‘Well, you can sit down and shut up for now, Amber.’ Jazz dived for the remote control. ‘It’s time for Who’s in the House?’
At that very moment the telephone rang.
‘Oh, really!’ Jazz said crossly. ‘Who could be so inconsiderate as to ring at the exact second Who’s in the House? starts?’
Dad went out to answer it while we watched the recap of Shannon Pickering being kicked out, much to Jazz’s glee.
‘Sorry, got to pop out.’ Dad poked his head round the door. ‘It’s that big engineering project we’ve got on at work. One of my colleagues needs some help.’
‘How even more inconsiderate,’ Jazz grumbled. ‘You’re going to miss the programme now, Dad.’
‘Record it,’ Dad instructed, ‘and I’ll watch it later.’
Dad left, and we watched as the remaining five contestants were told their trial for the day, which involved balancing jellies on various parts of their anatomy. Classy.
‘Oh my God!’ Romy Turner squealed dramatically through her obviously fake, cushion-like lips. ‘I’ll never be able to do this!’
‘Don’t worry,’ Molly said, sliding a comforting arm around her, ‘I’ll help you.’
Jazz, Geena, Auntie and I groaned.
‘Why wasn’t she that sweet when she stayed with us?’ Jazz remarked.
‘Oh, come now, girls,’ said Uncle Jai. ‘She wasn’t that bad.’
‘You wouldn’t know,’ Auntie retorted – a bit tartly, I thought, for someone who’d only been married a few weeks. ‘You’re a man.’
‘Yes, thank you for clearing that one up,’ Uncle Jai said.
Auntie’s eyes narrowed slightly. I tried to turn a little so that I could look at both of them while pretending to watch the TV. Geena and Jazz were doing the same, Jazz almost tying herself into a knot like Kaa the python in Disney’s The Jungle Book.
‘All I’m saying—’ Auntie began. Then she stopped abruptly as she noticed three pairs of ears flapping like clothes on a washing line. ‘Jasvinder, is there something wrong with your neck?’
‘No,’ Jazz muttered, uncoiling herself.
Auntie jumped to her feet as the first ad break began. ‘I’ll get some more crisps,’ she snapped.
She stalked out. We all turned and stared at Uncle Jai.
‘And I’ll just go and help your auntie – er – open the crisp packet,’ he said feebly and hurried off.
‘Well!’ Jazz said in a stage whisper. ‘What was that all about?’
‘You know how Molly always flirted like mad with Uncle Jai when she was here,’ I reminded her. ‘Auntie probably still gets a bit wound up about it.’
‘But we’ve been watching the show for ages now, and she’s always treated it as a joke before today,’ Geena pointed out. ‘What’s changed?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, feeling a little worried. ‘But something’s just not right.’
Chapter Four
‘HEY, AMBER!’
As we went through the school gates the following morning, someone called out my name. I spun round, half expecting to see Commandant Gareth and his henchwoman Soo-Lin. I’d changed my trainers, but I’d carefully chosen a blue pair, the colour of which was mid-way between dark and light. I felt quite satisfied as I contemplated the many arguments I could have with Gareth about whether my trainers were dark enough to comply with school rules. Geena, however, had rebelliously stuck with the same hoops, declaring that she’d just whip them out of her ears if she saw Gareth coming.
But it wasn’t Gareth at all. Instead George Botley came ambling towards us.
‘Hi, George,’ I called. ‘Come to update me on your plan to get us an appointment with Mr Morgan?’
‘I don’t have a plan,’ said George.
I smiled sympathetically. ‘Well, never mind, George. The main thing is never to give up and to keep on trying. You know the old saying, don’t you? try, try and try again If at first you don’t succeed—’
‘No, you don’t get it,’ George broke in. ‘There is no plan because I’ve already done it.’
‘WHAT!’ I yelled. Geena, Jazz, Kiran and Kim were too stupefied even to laugh.
‘Mr Morgan says he’ll see you today straight after the lunch bell,’ George explained patiently. ‘But you’ll have to be quick because he’s only got about five minutes.’
‘But . . .’ I was opening and closing my mouth like a fish gasping for air.
‘I’ll just pretend you’ve said thanks then, shall I?’ George asked, looking a teeny bit miffed.
‘Oh, wait a minute.’ I was beginning to recover my composure. ‘I get it. We turn up at lunch time and Mr Morgan has “unexpectedly” had to go out. Nice try, George.’
‘I’m disappointed in you, Amber,’ George replied, raising his eyebrows. ‘Mrs Capstick has written it down in the diary. Go and ask her.’
I stared at him uncertainly. ‘But – but – I don’t understand!’ I wailed. ‘How? When? Mr Morgan’s never here, and when he is, he’s never available!’
George shrugged. ‘It was easy,’ he replied. ‘I waited in the car park last night until he came out of school.’
We all goggled at him.
‘Well, he had to come out sometime, didn’t he?’ George pointed out. ‘I only had to wait about half an hour.’
‘And?’ I interjected faintly.
‘He was pretty surprised to see me,’ George went on. ‘But I’d polished his car with my jumper while I was waiting, so he was dead impressed. I asked him if he had a few minutes today to see you and he said yes, and sent me back into school to tell Mrs Capstick.’
‘How brilliantly straightforward,’ Geena murmured. ‘The kind of simple idea you couldn’t even begin to get your head around, Amber.’
George looked rather offended. ‘Are you saying I’m a bit simple?’
‘Not at all, George,’ Geena assured him. ‘We’re all mightily impressed with your intelligence and tenacity. Especially Amber.’
Geena, Jazz, Kiran and Kim all turned to stare at me. Now that they’d got over the initial surprise, they were smirking horribly.
‘Yes, very well done, George,’ I said with as much dignity as I could manage. ‘Now I think you should take a short break before I give you your next task. We don’t want you overdoing things.’
‘OK.’ George winked, but I think it was more at the others than at me. Then he strolled away. I had a rather gloomy feeling that although I’d thought I was getting the better of him, George was actually getting the better of me.
‘He’s beating you hands down, Amber,’ Jazz remarked gleefully. ‘I’m starting to like him!’
‘Me too,’ said Geena. ‘This daily humiliation of Amber by George Botley is really livening up the school day.’
‘Well, prepare for your own daily dose of humiliation,’ I replied. ‘Gareth Parker is heading straight towards us.’
With a shriek of surprise Geena clapped her hands over her ears, hiding her hoops from view.
‘He’s staring at your trainers, Amber,’ Kiran said as Gareth and Soo-Lin homed in on us.
‘I’m looking forward to this.’ I had been formulating my arguments all morning and was completely prepared to compete with Gareth in a battle of wits.
‘I’m glad to see you’ve changed your trainers, Amber,’ he said, and then turned immediately to Geena, leaving me furious and sulking. ‘Let me see your earrings, please.’
‘No.’ Geena looked defiant, hands still clamped over her ears.
Gareth looked nonplussed. ‘Geena, remove your hands please.’
‘No,’ said Geena. ‘And you can’t make me.’
The rest of us broke into whoops and cheers, and a curious crowd began to drift towards us from other parts of the playground.
‘Stop acting like a five-year-old,’ Gareth ordered, ‘or I’ll tell Mr Grimwade!’
‘Who’s the five-year-old now?’ Geena snapped.
They faced off for a moment and then Gareth, re
d-faced, stomped away without another word. Soo-Lin scuttled after him. Everyone standing around us broke into spontaneous applause.
‘You’d better take the hoops off, just in case he does tell Grimwade, Geena,’ I cautioned.
‘He wouldn’t dare,’ Geena replied, flushed with victory.
The bell rang just after that, and the morning began. I have to admit, I didn’t totally believe George until we went to the school office at lunch time. Mrs Capstick was at her computer when we tapped and went in.
‘Er – we have an appointment to see Mr Morgan,’ I said apologetically, half expecting her to jump to her feet, denounce us as charlatans and liars, and throw us out.
‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Capstick glanced at the diary. ‘I’ll just make sure he’s free.’
She led us across to the connecting door that opened into the headteacher’s office. There we all paused and Mrs Capstick put her finger to her lips. Then she knocked ever so gently on the door.
‘Come,’ called Mr Morgan.
We made a move forward, only to be stopped in our tracks by a look from Mrs Capstick. She put her head round the door, still keeping us firmly at bay.
‘It’s the Dhillon girls to see you, Mr Morgan. But I can send them away if you’re busy.’
We rolled our eyes at each other.
‘No, no, show them in,’ said Mr Morgan, to our relief.
Mrs Capstick stepped back and majestically threw the door wider open. I rushed forward, desperate to get in there, Jazz and Geena breathing down my neck. I just hoped the phone didn’t ring while we were there and make us lose our precious five minutes.
Mr Morgan – tall and thin and wearing his famous, permanently harassed expression – was seated at his desk. His computer was switched on and he was surrounded by many hundreds of bits of paper.
‘Hello, girls.’ He took off his spectacles and laid them on the desk. ‘What did you want to see me about?’ He sounded mildly surprised that anyone should want to see him.
‘Well, it’s like this, sir,’ I began, and I launched into the speech I’d prepared. I’d timed myself, and if I gabbled at top speed, I could get through it in about twelve seconds.
‘. . . and so if you could tell us how much money we’d need to raise, we’d like to go for it,’ I finished, gasping for breath, ‘and have the library named after our mum.’
Mr Morgan looked very interested, which pleased me.
‘Well, I was planning on trying to raise the money through donations from local businesses, but I must say, I think this idea shows a lot of initiative on your part, girls,’ he said, nodding his approval. ‘However . . .’
My heart sank.
‘We have a slight problem with timing,’ Mr Morgan went on. ‘Have you girls ever seen the TV programme Class Act?’
‘Class Act?’ Jazz repeated. ‘Oh, you mean that dull schools quiz that’s just for swots, nerds and freaks?’
‘The very same,’ Mr Morgan replied dryly. ‘We’ve applied for a Coppergate team to take part. If we’re selected, filming will take place in our library next term so we must have it looking good for the TV cameras.’ He steepled his fingers together and eyed us solemnly over them. ‘That means I was really hoping to have the library set up with new furniture and books by Christmas.’
‘But that’s only about six weeks away,’ Geena said in dismay.
‘No problem,’ I cut in confidently. ‘We can do it. So’ – I lowered my voice like a gangster in a film – ‘how much money are we talking about, sir?’
Mr Morgan looked rather pained. It seemed as if he didn’t much like talking about cold hard cash, although he didn’t mind spending it.
‘I’ll write it down for you.’ He reached for a piece of paper. ‘Just remember that this is only a nominal amount,’ he went on, scribbling down some figures. ‘We’ll make up the rest of what we need from the school fund, and I’m sure the PTA will be generous too.’
He handed the paper to me. As I unfolded it, I secretly hoped that it would be a little bit more than Dad’s generous donation of one thousand pounds. I really wanted to raise a good deal of the money ourselves. It would be something we could do for Mum.
I opened up the paper. £10,000, I read.
I just about managed not to drop down in a dead faint on the spot. Swallowing slightly, I passed the paper to Geena.
Geena’s eyes widened a little but she managed to keep cool. ‘Oh, right,’ she muttered, passing the paper to Jazz.
‘TEN THOUSAND POUNDS!’ Jazz yelled. ‘We couldn’t possibly raise that much!’
‘In that case—’ Mr Morgan began.
‘No, sir, we can do it,’ I said with confidence I dredged up from somewhere. ‘And we’ll do it by Christmas.’
‘Amber, are you stark staring mad?’ Jazz demanded as we left Mr Morgan’s office in a daze. ‘We’ll never get that much money, even with Dad’s donation – and by Christmas too!’
‘Look, I want this as much as you do, Amber,’ Geena added. ‘But Jazz is right. It’s impossible.’
‘Nothing’s impossible,’ I said, while secretly battering my brains to work out exactly how we were going to find this colossal amount of money. Mr Morgan had also said that he would inform Mr Grimwade, the deputy head, to tell all the teachers to give us any help they could in raising the money. But still. Ten thousand pounds.
‘Of course some things are impossible!’ Jazz snapped. ‘Climbing Mount Everest in high heels is impossible. The England football team winning the World Cup is impossible. But those things are more possible than us raising ten thousand pounds by Christmas.’
‘That’s you all over, Jazz,’ I jibed as we went out into the playground, where Kiran and Kim were waiting for us. ‘You always want to give up at the first hurdle.’
‘This is not a hurdle!’ Jazz yelled, giving me a shove. ‘It’s a great big five-metre brick wall!’
‘Don’t be a wuss!’ I shouted, flicking her ear.
‘Stop it, you two!’ Geena ordered. ‘You’re both as bad as each other.’
Jazz and I turned on her and we began slapping ineffectually at each other in a very girlie way.
‘It went well then, I see,’ Kim remarked, coming over to us with Kiran.
‘Like a dream,’ I replied sourly. ‘Morgan said yes as long as we can raise ten grand by Christmas.’
Kiran and Kim burst out laughing, then stopped dead at the looks on our faces.
‘Sorry, we thought you were joking,’ Kiran apologized.
‘OK, so how exactly are you going to do that?’ asked Kim in a very business-like manner.
‘Yes, Amber,’ Jazz eyed me sulkily. ‘How exactly are we going to do this?’
‘All we need is a plan,’ I said. ‘One – or maybe a couple – of really excellent and original fund-raising ideas. Then we’re away. And no’ – I held up a hand as everyone opened their mouths at once – ‘I don’t have any ideas yet.’
‘In that case, why don’t you just start off with something small?’ asked Kim. ‘What about a yard sale?’
‘A yard sale?’ I screeched, my voice rising about two octaves with indignation. ‘Kim, we have to raise ten thousand pounds. We need a grand design. A master plan. A sure-fire money-spinner.’
‘Well, you won’t raise any money unless you actually do something,’ Kim pointed out with maddening superiority. ‘You could still be thinking about your "grand plan" while you do the yard sale.’
Geena nodded at me. ‘Kim’s right, Amber. We have to start somewhere.’
‘I agree,’ said Jazz.
‘And you three have got enough stuff to sink the Titanic,’ Kim added. ‘You could probably raise quite a bit of money by selling some of it off.’
‘Well, OK,’ I said in a disgruntled voice. ‘You’ve bullied me into it. We’ll have a yard sale this Saturday.’
‘You could make it more interesting by turning it into a challenge,’ suggested Kiran. ‘You know, seeing which of you can make the most money.’
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‘Like it!’ Jazz said, perking up visibly. ‘I’ll win.’
‘In your dreams,’ I retorted. ‘I shall be making more money than either of you two.’
‘How very childish,’ said Geena. ‘I think my tough bargaining skills will win the day. Not that I shall actually be competing, of course.’
‘Oh, of course not,’ I scoffed.
Now that we had something to do, even if it was something as ordinary as a yard sale, it gave me a bit of a boost. We had an art lesson that afternoon, and as Kim and I finished our pencil sketches of ‘Fruit Bowl with Bananas’ a bit early, Miss Bonney allowed us to start making posters for the yard sale. At the end of the school day, I rolled them up to take home to finish.
‘Let’s hurry,’ Jazz said impatiently as I met her and Geena at the gates. ‘I want to get home and start turning out my bedroom for the yard sale. I’m going to blow you two suckers out of the water!’
‘Jazz, we are meant to be in this together,’ Geena reminded her. ‘But if you want to be so silly about it, I’ll gladly take you on – and beat you.’
‘Eat my dust!’ I informed them, taking off at top speed. I wanted to get home ahead of them and sort out my bedroom. Then there were all sorts of interesting boxes and bags up in the loft. I was sure I would find saleable items up there. And if I got to Dad and Auntie first, I could ask them for donations too.
Dad was never home from work before us, but Auntie sometimes popped over from next door to cook for us in the evenings. As I let myself in, Geena and Jazz were still pounding down the road calling out insults behind me. The house was warm and the delicious smell of baking scented the air.
I shut the door behind me and then, as an afterthought, put the safety chain on. Giggling to myself, I dropped my bag and raced upstairs. While Jazz and Geena were struggling to get in, I’d make my first foray into the loft and have a good rummage around . . .
Pulling off my school tie, I chucked it through the open door of my bedroom as I ran past. What I saw in there was so terrifying, so horrible, I skidded to a halt and almost fell back down the stairs head over heels.
Baby – yes, Baby, our one and only bird-brained, self-obsessed cousin – was sitting on my bed.
Superstar Babes Page 4