Star Switch

by Alesha Dixon

  “Naomi, I need you to concentrate. About your day off tomorrow. . .”

  I knew what she was about to say before she said it, and I stepped back from her.

  “No! You promised! We made a deal.”

  “I know and I’m so sorry!” She sounded genuinely upset but that wasn’t the point. “I’ve tried everything to move this meeting with your record label tomorrow, but they really can’t do it any other time. There’s a few people who need to be there and we are being very unsuccessful trying to coordinate calendars for everyone.”

  “NO. I am not working tomorrow! That’s that.”

  “It’s one meeting and I promise you have the rest of the day off.”

  “Mum! No! It’s not fair!” I huffed. “Everyone else gets days off!”

  “You are going to have time off! I’ll make it up to you, all right? I’ve tried everything I can,” she claimed, exasperated. “Just one meeting and that’s it.”

  “I SAID NO!”

  “Um, Ms Starr?” One of the stage crew approached us awkwardly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we really need to run a few things by you before the show. Is it all right if you come with me now? We don’t have much time.”

  “Yes, of course.” Mum nodded, before turning back to me. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  I pursed my lips and didn’t say anything. She followed him out of the room and my vocal coach had cleared her throat.

  “Naomi? You want to start from where we left off?”

  “NO! I need some air,” I snapped, grabbing my sunglasses before marching right out of there.

  I felt a bit bad for being so sharp with my vocal coach. It wasn’t her fault that everything in my life is a big mess. I shouldn’t have taken it out on her but I was so CROSS. Is it too much to ask to have some time to myself when I work so hard? And, HELLO, but I highly doubt anyone at the record label is as busy as I am. They should work around my schedule and do the meeting another time!

  I stormed out of the stage doors into the back alley, put my sunglasses on and leaned against the wall. I didn’t even care that it was pouring with rain. I felt so overwhelmed and angry with everything, I wanted to cry. And I NEVER cry. I tried to breathe deeply like that beauty therapist at the spa had told me to do yesterday.

  “Goodness! You are very tense,” she’d said as she started my hot stone back massage. “You need to relax.”

  I’d wanted to shout, WHY DO YOU THINK I’M HERE AT THE SPA, GENIUS?! but instead just went, “Mmm.”

  It was when I was doing my breathing exercises in that back alley and spotted a bus approaching on the main road that a thought flitted across my brain: I could just walk away from here and hop on that bus.

  I could get away. Be on my own for a bit. Have some quiet. I never, ever felt quiet. There was always chaos around me. Everywhere I went. There were always people speaking, doing their jobs, on their phones, telling me where I needed to be, what I needed to be doing, what I should be saying and to whom I should be saying it.

  I could get on that bus and get away from it all.

  Without any more thought, I ran for it.

  With my full show make-up on, I darted down the alley towards the main road through the rain and jumped on the bus just in time before it pulled away. No one recognized me and I managed to get a seat by the window, tucked away at the back. I took my sunglasses off as I figured it would draw more attention to have them on when it was raining. I sat there, looking out the window, watching the arena fall into the distance. I leaned back in the seat and let out a sigh of relief.

  I sat on the bus for ages, feeling very pleased with myself for taking a stand. I posted a quote on my Instagram the other day about standing up for yourself. It had got millions of likes. That’s exactly what I felt I was doing. Standing up for myself.

  But obviously, I couldn’t sit on the bus for ever. And then I started to feel a bit bad because I didn’t have my phone on me and I didn’t want Mum to panic. Then I noticed the time on someone’s watch who was standing up near me.

  I’d missed the start of the concert.

  At first, my throat closed up and my whole body tensed. But then I reminded myself that this was what I’d been aiming for when I walked out of the arena. I’d wanted to give them all a shock. Maybe they’d start listening to me for once.

  Anyway, I got off the bus when I noticed a huddle of girls on some seats ahead gasping and pointing their phones unsubtly at me, and now here I am in this library, the first place I wandered into, desperate to go home.

  “I’m your biggest fan,” the girl says so quietly, I can barely hear her.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not in the mood for my biggest fan right now,” I reply sharply.

  She immediately hangs her head, looking mortified. I feel guilty and I open my mouth to explain that it’s not her fault or anything, I’m just under a lot of stress right now, when the librarian reappears.

  “I’ve ordered you a taxi from a local company. They’ll be here any second now.”

  “Great.”

  I put my sunglasses back on and peer through the window of the door. The rain is slowing now and becoming more of a drizzle. I can make out a huddle of people hurrying down the road. Cars are pulling up and parking on the road too, with drivers getting out, cameras hanging from their necks.

  “The paparazzi is here,” I say out loud to myself. “I knew they would be.”

  I bite my lip as they begin to gather around the library in a crowd, chatting to each other and checking their cameras. I REALLY don’t want them to get a photo of me looking like a drowned rat. I’m giving them a lot of material today. A no-show at my own concert and then hiding in a library, not exactly looking my best.

  A car drives up the road and parks badly in front of the entrance. It’s a taxi.

  “Right, time to go.” I turn to the others. “I need something to shield my face.”

  “What?” The librarian looks baffled.

  “Something to shield my face from the reporters!” I say impatiently. “A newspaper or something. Hurry! The crowd is getting bigger out there!”

  She begins looking around her desk but it’s an absolute tip. I don’t have all day.

  “Just give me that,” I say angrily, reaching out and snatching the book from the hands of the girl claiming to be my biggest fan.

  It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. I take a deep breath and open the doors, keeping my head bowed and holding up the book to shield my face as the camera flashes start going off like crazy. I reach the door handle, fling it open and jump in the taxi, yelling, “DRIVE! DRIVE!”

  The driver puts his foot down and we hurtle down the road, away from the reporters.

  “Wow!” the driver says, looking in his rear-view mirror. “Are you Naomi Starr?”

  “Yes, I am,” I reply, leaning back and pushing my sunglasses up my nose. “But right now, I really wish I wasn’t.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “TIME TO GET UP, RUBY!”

  I wake with a start at Mum’s voice and her sharp knocking on my bedroom door. I realize I fell asleep last night reading and my face is stuck to one of the pages. I carefully peel it off and then nestle down into my pillow again, hoping to get five more minutes.

  But Mum’s left the door ajar and Daisy comes bounding in, barking her head off. She jumps up on to my bed and begins slobbering all over my face. She’s obviously been for her morning walk with Dad because she’s covered in mud and gets it all over my duvet. It’s hard to be mad though because she’s so cute.

  “Morning, Daisy.” I laugh, trying to push her and her stinky breath away from my face. “All right, all right, I’m up.”

  “I’m afraid the twins have used up all the hot water again,” Mum calls up the stairs. “Cold showers this morning!”

  Roman slams open my door, making it bang against the wall. “Unlucky, loser!”

  “Roman! I need to wash my hair this morning!” I groan, throwing my pillow at him, but he’
s already disappeared so it just plops on the floor. “You’re so ANNOYING!”

  “There is a little bit of hot water left,” Reggie claims. “It wasn’t completely ice cold when I got out.”

  “SHOTGUN!” John shouts from his bedroom.

  “NO! I SHOTGUN!” I shout, jumping out of bed and racing towards the bathroom with Daisy jumping around my legs as I go, thinking we’re playing some kind of game.

  “AHA!” John grins, reaching the bathroom before me and shutting the door in my face. I hear the lock click.

  “Nooooooo!” I bang on the door as the shower turns on. “Come on, John, I need to wash my hair.”

  “You snooze, you lose!” he calls back.

  Grumbling about brothers, I plod back to my room with Daisy and climb into bed to wait for my turn. I pick up my book, deciding I might as well read while I wait. As I trace the title across the front cover with my finger, I smile, still not quite believing what happened yesterday.

  I met Naomi Starr. THE Naomi Starr.

  OK, so I guess I didn’t technically meet her but she was standing right there in the library with me for ages while she waited for her taxi. I wish I hadn’t said that stupid thing about being her biggest fan – she must hear that all the time.

  After she rushed out of there, I had stayed frozen to the spot and unable to speak for about five minutes. Rose found it hilarious and threatened to pour a bucket of cold water over my head to snap me out of it.

  “That was Naomi Starr!” I finally managed to croak. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I know. Not very nice in person, was she?”

  “Naomi Starr. Standing right there,” I gushed, ignoring her.

  I didn’t care that Naomi hadn’t seemed that nice. I read online that she’d stormed out of her concert because she wasn’t allowed a scheduled day off or something, so maybe she was just in a bad mood. Anyway, it didn’t matter to me. I had met Naomi Starr.

  “She took that book,” Rose said all grumpily. “She didn’t even say thank you.”

  “Maybe she’ll return it,” I said in a daze.

  “I doubt it. Lucky for you, I have a second copy.” She went into her office to find it and come back holding it out for me. “Don’t lose it, Ruby, it’s my last copy.”

  “Naomi Starr and I are borrowing the same book from the library!” I pointed out excitedly. “She’ll be reading the same book as me!”

  “Oh, Ruby,” Rose chuckled, shaking her head at me, “I don’t think she’ll be reading that book any time soon. She was using it as a shield from the paparazzi. Anyway, I hope it helps you at least. Maybe you can learn to be confident just like that idol of yours.”

  “I hope so,” I said gratefully, clutching HOW TO SHINE. “If she comes back to return the other copy, promise you’ll let me know?”

  She promised and then I came home, calling Beth as soon as I left the library to fill her in. She screamed down the phone for a LONG time.

  It was much more satisfactory than the reactions from my family when I told them at home, which went as follows:

  Dad: “Who?”

  Mum: “What was that about books?”

  Jeroame: “Is she the one in that girl band?”

  Roman: “It would have been cooler to meet Riley Starr.”

  Reggie: “Remember that time I saw Elton John?”

  John: “That wasn’t Elton John. It was someone who looked a bit like him.”

  I phoned Isabella after dinner to tell her and she went, “Wow, that’s SO cool, Rubes! What’s she like? Uh-oh, I’ve got to go – we’re off to a quiz night in the student union – but I’ll call you tomorrow to hear about it, OK? Love ya, sis!”

  At least someone in my family appreciated how big a deal it was, even if she couldn’t hang around to talk about it.

  It really was a big deal. The biggest deal. I’ll never forget the moment I met Naomi Starr for as long as I live. I just wish I hadn’t been so star-struck. Oh well.

  I flick through HOW TO SHINE to get to the page I fell asleep on last night. It’s a new chapter, titled: STEP INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S SHOES.

  “I wish,” I say out loud. “I’d do anything to be in someone else’s shoes and not have to be in mine.”

  I don’t know if it’s because I’m still a bit overwhelmed with the excitement of yesterday, but as I begin to read through the chapter I feel a bit . . . strange.

  Everything starts tingling and I feel dizzy all of a sudden.

  What’s wrong with me?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mum isn’t speaking to me.

  It’s quite refreshing, actually. I should miss my concerts more often if it means I’m actually left alone for once in my life.

  It’s all over the news and I’m trending on social media. Apparently, storming out of your concert and leaving your fans waiting makes you a big diva and lots of people get very angry. I don’t know why my publicity team are in such a state about it. My name is everywhere. Everyone is talking about me, even serious people on serious TV shows. I’m the most famous person in the world right now. You’d think my PR team would be having a party to celebrate this amazing brand opportunity.

  But, noooooooo. Instead, they’re whining about having to work through the night and not getting any sleep or time off or whatever.

  Now they know how I feel.

  I’ve never seen Mum like she was when she got home last night. I did call her from our house when I got back to Chelsea and had access to a phone. I assured her I was safe and then said that even though I was still mad, I’d consider coming back to the arena to do the concert if she sent a car.

  Apparently it was too late and by the time I got there and had my make-up and costumes sorted, the fans would have been waiting hours and we couldn’t do that to them, especially as the arena shut at eleven and so on. YAWN.

  She didn’t even say sorry!

  I thought that maybe, when she got home, she’d give me one of her classic lectures about how I shouldn’t let people down, apologize for cancelling my day off, and then we’d go to bed and by the morning it would all be fine.

  That’s not what happened.

  She got home looking REALLY bad. Like, no offence to her, but she really needs some time at a spa herself. An army of publicists had accompanied her home and they set up in my sitting room, pointedly talking loudly about the long night ahead of them.

  “Remember to take off your shoes if you’re going to be pacing,” I’d reminded them.

  Mum didn’t even look at me. Without saying anything, she went to the fridge, got a bottle of water and just held it against her head.

  “Mum,” I began, following her into the kitchen, “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you where I was going, but I needed some space and I really think I deserve—”

  She held up her hand to stop me.

  “Please, Naomi,” she whispered in this defeated, upset way which kind of shocked me. “Please, not now. I can’t deal with it now.”

  And then she brushed past me and went into the sitting room to join the publicists, shutting the door firmly behind her, making it clear I wasn’t welcome. I was a bit annoyed because if anyone should have been storming off and shutting themselves in a room, it was me.

  Then, this morning, Simon knocked timidly on the door to announce it was time to get up.

  “Where’s Mum?” I yawned.

  “She’s downstairs. With everyone else,” he said nervously.

  “Can you tell her to come up here? We obviously need to talk about yesterday.”

  He hesitated. “Um . . . actually, she explicitly told me that she doesn’t want to speak to you quite yet. I think she’s got a lot on her plate and she’s been working all night and she—”

  “Whatever, Simon.”

  “Oh . . . sorry . . . it’s Sam.”

  “Could you please ask Chef to make me another one of those green juices? I have a headache.”

  “Um . . . it’s Chef’s day off today.”

 
; I sighed irritably. “Then can YOU please make it? This headache is THE WORST!”

  He nodded and scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving me on my own to think over yesterday’s events.

  I get that people are angry. I really do. If I had bought a ticket to a concert and the singer hadn’t shown up, I’d be annoyed too. But it’s not like they won’t get their money back. And I’m sure the crew at the arena have to put up with stuff like this all the time.

  People online aren’t saying very nice things about me. I try to stop myself from looking at my phone because I know it’s not going to be good. But I don’t realize quite how bad it is.

  They don’t get it, I tell myself, reading through the nasty comments and opinions. They just don’t understand.

  I turn off my phone and throw it across the room. I lie back on my pillows, not sure what to do. I don’t want to go downstairs and face anyone yet. But I also know I won’t be able to go back to sleep. I turn on to my side and see the book that I took from that library yesterday.

  I reach for it and read the front cover: HOW TO SHINE.

  I start turning through the first few pages to see what it’s like. I have nothing better to do and maybe it will distract me from the nightmare that is my life.

  I stop flicking the pages at a chapter title that catches my eye: STEP INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S SHOES.

  “That’s what everyone else needs to do,” I mutter out loud. “Step into my shoes and see what it’s REALLY like.”

  Maybe the mean online comments have affected me more than I thought because I start feeling a bit queasy as I read through the chapter.

  “SIMON!” I yell. “WHERE’S THAT JUICE? I DON’T FEEL WELL.”

  My body goes all weird and tingly. I feel dizzy. Whoa. What’s going on?

  What’s wrong with me?

  CHAPTER NINE

  It happens when I get to a certain passage of the chapter. A lone paragraph in the middle of an otherwise empty page.