It sounded dry and bitter in his mouth, the word “Gabriel,” like he’d accidentally swallowed gunpowder. The name seemed to upset him.
“He’s just a kid in my year, Dad. I barely even know him.”
“The school needs to know about this.” He scraped his hair back from his forehead. “I’m calling the principal in the morning.”
“N-no, please don’t,” I stammered, tears rising in my throat. “It won’t happen again, Dad, it’s just idiots joking around. Please don’t tell the school.”
The last thing I needed at Caversham High was more attention.
“Dad…?”
There was the slightest tremor in my voice, and Dad heard it too. His face changed, softened, and he faltered forward, arms rising, as if to embrace me. His hand brushed my shoulder and I flinched, stepping away.
“Kiddo, come on. I didn’t mean to upset you. This is…” He looked down at the poster. “This is horrible. Are you all right?”
I dumped my bag by the wall.
“I don’t care, Dad. It’s just idiots at school.”
He touched a cautious hand to my shoulder. This time, I let him.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Dad waited for me to speak, and I had to bite my tongue to keep my thoughts inside. Is there something you’re not telling me? I wanted to say. Do you want to explain what that letter means, why you don’t talk about Mum anymore, or what the hell actually happened in America? Do you want to explain that?
A light rain pattered on the windows.
“No,” I replied, and my voice sounded tiny in the dark.
We stood opposite each other for a moment, listening to the rain. Dad dropped the folded poster on the phone table.
“Fine. That’s … fine.”
Rubbing his temples, he walked down the hallway and mounted the stairs. I could hear his socked feet padding against the wood.
When he reached the landing, I picked up the sheet of paper, unfolded it, and stared at the patchy photo of me and Gabriel. A quiet dread trickled down my spine.
Someone had scratched out our eyes.
18
The next day at school, it barely let up for a minute.
Wherever I went—in the hallways, the playing fields, or the classrooms—I was followed by a constant, buzzing chatter like a swarm of blackflies. Melissa was right: most people were excited, even impressed, but that made no difference to me. I was supposed to walk these halls unnoticed, not talked about at every turn.
“That’s her … Charlie Bloom…”
“What … you mean Gabriel West from Fire&Lights? No way…”
“I’m so jealous. Do you think she had sex with him?”
“Is she famous now…?”
“I bet she’s done it with Olly too…”
“It’s so weird, I never imagined she’d be such a sl—”
“Hey,” said Melissa, sitting down next to me. She spread her science books out across the table. “How you doing?”
Mrs. Manning had been delayed by a staff meeting, and we’d been waiting in the physics lab, unattended, for nearly fifteen minutes. People were mucking around with test tubes and gossiping across tables. Behind my head, I could hear a row of boys talking about me. “I’d sleep with her, easy.”
“I’ve been better.”
One of the boys called my name. Melissa twisted round on her chair.
“Shut up, Matt.”
I closed my eyes, willing it all away. Maybe this was just a bad dream, and any second now, I would wake up.
“I wasn’t talking to you, virgin.”
“So what if I am a virgin?” said Melissa. Matt’s friends sniggered.
“Tell Charlie she can have my phone number if she wants.”
“Yeah, if she’s looking for someone to take the trash out, I’ll tell her to give you a call.”
Melissa turned back round and unzipped her pencil case.
“What a douche.”
I could feel the boys staring at me. I could feel it on my skin.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“No, I do. They can’t talk about you that way. It’s not right.”
I glanced up at Melissa and managed half a smile. She bumped her chair closer to mine.
“So anyway,” she said, in a low voice. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?”
“About your mum’s notebook. And Gabriel’s songs.”
I picked at the corner of my textbook. Despite what had happened, I’d been thinking about them too.
“You’re still going to the video shoot tomorrow, right?”
“I don’t know,” I said, scribbling a curly doodle in my workbook. “What if I end up on some fan blog again? I just want this whole thing to go away.”
“It will. I know it will.” She tugged at my sleeve. “But don’t you think you should talk to Gabriel?”
“As far as I know, he’s the whole reason this is happening to me.”
“That doesn’t change what’s in your mum’s book, though. Don’t you want to know what it means?”
I looked at her, a tangled knot in my belly. She was right, I did want to know. I had to know.
I just wasn’t sure I was ready to face Gabriel.
* * *
Are you ok, charlie?
That night, at around eight thirty, I heard from Olly. I was sitting at my desk, frowning at a half-written French essay, when his Facebook message hit my screen.
I’m ok, I wrote back. Why do you ask?
I heard about what happened
I felt queasy, embarrassed, knowing that Olly had seen the photo. It had been shared on various sites, but I somehow doubted pop stars read their own gossip columns. He must have been looking out for me.
Pretty lame, huh
Not at all. Celeb pics get leaked all the time
I suddenly remembered the confidentiality agreement I had signed. “All images will remain property of Kingdom Records. Unauthorized publication in any form is strictly prohibited.”
Will i get in trouble for this?
Of course not, it wasn’t your fault. A pause. In fact, i feel kind of responsible
What? That’s crazy
I got you involved with the band, i should have protected you from this stuff
Don’t feel guilty, olly … please
Hidden beneath my desk, nestled in its case, was the Canon EOS. I had to keep it out of my father’s sight—how would I explain a brand-new, six-hundred-pound camera?—but looking at it now, I was reminded of how sweet Olly had been the past few weeks. How much he’d done for me since I started hanging out with the band. The way that, when I was around him, I almost forgot he was a celebrity.
Hey, if it makes you feel any better, your new photos are up on our fan page
Really? No way …
Check em out :)
Pushing my essay aside, I loaded up the Fire&Lights website and headed straight for Fan HQ. Several rows of photos from my Brighton reel had been published on the page, and they’d already amassed thousands of views. Aiden with his guitar, singing “Viva la Vida,” Yuki horsing around in his Gabriel West mask, the band lined up in the VIP enclosure signing autographs.
Underneath the photos were strings of glowing comments from excited fans. No hate, no insults, just compliments.
D’you know what? I wrote back to Olly. That does make me feel better :)
I know this fan blog stuff really sucks, but if you’re still up for coming to the shoot tomorrow, we’d love to have you … xx
I missed Olly. I’d barely seen him at the Brighton gig, and I still hadn’t thanked him properly for the camera. Apart from anything else, I knew that seeing the boys again and throwing myself into photography was guaranteed to lift my spirits. I could avoid Gabriel if I needed to. He seemed to avoid everyone else most of the time anyway.
I took a deep breath and typed my reply.
Thanks, olly. You’re the be
st. I’ll see you there
* * *
I was standing outside a noisy train station, on a busy London street, opposite a large redbrick building called the Clapham Grand. To my left, a man in a yellow waterproof was thrusting a free newspaper at me. Ahead, a lady with a sagging money belt was selling flowers, shaking a bucket of roses at passing pedestrians. Buses and taxis creaked and honked on the road.
None of these people knew it, but across the street, Fire&Lights were filming their latest music video.
“Yo yo yo, Charlie B.”
Once I’d passed security, Yuki and Aiden were the first to greet me. They were flicking a rolled-up ball of foil at each other across a large metal case.
“Hey, guys.”
I set my camera down on the floor, and Yuki interrupted their game to play-punch me on the shoulder.
“So whaddya think?” he asked, arms spread wide. “Excited to be on a real-life video shoot?”
“Sure am,” I said, looking round the building. The Clapham Grand had very high, ornate ceilings, a purple-lit bar, and a large, multicolored dance floor. It looked like someone had built a nightclub in an old theater. Temporary walls were being erected around the dance floor, and a team of engineers dressed in black were tinkering with lights and taping down cables.
Aiden was rolling the tinfoil ball beneath his finger, taking aim at Yuki.
“Good week?” he asked, looking up at me. As the words left his mouth, a deleted Instagram comment flashed up, uninvited, in my mind.
stay away from gabriel u dumb bitch
“Oh … you know. The usual crushing boredom. How about you?”
Aiden smiled.
“Yeah, same. Flew to Italy on a private jet, did some live TV. Flew back again.” He flicked the ball across the table. “Yawn.”
“It’s a hard life. Where are the others?”
Yuki looked around the building.
“Olly’s doing a phone interview for Radio One, and Gabriel’s … uh … Gabriel’s off somewhere.”
I sat down on the arm of a chair and picked at the fabric. The boys batted their miniature soccer ball back and forth.
“Seems like Gabriel’s always … off somewhere.”
“Huh?” said Yuki, without looking up.
“I mean, it’s just … I don’t know, at the concerts I’ve been to, he never hangs out with you guys before the show.”
Yuki and Aiden halted their game and exchanged silent glances.
“What?” I asked. Aiden tugged his jumper down over his waist.
“Look, don’t tell anyone this, but—”
“Whoa, Aid … Aid. Chill out, bro,” interrupted Yuki, with a forced laugh. “Charlie doesn’t care about all that.”
“About what?” I asked. Yuki waved the conversation away.
“Nothing. Enough about Gabe. Who wants a snack?”
He grabbed a banana from a nearby fruit bowl and pointed it at me.
“I’m fine … thanks,” I said, confused. Why were they being so secretive?
“Are you sure?” Yuki peeled the sides of his banana, one by one. “Long day ahead of us, Charlie B.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Video shoots are basically four hours of hanging around, nine minutes of prancing about, and then another million bajillion hours of sitting on your bum.”
He chewed his banana and grinned.
“It’s so dull,” clarified Aiden, his arms hanging loose by his sides. “People think our lives are, like, twenty-four-hour partying, but they are so not.”
“Oh no, my friend,” corrected Yuki, wagging the banana at his bandmate. “My life is totally a twenty-four-hour party. I’m partying right now. Check me out.”
Yuki leaped onto the corner of the multicolored dance floor and, banana poking from his mouth, proceeded to moonwalk into the center, weaving around kneeling engineers.
Aiden and I applauded and whooped, and Yuki started to body-pop.
“Can you move out of the way?” came a voice to my right. A stage tech was waiting to get by, holding a stack of lighting gels. “Trying to do my job here.”
I mumbled apologies and shuffled from his path.
“Is your stage team always this moody?” I asked Aiden, when the tech was out of earshot.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know…” I looked back over my shoulder at the man with the lighting gels as he disappeared into a store cupboard. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it kind of feels like everyone who works for you guys … hates me.”
Aiden peered back at me.
“What are you talking about?”
Yuki rejoined us, launching the tinfoil ball at his bandmate. It pinged off Aiden’s head.
“I don’t know,” I said, folding my arms. “I just feel like I’m in the way all the time. Which is weird, because your management are the ones who wanted me here in the first place.”
“Come again?” said Yuki.
“You know, the whole thing about wanting young photographers to do your backstage pics, and … uh … why are you looking at me like that?”
Yuki’s face had creased up.
“What are you talking about?”
“Olly said that—”
“You think Barry King would want more young people hanging around here? That guy?” Yuki was pointing backward at the stage. “Teenagers irritate him.”
“Keep your voice down,” hissed Aiden, glancing around the room.
“Naaah, I don’t care,” scoffed Yuki. “I’ve made that man more money than Richard Branson. He can kiss my Japanese ass.”
Aiden swallowed uncomfortably.
“Anyway,” continued Yuki, “point is, more kids bombing about is the last thing Barry wants. If he had his way we wouldn’t let any groupies in here at all.” He stopped himself and smirked. “Not that you’re a groupie, obviously.”
My cheeks blushed crimson. Did he know about the fan blog?
“But if the management team don’t want me involved,” I asked, “then why am I here?”
Yuki and Aiden shared a puzzled look. Just as they were about to speak, we were interrupted.
“Hi, guys.”
It was Olly.
All three of us went quiet.
“What’s wrong with you two? Hi, Charlie.”
I waved a little hello. Yuki stumbled on his words, then cleared his throat.
“Erm … Aid, don’t we have to go and … do that … thing?”
Aiden wasn’t listening. Yuki kicked him on the shin.
“Oh. Yeah!” exclaimed Aiden, awakening. “That … thing. We’re off to do a thing.”
“What’s up with them?” asked Olly, with a laugh, as his bandmates walked away across the venue, nattering at each other. I told him I didn’t know, but the thought nagged at me. If this whole thing wasn’t part of some Fire&Lights scheme, then why had Olly invited me here?
He touched a hand to my shoulder.
“You feeling better?”
I took a deep breath.
“Honestly?” I asked.
“Honestly.”
“Then no.”
Despite my answer, we both laughed.
“I think I know how to cheer you up,” he said, tapping a finger against his lips. “D’you wanna see something really cool?”
He extended an arm toward me, and I felt my fingers tingle.
“Sure,” I said, and he wrapped his hand around mine.
* * *
“Not a bad view, right?” Olly said, as he led me out onto the Clapham Grand’s upper circle. Like the ground floor, it was decorative and lavish, with gold-rimmed windows and luxurious red wallpaper. We had the whole level to ourselves.
“Amazing,” I said in a half whisper, sitting down next to him on the front row. You could see everything from up here: the set, the lighting rig, the auditorium, engineers banging about on the dance floor.
“Most people don’t get to see this place when it’s empty,” said Olly, leaning his elbo
ws on the banister. “Thought you might get a kick out of it.”
Olly was right—the building looked stunning—but as I surveyed the view, I couldn’t help thinking of Gabriel. The way he’d swept me out onto that stage in Brighton, the glare from the lights, the pin-drop silence. The feeling that we were the only two people in the world.
“Charlie?”
Olly tilted his head at me.
“Huh?”
“Everything all right?” he asked.
I shook off the memory, and smiled.
“Sure, course.”
“You seemed miles away, that’s all.”
“No, sorry. Was just … distracted. This is awesome.”
“Wait,” said Olly, slipping his phone from his pocket. “I’m not done yet.”
Olly speed-dialed a number and waited for an answer. After a couple of rings, the call connected.
“Yo, Danny. It’s Olly.” A voice from the other end. “No, I know, I’m upstairs. I’m calling for a favor.”
On the ground floor, someone knocked a piece of equipment over and cursed loudly.
“You’re standing at the desk, right?” asked Olly, peering over the balcony. “Yep. I see you. Listen, I want to show Charlie something. Can you run the live intro for me?”
The voice on the other end sounded angry. Olly held a hand in the air.
“No … yep, I know, I know … Danny, you won’t get in trouble, I promise.” More grumbling from the end of the line. “Charlie … Charlie Bloom. She’s our backstage photographer.” My face flushed when he said this. “No, seriously, it’s fine … you can tell them I talked you into it.”
The disembodied voice moaned down the receiver. Whatever Olly was trying to do, it wasn’t working.
“OK,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I tell you what. You do this for me, and I’ll make you my plus one at the FHM Awards next week. Sound good?” Olly waited and, slowly nodding, directed a thumbs-up at me. “Yeah, there you go. I love ya, Danny. Catch you later.”
Olly hung up the call and directed my attention to the stage. Nothing was happening.
“What am I supposed to…?”
“Just one second,” said Olly, gesturing for me to lean on the banister next to him. “Now watch this.”
In front of my eyes, the set began to change. The house lights dropped and the stage filled with dry ice, billowing smoke, and white, searching spotlights. A booming soundtrack was building through the speakers.
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