Star Reporter

by Tamsyn Murray

  I read this book once where the heroine escaped from her miserable home life by running away to join the circus, although she was this amazing gymnast so maybe that had something to do with it. Shenice’s thing is swimming but I don’t think there’s much call for that as a performance art. She could probably get a job as a clown – one of those really sad-looking ones – I bet you don’t need any qualifications to do it and even a life of custard-pie dodging would be better than a stepdad she doesn’t want.

  I am starting to feel very bad for Shenice. My family might lurch from one sleep-deprived crisis to another but we just about keep it together. I hope that’s the way it stays.

  Chapter Three

  I’m not sure GLITZ was right when they said a “GORGEOUS GOLDEN GLOW” was “ONLY A FINGERTIP AWAY”. It’s certainly all OVER my fingertips, and underneath my nails, although I’d call it more of a yucky brown. Maybe if I’d been able to get the actual proper Starshine stuff, things might have gone better, but they didn’t sell it in the little chemist next to the doctor’s surgery. It always smells of lavender and old people in there. I am guessing there isn’t much call for fake tan among the OAPs of Windsor because we looked for ages before Shenice finally found a few dusty bottles of Go Glow! in between the pads for ladies who pee when they laugh and the elasticated support stockings. The bottle is undeniably orange, which is hopefully not the colour I will turn or Mum will definitely notice. The instructions had rubbed off but as far as I can tell, you just put it on and – HEY PRESTO! – a few hours later, you are a vision of sultry-skinned healthiness. I am trying it out on my legs first and then it will be all systems go for Operation Tantastic in time for the May Ball next month.

  Mum didn’t even bat an eyelid when I said I was going to bed early with a headache – yet more evidence that either she doesn’t listen to me or she no longer cares. It doesn’t matter; by morning, I will have beautiful bronzed legs and my days of looking like I am a member of the undead will be over.

  Omg.

  OMG.

  O. M. ACTUAL. G – my legs are stripy! Seriously, they look like manky sticks of rock, without the minty sweetness. I must have stuck to the duvet cover while I slept, because that is all stripy too. And I smell like the inside of a biscuit barrel – GLITZ didn’t mention THAT in their article. Don’t ask what’s going on with my knees – for some reason they are much darker than my shins and look like a pair of squeezed-out teabags. How can I go to school like this? People will think I’m Tigger’s long-lost sister.

  Okay, deep breaths. Maybe a shower will help. It cannot make things any worse.

  The shower has not helped. The streaks are still there and my legs are now red underneath the stripes from where I used a whole bottle of Mum’s Sanctuary Body Scrub. I do smell slightly less like a custard cream but that is no consolation when I look like a sunburned giraffe. There is definitely no way I can wear the skirt and ankle sock combo I had planned for today, which means I will have to steal some of Mum’s saggy opaque tights and hope they hide my shame. Of course, if girls were allowed to wear trousers at ST CRUDE’S, I’d be fine, but we are ruled by a dictatorship that denies us basic rights like these. It’s about time someone made a stand; we should throw down our glitter pens and demand equality. It’ll be like LES MISERABLÉS, but with less singing. And after the revolution, all comrades will be free to wear trousers.

  I am so glad today is over. Liam caught me stuffing my sheets into the washing machine this morning and tried to drop me in it by wrinkling his nose up and asking loudly if I’d slept in the McVitie’s factory. Then he threatened to take a photo of my legs and send it in to JOJ, whatever that is – some stupid band website, probably. Honestly, he is such a moron – if he does anything to embarrass me I will saw through the strings on his precious guitar using my Hello Kitty nail file. Rolo was almost as bad – he kept barking and trying to lick my legs through the tights. I’m amazed Mum didn’t clock on. I suppose there are some benefits to having a sleep-deprived mother, after all. Pre-twins Mum would have busted me in a heartbeat.

  I confessed what had happened to Molly and Shenice on the way to school – naturally, they thought it was HILARIOUS. It’s alright for them. Molly’s parents are Greek and Shenice is mixed race so neither know the pain of milk-bottle legs. Mind you, the horror of tiger stripes is infinitely worse.

  Our Citizenship lesson was actually quite useful for once today – I asked Miss Hemsworth what the best way to overthrow an oppressive regime was and she said it depends on the country. In some places the military launch a coup, but I don’t think the British Army would be much help in the battle for equal trousers. Then she said we have this government website where you can start a petition and if it gets a certain number of signatures, your petition has to be read out in the House of Commons. Then the politicians might have a debate about it. So I went into the library at lunchtime and looked it up online and it is all true, although you need one hundred thousand signatures before MPs will discuss it. But I reckon I have to start somewhere so I lodged an e-petition with Her Majesty’s Government to say that girls should be allowed to wear trousers at St Jude’s. I sent the link to Shenice and Molly and even my Auntie Jane, and they’ve all said they’ll send it on to everyone they know.

  With a bit of luck, the time for equal trousers could be just around the corner!

  Chapter Four

  The weirdest thing happened today. We were sitting on the steps outside the science block at lunchtime when Kelly Anderson from Year Ten came up to us. Well, I say Kelly but actually it was her and two of her fellow goddesses, descending from the heights of Mount Popular to slum it with us mere mortals. Kelly is totally gorgeous – Liam has a crush the size of Australia on her and so do most of the other boys in school. The really annoying thing is, not only is she Disney Princess pretty, she’s really nice and everyone likes her. She’s smart too – she runs HEY JUDE’S!, the school magazine. So when she stopped in front of us, I knew without the slightest little doubt that I was going to show myself up. Or, if by some miracle I managed to keep my cool, either Molly or Shenice were sure to lose theirs. When Rolo gets really nervous or excited, a little bit of wee comes out – imagine if one of us did THAT…

  “You’re Cassidy Bond, yeah?” Kelly said.

  OMG, she knew my name! An image of Rolo popped into my head, a telltale puddle by his paws. Crossing one foot over the other, I nodded carefully.

  “The one who started that petition about girls wearing trousers at school?” she went on, her eyes narrowing.

  My blood ran cold – how did she know about that? I mean, an amazing one hundred and twenty-six people have signed my petition already, but I didn’t think Kelly was one of them. What had I done, offended her fashion sense or something? Beside me, Molly and Shenice were exchanging looks and fidgeting.

  Then the unthinkable happened – Kelly smiled. “That was a pretty cool thing to do.”

  All the breath went out of me in a WHOOSH and Shenice did this squeak thing.

  “Er, thanks,” I managed, nudging Shen before she embarrassed us. “I just thought we should have the choice.”

  Kelly was nodding and her wing girls were copying her. “Exactly. Listen, I need a Year Seven correspondent for the school paper, someone who’ll do what needs to be done in the search for a good story.” She paused and looked me straight in the eye. “Are you in?”

  Was I in? Is a unicorn horn POINTY?

  “Could be,” I said, trying to sound like it was the kind of offer I got all the time. “Yeah, why not?”

  “Great,” she said, smiling again. “We meet at lunchtime on Mondays, in the English block. See you there.”

  She walked off, leaving me staring after her in a daze. Had Kelly Anderson just called me cool or was I dreaming?

  “Not unless we’re all having the same dream,” Molly said, and I realized I must have spoken out loud. “Wow. You’re going to be a member of The Press. You’ll have access all areas.”

>   Okay, so access all areas of St Crude’s didn’t mean much but it was still the most exciting thing to happen to me this term. I grinned, unable to believe my luck. Actually, I still can’t. Wait until Liam finds out! Ever since his band, WOLF BRETHREN, was asked to play at the May Ball, he’s been swaggering round like he’s some kind of Rock God. Knowing he’s not the Bond everyone at St Crude’s is talking about any more might just take the bounce out of his bungee.

  The scream monsters woke me up AGAIN at ridiculous o’clock. Luckily, I was having this horrific nightmare where Mum grew a moustache and became a bingo caller, so I didn’t mind for once. I don’t remember going back to sleep but I must have done because when I looked at the clock again, it was half past eight, which is practically midday in the twins’ book. For one toe-curling second, I thought I was late for school, and then I remembered it was Saturday. And THEN I remembered that I am no longer boring old Cassidy Bond, I am C Bond – STAR REPORTER, and decided I’d better find out what a journalist does.

  I walked to the paper shop, planning on picking up THE TIMES, THE GUARDIAN and the MIRROR, but the new copy of GLITZ had TWENTY WAYS TO LOVE YOUR LIFE on the cover so I bought that instead, pretending to the newsagent it was for Mum. It’s practically research – who is to say that Kelly hasn’t recruited me to be St Jude’s celebrity gossip correspondent, anyway?

  Dad was downstairs with the twins when I got back, trying to give them both a bottle at the same time and failing badly. I took pity on him and grabbed Ethel, after I’d conducted a secret sniff test, of course. Dad’s rule is that whoever is holding a twin when they make a stinky is the one who changes the nappy and I’ve been caught out that way before.

  “Thanks,” he said, wiping the milk off the end of his nose. “I thought I’d let your mum have a bit of a lie-in.”

  Every now and then, I wonder what my mum sees in my dad, especially when he is crooning Elvis songs in his awful white suit and stupid black wig, but he’s alright sometimes. When he’s not dressed up as the King, OBVIOUSLY.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “According to this study I read about in GLITZ, women who get six or more hours of sleep a night are happier, healthier and live longer.”

  “Good to know,” Dad said, giving me the thumbs up. “If she’s in a good mood later, I might talk to her about having a summer holiday this year.”

  My ears pricked up. Liam and I had talked about the chances of going ANYWHERE good when school broke up and we’d decided we had more chance of winning the lottery. “Really?”

  Dad nodded. “I think we can manage a couple of weeks somewhere sunny.”

  That sounded promising. Two weeks in the sun would definitely take the edge off my painfully white skin, although I hoped it wasn’t Spain – that would really rub Shenice’s nose in it, especially since Shenice was positive her mum had been on another date with the mysterious Julio. I opened my mouth to suggest Florida but Dad beat me to it.

  “So how does a de luxe camper van in Cornwall sound? We can even take Rolo.”

  I stared at him in shock, all thoughts of Mickey Mouse flying out of my head. “A camper van? All of us? In Cornwall?”

  “Okay, a caravan then. We can’t go too far – imagine flying anywhere with these two.”

  I pictured a long flight with the Wide Awake Club and shuddered. Okay, so maybe Florida was out, but a caravan ANYWHERE with them would mean even less sleep than we got now. It was the stuff of holiday nightmares.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Dad said, picking Joshua up and patting his back until he let out the kind of burp that sets off avalanches. “With a bit of luck there’ll be entertainment on the campsite. And if there isn’t, I can volunteer my services and earn a few quid at the same time.”

  I stared gloomily at Ethel, guzzling her milk in blissful ignorance of the embarrassment in her future. Liam wouldn’t be impressed when I broke the news, either. It is going to be the Worst Holiday Ever. Normally I can rely on Mum to stop Dad from embarrassing us, but she is living on borrowed brains. I am telling you, if Dad is serious about getting up onstage while we are there, I am definitely not going.

  I wonder when Zippo’s Circus is next in town? Maybe Shenice and I can do a double act.

  I woke up this morning to discover my e-petition has gone totally crazy. It has over three hundred signatures from complete strangers, in places like Glasgow and Belfast and Scunthorpe. There was even one from this girl in Pratt’s Bottom, saying that I have inspired her to start her own school campaign, although I’m not sure there is really a place called Pratt’s Bottom and wonder if it is actually Dad, trying to be supportive. Yesterday, he called me the Che Guevara of St Jude’s. I thought that was some bloke from off the telly until I tapped his name into a search engine and found out that he was this amazing revolutionary who really rocked the beret and got a lot of stuff done. Liam was all grumpy about it, saying it was a waste of time and that the school will never listen to me, but secretly I think he is impressed. I am starting to think that we might actually get enough signatures to make the Prime Minister notice – imagine that! St Jude’s would have to change the rules then.

  Molly and Shenice came over after lunch and we planned what we would wear to march on Downing Street – trousers, obviously, but I had this idea about getting my mum to make one gigantic pair that we could all wear at the same time. Molly said we could probably go for the world record of most people in one pair of trousers, which sounds a bit warm. I go all red-faced when I’m hot and I wouldn’t want to be on the front page of all the newspapers looking like a tomato. It reminded me of Liam’s threat to send my stripy legs in to that website, so I looked it up and it turns out he wasn’t kidding – JOJ actually exists!

  It stands for JUICE ON JUDE’S and seems to be some kind of blog about our school. There are all these funny stories and pictures about everyone. Some of them are pretty funny, like the photos of the Year Seven raft-building exercise in Wales that sank as soon as it was launched. I don’t know whose idea JUICE ON JUDE’S was but it MUST be someone at school. Who though? No one knows. We spent over an hour reading the old posts and giggling at the pictures. There was no sign of my stripy legs on there, thank goodness – maybe Liam is only mostly moron.

  Now that my fake tan disaster has faded and I am no longer part Oompa Loompa, I am really looking forward to my first school mag meeting tomorrow. Who knows, this could be the start of a twin career as a wrong-righting journalist and a political activist. Maybe Fighting Social Injustice is going to be my Thing!

  Chapter Five

  E-PETITION Number of signatures: 399

  I think I may have died and gone to heaven. Not only did Kelly Anderson nod hello to me in the corridor this morning, but Nathan Crossfield stopped by my table in registration today to congratulate me on becoming the Year Seven school mag correspondent. The actual Nathan Crossfield, a boy of such sub-zero coolness that even the sixth-formers know who he is, and the only boy in the world (apart from Liam) who knows I used to be into fairies in a BIG way. The gut-wrenching memory of Rolo dropping a pair of fairy knickers at Nathan’s feet last year might stop me from sleeping at night, if the twins didn’t already have that covered.

  Anyway, I try to keep it quiet but I’ve had the mightiest crush on Nathan for most of the year, ever since I became an ACCIDENTAL GENIUS and our team won the regional heat of Kids’ Quiz last autumn. For a few days, me, Nathan, Rebecca and Bilal were famous and even reached page six of the WINDSOR RECORDER. I spent a lot of time studying with them (well, they studied and I daydreamed about Nathan) and we were all totally gutted when we lost in the national final. Team St Jude’s split up after that and, without an excuse to hang out together, Nathan and I didn’t talk as much – it’s pretty hard to stay mates when one of you is the star striker on the under-fourteens school football squad, School Council rep and all-round Mr Popular, while the other smells permanently of baby sick. So I went back to mostly staring at him across the classroom and daydreaming. W
hich is why I couldn’t stop grinning when he walked over to where I was sitting with Molly and Shenice, and also why I pretended it was no big deal.

  “OMG, he fancies you!” Shenice squealed as we headed to maths. “He totally does.”

  “Shut up!” I hissed, looking around to check no one had heard. “He was just being nice.”

  “Did you see that thing on JUICE ON JUDE’S about him and Susie Carr in Year Eight?” Molly said, her eyes widening. “It said they went to see ZOMBIE PROM II together.”

  Shenice frowned. “I thought that was a fifteen.”

  I’d read the same story about Susie on JOJ last night and it had ruined my evening. In fact, the thought of Nathan going to the cinema with ANYONE made me feel a bit queasy. “It is. Liam tried to go last week and the cashier told him library cards don’t count as ID.”

  “Susie does look older,” Molly pointed out. “I bet she got the tickets and he got the popcorn.”

  I wasn’t sure JOJ was right – Nathan might be the nearest thing Year Seven has to a superstar but he’s still a year younger than Susie Carr. She’s really pretty too; there must be loads of boys dying to take her to see zombies in frocks. At least I hoped there were.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I insisted in a low voice, as we filed into the classroom for a whole hour of Mr Peterson droning on about number sequences and equations. “He doesn’t fancy me and I don’t fancy him. We’re just two people who used to be on a quiz team together.”

  Shenice and Molly exchanged a look.

  “Uh-huh,” Shenice said, grinning. “Like Molly doesn’t fancy Liam.”

  Now it was Molly’s turn to go pink. I don’t know why she was embarrassed – it’s no secret that she thinks my moronic brother is cute. She practically lived at my house last autumn, when the ST JUDE’S HAS GOT TALENT! competition was hotting up, and she is definitely WOLF BRETHREN’s number-one fan.