by Melody James
‘I’ve found a wig!’ Treacle bursts in. She’s twirling it on her finger. It’s black and silky, a short bobbed style.
‘Who’d you scalp?’ I imagine the shopkeeper weeping, bald, beside the till.
‘Put it on!’ Treacle orders and, as I do my best to cram the wig over my curls, Treacle pulls the dressage hat out of the Coleman Brothers bag. She balances it on top. It’s not the finished look, but my reflection in the mirror is impressive. The veil obscures my face and the riding gear is nothing like anything I’d wear.
‘Star-ling!’ I lower my voice into a husky drawl, pretending to be Jessica. ‘Venus is rising. Pluto is in the house of the rising sun. This is no time to be yourself.’
Treacle stares at me in the mirror. ‘You have to do that voice,’ she squeaks. ‘It’s perfect!’
‘Really?’ I look at her eagerly.
‘Absolutely.’
I scramble back into my street clothes and we pile the costume onto the counter.
The shopkeeper smiles at us from behind it. He’s ninety-six years old and looks like a pixie. ‘Buying or hiring?’ he asks.
‘Hiring, please,’ I tell him.
He lifts up the habit. ‘Do you want riding boots too?’ he asks.
‘You have boots?’ I ask excitedly.
‘With spurs if you like.’ He ducks out from behind the counter and leads us to a far corner of the shop where a million shoes are lined up in rows. He leans forward and plucks out a pair of tall leather riding boots.
‘What size are they?’ I ask.
He checks the bottom. ‘Six.’
‘Perfect,’ I grin.
Treacle cocks her head. ‘Gemma wants to look different,’ she ventures. ‘Like she’s someone else.’
‘A disguise?’ the man asks.
Treacle and I exchange glances.
‘Yes,’ I tell him.
‘You’ll need prosthetics,’ the man says.
‘Oh.’ I have no idea what he’s talking about.
‘Let me show you,’ he offers.
He takes us back to the counter and lifts a tray from underneath. It’s lined with noses.
Treacle bursts out laughing. ‘Do they ever get colds?’
I’ve never seen anything so weird. There are pointy noses, warty noses, bulbous noses and skinny noses. ‘That one.’ I point at a perfect pink nose, slightly turned up at the end.
The man peels it off the tray and lets me try it on. He drags a mirror along the counter for me. I peer in.
My humble fourteen-year-old nose is transformed into a haughty snout. ‘What do you think?’ I ask Treacle.
‘Perfect,’ she tells me. ‘All you need now is some false eyelashes and plenty of make-up.’
I look at the costume laid out on the counter. I’m suddenly hyper-aware that on Friday I’m going to be wearing it in public. ‘It’s a shame I can’t hire courage.’
After dinner, I retreat to my room. Jessica’s costume is hidden in my wardrobe. It’s easier than explaining why I’m giving an end-of-term speech.
I snuggle into my desk chair and, drawing my feet under me, I flick on my laptop. I can hear Dad droning while Ben chirps next door. It’s bedtime and they’re reading stories.
I start work on next week’s horoscopes.
Ryan first. I’m happy that last week’s stars pointed him in the right direction, but if his relationship with Sally is going to last, he’ll need to improve his boyfriend technique.
Leo
You idiot. Stop playing for laughs. It might work in class, but in a relationship you’ll get booed and boohooed. Think before you speak or you might end up dancing with yourself at the prom.
Will’s next. Now that Jessica has his attention, it’s time to guide him towards a little happiness.
Aquarius
Star-ling, work is your first love, but it’s time you found a second. Cut the grind and work up a sweat doing something fun. Last week, an unexpected gift brightened your day; this week, an unexpected hug might signal the start of romance.
The chances of anyone giving Will an unexpected hug are remote. I decide to increase them.
Aquarius
My watery friend, love is in the air. It’s time you surfaced and took a gulp. A grouchy classmate may turn out to have a tender side. Why not shower a little love on the unlovable. Don’t forget: a hug is never wasted.
That’s at least one twelfth of Year Ten covered. Just to make sure, I decide to spread the word through another twelfth. I pick the next sign on my list.
Scorpio
Put your sting away. Your stars are lined up in Venus this week. Love will blossom wherever you go. Embrace your allure; scatter affection on everyone. You may sow the seeds of a new romance.
Feeling warm with good intentions, I move on to Capricorn.
My warmth chills.
Capricorn is Sam’s sign. I try to remind myself that he’s not the only Capricorn in the world and aim for something non-Sam specific.
Capricorn
Celebrate the end of term by trying something new.
Bitterness gnaws at me.
Loyalty, for example.
How can I be non-Sam specific? Every other thought features Sam. I quit trying to be general and get personal.
I know it’s tough for an independent sign like you to commit, but stop weighing up your options. You’ve chosen your date for the prom. Stick with it before you break another heart.
I hope he reads it. Even the Ice Queen deserves a boyfriend she can trust. I feel an ache where my heart used to be and try to ease it by writing my own horoscope.
Libra
Don’t panic. With the end of term looming, you find yourself facing a difficult week.
It’s End of Year Assembly and the prom on Friday. I’m not looking forward to either.
If you find yourself in the spotlight, let the stars be your guide. They haven’t let you down yet. Friday might feel lonely, but don’t forget you have friends and family who love you. If you’re single, make the most of your freedom. It may not last forever.
Perhaps I shouldn’t go to the prom at all.
Then I remember my webzine article. I open a copy onscreen. Make the Most of Being Single. There’s no way I can dodge the prom. By Friday, half the school will have read my ode to the single life. I have to turn up and show them I really don’t care about not having a boyfriend.
I delete the title. It sounds too apologetic. In its place I write No Prom Date? No Problem!
I just wish it were true.
It’s drizzly on Monday. The dark sky’s so heavy, it’s scraping rooftops. To lighten the dullness in the webzine HQ, an unshaded light bulb flickers half-heartedly above our heads. It’s the editorial meeting and we’re here to check each other’s articles before Wednesday’s publication.
‘I’ve got hard copies.’ Cindy waves a wad of printed A4. ‘Who wants to check what?’
‘I’ll check your Beauty feature, Cindy,’ Barbara offers.
‘Thank you, Barbie.’ Cindy peels the first page from her pile.
Jeff scratches his nose. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Sam?’
‘Is he coming?’ Phil asks. ‘I saw him heading for the gates.’
‘If he’s not, he hasn’t told Cinders.’ Will flicks his head towards the Louis Vuitton bag on the chair beside her. ‘She’s already parked her placeholder.’
Cindy scoops up her bag and swings it onto the desk behind. ‘I just don’t want it getting dirty on the floor.’
Will snorts. ‘Poor Cindy. The real world is so grimy.’
Cindy stares at him. Her blue eyes are rimmed with pink. Has the Ice Queen been sobbing? ‘You’ve been picking fights with me all year, Will. It’s our last meeting. Can you give me a break?’
Will holds her gaze for a moment then looks away. ‘OK.’
It’s probably the most civilized conversation they’ve ever had.
I hold up my hand. ‘I don’t mind which article I check.’
‘Will you d
o Phil and David’s game review?’ Cindy hands me a paper.
‘Sure.’ As I take it, I hear footsteps outside.
Sam comes in. He’s damp from the rain. His face glistens and a dark blond curl clings to his cheek.
‘We thought you weren’t coming,’ Cindy comments.
Sam shakes out his hair. ‘I went to the shop.’ He takes a bottle of Coke from his pocket, unscrewing it as he sits beside Cindy, and takes a swig.
He hasn’t smiled. Or made eye contact. I’ve obviously evaporated from his vision. I focus on Phil and David’s reviews.
Best RPG, Best MMOFPS, Best SHMUP.
I scribble a note in the margin: Explain abbreviations?
Will shifts beside me. ‘Can I proofread Jessica’s horoscopes?’
My pencil freezes on the page.
‘I’m surprised, Will.’ Cindy hands him the sheet. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in horoscopes.’
‘I’m open-minded,’ Will concedes as he takes it.
He’s interested! I smother a smile.
Cindy eyes Sam. ‘Would you like to read my article on the fashion show?’ She offers it to him hesitantly.
Sam doesn’t even look at it. ‘I’d rather read Gemma’s piece.’
‘Gemma’s?’ Cindy flushes. ‘O-of course.’ She rifles through her papers and plucks out my article.
My stomach is tight. I’m fighting the blush that’s rising in my cheeks. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t written about something so personal. Please don’t let Sam recognize he’s Prince Charming.
As Sam starts reading, I try to focus on Phil and David’s game reviews.
‘Does anyone want to check my fashion piece?’ Cindy holds it up forlornly.
‘I will.’ I wave Phil and David’s game reviews. ‘I don’t understand enough of this to give an informed opinion.’ I have no idea what Rezzers, PUGs or Casters are.
‘I’ll check it.’ Eagerly, Jeff takes my sheet of gobbledegook.
I sneak a peek at Sam as I take Cindy’s article. He’s frowning as he reads.
Oh, no! Has he got to the bit where I call him a lame, immature, heartless boy yet?
I fix my eyes on Cindy’s prose.
Too Radical for London?
At Reuben’s show for Teen Couture, a behind-the-stage mix-up resulted in Reuben’s signature gold dress taking a tumble.
Sam hasn’t moved. It’s like he’s turned to stone.
My gaze flicks back to Cindy’s article and I skim-read to the middle.
Gemma teetered downstage as elegantly as a poodle on stilts.
Cindy’s cruel review is making no impact. I can’t drag my thoughts from Sam. He must have finished it by now.
Her hair looked like a warehouse fire.
He’s staring blankly at the page, his gaze fixed. I’m hardly breathing, but I force myself to keep reading.
If Gemma Stone thought she was the bomb, she certainly proved it as she fell with explosive style into the lap of top fashion critic Anna De Vine.
‘I’ve got to go.’ Sam’s voice makes me jerk up my head.
‘Sam?’ Cindy looks at him anxiously.
‘I’m starving.’ Sam’s on his feet and heading for the door.
‘But you just went to the shop—’ The door closes behind him before Cindy finishes her sentence. She picks up my article, which he’s left on his chair, and looks at it. ‘I thought it was cute for a first effort,’ she says.
Will shrugs. ‘Ignore Sam,’ he mutters. ‘He’s been acting weird all week. He’s probably hormonal.’
Jeff lifts his head and blinks. ‘Has Sam gone home?’
‘It looks like it.’ Cindy stares at the door.
‘Fair enough.’ Jeff holds out David and Phil’s article. ‘This is great by the way. But I agree with Gemma. Maybe you could add a jargon-busting section at the end?’
Cindy turns her gaze on the twins. ‘Can you do that?’ she asks sweetly. ‘And send me a revised copy by tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Sure.’ David takes the article from Jeff. ‘It won’t be too hard.’
‘Good.’ Cindy tucks her hair behind her ear. ‘Are we all set for bowling night on Thursday?’
Murmurs and nods ripple round the room.
I stare at her stupidly. ‘This Thursday?’ I haven’t thought about the webzine team outing since Mr Harris announced it last week.
Barbara leans forward. ‘Oh, Gemma. I’m so sorry. Mr Harris reminded us at the Year Ten assembly. We should have told you.’
Cindy takes over. ‘We’re meeting at the City Bowl at seven.’
‘Will you be able to get someone to pick you up afterwards?’ While Barbara clucks over me like a mother hen, Cindy’s gathering our articles into her Louis Vuitton.
‘Yeah,’ I tell Barbara distractedly.
‘If not,’ Barbara worries, ‘Cindy’s mum can drop you off. Right, Cindy?’
Cindy’s not listening. She’s rummaging for something in her bag. She seems twitchy. I guess Sam’s sudden departure unnerved her.
It unnerved me.
I fight the urge to ask Cindy not to publish my piece. Why did I write about dating? I thought I was giving sound advice to the dateless. It turns out I was just spilling my guts about how hurt I am.
And now Sam knows.
I’ll never be able to look at him again.
I’m lost in a cloud of misery. Around me people are moving and speaking, but it’s not until Cindy calls my name that I realize everyone’s gone.
I’m alone with the Ice Queen.
‘Gemma.’ Her pink-eyed look has gone and she’s putting on a fresh coat of lipgloss. She stops and smacks her lips together. She doesn’t even look at me. Her gaze is fixed on her mirror. ‘If I publish your article on Wednesday, I want your solemn promise that you’ll show up as Jessica on Friday.’
I’ve already promised. But I nod.
‘Because if you don’t,’ she goes on, ‘I’ll never publish anything you write ever again.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I stand up. There’s no need for threats.
Cindy disagrees. ‘The whole school believes in Jessica Jupiter. She’s what keeps them reading the webzine. If you mess it up, you’ll never see your name in print again.’
Treacle puts her arm round me. ‘Oh my God, Gemma. Why didn’t you say?’
It’s Wednesday, publication day, and Savannah and Treacle are crowding round me as I try and eat my lunch.
We’re in the dining room, at our favourite table. Sally and Ryan are at the far end, hunched over Savannah’s phone.
‘This is great advice, Gemma.’ Sally looks up from my article. ‘I don’t know why anyone thinks we need dates for the prom.’
Ryan clears his throat. ‘That’s not what you said last week,’ he says loudly. ‘You said that you’re only going to the prom with me because going alone looks uncool.’
Sally’s face freezes. ‘I was just playing hard to get.’ She hurls me a desperate, apologetic look. ‘Going stag is totally cool.’
‘So it’s OK if I hang out with Bilal and Chris on Friday night?’ Ryan asks.
Clearly, he hasn’t read his horoscope yet. If he had, he’d know to keep his mouth shut.
Sally looks at him like a lion checking out a gazelle. ‘No, it would not be OK,’ she says slowly. ‘You’re taking me on Friday and, if you leave me for one second, I will hunt you down and kill you.’
Ryan holds up his hands. ‘OK, OK. Point taken.’
They finish their double act and Savannah and Treacle swivel their attention back to me.
‘Your article doesn’t sound like you,’ Treacle comments. ‘It’s so bitter.’
Savannah’s gaze sharpens with suspicion. ‘Has some boy let you down?’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Treacle gasps.
‘Who is it?’
‘Is it someone in our class?’
‘We didn’t even know you had your eye on someone.’
I push them away before I suffocate. ‘I was just
trying to imagine it from a single girl’s point of view,’ I tell them.
‘You don’t have to imagine,’ Ryan grunts. ‘You are single.’
‘Thanks for reminding me.’ I take the last bite of my sandwich.
Writing an article about being single was the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life.
Treacle leans back. ‘Wait a minute.’ She looks at me puzzled. ‘You said you didn’t want a date.’
‘That’s true,’ Savannah nods. ‘We’ve tried to set you up, but you always say that you prefer being single.’
‘Which is exactly what I’m trying to say in my article,’ I point out.
‘But that’s not what it sounds like.’ Treacle reaches for Savannah’s phone and starts reading from the screen. ‘She saw his mop of blond hair and swooned with passion. His blue-blue eyes made her weak at the knees. And their first dance made her heart beat so fast she thought she would die.’ She glares at me. ‘You sound totally in love.’
‘Imaginary love,’ I lie. ‘I was trying to get what it felt like to be Cinderella.’
Savannah narrows her eyes. ‘Why on earth did you use the most famous first date in history to persuade people it’s better to be single?’
I open my crisps. ‘Cinderella isn’t history. It’s a fairy tale.’
‘But you totally changed the ending,’ Treacle complains. ‘Cinderella’s meant to have a happy ending. She doesn’t end up single.’
‘That’s why it’s a fairy tale and not history.’ I chomp a crisp and try to distract them from worrying about my love life. ‘Tell me a real-life, historical event with a happy ending.’
‘The Industrial Revolution,’ Sally calls.
‘Began global warming,’ I counter.
‘The French Revolution,’ Savannah offers.
‘The guillotine.’ I wonder if she’s ever read a history book.
Treacle tries. ‘The Spanish Armada.’
‘I doubt if the Spanish would agree.’ I crunch another crisp.
Treacle drags her seat closer till she’s practically in my lap. ‘Gemma,’ she says seriously, ‘what’s going on? Why does reading your article nearly break my heart?’
I look at her over my crisp packet. Because Sam is taking Cindy to the prom instead of me. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps having a boyfriend has made you soppy.’ I offer her a crisp. ‘It’s OK, Treacle. I just got carried away while I was writing. I’m happy being single. I’m not in love with Prince Charming. I have no prom date and it’s really no problem.’