Stars

by Sophia Bennett

  ‘You can’t blackmail me,’ Jenny says. And now she does pull the Tom Fords down, before grabbing her bag and standing up to go. ‘I thought you were all going to be so happy for me. I had no idea you were going to . . . hate me.’

  There’s a catch in her voice as she turns to leave the café. I’m desperate to call her back and say she’s got it all wrong. That I am really happy for her. But Edie is shuddering and white-faced with shock. She seems to need our help even more.

  Crow and I do what we can to reassure Edie that everything will be OK, but we don’t make much progress. It doesn’t help that we have no idea how to make things OK. We can’t ask Jenny not to go to New York, but it’s awful to think of Gloria all alone in her flat. Besides, Edie isn’t listening to us anyway.

  We lapse back into silence. I’m thinking about something Jenny said. About how some chances don’t come along twice. When they do come, you have to grab them and go. It’s as if she was telling me I did the right thing to send Crow’s sketches to the MIMOs. Just think, in a year Jenny’ll be starring in a Broadway production and Crow could be going into the MIMOs’ headquarters to design her latest collection. Maybe they could share a flat together. Maybe Harry and Isabelle could stop by for tea . . .

  Edie rootles in her bag for a tissue and wipes her eyes. I realise I need to try a bit harder to make things better.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on Jenny,’ I say. ‘You’re the one who thought of going to America first. You know – Harvard. Remember?’

  ‘Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking about that a lot recently,’ Edie says. ‘I’ve thought about it all holidays. And I’m not going.’

  ‘HELLO?’

  ‘You heard me. I’m not going to Harvard. Well, obviously I’m not going because I did a rubbish personal statement and I failed the interview. But I’m not going to study law. I’m not going to join the United Nations. You were right, Nonie. I’d hate being away from home. I’m thinking of not applying to university at all.’

  ‘Oh. My. God. Not seriously?’

  She shrugs. ‘I’m just being realistic, Nonie.’

  ‘No you’re not! You’re being totally mad. You’re the cleverest girl in the school. You’ve just been working too hard. Honestly, Edie, you need a rest.’

  She looks at me with her hollow eyes. ‘Sure. Whatever. Anyway, at least it means I’ll be around to look in on Gloria, so that’s nice for Jenny, isn’t it?’

  I stare at her. I hardly recognise her. And I’m not even sure I particularly like her right now. If she didn’t look so miserable, I’d say something about using Gloria to make Jenny feel guilty. But the thing is, she looks completely miserable. I know she’ll change her mind about Harvard when she’s had some sleep, but right now, she seems serious. I hesitate, not sure what I can do to help.

  ‘Please, Nonie,’ she says, ‘just go away.’

  This doesn’t seem like the best idea, but right now I can’t think of a better one. Reluctantly, I do as I’m told. Crow stays behind, still doodling in her sketchbook. I leave them both to it and wish I’d never come.

  Back at home, Granny is putting on her coat.

  ‘That was such fun, darlings! I can’t wait for June.’

  Mum is putting away a stack of wedding magazines about a mile high. Harry looks like he’s been hit by a bomb.

  ‘Nonie!’ Granny says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘We were talking bridesmaids. How do you feel about ecru lace? It’s beige, really, but when you say ecru it sounds so much nicer, don’t you think? What is it, darling? Don’t you like ecru?’

  ‘Ecru’s fine,’ I lie, to avoid getting into a longer conversation.

  Oh great. I’m going to be a beige bridesmaid. Yaaay.

  For the next week, Edie’s out of contact visiting her grandparents, and Crow isn’t answering her phone. Which could mean she’s avoiding me, or she’s lost it, or simply that it’s run out of battery. It’s impossible to tell with Crow. Meanwhile, Jenny’s in contact all the time. Her main topics of conversation are how mean Edie was at the V&A, what she should pack for New York, and knitting. I’m trying to remember why I missed her so much.

  However, things aren’t all bad. Vicente has gone back to Brazil and Granny’s gone back to her house in the country, which helps a lot. Oh, I get a text from Liam, asking if I had a good Christmas and saying he’ll see me in class next week. Which is kind of obvious, so why is my heart beating so fast, and why do I have to get my phone out and check the message every three minutes?

  I decide to be totally cool about the whole thing, and wait until we go back to school before I reply.

  Two seconds later, I text him back, saying I had a fab Christmas (one of my many not-so-truthful statements, but this is not the time for the whole Crow/Vicente/Jenny/Edie story) and agreeing that we will, indeed, see each other next week. And I add a kiss at the end of the text, because it just seems wrong without one. True, he will now think I’m freakish and desperate, but I can’t help myself.

  Two days before school’s due to start again, I finally get an email from the MIMOs, about the sketches I sent them. They don’t explain why they waited so long to get back to me. That’s the way things seem to work in fashion. You either have to wait half a lifetime or you have to do something in the next ten seconds. It’s one bit of the industry I’m sort of used to by now. Anyway, they say they were very impressed by Crow’s work, which they’ve shown to ‘various key stakeholders and other interested parties’ and they’re enthusiastic about the idea of creating a print-based teen range (with a few minor adjustments) and they’d love to ‘pursue discussions with the designer directly’. I promise that the designer will get back to them just as soon as she can.

  Then I spend an hour trying to work out how to admit to Crow what I did. I suppose I should try and call her, but I doubt she’d answer. I write a long email, explaining all about finding the sketches in the workroom and how fabulous it is that the MIMOs are so excited. I include my original email, so she can see how much I worked on it. Maybe it’s useful that Crow’s on email after all. Right now, it’s easier than talking to her face to face.

  I wait a few minutes for a reply, but I guess she’s not online. Nothing comes. The next day, nothing either. I think about calling her, but I’m sure if she wanted to talk about it, she’d call me. Which doesn’t happen. I wait for her to show up in the workroom, but she doesn’t come. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. However, there’s nothing I can do and anyway, I’ll be seeing Liam in less than twelve hours. Which means I have a whole bunch of other stuff to think about.

  The first day of school is Wednesday. Which means French. Which means I wake up at 4.45 in the morning and can’t go back to sleep. This is useful, as it takes me at least two hours to find an outfit that is quirky but not too way out, and gives me a vague hint of a figure without looking like I tried too hard. By seven AM my bed is covered in almost every piece of clothing I possess. In the end, I settle on a jumper Crow gave me for Christmas, knitted out of soft, merino wool with silver and raspberry tiger stripes, plus denim hotpants, leopard-print leggings and Doc Martens. It is comfortable, warm and colourful. It also has a sort of jungle theme going on, which I like.

  At breakfast, I can only face half a slice of toast. By the time we get to the French labs at Wetherby, the sound of my heart beating can probably be heard on the other side of London, where the converted warehouses are.

  Liam is in his usual seat in the front row. He’s had a haircut and lost some of the curls, but he’s as cute and kissable as ever. He’s not dressed for the freezing London weather. He’s wearing a shirt with an open collar, a shoelace for a tie and a very old, battered blazer that is several times too small for him.

  He looks sexy. But he’s absorbed with chatting to Ashley about something. His eyes don’t flicker in my direction as I pass. I’m sure he must be able to hear my heart pounding, but he doesn’t show it. As soon as I sit down, he casually gets his phone out and
starts tapping away under the desk. Seconds later, my phone goes. I have it in my lap, just in case. I’m so thrilled – and scared – that I reach for it too fast and drop it. Luckily Madame Stanley has, yet again, forgotten something and isn’t there to confiscate it.

  I retrieve the phone and read the message. It is one line.

  ‘Grrrrrr.’

  Does this mean what I think it means? Does this mean that, with his head down and never looking in my direction, he noticed the jungle theme? Is he being a leopard, or a tiger?

  I can’t help laughing. He hears me, looks round and gives me a grin. Yes! The boy I have texted a kiss to is pretending to be a jungle animal to make me smile. I am so happy I can hardly breathe. I grin back. Even when our teacher finally arrives and hands out our A-level mocks schedule, I’m still grinning. A little voice in my head tells me I should be cool and laid-back and mysterious, but it’s too late. I am MUCH too happy to be cool right now.

  After class, he reaches out to catch my hand as I go by. I stop dead, incapable of further movement, feeling the warmth of his skin.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he says.

  ‘Mmmm?’

  ‘Some of us are getting together to check our uni applications. Make sure we’ve got them right before the deadline. Want to join us?’

  ‘Uh, me?’

  ‘Yes, you. We’re meeting in the ICT room on Friday, then going to a caff down the road.’

  ‘Uh, really?’ I say.

  ‘Really,’ he assures me.

  Behind him, I notice the Belles hovering in the doorway, looking too shocked to think of any fashion-related put-downs for the time being. Then I turn my attention back to Liam.

  ‘Right. Great. Sure. Sounds good,’ I say.

  ‘You’re really not that talkative, are you?’ he laughs. Then he looks concerned and wipes his lips with a finger. I realise I’ve been staring at them a bit too intently.

  ‘Have I got something here?’ he asks.

  ‘Not yet,’ I whisper. But not loud enough for him to hear. However, after we’ve applied to university and had a cappuccino or two, he’s welcome to try my lips against them if he likes.

  *

  ‘NONIE? OH MY GOD!’

  Jenny’s in my bedroom. She came over to update me on her packing arrangements. Now, thank goodness, we have something else to talk about.

  ‘Do you think he really means it about the application thing? Are you really doing that? Wow! And do you mean Liam? The one who thinks you’re freakish? He didn’t sound that into you.’

  ‘I know.’ I grin.

  ‘Oh, and have you told Edie?’ she asks, with a sad note in her voice.

  ‘Not yet.’

  I don’t want to make Edie even more depressed, after the whole Hot Phil and Ramona thing. However, I’m going to have to tell her soon. If I don’t, I’ll pop.

  ‘You’ll have to introduce me to him properly,’ Jenny says, flipping her attention back to Liam. ‘Before I go. Otherwise, who knows when I’ll get to check him over? Can I come along to the café thing?’

  Oh great. That’s really going to help. However, she’s off to New York any minute and once she goes, I don’t know when I’ll see her again. If she’s going to meet my possibly-if-things-go-well-maybe-future-boyfriend properly, this might be her only chance. So far, she’s only seen him from the back of French class, so she doesn’t get how cute he is at all.

  ‘OK,’ I say, after a bit of hesitation.

  ‘Great!’ she grins. ‘And I’ll be very quiet. Promise. You’ll hardly notice me.’

  We go to the Wetherby ICT room on Friday afternoon and the cool people from French are all sitting at computers, along with a few other boys from Wetherby that I don’t recognise. No sign of the Belles. Everyone says hi and they seem friendly enough, but I’m only watching one pair of lips.

  The half-amused smile goes into overdrive when Liam spots Jenny, but he makes space for me to sit next him, which is all I care about. We fiddle about with application forms. Mine are for every fashion college I’ve heard of, to do PR. I’m still not quite sure what I’d do with the degree if I got it, but as the chances of me even getting into college are so slim, I’m not worrying about that too much right now. I’m worrying about whether Liam has noticed my new leggings, and likes them, and what you’re supposed to say to a boy to totally impress him.

  Eventually, we head off to a café that serves English breakfasts and strong tea (and cappuccinos, luckily), and has a relaxed, friendly vibe. I’m sitting next to Liam again. We talk about stuff for a while, but my brain is entirely occupied with trying not to notice the curls on Liam’s neck, and how close his hand is, resting next to mine on the table.

  ‘Concentrate,’ the brain keeps saying. ‘Focus on what people are saying. Look intelligent. Say something interesting.’

  As a result of which, I entirely lose track of the conversation and say almost nothing. I’m the quiet one again. It’s the Liam effect. Luckily, once the uni stuff is out of the way, Jenny does the talking. Mostly about herself, but nobody seems to mind.

  ‘They’re changing the name of the show,’ she says. ‘From Elizabeth and Margaret to The Princesses. It sounds catchier.’

  ‘The Princesses?’ Ashley checks. ‘By Jackson Ward? I’ve been reading about that. And there was something on an entertainment channel over Christmas. They were saying Catherine Zeta Jones was interested in a part, but they’ve already got someone for it.’

  Jenny nods. ‘I’m not too sure she wanted a part, exactly, but she was talking to Jackson about it. Mind you, he’s known her for years. They often catch up.’

  And so it goes on. Things I think about as private chat between me and Jenny are suddenly news items. And things I think of as news are suddenly private chats that Jenny has with her musical mates. The other guys are really curious about the show, not because my best friend is in it, but because they’ve read about it online, or seen it mentioned on TV. It is not possible to ‘hardly notice’ Jenny any more. It’s not that I’m jealous of her. Jenny’s just Jenny and she’s doing what she wants to do. But I feel as if she’s not ‘mine’ any more. She’s becoming public property.

  I continue to maintain my witty and impressive silence, but nobody seems to mind that either.

  Liam describes how he and I are going to go to the London College of Fashion together, and how we’re going to totally wow everybody there with his literary ability (apparently – so far the best thing I’ve seen him write is ‘Grrrrr’) and my stylishness.

  ‘Stylishness? Nonie?’ Jenny says.

  ‘Oh yes. She’s very stylish. Just in her own special way.’

  He does the half-amused smile. Even with Jenny there, I have to physically hold on to my seat to stop myself throwing myself at him. However, I practise being demure and not getting too much cappuccino froth on my lips, for once. I want them to be clean and foam-free later, just in case.

  It was just a simple kiss goodbye. A very brief one. But a kiss, nevertheless. On the lips. While his lips were in the process of doing the half-amused smile.

  It was perfect. The sort of kiss that you suddenly think about at odd moments, like when you’re brushing your teeth, or making toast, or in class, or breathing.

  I think about it all week. Including while saying goodbye to Jenny as she heads for New York, and sitting through French, tingling, and meeting up again for ‘revision’ the following Friday afternoon, when he does it again.

  I’m still thinking about it first thing on Saturday morning, when I wake up to the sound of the alarm. Except it isn’t the alarm. My alarm doesn’t go off on a Saturday morning. It takes me a moment to realise what the noise is. My phone, going off in my bag. And I think this must be the third or fourth time it’s rung, because I’m pretty sure I’ve been dreaming through the ringing for a while.

  Usually he texts. Why is he calling this time? Does he need to make another kiss-rendezvous? And why is he so desperate? I mean, it was good, but this is a bit e
xtreme.

  I check the screen, but it isn’t Liam calling after all. It’s Edie. Outside, it’s still dark.

  ‘Hello?’ I say groggily.

  ‘Oh, Nonie,’ she says. ‘Thank God. You’ve got to come over. Please. I need someone to help me. My parents are at this Scout thing with my brother. Can you come?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s Gloria.’

  ‘Gloria?’

  ‘Yes. I’m at Jenny’s flat. The ambulance is on the way. Please come soon.’

  Oh my God.

  I leap into my clothes as fast as I possibly can, pausing only when I realise that my jumper’s on back to front and I have boob-mounds sticking out of my back. I don’t waste time on the laces for my Doc Martens, which is why I end up falling, very loudly, down the stairs outside Harry’s room.

  As I’m picking myself up, his door opens. He looks at me, bleary-eyed.

  ‘Hi!’ I say, surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were home.’

  ‘Got in last night,’ he mutters. ‘Late.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Four hours ago, in fact. What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s Edie,’ I explain. I tell him about Gloria and the ambulance. His face clouds over.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ he says. ‘I can drive you in Mum’s car. Give me a moment.’

  Two minutes later, he’s back, dressed in jeans and a slouchy cardigan over the tee-shirt he slept in. We race to the car together and are at Jenny’s flat in record time. Seeing the ambulance outside, with its lights flashing, makes the whole thing seem suddenly more real, and frightening.

  The door to the flat is half open. Harry and I step cautiously inside. At first, the place seems eerily quiet, but then we hear shuffling noises coming from Gloria’s room. I’m about to go in, when Harry puts an arm on my shoulder and stops me. Instead, he pops his head round the door, to see if everything’s OK.

  Instantly, Edie comes rushing out and into my arms. She doesn’t say anything. Just hugs me. Moments later, a paramedic in green overalls comes out and motions us out of the way. They bring Gloria out on a stretcher. At least, I assume it’s Gloria. The face, eyes closed, looks like it belongs to a woman thirty years older than the Gloria I knew, and half her weight. Straggly hair lies limp against her cheek.