‘Is that so?’ Mr Simpson says. ‘You’ve been sitting here for forty minutes, ever since the bell for class went, is that right? Some dizzy spell!’
I shrug, and Mr Simpson turns to Sharleen, who is looking very red-faced now. ‘And what’s your excuse?’
Unable to hold it in any longer, Sharleen opens her mouth and a plume of smoke leaks out, as if she is a small, hard-faced dragon with a blonde ponytail, breathing fire and fury.
‘Right!’ Mr Simpson barks. ‘My office, now, the pair of you!’
I think my run of good luck is over.
10
Trouble
I guess I should have expected it. I’ve turned over enough new leaves in the past fourteen years to plant an entire forest. Sabotaging myself is a skill I have definitely perfected over the years.
‘Ta for trying to take the blame,’ Sharleen says. ‘Sorry for dropping you in it.’
I shrug. I know well enough that my own bad choices brought me here.
Mr Simpson lectures us on the dangers of smoking and the evils of skipping lessons, and I want to tell him I’m sorry and that I’d never smoke and didn’t actually plan to skive off science, but he isn’t really in a listening mood. I want to ask for a second chance, to beg him not to phone my gran, but I’m too proud. Instead I fix a defiant look on my face and pretend I don’t care.
‘It’s not the first run in I’ve had with you, Sharleen, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,’ he says wearily. ‘You, though, Phoenix … you’ve only been here a couple of days, and already you’re in trouble. I suggest you choose your friends a little more carefully from now on. I have to say I’m very disappointed in you.’
That’s me, endlessly disappointing to everyone.
The school bell peals out and I move to pick up my rucksack, but Mr Simpson laughs.
‘Not so fast,’ he says. ‘You’re both in detention until four o’clock. Sharleen, you’ll be writing an essay on the dangers of smoking. Phoenix, you’ll be writing about the importance of attending lessons and following school rules.’
‘Awesome,’ Sharleen drawls, but I’m starting to feel sick. I have band practice right after school – I can’t miss it. Messing up at school is bad, but messing up with the Lost & Found is worse. They wanted me, worked so hard to get me involved … and already I’m letting them down.
Shame and anger battle it out inside me.
‘You can’t keep us in after school without warning,’ I argue. ‘It’s against our basic human rights! Or something …’
‘I think you’ll find I can, actually,’ Mr Simpson growls. ‘You waste my time, I’ll waste yours. Seems fair to me.’
‘But … there’s somewhere else I have to be! It’s important!’
‘So is your school career,’ he snaps. ‘You should have thought of that before you decided to break the rules. I’m not happy with your attitude, Phoenix, not one bit. I’m putting you both on report for a fortnight and I’ll be keeping a very close eye on your behaviour, but right now you are going to room 15 to write those essays!’
I stomp into the classroom, Sharleen trailing in my wake.
I’m halfway through the first page of an essay on how school rules stifle creativity and imagination when my mobile buzzes quietly from my blazer pocket, and I take a sneaky look under the desk. It’s a message from Lee, asking if I’m OK and if I’ve forgotten we’ve got band practice.
‘Something’s come up. I’ll be there by ten past four,’ I text back.
Moments later, there’s a reply: Marley’s not happy.
Well, too bad – neither am I. Mr Simpson, sitting behind the teacher’s desk with his laptop, holds my future in his hands – one call to Grandma Lou or Mum and all my attempts at a semi-normal teenage life could be over. Mum would have me enrolled in some high-security boot-camp boarding school before I could get my bags packed.
Mr Simpson releases us into the wild at 4 p.m. precisely. ‘I won’t call your grandmother,’ he tells me as I hand in my essay. ‘Not this time. But I’ll be looking for a marked improvement in both behaviour and attitude, Phoenix.’
He doesn’t say anything to Sharleen. I get the impression he gave up on her some time ago.
We part at the school gates, bonded by detention and disgrace. ‘You’re OK for a posh kid,’ she says, and coming from Sharleen that’s praise indeed.
I race across the park, backpack swinging. Pie meets me midway, flying ahead and cawing encouragement. I arrive at the old railway carriage at ten past four exactly, red-faced, panting and ready with a sob story about Mr Simpson’s control-freakery. The rest of the band make sympathetic noises, but Marley is stony-faced.
‘Detention?’ he echoes. ‘Seriously? This is your second ever official practice with the Lost & Found, and you keep us waiting because you had detention?’
‘I didn’t mean it to happen,’ I argue. ‘Obviously! It was all a misunderstanding …’
‘The only misunderstanding was that I believed you when you said you were willing to put the work in,’ Marley says.
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ Bex cuts in. ‘It’s no biggie, Marley. Let’s not waste time arguing!’
‘Waste time?’ Marley roars. ‘What d’you think we’ve been doing? The Lost & Found isn’t just any old band – it’s a band on the brink of success, and Phoenix doesn’t seem to get that …’
That’s the last straw, and my temper flares.
‘You know what I do get, Marley?’ I snap. ‘I get that you bullied me into joining this band even though you knew I didn’t want to. I told you I was trouble, and you said it didn’t matter. Well, looks like it does matter after all. Stuff your poxy band! I don’t need it!’
I turn on my heel and leg it back across the grass, ignoring the calls and yells of the others. If I go back to Greystones, they’ll follow me there, so I run along the street in the fading light, heading for the park, looking for solitude so I can let the tears come. Unfortunately for me, solitude seems to be off the menu today.
At the park gates I run right into Matt Brennan, the Year Eleven boy with the quiff, and he grabs my arm as I try to dodge past him.
‘Phoenix?’ he says, clocking that I’m upset. ‘Hey, what’s the matter? Trouble with the band?’
‘You could say that,’ I mutter, shaking free of his grip and checking over my shoulder in case anyone is trailing me. ‘Look, I need to get out of here …’
‘No worries,’ he says, hooking an arm through mine. ‘I’ve just come from photography club, but I could use a hot chocolate right now, if you fancy one. I’m a good listener!’
My shoulders slump. I’m supposed to be through with bad boys, but what’s the point when my life is an ongoing disaster movie? I may as well give in and accept it.
‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s go, before they find me!’
Ten minutes later we are sitting at a corner table in the Leaping Llama, Millford’s one and only hipster cafe, where the waiters are all painfully cool, with beards, brogues, vintage waistcoats and narrow trousers that seem to have shrunk in the wash. Matt orders luxury hot chocolates with whipped cream and dipping flakes, then drapes an unwanted arm round my shoulders. I scoot my chair back and wriggle free.
‘Let me guess – the Lost & Found honeymoon is over already?’ he asks, running a hand over that perfectly gelled quiff. ‘What happened?’
‘I had a row with Marley,’ I say. ‘I was late to rehearsal, and he wasn’t exactly understanding about it …’
‘No, he wouldn’t be,’ Matt says. ‘He’s a total waste of space!’
‘Yeah, well, I think I quit the band,’ I tell him. ‘Must be a record for the fastest turnover of a lead singer, huh?’
Matt’s eyes narrow, and a wolfish grin lights up his face. ‘You quit? Wow – that’s a bit of a scoop! You’re probably not their biggest fan right now, huh?’
‘Not exactly,’ I admit.
‘I think a lot of people would love to know the inside story of the ba
nd,’ Matt says. ‘They’ve been so hyped, and that creepy old pop star Ked Wilder took them under his wing.’
‘Creepy?’ I echo. ‘He’s my gran’s friend. What’s creepy about him?’
‘You tell me,’ Matt presses. ‘Why does an old pop star want to hang around a bunch of teenagers? Weird if you ask me!’
‘He was trying to help the band,’ I explain, slightly irritated now. ‘My gran got him involved. Nothing creepy about that!’
Matt changes tack. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he concedes. ‘Maybe it’s more Marley’s ruthless streak that rings alarm bells with me. You can be honest, Phoenix – did Marley bully you? Because I hear that’s why Sasha left …’
I frown. ‘What’s all this about, Matt? Sasha had her own reasons for leaving, but bullying wasn’t one of them. I don’t have any juicy gossip on the Lost & Found, and, even if I did, I wouldn’t be telling you!’
Matt’s face falls. ‘Look, I’m planning a career in journalism,’ he says. ‘I’d love to get a scoop on the band into the national press – I’ll keep your name out of it, if you prefer – and all publicity is good publicity, right?’
I’ve dated enough low-life bad boys to recognize a liar when I meet one, and I’m losing patience with Matt Brennan. I may be cross with Marley, but I’d never gossip about the band to anyone, let alone this smarmy loser.
‘I don’t think so, Matt,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the hot chocolate, but I won’t be dishing the dirt on my friends, OK?’
‘Friends?’ he says. ‘I thought you said you’d quit?’
‘I say a lot of things,’ I tell him. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear!’
Matt’s face hardens, and he says something unrepeatable. I just smile to show him I don’t care, and at that moment Lee appears in the cafe doorway. ‘She’s here!’ he yells back into the street, and Marley piles in after him.
The smile slides right off Lee’s face when he spots Matt. ‘What are you doing with him?’ he asks, his lip curling in disgust. ‘He’s a jerk!’
‘Yeah, I worked that out,’ I reply.
Matt gets to his feet, scowling. ‘Don’t believe a word these guys say about me,’ he says. ‘It’s all lies.’ He shoves past Marley and Lee and slams out of the cafe. What a charmer … next time, maybe I’ll listen to Sharleen.
‘International Rescue at your service,’ Lee says, flopping down into the seat beside me. ‘We looked everywhere for you!’
‘I was here,’ I sulk. ‘And I didn’t need rescuing!’
A little bit of me can’t help liking the fact that Lee and Marley chased after me, all the same. I’m not used to feeling wanted.
‘You kind of did, if you ended up with Matt Brennan,’ Lee points out. ‘He’s vile. But this wasn’t meant to be a rescue so much as a peace mission … Marley?’
Marley drops to his knees beside me, snatching a sprig of berried greenery from the jam jar on the table and clamping it between his teeth. He opens his arms wide, drawing the attention of nearby diners.
‘I am a snivelling, wretched fool,’ he begins, the words slightly slurred because of the sprig of greenery in his mouth. ‘I grovel at your feet for forgiveness …’
‘Marley, pack it in!’
‘I was out of order,’ he announces to the cafe at large. ‘I let my temper get the better of me. I myself have fallen foul of Mr Simpson too many times to count …’
‘Get up, Marley!’ I hiss, but I’m struggling to suppress a smile.
‘Not until you promise you forgive me!’
I roll my eyes. ‘I lost my temper too,’ I admit. ‘And I don’t really want to quit. I was upset about the detention and I didn’t like being yelled at!’
‘I know, I know,’ Marley says, holding out the sprig of greenery. ‘I was an idiot. Take this as a token of my undying regret and sorrow!’
‘No thanks, it’s been in your mouth!’ I retort, and Marley shrugs and dumps it back in the jam-jar vase.
‘I’m going to get hot chocolates,’ he decrees. ‘To celebrate the fact that I haven’t driven away the best teen singer I’ve ever heard in my whole life. D’you want another?’
‘Please … this one’s cold now!’
Marley laughs and Lee grins his lopsided grin, and all is right with the world again.
11
Too Much
Lee taps out a hasty text message and presses send. ‘Don’t worry – I’m letting the others know we found you, and that you’re still in the band,’ he tells me, watching Marley approach the counter. ‘He really is upset about scaring you off, y’know. The rest of us are so used to his megalomaniac ways, we try to ignore it when he goes into meltdown. It’s about time someone stood up to him!’
‘I was out of order too,’ I say sadly.
‘Nah, just unlucky,’ Lee tells me. ‘Um … how come you were with Matt Brennan?’
I shrug. ‘I ran into him by the park gates and he asked me for a hot chocolate,’ I explain. ‘Turns out he’s another weirdo. He was asking me all these questions about Marley and the band. I don’t think he likes you guys much!’
Lee frowns. ‘He hates us. He used to go out with Sasha, and he conned his way down to Devon at half-term, when we were working with Ked Wilder. He wrote a whole load of lies and sold the piece to one of the tabloid newspapers!’
I’m horrified. ‘What? Wow! I didn’t tell him anything, though … not really. I’m used to seeing myself as the black sheep of the family, but I’m practically an angel compared with Matt Brennan!’
‘Who said you were a black sheep?’ Lee asks. ‘I think you’re great!’
‘Yeah, but you don’t know me,’ I point out. ‘I’m trouble, too full-on, too hot tempered, too impulsive, too clumsy, too loud … too everything. I’m … too much.’
Lee’s ears glow pink underneath his battered trilby hat. ‘Nah, I don’t reckon you’re too much,’ he says. ‘Not too much at all. I think you’re just right!’
I laugh, but I’m secretly pleased.
‘Before the Lost & Found, I was in trouble a lot,’ he tells me. ‘The teachers used to say I was “too much”, too. I have ADHD, and I used to find it hard to settle to anything. The teachers say I disrupt stuff. I don’t mean to, though – I just hate staying still. Being in the band has helped … finally I have something I can focus on, something I can pour my energy into!’
‘That’s cool,’ I tell him, and he grins that cheeky, lopsided grin.
‘You’re cool,’ he counters. ‘Most people don’t get me, but you … maybe you do. I have all this energy coiled up inside me, and so many things I want to do – play in the band, travel the world, have adventures, ask the new girl with hair like spun copper if she’ll come on a date … OK, so I am definitely talking too much now. Sorry! I do that when I get nervous!’
I can’t meet his eye.
I like Lee – I like the way he dances about when he plays the trumpet, the kind of fancy footwork that looks effortless and cool and fun. It’s like the music is in his soul and he can’t stay still, even for a moment. I like his kindness – in the lunch queue with Sharleen Scott on my first day, or when he slips a foil-wrapped square of chocolate into my blazer pocket and winks. I like the way his ears go pink when he’s embarrassed, and the way my tummy fills with butterflies when he looks at me.
I just can’t go out with him.
Lee is too nice, and anytime I go near that I spoil it. I’d hurt him, let him down, make him hate me. Even if that didn’t happen, it would still end in tears. Lee would suss that I was trouble, dump me for someone else and leave me heartbroken. If I’m honest, that’s the scenario that scares me most.
I don’t think I can handle any more hurt in this lifetime.
‘What’s taking Marley so long?’ I ask, changing the subject. ‘He’s been ages!’
‘He’s chatting up the waiter,’ Lee tells me. ‘Look!’
At the counter, Marley is talking to an older boy in shirt and braces. They’re deep in c
onversation and Marley is laughing a lot and raking a hand through his hair as the boy lines up the hot chocolates and piles on extra cream and marshmallows. It all looks very flirty.
‘I think you’re right,’ I whisper. ‘Love’s young dream, huh? I didn’t realize Marley liked boys … I guess he has a soft side after all!’
‘Who said romance was dead?’ Lee quips.
‘Not dead, but definitely overrated,’ I say.
There’s an awkward silence. ‘I really like you, y’know,’ Lee says. ‘Do you think you’ll ever go on a date with me?’
‘It might be a long wait!’
‘I like a challenge,’ he says, and I can’t help but laugh.
A week later, my shaky start in the Lost & Found is all but forgotten. I’ve been on time for every rehearsal, practised every song until I’m word perfect and have even dared to hand over a couple more poems for Marley to turn into songs.
‘The thing is, we’ve known him longer than you,’ Bex tells me, mixing cerise hair dye into a paste as I sit on the edge of the bath at Greystones, waiting for her to work some magic. ‘He thinks that we’re all as obsessed with the Lost & Found as he is. He forgets that some of us actually have a life!’
‘I think my temper has the same short fuse as Marley’s,’ I admit. ‘I’m working on it, though! And to be fair, the band is awesome … I’m stoked to be a part of it!’
‘Me too,’ Bex says. ‘I’m liking it even more, lately, too – you’re taking the sound in a slightly different direction. It’s louder, livelier. Not punkier exactly, but there’s a really good energy! With Sasha, we were a little bit softer, folkier …’
I frown. ‘I didn’t mean to change things,’ I say.
‘Of course not, but things are bound to be different now,’ Bex argues. ‘I can’t wait to see what our fans make of it!’
‘I’m not ready to test that out just yet!’
Forever Phoenix Page 7