE FREEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!”
It was Rach, closely followed by Tegan, who weaved through our noisy classmates.
“WE DID IT!!!”
I swallowed down what I was really feeling and forced a smile. This wasn’t about me being a sad sack; I owed it to my amazing friends to be happy.
“We sure did!”
Tegan gave me a hug. “And, as if that’s not already the best thing EVER, I just checked and we’ve already got four hundred and four signatures on our petition… At this rate we really could hit two thousand by the end of tomorrow?!” Two thousand was the target we’d set to get before sending it to the organisers. Tegan looked round and leant in, dropping her voice right down. “You-know-who’s been up to their usual though…” She glanced in Luke’s direction. “Here’s this morning’s effort.”
It was a comment from him under an Instagram Tegan had reposted about the petition.
Quick, guys! Sign up and make sure your name is counted as being one of the totally lamest people!”
Or, if you’re not a massive loser, check out @ska_city 2 p.m. on the main stage @RebelRocks. It’s going to be I’ll be watching from backstage in the vip area.
“Humblebrag city.” I ignored that both his comments had tens of likes.
Rach shook her head.
