He was staring at my hat with lowered brow, like he was trying to see through it. I couldn’t speak, I just sat there rooted to the stool as he lifted a hand toward the top of my head.
Gently, he removed my hat, unleashing a few random strands of hair. They were messed up and matted from being shoved inside the hat, and I pawed at them self-consciously to flatten out the kinks.
“I knew it,” he said.
“Knew … what?”
I was so uncomfortable without my hat, I could barely look at him.
“You are, far and away, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”
It felt like my heart had stopped. The silence in the room seemed to grow, to swell up and envelop me, and all I could hear was my own breathing, rushing through my skull. When I thought about it—really, honestly thought about it—there was a 99.9 percent chance that Gabriel was lying.
But that 0.1 percent was killing me.
“You shouldn’t tease people like that.”
His eyes narrowed at this, like he was offended, and he tilted his head to the side, still watching. Always watching. Then, he seemed to lean forward, imperceptibly, into the space between us, and suddenly I knew.
I knew, with a certainty that shook me inside, that Gabriel West was going to kiss me.
20
“Hey, Gabriel! You still up here?”
A voice from the corridor. Olly’s voice.
“Gabe?”
Gabriel and I shared a guilty look. I stood up and stepped away from him, but Olly was already standing in the doorway.
“Oh … Charlie?”
Olly was holding two bottles of water. He looked at Gabriel, then at me.
“What’s going on?”
The short silence felt hot, and heavy.
“We were just … doing some photos,” I said. We all looked at my camera, which I’d discarded on the sofa. It was still in its case.
Olly grabbed the door handle.
“We need you downstairs.”
Gabriel closed one eye.
“Really? Charlie was about to nail ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’”
Olly didn’t laugh.
“Jesus, Gabe, it’s not up to me.” He stepped back out into the corridor. “Stay up here if you want—I’m not your minder.”
“OK, chill, I’m coming,” said Gabriel, standing up from the piano. He grabbed his bag from the corner of the room, but Olly had already disappeared.
“Olly, dude, slow down…”
Gabriel hurried out into the hallway, then stopped, spun on his heel, and leaned back into the room.
“I forgot: here’s your hat.” He tossed it through the air, and I caught it. “But, Charlie…”
“Uh-huh?”
“Your hair … I like it that way.”
I touched a hand to my head, my hair still matted, and a wavy lock tumbled down into my face.
When I looked up, Gabriel was gone.
* * *
“Aiden Roberts … Yuki Harrison … Olly Samson … Gabriel West…”
The booming voice-over filled the entire building, dry-ice vapor billowing across the stage, spotlights breaking through like car headlights in the mist. The moving platform was descending steadily toward the stage, and the four members of Fire&Lights were lined up across it, lit dramatically from behind. Watching from the floor, I could feel the bass drum pumping in the soles of my feet.
“… Ladies and gentlemen, Fire … & … LI—”
“Stop, whoa! Stop. Kill it.” A woman in a blue fleece walked out from the wings, batting the smoke away with her hands. She looked out across the venue, shielding her eyes, and the soundtrack disappeared. “Thanks, Danny. Now why does this keep happening … are the cues off or something…?”
This, I was fast learning, was the reality of a pop music video shoot. Just as the band were getting into full flow, something would go wrong and the stage manager would stride out onto the stage, brow creased, complaining about some problem to do with timing, framing, or the position of the lights. The boys’ faces would drop, and they’d spend the next twenty-five minutes sitting on the edge of the stage, kicking their legs and throwing peanuts at each other.
This may not have been great for the shoot schedule, but it worked out perfectly for me. Some of my best photos came from moments like this.
“Hey, guys,” said Yuki, grabbing a fistful of nuts from the bowl. “You know, um … you know SpongeBob SquarePants?”
Aiden was flicking at his phone. He didn’t look up.
“Yeah?”
Yuki leaned forward and, in a hushed tone, said: “His pants, man … they’re not square.”
Gabriel sneered at this.
“Shut up, they are.”
“I’m telling you, bro,” said Yuki, tossing nuts into his mouth, “his pants aren’t square. They’re rectangular. They’re freaking cuboid.”
Gabriel stole a nut from Yuki’s hand and flashed him a smile. I hit the shutter release, capturing it perfectly.
“So what if they are?” said Gabriel.
“I’m just saying,” said Yuki, through the crunching of nuts, “that’s his defining feature, and it’s based on a lie. Dude’s a fraud. They should call him SpongeBob RectangularPants.”
Behind the camera, I let out a little laugh. Yuki pointed at me.
“Yeeeah. Charlie knows.”
“One of you guys is standing a little out of place up there.”
I peered over the viewfinder. The stage manager in the blue fleece was addressing the boys.
“Olly,” she said, “I think it’s you.”
Olly was standing at the buffet table, with his back to us.
“I doubt it. I was really careful in that last take.” He picked up a sandwich, inspected it, and put it down again. “It’s probably Gabe.”
The stage manager turned to Gabriel, who exhaled loudly.
“I’m on the end, Olly. It’s not gonna be me.”
Olly stood completely still.
“That’s right, ’cause it couldn’t possibly be Gabriel, could it?”
Gabriel’s eyebrows shot upward. Yuki and Aiden looked up from their phones.
“What did you just say?” replied Gabriel, dropping off the stage and walking toward the buffet table.
Unaware of his approach, Olly picked up a bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, and took a swig.
“Olly.” Gabe was standing right behind him now. “I’m talking to you.”
Olly turned round, finding himself face-to-face with his bandmate. He straightened to meet Gabriel’s gaze and ran a forearm across his mouth.
“Look, I don’t really care what we do. Let’s just get this right.”
The stage manager checked her watch.
“Yes, please.” Then, under her breath: “Or we’ll never get out of here.”
As Olly pushed past him, Gabriel threw me a glance, his face dark with irritation, and I couldn’t resist. I hit the button and caught it on camera.
* * *
TROUBLE IN PARADISE??
Is this Gabriel West and Olly Samson FIGHTING at a live concert…?!
Can it really be true?? Does this fan video show Gabriel & Olly getting into a scrap at the Fire&Lights concert in Bournemouth on Sunday…?? It can’t be!!!
No one else managed to film it, so this ten-second video is all we have … and it’s pretty blurred … but it looks like Gabriel steps in front of Olly in the middle of a song, and Olly shoves him out of the way!! WTF?
If it’s true, what were they fighting over? Chances are it’s probably a girl, right?? :) :) Who would you choose, F&L fans? Olly or Gabriel…?? COMMENTS BELOW!!!!!! :) :) xxx
xox FIRE&LIGHTS FOREVER xox The best Fire&Lights fan blog on the web!!
* * *
* * *
“This is unbelievable. Do you know what they were fighting about?”
Melissa and I were sitting together in art class, working on charcoal drawings. The room was busy with gentle scribbl
ing.
“No idea.”
“It’s not … they weren’t fighting over you, were they?”
I picked up a fresh stick of charcoal.
“Good one, Melissa.”
“What? It could happen…”
The video of Olly and Gabriel was pretty poor quality, but it definitely showed some kind of scuffle. There was something brewing between them, and the longer I spent with the band, the more obvious it became.
“Seriously, though. Think about it. Olly’s buying you all this stuff, Gabriel’s writing songs about you—”
“Olly bought me one thing, Mel. And as for Gabe … we still don’t know what any of that means.”
Secretly, though, Gabriel’s song from Saturday was circling in my head. Those familiar words, the soothing sound of the piano. His rich, husky voice. One day, she will run away …
“So ask him, then.”
“What am I supposed to say?” I put down my charcoal stick. “Hey, Gabe, I know you’re the world’s biggest pop star and everything, but did you steal all your lyrics off my mum?”
Melissa sucked the end of her pencil.
“That could work.”
Somebody tapped me on the back. I sat up, swiveled round, and a small folded note was dropped into my hand. Miss Woods glanced up from her marking.
“Tracy, sit down, please.”
A nearby table of girls whispered to each other, giggling, and at the edge of my vision I saw Tracy Sales slipping back into her chair.
Calm returned to the classroom. I unfolded the note.
is it true? about you and gabriel? we can’t believe it, he is crazy hot!!!! are you still hanging out with him?? we’re having a party on saturday, u should come. free house. RSVP … tracy/mia/holly/erica xoxoxo
I screwed up the note and dropped it on the table. Even if I was interested in using my newfound notoriety to become popular at school, which I wasn’t, all this did was remind me of the things people had said on my Instagram feed the week before. People I had never met, who didn’t know a single thing about me.
stop tryin to get famous, slut
ur desperate & ugly
gabriel doesn’t want u skank
why don’t u shut up & die
“I’m popping down to the design suite for some pens, Year Eleven,” said Miss Woods, rising from her chair. “I’ll be five minutes—please try to behave while I’m gone.”
As soon as she was out of earshot, chatter bubbled up in the room.
“You coming for drinks on Friday?”
“I’m thinking of getting highlights, whaddya reckon?”
“I heard she slept with both of them.”
“What, you mean Charlie Bloom?”
“Nah, I reckon she made it up.”
“She’s got, like, four million haters now.”
And then, from Aimee Watts: “The bitch had it coming.”
I stood up. Melissa grabbed my hand and whispered something urgently to me, but I tugged myself free. Aimee was sitting a few rows behind us in between Gemma, Jamie, and Sam. My hands balled into fists.
“If you have something to say, Aimee, say it to my face.”
Her nose twitched.
“All right then. You had it coming.”
I stepped forward, through the desks. Students scraped their chairs out of the way, as if to clear a battleground.
“I know you posted that picture through my door.”
“What picture?”
The whole class was watching us.
“Don’t bother, Aimee.”
“What? Give it a rest—I don’t even know where you live.”
I prickled with anger.
“All you ever do is lie.”
“Who are you, the police?”
I didn’t move. Melissa said my name quietly behind me.
“Come on then, Charlie,” goaded Aimee. “What are you gonna do?”
It was a good question. What was I going to do?
“You’re not worth it,” I said, stepping back toward my desk. But as I did, she whispered three words into the air.
“Thirty-three Tower Close.”
A fuse went in my brain. I turned on Aimee, my vision clouded with anger, tables jabbing into my thighs, but before I knew what was happening, I was being dragged backward by Melissa through a tangled mess of furniture. Miss Woods was standing in the doorway, a box of marker pens in hand, watching us, agog.
“Charlie? Melissa…?” She wandered into the classroom. “This isn’t like you two. What’s happening?”
I looked at Aimee. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, mouth hanging open.
“Nothing,” I said, straightening my crumpled shirt.
“Well … good. Good.” She inspected the scattered furniture. “Tables and chairs back to where they belong, please. Dear me, Year Eleven.”
In subdued silence, people began rearranging their tables and sliding back into their seats. Miss Woods crossed over to the whiteboard, pulling open her box of pens and muttering under her breath.
As I sat down, I couldn’t stop myself looking back in Aimee’s direction one more time. She returned my gaze and pulled her lips back into a smile.
* * *
The nights were drawing in. We were deep into winter now, and it was dark by the time I arrived home from school. My father and I were keeping our distance: we ate meals together, we made small talk, but we didn’t discuss Aimee’s poster, or Dad’s study, or my mother. We kept to ourselves, mostly, and my evenings were spent chatting with Melissa online and wading through homework.
One night, I was sitting at my desk, science homework open on my laptop, when my phone beeped with a message.
I’ve had an idea
It was Gabriel.
Is that so? I replied.
His speech bubble flickered at me, and while I sat there, waiting for his response, a Facebook notification popped up on my computer.
Hey charlie
It was Olly.
My gaze hopped from my computer, to my phone, and back again.
How are things?
Not bad, I started to write, if you happen to be a fan of ionic compou
Ping. Another message from Gabriel.
Come away with me
I stared at the words. What did he mean? Away … where?
What are you talking about?
When my message had sent, I finished writing back to Olly. Gabriel’s reply hit my phone.
We’re down in the southwest this weekend, couple of shows in devon, bristol. You should come
I can’t
Olly, on my computer screen:
I’ve been thinking … we’re playing some shows on the coast this weekend—be great if you could join us?
I pressed my fingers to my temples. The light from my laptop was pulsing in my eyes.
I’ll get you a hotel room, said Gabriel, you can ride on the tour bus. Proper rock ’n’ roll
I returned to my computer.
I’d love to come, olly … i just don’t know if i can
Ping. Gabriel.
I want to spend some proper time with you
Blip. Olly.
Sure, i understand. But if it helps, we’ll organize your hotel, you can travel on the bus. It’ll be fun, i promise :)
My breathing quickened. I didn’t know who to reply to first.
It’d give us a chance to hang out properly, added Olly.
I know you’re there, charlie brown. Gabriel.
Up to you, obviously …
I won’t take no for an answer
I slammed my laptop shut and tossed my phone onto the bed.
My room was suddenly quiet.
A whole weekend away from home? Breaking curfew by an hour was one thing, but this was in a different league.
I looked out of the window. Naked trees shivered in the inky, black air, and across the garden, Melissa’s bedroom window shone yellow in the darkness. Olly and Gabriel stared at me from a poster on
her wall.
I wanted to go. I wanted to get away from home, from Caversham High, and lose myself for two days. I wanted to see Olly and Gabriel, and Yuki and Aiden, and soak up the noise of the concerts, hide behind my camera and forget about the mess at school.
But that would mean lying to my father again.
And this lie would have to be big.
21
I knocked on the door three times. Tower Close was frosty and silent all around me, curtains half closed, light from televisions spilling through the gaps. The air had that distinctive wintry scent, smoky and clean, like bonfires in the distance.
The hallway light clicked on.
“Oh, hey there, Charlie,” said Rosie, standing in the doorway in slippered feet. “Let’s get you in from the cold.”
Melissa’s house was warm, and the oven glowed in the kitchen. The television mumbled through the living room wall.
“Hi, Charlie!” called Melissa’s father from the sofa.
“Hey, Brian…”
“Excuse us,” said Rosie, with a guilty smile. “We’re just watching our favorite Scandinavian drama. Bit gruesome, they just found some poor soul at the bottom of a ravine.” She tightened the cord on her dressing gown. “Oh, and Melissa’s upstairs.”
“Thanks, Rosie.”
Melissa was on her bed, lying flat on her stomach, headphones on, scrolling through Facebook.
“Mel. Mel.”
I tapped her on the head. She jumped, then grinned, tugging off her headphones.
“Yay, Charlie! What are you doing here?”
I sat down on the end of the bed.
“I need your help.”
I told her about the boys’ messages and the band’s trip to the coast. She sat and listened to me, her mouth wide open.
“Whoa,” she said, eyes glazed, when I had finished. “That sounds epic.”
We looked at each other.
“You have to go, Charlie.”
“I know,” I said, pressing my eyes with the heels of my palms. “But it’s a whole weekend away. And things are really weird between me and Dad right now.”
Melissa sat up abruptly.
“You could take your mum’s notebook,” she said, staring into space. “You could show Gabriel everything, and then—”
“I can’t just run away, Mel. And I’ve already used all the cover stories I can think of.”
Songs About a Girl Page 17