by Melody James
Other books in the Signs of Love series:
Love Match
Stupid Cupid
Paris Crush
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © HotHouse Fiction Limited 2013
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.
The right of Melody James to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-0-85707-328-0
eBook ISBN 978-0-85707-329-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
www.simonandschuster.com.au
www.signs-of-love.co.uk
With thanks to Kate Cary
Contents
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17
The mall is heaving. TK Maxx is maxed out; Monsoon is flooded. I’m in Mizz-tique with Treacle and Savannah. Thumping music vibrates through the soles of my shoes. Light pools on clothes-rail islands. Shop assistants hover in the shadows.
‘Gemma!’ Treacle tugs my arm, shouting over the noise. ‘What about this one?’
Blue taffeta swishes past my face as she swings a ball gown towards me. It’s so ruffled she could hide a dozen cats in the skirt.
‘You’re going to a prom not a carnival,’ I yell back. Term ends in two weeks and, with exams over, everyone’s obsessing over the school prom.
‘But will Jeff like it?’ Treacle bellows.
I study the ruffles. ‘He could get lost trying to reach you.’
‘Look, Gem!’ Savannah’s zigzagging between the clothes racks towards us. She’s waving a slick, pink, sequined dress. It looks like it’s just been peeled off an Oscar nominee.
‘Marcus will need shades just to look at you,’ I tell her.
Savannah’s perfect ivory brow creases in puzzlement. ‘So?’
I suddenly realize how negative I sound. What’s wrong with dazzling her boyfriend? And why shouldn’t Jeff have to wade through a sea of taffeta?
I wonder if I’m jealous. After all, they have prom dates and I don’t.
Treacle reaches past me and lifts Savannah’s dress closer to the light. It shimmers. ‘It’s gorgeous!’
Savannah’s still frowning. ‘Perhaps it is too red carpet,’ she muses.
‘No.’ I lift my chin. ‘It’s fabulous.’
I wonder what it would look like on me. My imagination grabs me and soars. Suddenly I’m at the prom, as glamorous as a film star in Savannah’s wow-dress. My arm’s hooked through Sam’s. He glances at me and smiles. ‘You look beautiful, Gemma.’
I snap out of my fantasy.
Sam won’t ask me out.
Sam works on the school webzine with me. He’s a Year Ten and he’s gorgeous. The rest of the Year Tens on the webzine hardly notice I exist. Year Nines are mostly invisible to Year Tens. But Sam is always really nice to me. On the school trip to Paris last term, he kept getting a strange moony look. I actually thought he was going to ask me out.
But I was wrong.
The moony look was for Cindy, our webzine editor. Cindy made it perfectly clear that Sam belonged to her. On our last night in Paris, she showed me a gorgeous bracelet Sam had bought her.
I guessed they were dating. Why else would he give her jewellery?
I’ve been steering clear of him ever since. There’s no way I can compete with Cindy’s sleek blonde hair and creamy complexion. I’m all freckles and curly hair. She’s queen. I’m the court jester.
Treacle taps my shoulder. ‘Look, Gem.’ She points across the shop to where Sally’s hauling Ryan towards a rack of dresses. He’s complaining loudly over the music.
‘You said we were going to check out video games!’ he shouts.
‘I need your opinion.’ Sally parks him in front of a rail of billowing silk.
‘On dresses?’ Ryan stares at Sally like she’s lost her mind. ‘What do you think I am? Your boyfriend?’
‘You owe me!’ Sally yells. ‘Who kept you sane in the Channel Tunnel?’
‘OK.’ Ryan crumbles under her hard-sell tactics. On the trip to Paris, Ryan’s claustrophobia nearly choked him in the Chunnel. Sally distracted him with every juicy piece of gossip she knew (that’s a lot of juice) and he had no time to think about explosions or flooding or being trapped a mile underwater.
Sally spots us and sashays over. ‘Are you looking for prom dresses too?’
Savannah holds up her pink sequin sheath while Treacle waves her sea of blue ruffles. Sally points at Treacle’s choice. ‘Risky,’ she says decisively. She turns her finger towards Savannah’s flashy number and nods approvingly. ‘Riskier.’
Savannah grins. ‘Good.’
‘What are you wearing, Gemma?’ Sally’s question takes me by surprise.
‘I don’t have a date,’ I stammer.
‘Nor do I,’ she tells me. ‘Not yet.’
Was that a sly glance at Ryan? Is she trying to persuade him to ask her out?
Sally starts riffling through a rack of prom dresses. As Ryan watches obediently, I feel Jessica Jupiter stir inside me. Jessica’s my alter ego. I joined the webzine expecting to write ground-breaking stories. I was going to campaign to keep the bike sheds from being demolished. But Cindy made me the webzine’s horoscope writer. Not even under my own name. She insists I write under a pseudonym: Jessica Jupiter.
It’s a dumb name and a dumb job, but I try and use my powers for good. Thanks to a few lucky predictions, Jessica Jupiter went viral among the students. They hang on her every word. So, whenever I spot a possible love match, I use Jessica’s astro-advice to steer the love-struck towards their ideal mate. That’s how I helped Treacle score more than a goal on the football pitch. A few well-chosen words from Jessica helped Jeff see that Treacle was more than just a useful winger. Jessica also nudged Savannah towards Marcus. Savannah has no idea it was me. No one knows I’m Jessica Jupiter except Treacle and Cindy.
Right now, Jessica’s eyes are flashing with interest. Time for a little matchmaking. She’s like a coiled snake inside me, always alert to the scent of romance. This time she wants to get her fangs into Sally. Why not? Sally and Ryan would make a good match. Ryan’s the class clown, Sally a bubbly gossip. They spark off each other like flints.
I’m already writing Sally’s horoscope in my head.
Aries
Star-ling, stop hinting and get to the point. You’re a prize ewe among sheep, but sheep aren’t known for their intelligence. If you’ve set your heart on one of the flock, you’re going to have to make your feelings absolutely clear. No ifs and definitely no buts.
I feel a stab in my ribs. Treacle’s grabbing my attention with her elbow. ‘Stop planning your Pulitzer Prize a
nd help me try this on.’
Treacle’s been my friend since nursery school; she knows better than anyone when I’ve drifted into my world of words. But writing love advice for Sally won’t win a Pulitzer. I need to start getting serious journalism published. I managed to sneak an article into the webzine – a piece I wrote about my brother Ben’s cystic fibrosis. But I submitted it anonymously: it was the only way to make it past Cindy’s Year Nine Censorship Policy. I still have two weeks till the end of term. By then, I’m determined to write something so fabulous that even Cindy will want to publish it. All I need now is to come up with a killer idea.
Treacle heads for the changing room, the taffeta rustling against her jeans as she drags the dress with her.
‘Wait for me.’ I hurry after her, Savannah hot on my heels.
Inside, two rows of booths line the walls. Treacle and Savannah choose booths either side and disappear behind swishing curtains.
I pace between them like an expectant parent. ‘Is everything OK in there?’
In answer, Treacle opens her curtain.
‘Wow.’ My eyes goggle. The ruffled taffeta makes Treacle’s smooth black hair look glossier than ever and the sky blue gives her a soft princess look. It’s hard to believe she spends most of her free time thundering up and down a football pitch spraying mud as she slide-tackles whatever she can reach. ‘You look fantastic.’
She steps forward and the taffeta moves around her like a waterfall.
Savannah’s curtain rattles open. She sparkles in pale pink. Her hair cascades over her pale cream shoulders while the dress clings to her like she’s wrapped in fairies’ wings.
‘Marcus is going to think he’s in Disneyland,’ I tell her admiringly.
She smiles. ‘What about you, Gem? Are you going to try something on?’
I shrug. ‘What’s the point?’ I might as well wear jeans. With no date, I’ll spend the night holding drinks while couples head for the dance floor.
Self-pity descends, but I shake it off. ‘I’m so proud to have such gorgeous friends.’
Savannah gives me a hug. ‘We’re all gorgeous!’ She spins round and stares at the long mirror. ‘I can’t wait for the prom. We’re going to have such fun!’
Treacle checks her own reflection. ‘It’s like playing dressing-up when we were kids.’
Savannah turns puppy eyes on me. ‘Try something on, Gemma. Pleeeease!’
Perhaps I’m just being superstitious or maybe playing make-believe is no fun when you’re the only one pretending.
‘Maybe another time,’ I tell Savannah as I quickly back out of the changing room.
My heel hits a lump on the carpet. The lump moves and an agonized grunt makes me spin round.
‘Sam!’
Sam Baynham is outside the changing room, hopping. He’s clutching his toes with one hand.
‘Did I tread on your foot?’ What are you doing here?
‘Yup,’ he gasps through gritted teeth.
‘I’m so sorry!’ I’m flushing red, burning with embarrassment.
Another voice calls his name. ‘Sam? Are you OK?’
A woman, about Mum’s age, pushes through the racks towards him.
‘I’m fine, Shirl.’ He stops hopping as she reaches him. ‘This is Gemma.’ He shakes the mop of blond hair from his blue-blue eyes. ‘Gemma, this is my mum.’
Oh!
My!
God!
He’s shopping with his mum. That’s so cute.
‘Hi, Gemma.’ Shirl smiles at me. Her smile is wide and warm, just like Sam’s. ‘Is this Gemma from the webzine?’ she asks Sam.
Sam nods, meeting his mum’s eye. I can see them passing messages like telepathic aliens.
He’s mentioned me!
He grins. ‘Shirl’s helping me pick out my prom dress.’
‘Prom dress?’ I gaze at him stupidly.
Shirl raises her eyebrows. ‘Ignore Sam. We’re picking up a dress for his cousin Amy.’
Sam nudges her. ‘Don’t spoil it, Shirl.’ His blue-blue eyes flash mischievously. ‘She nearly believed me.’
‘Come on, Sam. We’ll be late.’ Shirl tugs him towards the checkout. ‘Nice to meet you, Gemma,’ she calls over her shoulder.
Sally bounces up beside me. ‘Who was that old woman with Sam Baynham?’
‘His mum.’ I watch his blond hair bob away through a sea of heads. My heart twists. Sam’s so nice. Why is he going out with the Ice Queen?
‘How embarrassing!’ Sally’s gawping beside me.
Sam doesn’t look embarrassed.
Sally follows my gaze. ‘I’d have died by now.’
‘If only.’ Ryan cuts in on the conversation. His arms are swathed in dresses.
‘Tough.’ Sally picks through them, frowning. ‘I think I’ll just try these on to begin with.’
‘To begin with?’ Ryan’s mouth drops open.
‘You don’t have anything better to do.’ Sally slides into the changing room. ‘Wait here and I’ll be out in a minute to show you the first dress.’
As Ryan slumps beside the entrance, Treacle wanders out. She rests a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘Hang in there, soldier.’
Ryan sighs. ‘I’m starting to wish I had gone insane in the Channel Tunnel,’ he mutters. ‘Then this would seem normal.’
‘Peel these, love.’ Mum hands me a bag of carrots and the peeler.
I’m helping her make dinner. I take the carrots and drag out a chair from the kitchen table. I sit and start peeling, watching the pale slivers of skin curl into a pile in front of me.
Mum chops onions behind me and I can smell the olive oil heating in the pan beside her.
Ben is whooping in the living room and every few moments I catch a glimpse of him through the doorway as he chases Dad with a plastic sword.
They’re playing pirates.
‘Prepare to be boarded, lubber-head!’ Ben yells.
I hear Dad oomph as Ben leaps onto him. Pirates is currently Ben’s favourite game. Once he’s boarded Dad, he’ll get piggybacked round the house until Dad’s red in the face and panting.
I spot them gallop past, Ben clinging on, still sword-waving. As they thunder upstairs, Mum pours a glass of wine and carries on chopping. ‘How was the mall?’ she asks. ‘Did you see anything you like?’
‘Savannah and Treacle found perfect prom dresses,’ I tell her.
‘What about you?’ Her tone is breezy, which means she’s doing sums in her head. Money’s tight at our house. Ben’s cystic fibrosis means Mum can only work freelance so she can be around when Ben needs her. Spare cash is spent on nebulizers and physio tables and tutors to help Ben catch up with his schoolwork when infections put him in hospital. Things will change once I’m a prize-winning journalist. When I’m rich and famous, I’ll be able to help. The first thing I’ll buy them is a holiday.
‘Gem?’ Mum presses gently when I don’t answer straight away.
‘I don’t need a new dress,’ I tell her. ‘The prom’s only a big thing if you’ve got a date.’
‘Really?’ Mum stops chopping and glances at me. ‘I didn’t know you thought that having a boyfriend was so important.’
‘I don’t,’ I tell her quickly. ‘But without a date, a prom’s just a chance to hang out with your friends, and I don’t need a special dress to do that.’
Mum cuts into another onion. ‘I was looking forward to seeing you dressed up.’
‘You can see Treacle and Savannah,’ I tell her. ‘They’re going to look great.’
‘What are their dresses like?’
‘Treacle’s got a big puffball thing. It’s totally outrageous for Treacle, but she looks great. And Savannah looks like a film star in hers.’ I finish peeling the last carrot. ‘Shall I chop these?’ I don’t want to talk about the prom any more. Sam keeps wandering into my thoughts, which would be OK if he didn’t have Cindy hanging off his arm.
Mum’s clearly not interested in carrot-chopping. ‘Is Treacle going to wear her
hair up or down?’
I shrug.
‘What about Savannah? I bet she’s already scanning Vogue for inspiration.’
‘Probably,’ I mumble, wishing Mum would stop asking questions about the prom.
I imagine Sam waltzing Cindy round the hall like he’s Prince Charming and she’s Cinderella. Cindyrella. I push the carrots away. ‘I’m going to go and make a start on my homework,’ I tell Mum.
‘But it’s only Saturday.’ She glances at me suspiciously.
‘I’ve got to work on the webzine tomorrow,’ I explain.
‘OK.’ Mum takes the hint. ‘Dinner will be ready in about half an hour—’ She drops onions into the pan and the sizzle drowns her voice out.
I head out of the kitchen and grab my schoolbag as I pass it in the hall. As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear Ben’s voice from Mum and Dad’s room.
‘Land ahoy!’
I guess they’re sailing the bed around the seven seas.
I slip into my room and heave my bag onto my desk. Textbooks slide out and I pile them on one side, then power up my laptop. Homework can wait. I want to start work on Jessica Jupiter’s horoscopes. I sit down and start typing.
It takes me five minutes to get Sally’s horoscope down since it’s already written in my head. I save it and lean back, wondering what Jessica Jupiter should tell Ryan. Does he even want a girlfriend?
Of course he does. He’s a boy.
How can I get them together? I log into Facebook and find Ryan’s star sign from his info. He’s Leo.
Leo
Star-ling, wake up! You’ve been acting the clown long enough. Someone has a crush on you, but you’ve been too busy joking around to notice. Stop kidding and get serious or you might miss a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I grin. If Sally and Ryan follow my advice, they’ll be the newest couple at the school prom.
I hunch over the keyboard. It’s time to add a little spice to Savannah’s life.
Pisces
You lucky little fish-face.
I check the five-day weather forecast in my browser. It’s going to be hot.
This week will bring sunshine and love. Keep your sunblock with you at all times, but don’t forget your chapstick. Even in the height of summer, kissing can dry out your lips.