The Time of Your Life

by Isabella Cass

  The large group of friends chatted, stamping their feet and blowing on their hands to keep warm. 'Whose idea was it to have a fireworks party in November?' Gemma asked. 'In Australia we wouldn't pick the coldest time of year for a cookout!'

  'Nor in Mexico,' Nathan agreed. 'Carnival in the cold? No gracias!'

  Holly grinned. She couldn't see Nathan Super-shy Almeida as a fiesta-animal, whatever the weather!

  'Suggestion for you, mate!' Nick yelled at the Guy on the bonfire. 'Next time you want to blow up Parliament, try August!'

  Holly laughed, and took the hot dog that Ethan offered her. She glanced at Belle, who was anxiously scanning the crowds for Jack.

  'There he is now,' Cat whispered. 'With his shadow as usual.'

  Jack was hurrying towards them; Bianca minced along behind him, her high heels sinking into the mud, followed by Mayu. Belle smiled and looked down at her feet.

  'Hey, Belle!' Jack called, working his way through the group to stand next to her. 'How's it going?'

  Bianca elbowed in next to Jack and thrust a lit sparkler into his hand. 'I'll write your name and you write mine,' she simpered, starting to emblazon Jack on the night sky.

  'That reminds me . . .' He passed his sparkler straight to Belle, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several packs. 'The sparklers are on me!' he said, handing them round. Everyone cheered and jostled to light them from the tip of Belle's sparkler. Soon the darkness was etched with a mass of glowing white spirals.

  'Lettie and I are going to get some drinks,' Nick announced as the last of the sparklers fizzled out. 'Anyone want anything?'

  Jack turned to Belle. 'Let's go and give them a hand.'

  Holly watched Belle's face – which was already glowing from the cold and the bonfire flames – light up even more as she set off with Jack towards the drinks tent, leaving Bianca scowling at her cold, dead sparkler.

  Mason, Frankie and Zak had started goofing around, sword-fighting with candyfloss sticks. Ben was pushing Felix – who was now sporting a PENNY FOR THE GUY sign – in the wheelchair, spinning it like a BMX stunt-bike. A few minutes later, Jack and Belle pushed their way back through the crowd with a tray of hot chocolates. They were talking nonstop.

  The lucky poncho must be working! Holly thought happily. 'The fireworks are about to start,' she said, handing round a bag of home-made treacle toffees her mum had sent specially for Bonfire Night.

  'Mmggh!' said Cat, and Nathan and Gemma and Nick and Lettie, all nodding as their molars fused together.

  'Mmggh!' said Belle and Jack, grinning at each other.

  'Mmggh!' said Ethan, smiling at Holly with his sea-green eyes.

  'No, thank you,' said Bianca grumpily. 'Some of us don't want to wreck our teeth!' Then she turned to Mayu. 'Come on, let's get out of here – fireworks are so-o-o boring!'

  Holly felt Ethan take her hand. She squeezed back, then slipped her hand inside his glove and felt the warmth of his palm against her own. The booms and bangs of the fireworks reverberated from the walls of the stately London buildings all around the park. Colours exploded in the night sky and flickered across the faces of her friends, all staring upwards, captivated by the display.

  Her heart swelled in celebration.

  Life at Superstar High couldn't be better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Belle: Nothing to Declare

  The following Monday afternoon Belle was coming to the end of her piano practice. She always booked the five-o'clock slot on Mondays and Wednesdays in the corner practice room, which housed her favourite piano – a lovely old Steinway.

  She started to play Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major, and was so absorbed in the romantic melody that it was several minutes before she registered that someone was watching her. Lettie Atkins – who usually booked the six-o'clock slot for her cello practice – must have arrived early.

  But when Belle turned round, she was astonished to find not Lettie but Jack standing in the doorway.

  Her stomach leaped.

  'Beautiful,' Jack murmured, strolling into the room, hands in pockets.

  'Oh . . . er . . . thanks . . .' Belle mumbled, flustered by the compliment.

  'You play beautifully,' he added.

  Of course, he meant the music! Belle realized. This was real life – not some soppy love-story film; he was hardly going to just march in and tell her she was beautiful! 'I love Chopin.' She smiled. 'Do you play?'

  'Badly!' he said, grinning. He reached across and picked out the first few notes of Greensleeves. 'Er, hope you don't mind me barging in . . .'

  'No, of course not!'

  'I was, er . . . well, hoping to catch you . . .'

  Belle looked up into those clear hazel eyes, trying to hold his gaze. She was getting that x-ray feeling again. She suddenly remembered what it reminded her of: walking through the Nothing to Declare channel at the airport. When the customs officers looked at you, you couldn't help feeling guilty even though you knew you weren't – as if just maybe you had accidentally slipped a few endangered reptiles into your suitcase at the last minute . . .

  Except that now all she was trying to smuggle through was a racing heart and a bungee-jumping stomach.

  It had been so much easier at the bonfire party, with all the hustle and bustle of the crowds; they'd chatted and laughed like old friends all evening. But now she felt awkward again.

  'Have you ever been to the Tower of London?' Jack asked.

  Belle shook her head, confused by this turn in the conversation. 'Er, no, why?'

  'Me neither. I was thinking of going to have a look round on Saturday.'

  'Great idea! I bet it's so-o-o interesting,' Belle said, forgetting her emotional-smuggling worries in her enthusiasm. 'It's where the Tudor kings and queens kept their prisoners locked up. Where Henry the Eighth had two of his wives beheaded.'

  Jack grinned. 'Yeah, I could tell you were really into the Tudors in history class. And you were reading that book in the library.'

  'It's amazing,' Belle agreed. 'Did you know that Lady Jane Grey was executed in the Tower when she was only sixteen? She was Queen for nine days.'

  'So that's why I wondered if you, er, well, might like to come with me . . .'

  There was a silence. Belle gazed at him in disbelief. Now it was Jack's turn to look away, unnerved by her stare. Did he really just ask her to go with him to the Tower of London?

  'You mean, like, on a date . . . ?' Belle said slowly, gripping the sides of the piano stool. She felt dumb asking, but she needed to be sure she wasn't imagining things.

  'Yeah! Kind of a weird date, I know,' Jack said, 'but I heard they have a small ice rink in the grounds, so we could maybe go skating when we've had enough torture and execution.'

  'That sounds perfect!' Belle was so happy she could hardly stop herself from bursting into song. She started gathering her music, trying to keep the big smile on her face under control.

  Suddenly she heard a knock at the open door. 'Oh, hi, Lettie,' she gabbled, stuffing the music into her bag. 'I'm just on my way out. See you Saturday!' she called over her shoulder to Jack.

  Belle floated on her own personal pink fluffy marsh-mallow-cloud all the way back to her room. Jack had asked her to go on a date. Even better, Jack had asked her to go on the perfect date. The Tower of London! Somewhere she'd been longing to visit. And then ice-skating. How did he know she loved skating?

  Maybe Jack really could read her mind.

  'Guess what!' she screamed, throwing open the door of her room, where Holly was helping Cat practise her Macbeth lines.

  'Er, Justin Timberlake's asked you to sing on his next album?' Cat wondered.

  'The English National Opera want you to sing Madame Butterfly?' Holly suggested.

  Belle was far too impatient for any more guessing. 'Jack asked me on a date!'

  'Woo-hoo!' Holly and Cat screamed as they leaped up and hugged her.

  'The Tower of London!' Cat giggled, when Belle had filled them in o
n the details. 'He certainly knows how to show a girl a good time!'

  'Now, I wonder what I'll wear . . .' Belle mused, opening her wardrobe and contemplating the neatly hanging garments.

  Cat grinned. 'Tricky! What does one wear to make a stylish transition from Tudor prison to ice rink?'

  'Well, whatever you pick, don't let me within a mile of it,' Holly joked. 'I'll only tip something all over it!'

  One thing is certain, Belle thought happily. I'll definitely be wearing my lucky poncho brooch!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Belle: Shepherds' Warning

  Two days later Belle was humming Eternal Flame – the mega-romantic opening song for the Walthamstow wedding gig – as she strolled across the courtyard to her afternoon piano practice. The wedding was only ten days away now, and Nobody's Angels and The Undertow had all been putting in as much rehearsal time as they could. Belle was looking forward to her next big chance to sing in public, and to spending the night at Holly's house – and, of course, now she had her date with Jack on Saturday to look forward to as well. All in all, Belle was in a blissful Snow-White-singing-with-baby-birds-in-a-sunny-wood-land-glade kind of mood as she floated down the corridor.

  She immediately noticed that the door of the corner practice room was standing open. Strange! she thought. It was usually locked when she got there.

  Then Belle recognized the arm of the person standing in the doorway – or rather the sleeve the arm was wearing. It was Jack – in his favourite blue and black striped T-shirt. She felt a ripple of excitement. Maybe he'd found out that she practised at this time and come to see her again. She ducked into a corner and quickly smoothed down her hair and applied a touch of lip gloss.

  Suddenly she heard voices: Jack was talking to someone in the room.

  'We'll have a few moments to talk in private here . . .' he was saying gently.

  Who could it be? Belle tiptoed along the corridor and stopped outside the practice-room door, which was now firmly closed. She felt a little sneaky but it wasn't really spying, was it? There was a glass pane in the top of the door, after all. It wasn't the place to pick if you wanted privacy. Anyone who happened to be passing could just look in.

  Which she did.

  And immediately wished she hadn't.

  Jack was in there with another girl!

  And whatever they were doing, it wasn't talking!

  And it wasn't piano practice either.

  He was holding her tight, stroking her blonde hair. She had her head buried in his shoulder.

  Belle gasped. She couldn't bear to watch but she couldn't look away either.

  The girl glanced up mid-nuzzle and caught her eye.

  Belle turned and ran. Piano practice was cancelled for today – maybe for ever.

  The girl was Bianca Hayford.

  Belle tore across the courtyard, past the Redgrave Theatre, and only when she reached the dark sports field did she slow to a miserable trudge.

  Why was Jack doing this? she puzzled. He'd asked her on a date – yet now he was snogging Bianca! OK, I didn't actually see them kissing, but it was pretty obvious what they were up to, she fumed, her despair gradually turning to rage. Just when she'd started to think that that rebellious look in his eyes was charming and gorgeous, he'd proved himself to be a total creep.

  This must be what the shepherds were trying to warn me about with the red sky the other day, she thought. Not killer sheep but a two-timing boy! A wolf in sheep's clothing! But she'd been too dumb to pay attention.

  Jack was worse than Henry VIII. No wonder he wanted to go to the Tower of London. All that cheating and torturing and beheading would be right up his street. Well, there was no way she was going to go out with him now, she vowed, now on her third lap of the football pitch. She never even wanted to see him again – not even for long enough to tell him she didn't want to see him again.

  In fact, she would leave him a note!

  Belle had been too distraught to notice the fine drizzle before, but now, as she headed straight for Mrs Butterworth's desk, she felt damp and shivery. She borrowed a pen and notepad, and scribbled a short note:

  Dear Jack,

  Thank you for the offer of the Tower of London on

  Saturday. On second thoughts, I think it would be

  better if I don't come with you.

  Belle

  She folded the note and placed it in Jack's pigeon hole, then wandered in a daze to the common room, where Holly and Cat were sitting with Gemma and Nathan, toasting marshmallows on the open fire.

  'Belle, where've you been?' Holly gasped, making room for her to sit down. 'You're soaking!'

  'You look as if you've seen a ghost,' Cat added. 'What happened to your piano practice?'

  Belle didn't trust herself to say anything without bursting into tears, so she smiled weakly and stared into the flames.

  Just then, Jack entered the common room and came towards them. 'Hi, Belle!' He smiled at her. 'No piano practice today?'

  Belle ignored him. Talk about rubbing it in! Well, if he thought she was going to speak to him, he was very much mistaken . . .

  'I don't think Belle's feeling very well,' Holly explained. 'She got caught in the rain.'

  'You'd better change out of those wet things,' Jack said in a concerned voice. 'You'll get a chill . . .'

  Like you'd care! Belle thought. How could he act as if nothing had happened? He obviously thought she didn't know about his secret love-tryst with Bianca in the practice room. And he probably hadn't checked his pigeon hole yet so he hadn't seen her note.

  Belle risked a quick glance at Jack's face through her curtain of dripping hair. He was looking at her with a confused, hurt expression. Well, tough! What did he expect if he was going to get all smoochy with Bianca?

  'Yes, I am starting to feel sick,' Belle said through clenched teeth. 'I'm going to bed.' She mustered her last shreds of dignity and stalked out of the room with her head held high.

  She would never, ever trust Jack Thorne again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Holly: Tumble-dryers and Broken Hearts

  What on earth had happened to Belle? Holly wondered as she and Cat ran after their friend. She wasn't the kind of girl to even leave her room without perfectly straightened hair and a co-ordinated designer outfit. But she'd lurched into the common room with mascara running down her face and mud spattered over her boots.

  Belle threw herself down on her bed and, with the help of a cup of camomile tea and a hot-water bottle, eventually sobbed out the story of Jack's Treachery.

  'The stinking slimebeast!' Cat shouted. 'How dare he? And with Bianca of all people! The boy's insane, as well as a two-timing sleazebag!'

  'Maybe things weren't how they looked?' Holly suggested, unable to believe that Jack could be so out-and-out monstrous as to cheat on Belle only two days after asking her on a date. 'Perhaps there's some other explanation?'

  Belle snorted into her tea. 'I know what I saw!'

  'Hols, just because you're going out with one of the few decent boys on the planet, don't try and make excuses for that scumball!' Cat stormed. 'Some other explanation? Let's see . . . Oh yes, maybe Bianca asked him to check her wisdom teeth for her – with his tongue?'

  'Aaarghh!' Belle wailed.

  Holly knew better than to try to defend Jack further. The case against him did look pretty conclusive, she had to admit. But she couldn't help wondering. Bianca would do anything to get what she wanted. And she would do anything to get one up on Belle. Conning Jack into kissing her, just when she knew Belle would be there to witness the event, would tick both those boxes.

  But how could you possibly trick a boy into kissing you?

  Then again, Bianca wasn't playing Hecate, Goddess of Witchcraft, for nothing!

  The next morning, as Holly swam up and down the pool with Ethan, she was still pondering the Belle, Jack and Bianca situation. But she didn't come up with any answers.

  Jack seemed like such a genuine guy
, in spite of his Pirate Boy looks. Surely he couldn't have been faking how much he liked Belle – Holly had seen the way he looked at her – at the football match and at the bonfire party.

  The last lesson of the morning was history. As Holly sat down between Cat and Belle near the back of the class, Jack turned round in his seat and glanced uncertainly at Belle. She ignored him. She was wearing a glazed, rigid look, but as they unpacked their books, she returned Holly's smile bravely.

  As usual, Miss Chase-Smythe was talking like the Queen or an old-fashioned newsreader. 'In the Tudor period,' she began, switching on the projector, 'traitors would be imprisoned, tortured and even executed, here in the Tarv-Londen . . .'

  The Tarv-Londen? Where was that? Holly wondered, squinting at the slide on the screen. It looked just like – oh, yes, it was . . . the Tower of London.

  Uh-oh! she thought, instantly turning to check Belle's reaction. Her smile had faded. Now a silent tear was rolling down her cheek.

  Perhaps Miss Candlemas was right, and boys really were more trouble than they were worth. Holly gave Belle's hand a little squeeze under the desk.

  It wasn't just tumble-dryers they broke. It was hearts too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Cat: Mini-Molls and Giant Peaches

  The following Tuesday morning Cat was snoozing away her last few seconds, visualizing exactly how she would take the dagger from Macbeth's hands at the end of the murder scene—

  DRRIIINNNNGGGG! DRRIIINNNNGGG!

  Cat high-jumped off her bed.

  She hated Belle's alarm clock more than she had ever hated anything in her life – and that included pickled gherkins!

  They'd devised a system whereby Belle set the alarm to go off again ten minutes after she went out for her yoga class or run at 6 a.m. The clever part was that she positioned it by the door, so that Cat had to get out of bed to turn it off.

  Painful as it was, the system worked. Cat was getting so organized, she'd soon be graduating from Time Management for Dummies to Time Management for Experts. And Mrs Salmon hadn't found anything to yell at her about for ages!