Superstar Babes

by Narinder Dhami

  ‘One hundred and twenty pounds,’ Jazz said. ‘Beat that.’

  ‘Eighty pounds,’ Geena muttered.

  ‘And I’ve got ninety-five,’ I said. ‘Jazz, you won. Well done.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m just too tired to celebrate at the moment.’ Jazz yawned. ‘I’ll make sure to rub your noses in it later.’

  ‘Just under three hundred pounds then.’ Geena frowned. ‘It’s not much, is it? Not when our target’s ten thousand.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time before Christmas,’ I said brightly. ‘We can carry on raising bits here and there, and once we get one BIG fund-raising idea, we’ll be home and dry.’

  Geena and Jazz didn’t say a word. But I could tell from the looks on their faces that they didn’t believe me.

  Not surprising really, as I didn’t even believe it myself.

  Chapter Six

  ‘ALL RIGHT,’ I said, ‘let’s brainstorm some fund-raising ideas.’

  I settled myself more comfortably on Geena’s bed. I picked up my pen in a businesslike manner. I gazed expectantly at Geena and Jazz. And the result? Complete silence.

  ‘Thank you for your input,’ I said, throwing down my pen again in a sulk.

  ‘Oh, come on, Amber,’ Geena snapped. ‘It’s not quite that easy. I can think of lots of things like sponsored walks and all that, but there’s only three of us. We’re just not going to make very much money that way.’

  ‘Geena’s right,’ said Jazz. ‘We can’t raise enough money doing normal sponsored events, so we need something different.’ She eyed me speculatively. ‘Why don’t you shave your head, Amber?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘That’s what people are always doing for Comic Relief and Children in Need,’ Jazz replied. ‘They get all their hair shaved off and people give them money.’

  ‘I’d pay to see Amber get her head shaved,’ said Geena. ‘I think that’s a cracking idea.’

  ‘I am not getting my head shaved,’ I said with emphasis. ‘Anyway, why does it have to be me? Jazz has got the longest hair.’

  ‘Forget it,’ Jazz said quickly. ‘It was just a joke.’

  Geena was frowning thoughtfully. ‘I was wondering if we couldn’t set up some kind of dating agency at school,’ she mused. ‘You know, cut out all that stupid my friend fancies your friend type thing.’

  ‘Is that how you got together with your boyfriend?’ Jazz asked, smirking.

  ‘I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend,’ Geena retorted angrily. ‘So kindly stop going on about it.’

  ‘Well, we would if we thought you were telling the truth,’ I replied.

  Geena looked quite uncomfortable. She’s never been that great at telling fibs (unlike me), and I was definitely beginning to think that Jazz was right. That, at one time or another, Geena had been out on a secret date with a real, live boy. Amazing!

  ‘A dating agency is a daft idea really,’ Geena said quickly, looking far too eager to change the subject. ‘It would probably take ages to organize.’

  ‘And we’d get blamed when people split up,’ Jazz pointed out.

  ‘OK, well, maybe not a dating agency then, but what about charging people for makeovers?’ I suggested. ‘We could be the Trinny and Susannah of Coppergate School.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Jazz. ‘There are loads of kids who haven’t got a clue when it comes to clothes, make-up and hair—’

  ‘I know who I’d nominate,’ I butted in. ‘Commandant Gareth. He’s the stereotype swot. Messy hair, glasses, biro-stained fingers and always looks like he’s walked to school through a wind tunnel.’

  ‘We could offer to make him look like David Beckham,’ said Jazz. ‘Now there’s a challenge.’

  Have you ever been thinking about something – or someone – and suddenly they appear, almost as if you’ve made it happen? I glanced idly out of the window and there, to my utter surprise, was Gareth Parker. He was a little way off, standing on the corner of our street.

  ‘There he is,’ I said, ‘and he’s got binoculars.’

  Geena and Jazz stared at me as if I was completely raving.

  ‘Gareth Parker,’ I explained impatiently. ‘He’s staring at our house through binoculars.’

  We all scrambled over to the window.

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Geena, ‘he’s not looking at our house.’

  ‘Well, what’s he doing then?’ asked Jazz.

  ‘Probably bird-watching,’ said Geena.

  ‘Ha!’ Jazz was triumphant. ‘I knew it! He probably enjoys train-spotting as well.’

  I threw open the window and leaned out. ‘Gareth!’ I called. ‘Gareth Parker!’

  Gareth jumped a metre in the air. He lowered the binoculars and stared belligerently at me.

  ‘Why are you staring at our house?’ I demanded.

  ‘I am not staring at your house,’ Gareth blustered. ‘I was watching a wagtail in that tree over there.’

  ‘I can’t see any wagtails,’ I said suspiciously. I don’t actually know what a wagtail looks like, but all I could see was ordinary old sparrows anyway.

  ‘Do you actually know what a wagtail looks like?’ Gareth asked in a superior tone.

  ‘No, because we’re not boring swotty freaks like you,’ Jazz yelled. ‘Gareth, how much would you pay for a makeover?’

  ‘What?’ Gareth looked confused.

  ‘A makeover,’ Jazz repeated impatiently. ‘We could sort out your hair and clothes and find you a girlfriend. How about it?’

  Gareth looked as horrified as if we’d offered to eat him alive. ‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ he said. And he took off down the road at speed.

  ‘He’s such a weirdo,’ Jazz remarked, closing the window. ‘I bet he’s never even kissed a girl. Ooh!’ She let out a shriek of triumph. ‘What about a kissing booth? We could sell kisses and raise money that way.’

  ‘Yes, George Botley would be bankrupt in no time,’ Geena said, smirking.

  ‘Ha ha,’ I muttered. ‘How completely non-hilarious. I can’t see Dad and Auntie going for that.’

  The bedroom door opened.

  ‘Time to go to Auntie’s, girls,’ said Dad. We’d all been invited to Sunday lunch except Baby, who’d gone to her friend’s house. Supposedly. ‘How are you getting on with your fund-raising ideas?’

  ‘Not very well,’ I replied with a sigh.

  ‘You know, you only have to ask if you’d like me to donate a bit more—’ Dad began.

  ‘Ooh, yes please!’ Jazz said.

  ‘No, but thanks anyway, Dad.’ I narrowed my eyes warningly at Jazz, who looked sullen. ‘We really want to do this ourselves.’

  I’d had so many things on my mind that I hadn’t really thought any more about Auntie and Uncle Jai not getting on so well a few days ago. But now, as soon as we went over there, I could tell straight away that things weren’t quite right. When two people have been arguing and they stop when you come into the room, you can kind of tell by the atmosphere, can’t you? And boy, was there an atmosphere in their living room.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked as we sat down at the table.

  I knew it was a mistake the minute I said it. Auntie fixed me with a cool stare while Uncle Jai fiddled with his cutlery.

  ‘What do you mean, Amber?’ Auntie asked.

  WARNING! WARNING! My brain was flashing danger signals all over the place.

  ‘Oh – er – well – nothing . . .’ My voice tailed away feebly.

  ‘Good.’ Auntie shoved a dish of roast potatoes into my hands. It was quite hot. I winced but bravely kept my mouth shut.

  ‘I thought your yard sale went brilliantly yesterday,’ Uncle Jai said warmly. ‘Well done, girls.’

  ‘I see that boy was hanging around again,’ Dad remarked, helping himself to roast chicken. ‘What’s his name – George Buttley?’

  ‘You mean George Botley,’ Auntie replied. ‘The one who has a crush on Amber.’

  Geena and Jazz giggled
. I tried to keep cool but I could feel myself turning the colour of a very, very ripe tomato.

  ‘I’m not encouraging him,’ I muttered. ‘He just seems to like me, that’s all.’

  ‘I agree, it is quite odd,’ Auntie said with a teasing smile. She seemed to have forgiven me for what I said earlier. ‘But the poor boy seems smitten.’

  ‘Amber keeps giving him tasks to do,’ bigmouth Jazz chimed in. ‘That’s why there were so many people at the sale yesterday. George Botley got them there.’

  I wilted under the curious gaze of Dad, Auntie and Uncle Jai.

  ‘Look, it’s only to keep George off my back,’ I said quickly. ‘He keeps hassling me to go out with him.’

  ‘Well, you’re far too young for that.’ Dad looked very stern. ‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’

  ‘Or me?’ Auntie added.

  ‘God, no!’ I gasped. ‘I mean – er – thank you, but I think I can handle George Botley.’

  ‘Believe me, anything that keeps George Botley out of trouble is a good thing,’ said Uncle Jai, winking at me. He’s s-o-o-o nice.

  ‘Well, tell George he can take you out on a date when you’re sixteen,’ Dad went on, ‘and not a minute before.’

  ‘Oh, the girls know the rules,’ Auntie said. ‘And I’m sure none of them would dream of breaking them. I’m right, aren’t I, girls?’

  ‘Yes, Auntie,’ we said dutifully. But I couldn’t stop myself sneaking a look at Geena. She was overplaying the dutiful, wide-eyed and innocent bit. Jazz was thinking the same thing because she kicked my ankle under the table. A bit too hard, as it happens.

  After lunch there was a general outcry when Dad said, very apologetically, that he had to pop out to the office to do a couple of hours’ work. I knew that his firm were working on this important project, but still. It was Sunday.

  ‘You know, Dad was like this just after Mum died,’ I said thoughtfully as we helped Auntie and Uncle Jai clear the table. ‘Remember? He spent lots of time at work then.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Amber?’ asked Auntie.

  ‘Well, perhaps all this fund-raising for Mum is upsetting Dad,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Reminding him of what happened. Maybe this is my fault.’

  Auntie put down the pile of dirty plates she was holding and slipped her arm around me.

  ‘Amber, that’s not the case at all. Your dad’s very proud of what you’re doing, all three of you.’

  ‘Yes, he actually told us so,’ Uncle Jai said gently. ‘Look, he probably is just very busy at work. Simple as that.’

  I nodded, although I wasn’t entirely convinced. Auntie gave me a squeeze and then picked up the plates.

  ‘Right, after we’ve loaded the dishwasher, let’s have a drive out into the countryside,’ she suggested. ‘We can pick Baby up from her friend’s house on the way.’

  ‘But she’s not expecting us till six,’ Jazz pointed out.

  ‘Exactly,’ Auntie agreed cheerfully. ‘So we’ll find out where she really is and what she’s been doing.’

  ‘Great stuff!’ Jazz said with glee.

  As we went home to get our coats, I didn’t say much. It had suddenly struck me that there seemed to be a lot of secrets around at the moment. All right, maybe Dad was just busy at work, but there was definitely something going on with Auntie and Uncle Jai. Then there was Geena and her mysterious behaviour. Even if she didn’t have a boyfriend now, my sisterly intuition had convinced me that she had been out with someone, sometime. And yet I was no closer to finding out the truth . . .

  Honestly, all these mysteries are so bad for my health.

  ‘Look, we have to decide on our next fund-raising idea,’ I said with determination as we entered the school playground on Monday morning. The weekend had ended quite amusingly with Baby being caught red-handed with Rocky in the Spicy Samosa café on the Broadway when she should have been at her friend’s house. Her subsequent sulks and tantrums had been even more entertaining than Who’s in the House?

  ‘Amber, you’ve been saying this very same thing for the last two days,’ Geena replied. ‘And we still haven’t managed to come up with anything yet.’

  ‘But we have to do something at least every week or we haven’t got a hope of raising that money by Christmas,’ I pointed out.

  ‘What about getting your heads shaved?’ Kim suggested. ‘I’d pay loads to see that.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not so bad,’ added Kiran, who has very short cropped hair.

  ‘We are not getting our heads shaved,’ said Geena.

  ‘Why don’t we ask George Botley?’ Jazz said with a smirk. ‘He’s done brilliantly with his tasks so far. He might have a few suggestions.’

  ‘No, let’s not bother George,’ I said hastily, but Jazz was already screeching his name at the top of her lungs.

  George came strolling across the playground towards us. ‘Hi, wassup?’

  ‘George, we need some fund-raising ideas and fast,’ Jazz explained. ‘Amber’s too shy to ask you—’

  ‘I am not!’ I howled.

  ‘So can you think of anything?’ Jazz went on, ignoring me.

  George looked thoughtful. ‘You could sell kisses,’ he suggested. ‘I’d buy some.’

  ‘No,’ I interjected, ‘we are not selling kisses. And we’re not shaving our heads either,’ I added, as I saw George eyeing Jazz’s long locks speculatively.

  ‘Shame.’ George pondered for another minute. ‘Well, what about a slave auction?’

  ‘A slave auction?’ Geena frowned. ‘That’s not a very PC term, is it?’

  ‘What is a slave auction anyway?’ asked Kim.

  ‘Oh, the audience bid money for each slave and the winner gets the slave for a day’s work,’ Kiran explained. ‘We had one at my old school. It was a laugh.’

  ‘George, try to keep up,’ I said patiently. ‘There are only three of us. Three slaves. That means we’re not going to be able to raise very much money.’

  ‘I’d bid loads for you, Amber,’ George replied with a rather scary wink. ‘But why do there only have to be three of you?’

  ‘Oh, well, let me see,’ I said. ‘One.’ I pointed to myself. ‘Two.’ I pointed at Jazz. ‘And three.’ I nodded at Geena. ‘See?’

  George shrugged. ‘You’ve all got loads of friends, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘Why don’t you get some of them to join in? You can make lots more money that way.’

  I stared at him in confusion. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘George, you’re a genius!’ Jazz declared. ‘I think I might give you a hug.’

  ‘OK,’ George agreed, a bit too readily for my liking.

  ‘Stay where you are, Jasvinder,’ I said sternly. ‘George, we want to raise this money ourselves—’

  ‘We are raising it ourselves,’ Geena butted in. ‘We’ll be organizing everything, won’t we? What a great idea. George, I might have to hug you too.’

  ‘Stop with all the hugging,’ I said irritably. ‘We don’t even know that our friends will want to join in.’

  ‘I will,’ said Kiran and Kim together, right on cue.

  George grinned at me.

  ‘Well, all right,’ I muttered. ‘I suppose it is a good idea.’ Good idea? It was a great idea. I just wish I’d thought of it myself.

  Now that we had our idea, courtesy of George Botley, we swung immediately into action. We dashed off to see Mr Grimwade before the bell to get his permission, and we agreed between us that we would hold the auction in the school hall on Thursday at lunch time.

  ‘A very good idea, girls,’ Mr Grimwade boomed approvingly when we had outlined all our plans. ‘You’re setting a great example for all our other pupils. I’m sure your mum would be very proud of you. And I’ll be coming along to bid for one of you, of course.’

  ‘Great,’ Geena said faintly. ‘Thanks, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I hope Grimwade doesn’t bid for me,’ I muttered as we left his office. ‘Can you imagine? He’ll have his slave cleaning
the paintwork and picking up litter in the playground.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Amber,’ said Jazz with a smirk. ‘There’s only one person who’s going to win you, and that’s George Botley.’

  ‘Yes, I wonder what your slave duties for George will involve, Amber?’ Geena mused, also smirking quite annoyingly.

  I gulped slightly. Still, if George was willing to bid a lot for me, we’d make more money that way. But if no one else bid, he might get me for ten pence. Scary thought.

  ‘I’ve just realized that we need someone to run the auction and take the bids,’ said Geena.

  ‘What about Mr Hernandez?’ I suggested. ‘People would pay just to come and see him.’ My form teacher was legendary throughout the school for his wacky dress sense and even wackier sense of humour.

  ‘Ooh, brill idea alert!’ Jazz exclaimed. ‘Why don’t all the slaves dress up? That would make it loads more fun.’

  ‘Jazz, we don’t have time to make costumes before Thursday—’ I began.

  ‘No, no, we’ll borrow them from the drama studio,’ Jazz interrupted eagerly.

  ‘Good thinking, Jasvinder,’ Geena approved.

  As we scooted off down the corridor to see Ms Woods, the head of drama, I began to feel optimistic all over again. We were getting on with the business of raising money, and we still had four weeks or so until Mr Morgan’s deadline. I was confident that I could still come up with one BIG fund-raising effort before then which would net us a whole heap of cash . . .

  But by the time Thursday, the day of the slave auction, came round, I was feeling rather annoyed again. The only thing everyone was talking about at school that morning was Who’s in the House? The night before there had been an unexpected mid-week eviction and Katy Simpson (who wasn’t famous but was the ex-wife of someone who was famous) had got the boot. So now there were only three contestants left for the Grand Finale tomorrow – Luke Lee, Romy Turner and Molly Mahal.

  ‘Who’s in the House? has really stolen our limelight,’ I complained as we wandered through the playground. ‘Do you think anyone will even remember that there’s a slave auction today?’

  ‘Well, Mr Morgan will mention it again in assembly this morning,’ Geena replied. ‘And it’s really cold today. So loads of kids will come to watch rather than freeze to death outside.’