by Melody James
‘Sure. We were just talking about—’ but Treacle has already turned and started stomping off towards the gate. I shrug and smile at Jeff. ‘See you at Friday’s meeting then.’ I race off after Treacle. ‘Hey, wait for me.’ I tug on her coat sleeve as I catch her up. ‘Why didn’t you say hi to Jeff?’
‘It looked like you had the conversation under control.’ Treacle’s marching like there’s an oompah band at our heels.
‘Slow down!’ The freezing air’s scorching my lungs as I struggle to keep up.
‘No!’ she shoots back, her gaze fixed ahead.
Oh, no! Surely she isn’t jealous again? But her next snapping comment confirms it.
‘How’s Jeff ever supposed to notice me with you dancing in front of him like a Barbie doll in a blender?’
‘Treacle!’ I’m running after her as she strides through the gates and sets off towards the bus stop. She’s flagging down the bus like an angry granny by the time I catch up.
I leap on to the bus and follow her to a seat at the back. ‘We’ve been through all this. I’m trying to help you. We were talking about comic books!’
She crosses her arms and frowns at me. ‘Why were you talking about comic books? You hate comic books.’
‘Exactly!’ I exclaim. ‘So why would Jeff be interested in me when he has more in common with you than I do?’
Treacle blinks. ‘Does he?’
‘He runs every morning.’ I tug her sleeve excitedly. ‘Hey! Brainwave! We could find out his route – maybe you could steer your run his way.’ I realise I’m veering off topic. ‘And he likes funny movies and comic books. That’s why we were talking about them. I was finding out info for you!’
‘Oh.’ Treacle’s smiling now. ‘Sorry, Gem. I’m just so nervous about tomorrow’s semi-final. I’m not thinking straight.’
The bus sways round a corner and I grab the seat to stop from sliding. ‘You two are perfect for each other.’ I look at her, serious. ‘I’d never go for Jeff.’ I drop my bag between my feet. It’s weighed down with homework. ‘Anyway, I don’t have time to think about boys,’ I tell her. ‘Let alone like one.’
When I get home, the quietness in the house unnerves me. Mum’s usually banging plates in or out of the dishwasher, or thumping the vac round or shooting aliens on the Xbox with Ben (she’s the slowest space cop in the universe but Ben’s very patient with her).
But today the house is silent.
‘Mum?’ I call uncertainly, shoving my bag beside the radiator. As I hang up my coat, Mum appears from the living room.
‘Shh.’ She ruffles my hair softly. ‘Ben’s sleeping.’
Now I’m really concerned. Mum only ruffles my hair when one of us is worried. And Ben is always wide awake when I get home from school.
Except . . .
‘Another school trip?’ I ask hopefully. Mum shakes her head.
‘Has he got an infection?’ I ask, heart dropping. Mum nods.
Chest infections are like alligators under the bed in our house. Except you can’t keep them away just by checking.
Mum looks tired. She’s probably been looking after Ben all day without a break.
‘I’ll do his physio tonight,’ I offer.
She rubs her forehead distractedly. ‘But he’s grumpy when he’s got a bug,’ she reminds me.
‘I’ll cheer him up,’ I promise brightly.
I have to fall off the tilt-table twice to make him laugh, but it’s worth it. Mum’s lying down, Dad’s cooking supper. Ben’s lying on his table looking pale. His nebulizer made him throw up earlier, but he’s giggling now. Just about. I want to grab him and hold him close, as if hugging him can keep the germs away from his fragile lungs. But hugging won’t help; it’ll only let him know I’m scared.
I can hear Dad singing downstairs. He’s grilling burgers.
Has Ben learnt to spot the brittle happiness we fake whenever he’s ill? I wonder if he feels the shift in gravity as our universe tightens around him.
‘Ready?’ I haul myself to my feet and roll up my sleeves for the pummelling.
Ben shifts on the table. ‘Yep.’ His breath is shallow, as though moving is an effort.
I start gently thumping his chest. He feels warm. He must be running a fever.
I carry on, my mind drifting with the rhythm of the pummelling. Then I have an idea. I could write an article about this; what family life is like when someone has a serious medical condition. No one knows how I live; what I think or feel when it comes to Ben. They don’t know that I actually don’t care whether every day’s a Great Hair Day. I complain about my dumb curls but I know, deep down, that straight hair doesn’t really matter.
It suddenly feels important to share. Important for me and important for the webzine’s readers. We’re all trying to appear so perfect, but life’s not perfect – we’re not perfect – and the best Hair Day in the world won’t change anything that’s truly important.
But how will I ever persuade Cindy to publish a serious article when she knocks back my ideas like a Wimbledon champ swatting tennis balls?
The next morning Ben’s infection hasn’t got any better. But it hasn’t got any worse, so Mum tells me not to worry and sends me off to school. Before I go I make her promise about fifty times that she’ll text me if there’s any change.
When Treacle and I get to school, we pass a couple of Year Ten boys who are huddled by the gate, deep in conversation.
‘It’s Jessica Jupiter,’ I hear one of them say and I freeze. How does he know I’m Jessica?
‘Apparently, she said that Taureans have to play the field or something, so Michelle told me she can’t see me any more.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know it’s me. Then I think back to my horoscope for Taurus: Time to stop being a bull in a china shop and start playing the field. I had been thinking about the school playing fields and Jeff coaching Treacle at the time.
‘Well, she told my sister that she needed to take up knitting! Now, rather than buying me a birthday present, she’s planning to make me something “special and unique” to wear to my party. It’s going to be awful, I know it!’ the other boy says with a look of horror on his face. I do a quick mental scan of this week’s horoscopes and realise his sister must be a Gemini. A stitch in time will save ninety-nine, I had written, while trying to think of a Jessica-style saying and hearing the chimes of the ice-cream van outside the school.
‘Why do girls believe in all that stuff?’ the first boy asks.
‘Cos they’re dumb,’ the second one replies. ‘Wanna game of crab football?’
‘Sure.’
After they’ve gone, Treacle looks at me and grins. ‘Looks like Jessica has a lot to answer for!’
I link arms with her and we make our way across the rain-slicked playground. ‘Well, as long as a certain Year Ten football coach believes what she says, that’s all that matters.’
The day passes slower than a tortoise with arthritis. Treacle and I are both a bundle of nerves – me about Ben and her about the afternoon’s semi-final. Just before the end of last period I get a text from Mum.
Ben’s temp almost back to normal Have fun at the football! x
‘It’s a lucky omen,’ I say to Treacle as I show her the text. ‘Ben is getting better and you’re going to win.’
Treacle gives me a nervous smile. ‘I hope so. Great news about Ben though.’
When the bell rings, Treacle races off to the PE Department to get changed and I head to the webzine HQ. The match isn’t starting for another half an hour and I need to get this week’s horoscopes finished.
I’m relieved to find the HQ empty. I sit down at Will’s PC, finally able to bag the fastest processor. I’ve hardly time to unpack my jotter before it’s asking me for my login.
I open my Inbox and blink in surprise. Cindy has sent me an email with the login details for Jessica Jupiter’s new email address. I login, surprised to see the amount of mail in there already. Excited, I open th
e first mail.
Dear Jessica,
I love your horroscopes. How do you know so mutch? Are you really physic? Who’s going to win the match this afternoon?
luv
Michelle
I sit back and drum my nails on the desk. I’ve not bitten them in two weeks and they’re already long enough to click against the Formica. Jessica’s voice echoes in my head and I start typing.
Dearest Michelle,
How sweet of you to write. Next time you might want to use Spellcheck.
The match result is uncertain. Like choosing what to wear for the red carpet, the stars simply can’t decide. But I sense that a star-performer on Green Park High’s team will outshine the opposition.
Yours star-gazingly,
Jessica
I click Send and open the next message.
Dear Jessica,
Last week you said I was going to have a trip. I fell down the stairs. How did you know?
Cheers
Kevin
I grin as I type.
Dearest Kevin,
What a tragedy! I hope you were not badly hurt. But I did warn you. Ignore Jessica at your peril. Save your next trip for Summer rather than Fall. Best wishes for a speedy recovery,
Jessica
Enough fan mail. I look at my watch. Fifteen minutes till kick-off. There’s still time to write a few horoscopes. I’ll start with Jeff’s.
In a blank document, I start typing.
Capricorn
You’ve had a busy week, Star-ling. Jessica knows from experience that sharing your gifts with others is tiring. But you will be rewarded. The stars sing of victory, both in sport and in love. The number ten holds the key to your happiness. Look out for it, because it’s the one number you can count on this week.
Only an idiot would miss a hint like that. Ten is the number on the back of Treacle’s football shirt. A nervous flutter hits my stomach. Will Treacle think I’m being too obvious?
I shrug. Jeff’s a boy. He’s not going to overanalyse. He probably won’t even analyse.
I start work on Savannah’s horoscope. She needs cheering up. That’s obvious from the extra make-up she’s been wearing. Josh’s low blow has knocked her confidence.
Pisces
Star-ling, last week may have felt like a disaster. But whether it was love, work or family that let you down, you made the right choice. Now the way ahead is clear. Swim forward happily, dear Pisces. The stars are gazing down kindly upon you this week. And treat yourself to something special. You deserve it.
I hit Return and keep typing. Cindy’s not going to get such an easy ride.
Scorpio
With such a nasty sting in your tail, you’d better move with care. You’re more poisonous than you think. Try to be gentler with those around you, particulary those younger than you. They lack your barbed backside and can’t sting back.
I stare at the words on the screen. Although it made me feel a whole lot better typing them, Cindy will hate it and then she’ll make my life at the webzine even more miserable. I pause, then delete, then start typing again.
Scorpio
A fresh idea will come from an unexpected source. Treat it sweetly. You’re smart enough to know that honey works far better than poison.
I know Cindy won’t take Jessica’s advice; not when she knows I’m Jessica. But I’ve worded it tactfully. Perhaps my words can slip beneath the ice shield.
I imagine Cindy back on her perfect pink bedspread, proofing my column. Her gaze drifts thoughtfully over Scorpio – she’s reading, she’s smiling, she’s dialling Barbara. ‘You know, Barbara,’ – her gaze turns thoughtful – ‘I think I’ve underestimated Gemma Stone.’
Stop dreaming! I look at my watch. Five minutes left. I can cram in a last paragraph.
Libra
My sign. And Mum’s. I know I can’t actually make the stars do what I want, but there’s no harm in hoping.
You may feel the scales haven’t tipped in your favour this week. But don’t fret, Star-ling. Good fortune will be linked to a young man with a three-letter name.
Ben.
I send a silent prayer to the stars as I power down the PC. Please let him get better soon.
I jump as the door squeaks open.
It’s Will. He scowls at me as he wanders in. ‘That’s my PC.’
I meet his gaze steadily. ‘The computers belong to everyone.’
He grunts, eyeing the desk suspiciously. ‘I hope you haven’t messed with anything.’
‘I’ve been too busy with my own work to bother with yours,’ I tell him.
He reaches across the desk. I lean out of the way as he jerks open the drawer beside me and pulls out some papers. He opens his bag, shoves the papers into it, then fishes out his mobile phone.
‘Still no calls.’ He says, sounding disappointed.
‘Expecting one?’
‘I was trying to set up an interview with a knife-crime victim.’
I want to offer help again. Someone who’s been stabbed might respond better to a fourteen-year-old girl than a surly fifteen-year-old boy. But I don’t say anything. If you’re too proud to take help, take a hike. I remember his horoscope. I doubt he’s even read it.
‘Shame.’ I grab my bag and head for the match. I’m not going to give him another chance to point out what a hopeless ditz I am.
I arrive panting at the sideline just as the ref blows his whistle for the kick-off. A thin crowd is dotted round the edge of the pitch. Eager parents watch in clusters.
The Green Park team spread out, battle-ready from the off. Treacle nods at me from centrefield and then launches herself at the ball.
‘Hi.’ I jump as I hear Jeff’s voice behind me. I turn and see him walking towards me holding a notebook.
I blink in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed him. ‘Hi. Are you taking notes for the webzine?’
‘Yep.’ He narrows his eyes as Treacle makes a charge for goal, and groans as she’s tackled away.
‘If you need me to add any hearts or flowers, just ask,’ I joke.
He grins. ‘Nah, I think I’ll be fine without, thanks.’
Treacle is playing brilliantly. She hooks the ball from between a winger’s feet and makes a break, crossing to Jing-Wei who heads a long ball over the bar.
Jeff gets so caught up in the action he stops note-taking. ‘I didn’t know girls could play football like this.’ He sounds genuinely impressed.
It’s an all-out battle on pitch – good-humoured – but both sides are playing like their lives depend on it.
Anila punches away a ball as the opposing team, Westbury High, make an attack on our goal. Green Park are struggling to get possession; Westbury High keep pushing us back. Then Erin Slater steals the ball and zigzags down the pitch, dribbling her way past both defenders and striking a powerful kick into the side netting just as the ref blows the half-time whistle.
‘Wow! It’s a really exciting game!’ I say, turning to Jeff, but he’s busy scribbling notes in his jotter.
When the second half begins, Karen sends a low drive wide.
‘Come on!’ Jeff urges. ‘Score!’ He gives a heartfelt groan as Treacle flashes an effort across the face of the goal, missing by a whisker.
My heart starts to race as Westbury High punt the ball back upfield, veering dangerously close to our goal, but Anila slides it away from their striker and sends it back down the pitch. Karen’s ready to take it and sweeps down the outside.
I roar with delight as she knocks it into the back of the net. Jeff’s chewing on his pen, his eyes fixed on the play. With a minute to go, Treacle snatches the ball from a Westbury High defender and hammers it past the goalie. As she wheels away in delight, she gives me a wave. I wave back. With both hands! I’m so happy for her. I make sure I’m not standing too close to Jeff though. The last thing I want to do is ruin Treacle’s moment of joy by making her jealous again. This playing Cupid thing is a whole lot trickier than it seems.
Wh
en the ref blows the final whistle Jeff throws his arms in the air and gives a massive cheer. ‘I’ll be celebrating tonight,’ he tells me when he’s calmed down.
‘How?’
‘Oh, I dunno – pizza and a Jack Black movie probably.’
Jack Black is Treacle’s comedy hero! I knew it. The wedding cake is iced and the invitations are sent. I can’t keep the grin off my face. A couple more nudges from Jessica Jupiter and these two will become one, I’m sure of it.
I have spent more nights in hospital waiting rooms than anyone I know. And here I am again, staring at the empty chairs.
Ben’s fever shot up just after midnight and we had to bring him in.
You’d think they’d turn the lights down at night, but the waiting room’s ablaze with a zillion fluorescent watts flaring like magnesium against the white walls and floors.
Mum’s in with Ben. Dad’s pacing the corridor outside. I can tell that he’s torn between me and them. The nurses don’t want us all in there.
‘I’m OK,’ I promise him. ‘Go and sit with them. I’ve got my laptop.’
Dad stops and looks at me. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
‘Yeah.’ I’ve been here enough times before to know what to do. Whenever Ben gets an infection, I pack a bag with crisps, drink, chocolate, MP3 player, book and laptop and hang it on the back of my door when I go to bed. That way, I’m ready for any hospital waiting room anywhere in the world.
Dad reaches down and kisses my head. I don’t really want him to go. I’m as scared as he is. But I swallow the lump rising in my throat and force a smile as he hurries away.
I reach into my bag and pull out the chocolate. Once a big chunk is melting on my tongue, I reach for my laptop. I might as well finish the horoscopes.