Cathy Hopkins is the author of the incredibly successful Mates, Dates and Truth, Dare books, and has recently started a fabulous new series called Cinnamon Girl. She lives in North London with her husband and three cats, Molly, Emmylou and Otis.
Cathy spends most of her time locked in a shed at the bottom of the garden pretending to write books but is actually in there listening to music, hippie dancing and talking to her friends on e-mail.
Occasionally she is joined by Molly, the cat who thinks she is a copy-editor and likes to walk all over the keyboard rewriting and deleting any words she doesn’t like.
Emmylou and Otis are new to the household. So far they are as insane as the older one. Their favourite game is to run from one side of the house to the other as fast as possible, then see if they can fly if they leap high enough off the furniture. This usually happens at three o’clock in the morning and they land on anyone who happens to be asleep at the time.
Apart from that, Cathy has joined the gym and spends more time than is good for her making up excuses as to why she hasn’t got time to go.
Thanks as always to Brenda Gardner, Yasemin Uçar and the ever fab team at Piccadilly Press. To Rosemary Bromley at Juvenilia. To Steve hovering for all his help and support. To Maff Potts for the low-down on life as a runner on a film set. And to Scott Brenman, Phil Howard Jones and Steven Denham for reminding me what strange things adolescent boys can get up to!
First published in Great Britain in 2003
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
This edition published 2008
Text copyright © Cathy Hopkins, 2003
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978 1 85340 970 7 (paperback)
eISBN: 978 1 84812 282 6
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD
Typeset by M Rules, London
Set in Garamond and Fineprint
Cover design by Simon Davis
Cover illustration by Susan Hellard
Contents
1. Polonious Plonker
2. Make ’Em Laugh
3. Tales of the Unexpected
4. Interview
5. No Business Like Show Business
6. Strarstruck
7. Disaster
8. I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here
9. Celebrity Snog
10. Flower Girls
11. Operation Shampoo
12. Paparazzi
13. Reject
14. Hat-trick
15. Velly Solly
16. Lights, Camera, Action
‘NO WAY, SQUIDGE,’ said Becca. ‘What do you think we are? Stupid?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘But why won’t you do it?’
Lia, Cat, Becca, Mac and I were hanging out on the beach down at Whitsand Bay a couple of days before the Easter holidays. It was six in the evening; the light was perfect; there was no one around but us, and all I’d asked the girls to do was take their clothes off and pose naked against the rocks for me. OK, it might be a bit chilly, but apart from that, I couldn’t see what the big deal was.
‘Because you just want to cop a look at us naked, that’s why,’ said Becca.
‘Do not,’ I said. ‘It’s art. For my portfolio.’ I wasn’t lying. I needed to have a variety of pictures ready for when I went for college interviews. My plan is to study film technique, as my ambition is to be a director, and having a good selection of photo stills to show at interviews is essential. Not that what Becca had said wasn’t also true. Course I wanted to see the girls naked. I’m a sixteen-year-old boy, and in my opinion, Lia, Cat and Becca are the best looking girls at our school. I’d be mad not to want to see them naked.
Cat turned to Mac. ‘I notice you’re staying very quiet. What do you think?’
Mac gave her a cheeky grin. ‘I think you should definitely do it. For art.’
‘Yeah right,’ said Cat. ‘And what exactly is your contribution going to be?’
‘Appreciation,’ Mac replied. ‘Art needs an audience.’
Lia burst out laughing. ‘You just want to see us naked too.’
‘You bet,’ said Mac.
Suddenly, Becca got up from where she’d been sitting on the sand and came to stand in front of me with her hands on her hips. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I will if you will.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you and Mac strip off, we will too.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Cat.
‘Yeah,’ said Lia. ‘Don’t include us.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘All I want is for you to curl up against the rocks. You’ll have your backs to me. I don’t want a Page-Three pose or anything. My shots will be artistic. See, it’s all about shapes and textures.’
Cat cracked up laughing. ‘Nice try, Squidge. Not heard that one before. Oo, all about shapes and textures. Now get your kit off.’
I sat down on the rock behind me and gazed out to sea. Today was turning out to be a bit of a let down. It was my birthday. It was supposed to be fun, a celebration, but I was fast learning the meaning of the saying that goes: ‘Blessed is he who has no expectations, for he is not disappointed.’ Too true, judging by today. Sweet sixteen, that’s me. Only I don’t feel sweet. I feel crap.
I’d got up this morning full of expectations. As you do on your birthday. Down to brekkie, expecting the works: a fry-up, my favourite, even though it was a school day; presents laid out on the kitchen table; cards . . . But no. There was nothing. No one had even made me a cup of tea. Dad had already left to do a road rescue for some bloke stranded on the A38 and Mum was with one of her customers – old Mrs McNelly from down the road – doing a quick rinse and blow-dry. Cat says my parents are the most important people in the village because Dad’s the only mechanic for miles and Mum’s the only hairdresser. I guess Cat’s right, but it can be a bit boring some days, like this one, when you want a bit of their attention for yourself for a change. At least my little sister, Amy, acknowledged my big day. As soon as I entered the kitchen, she chucked her beaker at me. She’s only two. It’s her way of saying ‘Hi’. Unfortunately it was full of milk, which splattered all over my T-shirt.
‘Your dad said he’d catch you later,’ said Janice. (She’s Amy’s childminder and my cousin.) ‘Happy birthday, kid.’
And that was it. That and the three cards on the table: a flowery one from Gran, one with a boy and his dog sitting on a pier from Auntie Bea and from my kid brother, Will – a Christmas card with the word ‘Christmas’ crossed out and Birthday written in instead. I couldn’t complain. He’d learned that little trick from me, along with wrapping presents up in newspaper – you can make them look arty farty if you add a bit of coloured ribbon. From my parents, zilch. And there was me thinking that sixteen was one of the big birthdays. As in sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, thirty, forty etc. Big day. Special day. One to be acknowledged. Obviously I’d got it wrong. Anyway, I told myself to get a life, and set off for school.
School was school. No big deal. No special birthday announcements at assembly or being given the day off, but then I was hardly expecting that, was I? At least my mates and my girlfriend, Lia, hadn’t forgotten. We got together at break and they gave me their pressies, plus Lia had brought a flask of hot chocolate and a carrot c
ake with lemon butter-icing. (My favourite.) Really nice. Cat and Becca had clubbed together and got me a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD, Mac got me a DVD of the uncut version of Reservoir Dogs and Becca had also got me some fancy soap. (Is she trying to say something? I wondered. Better check the old armpit aroma.)
After we’d stuffed ourselves with cake, Lia gave me her present: the most amazing photography book. One of those enormous heavy ones that cost a fortune. It’s by a guy called Bill Brandt. The shots are black and white and grainy. All the photos are of landscapes, at least that’s what you think at first. When you look closer, you realise that a rock is actually the curve of someone’s bum or their shoulder, a piece of driftwood is actually an arm or a leg. It’s the way he arranges things then puts the light on them. As I said, it’s all shapes and textures. Totally brilliant. Course, I couldn’t wait to have a go myself, but I soon found out that getting people, even your best mates, to pose nude is not the easiest of tasks. I decided to try once more before giving up.
‘Oh come on,’ I said, turning back to my friends. ‘I’m not giving you a line just to get you naked. Honest. And who else can I ask?’
‘Ask Mac,’ said Becca with a grin.
‘Too skinny. Not got the right curves,’ I said. ‘Girls make better shapes. So, please. It would be so cool if I could get these shots and no one would ever know it was you.’
‘What’s the point then?’ asked Becca.
Typical Becca, I thought. She loves being the centre of attention and even though she’s objecting to posing, I know that part of her would love it, just to be able to tell people in a gallery, ‘That’s meee in that photo!’
‘Point is,’ I replied, ‘I get some great shots for my portfolio that are a bit different. Point is, they may help me get into college and out of here.’
‘Why do you want to get out of here?’ asked Lia, indicating the shoreline stretching out for miles on either side of us. ‘This place is heaven.’
‘Not when you’ve lived here your whole life,’ I said. ‘Not when you’ve photographed every inch of the place, every nook, cranny, tree, rock, person . . . There’s a whole world out there beyond Cornwall. I can’t wait to start exploring it.’
I looked into the distance to where Lia had pointed. No doubt, this area is beautiful. The coast on the south side of the peninsula is totally unspoilt, just beach, sand and cliff as far as the eye can see. Yeah, impressive. But sometimes lately, I feel like I don’t see it anymore. I feel suffocated here. Like in the village, everyone knows everyone; they all know each other’s business. Lia’s relatively new to the area. Only been down here a year. She still sees it with fresh eyes.
Becca stood in front of me. ‘Did you hear me, Squidge? I said, I’ll strip if you will. You in, Lia?’
Lia looked up at me from where she was sitting on the sand. ‘I’ll think about it. Maybe.’
I looked at Mac. He shrugged. ‘It’d be a laugh,’ he said. ‘You?’
An image of Lia naked suddenly flashed through my mind . . . I shook my head. ‘Forget it,’ I muttered. ‘I’ll find someone who will pose without a list of conditions.’
Becca tossed her head. ‘Suit yourself. Once in a lifetime offer.’
‘My loss then,’ I said and put my camera back in my rucksack. I couldn’t risk it. If I had to take my clothes off at the same time as the girls, who knows what would happen. In the trouser department, that is. Just thinking about it was enough sometimes. It’s been hell these last few years. My willie seems to have developed a life of its own, and has been known to stand to attention at the most inappropriate times.
It’s so weird. It’s like having a little animal with a mind of its own living on your body. Sometimes, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I have control over every other part of my body – arms, legs, hands, feet – none of them move involuntarily, only if I will it. Not the old fella though. He has his own agenda. Sometimes (especially when there are girls around), no matter how hard I try to will him to stay down he takes no notice. So . . . Lia, who I fancy like mad, in the nude; Becca and Cat in the nude; me in the nude; me and my friend (and I don’t mean Mac here), displayed for all the world to see . . . Can’t risk it. Nope. No way.
Girls don’t know how lucky they are. If they get turned on, or whatever, who’s to know? They can keep it secret. But for boys it’s different. When we first start noticing the girlie bits of girls – a glimpse of boob, a hint of thigh – wahey, Polonius Plonker is up and ready for action, with his silent salute to all things feminine. So, no. Me getting naked at the same time as the girls was not an option. Anyway, I had another idea for a shot.
‘How about we try something else?’ I said. ‘Won’t take a mo.’ Looking at Becca’s hair glinting in the evening sun had given me the idea. She has the most amazing long, red hair. Not ginger, but red. Titian red.
‘What?’ asked Becca.
‘How about you all lie on the beach in a line close together,’ I said, ‘then splay your hair out around you.’
‘Not got much hair to splay out since I had it chopped,’ said Cat, flinging herself out on the sand. ‘But I can do the lying down bit.’
Lia lay next to her, then Becca.
‘And you at the end Mac,’ I said as he lay down at the end of the line.
‘And you’re going to photograph what?’ asked Mac. ‘Our heads? Our profiles? What?’
‘Your hair. Tops of your heads. It will be a shot of textures.’ I said kneeling down, then lying so that I had the right angle. All the colours looked great through the camera viewfinder. Cat’s short, dark mop was a nice contrast to Lia’s hair, which is long and white-blond – beautiful, like water or silk. Next to her blond hair was Becca’s, the colour of blood in the evening light. Then at the end of the line, Mac’s blond spikes. From the right angle, the combination of their hair looked like some alien landscape. An hour or so in the dark room and I could crop off their faces and focus just on the hair. Yeah, the finished effect would look cool. Not Bill Brandt, but different.
‘Looks really good,’ I said, as I moved around, firing off a series of pics. ‘Yeah, thanks. Great. That’s it.’
‘Can we get up now?’ asked Cat, after I’d shot from every angle I thought might work.
‘Yeah, thanks, guys,’ I said. ‘That looked brilliant.’
‘Good, because I’m starving,’ said Becca, getting up and heading for the steps back up the cliff. ‘Neeed foooooood.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Ohmigod, it’s late. God. Got to go. Coming Mac?’
Mac scrambled up to follow her. ‘Yeah, sure,’ he said.
‘What’s the hurry?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Mac. ‘Just said I’d be back at a reasonable time tonight. Supper. Homework. Cat? Lia? You guys coming?’
Yeah. Sorry, Squidge, got to go,’ said Cat. ‘You coming?’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘I might get some more shots before the sun disappears.’
Cat got up to go with Mac and Becca, but first she looked at me with concern. ‘Sorry about the nudie shots, Squidge.’
‘S’OK,’ I said. ‘I know millions of people who’ll pose naked. No problemo.’
Actually, I reckon I could get Cat to pose if I could get her on her own. I’ve seen her naked before. OK, maybe not since we were five, but so what? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if the others weren’t here. We’ve known each other all our lives and been mates since as long as I can remember. We went out for a while, years in fact, then suddenly it seemed pointless, like dating your sister or something. She felt the same way. Now she fancies Lia’s brother, Ollie. She seems pretty happy on the occasions when he comes down here from his boarding school in London. I hope he doesn’t mess her around too much. I don’t know him that well, but he seems like he could be a user, given half a chance.
As Cat, Becca and Mac headed back up the cliff, Lia watched them anxiously.
‘We ought to get going as well, don’t you think?’ she asked.
‘No hurry,’ I
said. My birthday wasn’t over yet and it could still turn out well given half an hour alone with the most stunning girl in Cornwall.
Lia looked at her watch. She clearly didn’t share my enthusiasm. ‘No, really, Squidge. It will be dark soon.’
‘Not for ages,’ I said, ‘and don’t worry, I’ll ride home with you.’
‘No, let’s go now. But . . . can I come back to yours first? I . . . I, er, want to borrow that book you’ve got on the Tudors for my history essay. Dad can pick me up from your house later.’
I shrugged. ‘Sure. If that’s what you really want.’
Lia nodded. ‘Anyway, it’s your birthday. Won’t your parents have organised something for you? A special birthday supper or something?’
I shook my head. ‘Nah, doesn’t look like it. I suppose it’s my own fault really. Mum kept asking for weeks, “Squidge, what would you like to do on your birthday?” And I kept saying, “Oh, nothing. Don’t make a fuss.”’ I didn’t want to make a big deal of it to Lia, as her family is loaded, but money’s been tight for Mum and Dad since Amy appeared on the scene. And Will will be going to secondary school in September so he’ll need loads of new stuff. I was trying to make it easier for them. You know – don’t mind me, I don’t need big birthday gestures. Funny though, because now it actually is my birthday, I would have liked them to do something.
Lia put her hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry, Squidge. I wish you’d told me; I’d have sorted something for this evening but . . . I do have to get back home soon after I’ve picked up the book.’
We sat for a few moments, holding hands and gazing out at the ocean. This is my favourite time of day. It’s so still. It’s the time when you get the best light as well. I decided to get my camera out and take a few last shots of Lia. We’ve been going out for just over a month now and I still can’t quite believe my luck. Lia Axford, my girlfriend. She’s not just the best looking girl in Cornwall, I reckon she may be the best looking girl in the whole world. I totally fell for her the first moment I saw her in the school corridor last September. Long, blond hair, silver-blue eyes, tall, slim: a top babe, a ten – no, an eleven – out of ten. I thought she was way out of my league and never thought she’d look at me twice. But she did. We’ve had a great few weeks. But she’s been kind of distant the last few days. And now she seems distracted, like she doesn’t want to be here. She seems edgy and she keeps looking at her watch. Maybe she’s gone off me because I asked the other girls to pose naked. Maybe she’s jealous. Maybe she’s got bored. Only one way to find out if she’s still into me, I thought and leaned over to kiss her.
Starstruck Page 1
