Accidental Superstar

by Marianne Levy

  ‘I know,’ said Jaz, hearing me sigh. ‘You really need to start turning this into money.’

  ‘Katie.’

  The Head was peering down at me. She always looked a bit like an owl, but today she was particularly twit-twoo, all round glasses and long stares down her pointy little nose. I chucked the phone back into Jaz’s lap.

  ‘Please come in.’

  Believe me when I say that I’m not a regular in the Head’s office. The very few times I’d been in before were owing to extreme misunderstandings and were in no way a reflection of my personality, which is to never break the rules unless absolutely necessary.

  ‘Now, Katie.’ The Head was watching me intently, as though she was seeing all this other stuff instead of just my face.

  I tried to look innocent. And academically minded.

  ‘I’ve had some calls. Quite a few calls. About this video.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. You’re not in trouble.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘A number of journalists want to speak to you.’

  ‘What, like, from the Harltree Gazette?’

  ‘One of them was from the Harltree Gazette, yes. And one of them was –’ the Head cleared her throat, this delicate little ‘ahem’ – ‘from the BBC.’

  My knees started to shake, and I had to sit down in one of the Head’s special chairs.

  ‘Now, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we just wondered, if you did want to speak to them, whether doing so here might be . . . fun? We could set you up with a little table. In front of the trophy cabinet.’

  ‘Won’t we have to win some trophies?’ I said. ‘Because that might take a while. Especially the way the netball team’s been playing lately.’

  ‘We, er, we do have some backups that we could put in there,’ said the Head. ‘Mr Griffin has just made an emergency visit to the engravers.’ She twiddled a pen. ‘You don’t have to, of course. But if you did want to mention our music programme and the exemplary teaching you’ve received here . . .’

  Hang on, was the Head asking me for a favour?

  ‘If you like,’ I said.

  She looked very, very happy. ‘You’ll be in school uniform, of course.’ She peered at me. ‘Maybe not that particular version of school uniform. We’ll find you something ironed. If you can just wait a few minutes, I’ll let them know.’

  ‘Wait, let who know?’

  The Head raised her blind, slat by dusty slat.

  A row of cars, big ones, were parked along the No Parking bit at the front of the school. And there was a van, with satellite dishes on its roof.

  ‘I’ll tell them half an hour, shall I?’ said the Head. She must have caught a whiff of my panic. ‘Go and get yourself a glass of water. And tell Jasmine she can come back at the same time tomorrow.’

  I escaped back into the lobby to find Jaz picking holes in her seat and pulling out the lining. She’d got about four fluffy caterpillars’ worth and had them lined up next to her.

  ‘You’ve been let off for twenty-four hours,’ I told her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve got . . . This is so . . . Because I’m about to have a press conference. Jaz, what will I say? And what do I even look like? I haven’t got my make-up with me!’

  A smile spread across Jaz’s face.

  ‘Let me help you with that,’ she said.

  ‘Right, here we go,’ said the Head, in full-on bustle mode. ‘Come this way – oh. Oh my goodness.’

  ‘Is it all right?’ I said. ‘I was thinking that I ought to make a bit of an effort, if people are going to see me.’

  ‘It’s . . . your choice I suppose,’ said the Head, handing me a fresh sweatshirt, still with its tags on.

  It’s worth saying here that the Head wears no make-up whatsoever. Which, I thought to myself, was the only way to explain her very extreme reaction to Jaz having given me the tiniest bit of eyeliner.

  ‘They’re all very nice,’ said the Head. ‘And I’ll be next to you.’ She guided me down the staff corridor and into the admin room. ‘Don’t forget our music programme. You’ve found it very helpful.’

  She opened the door on to a scene of complete mayhem.

  On the one hand, it was just the admin room. So, even though someone had made a bit of an effort, with a school banner and a nice arrangement of desks and a suspiciously full trophy cabinet, it was still just a stuffy corner of the school that smelled of teachers’ coffee.

  On the other hand, it was this kind of portal to Weird World. Because it was absolutely full. On one side were all my teachers.

  And on the other side were a load of people I’d never seen before in my life.

  ‘One at a time,’ said the Head. ‘If you’re ready, Katie.’

  ‘Not really,’ I said, and they all laughed, as though I’d made a hilarious joke. I noticed several cameras, pointing straight at me.

  ‘Becky Haddon, BBC Look East. How does it feel to have over nine hundred thousand hits?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ I said.

  There was this awkward silence. It occurred to me that perhaps this wasn’t the answer they’d been hoping for.

  ‘OK. It feels like . . . ’ I thought for a second. ‘You know those dreams, where you’re standing in a very, very, very small room and you feel like you’re kind of safe, I suppose it’s probably a womb thing, that’s what my mate Lacey says, her mum’s really into all that stuff. So you’re in the room and you’re feeling kind of held and snug and then one by one the walls drop away and you’re actually standing on top of a mountain with the wind whipping around you. And when you look down, instead of the usual mountain stuff, like trees or snow or . . . goats . . . it’s like, just people, all watching, and then you realize you’ve got no clothes on. It’s sort of like that.’

  Big silence.

  ‘But in a good way,’ I added.

  ‘Katie loves our music programme,’ said the Head. ‘She’s found it very helpful.’

  ‘Mm,’ I said. ‘Very.’

  ‘Alex Hayward-Bradley, the Harltree Gazette. Tell us about your influences?’

  ‘I’ve got this major thing for Björk,’ I told him. This was easier than I’d thought. ‘Even though she’s obviously mental. And Kate Bush, who is also pretty mental. Then there’s Amy Winehouse, which is just basic, and Lily Allen, remember her? And for pure pop, anything by Cathy Dennis. I’ve recently been in a bit of a country groove, which started with early Taylor Swift and then got completely out of control, and now it’s all about Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris and breakthroughs like Caitlin Rose.’

  ‘Katie has been very influenced by our music programme,’ said the Head.

  ‘I have,’ I agreed.

  ‘And what’s next for you, Katie?’

  I had to have a bit of a think about this one. ‘Geography.’

  When I finally got out it was lunchtime. A minute ago I’d been feeling quite sick, but one sniff of the canteen and I found myself really fancying some shepherd’s pie. And I don’t know whether the Head had left a secret message, but as I came through with my tray everyone else sort of melted away to let me pass. I didn’t have to queue at all.

  ‘Katie!’ Sofie was waving at me, so I took my pie and joined her.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘Is it really true that you just did a press conference?’ she asked.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  I thought back to what I had said.

  ‘Just . . . stuff. It was a bit mental.’

  ‘And you did it looking like that!’ said Sofie.

  ‘The Head gave me a new sweatshirt,’ I said, and then saw I’d already got pie down it.

  ‘No, your face,’ said Sofie.

  ‘What about my face?’

  Then Paige appeared and shouted, ‘YOUR FACE! KATIE, WHAT HAPPENED?’

  I felt it over with my fingers. Everything still seemed to be there. A nos
e, two eyes . . .

  ‘She’s making it worse,’ said Paige. ‘Katie, stop smudging it.’

  ‘Smudging what? Will someone please give me a mirror?’

  Someone gave me a mirror, which made me immediately regret having asked for a mirror.

  It also made me regret giving Jaz a liquid eyeliner pen and full, unsupervised access to my face.

  ‘It’s like you’ve got spiders instead of eyes,’ said Paige.

  ‘It’s like you put your make-up on in a car,’ said Sofie.

  ‘A dodgem car,’ said Paige.

  ‘I cannot believe I did a press conference looking like this,’ I screamed, at which point the whole table laughed so loudly that we got a telling-off from the dinner lady.

  ‘I cannot believe you are having the shepherd’s pie,’ said Savannah, joining us with her plate. ‘It’s cruelty plus calories. You have to go vegetarian, Katie, it’s the only feasible option.’

  ‘But you’re eating a burger,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Savannah, as though she was explaining something to a particularly idiotic child. ‘But it’s a chicken burger.’

  ‘Chicken is meat,’ I said.

  ‘Er, no,’ said Savannah. ‘I mean, yes, it might be meat in the scientific sense, but it’s not meaty-type meat.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Sofie. ‘It’s not.’

  I’d never eaten lunch with Savannah and co before. And it was kind of interesting, being this close to the action. Even if the action was currently picking the bread off its plate and saying, ‘I’m not feeling the carbs today.’

  ‘Katie had a press conference,’ said Sofie. ‘That’s why there were all those vans outside.’

  Savannah’s blue eyes slid into focus and, suddenly, I knew how it felt to be a chicken burger.

  ‘Did you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Katie,’ said Savannah. ‘I have been thinking. A lot. About you going viral, and my party. And how one affects the other.’

  I waited.

  ‘There’s this thing called the butterfly effect,’ said Savannah. ‘How, if a butterfly flaps its wings in Japan, there’s an earthquake in New York.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And I was thinking that our situation is a bit like that. Only you’re the butterfly and your video is the flapping and I am New York. Mmm?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m having trouble following you.’

  ‘What I’m saying is, would you like to come to my party?’

  ‘Oh!’ This was big. ‘Yes please! Thank you!’ Don’t sound so grateful, Katie. ‘I mean, if I’m free.’ Don’t sound so ungrateful, Katie. ‘Which I will be.’

  ‘We should go shopping for something to wear,’ said Sofie.

  ‘You do not want to shop with Sofie,’ said Paige. ‘Like, Primark is fine for some people but not for girls like us. Come with me to Karen Millen. My sister works there, I get a discount.’

  ‘Please,’ said Savannah. ‘If Katie’s shopping with anyone, it’s going to be me.’

  You know those great big groups of glamorous girls you see out on the high street sometimes? All long legs and long hair?

  I was part of one!

  And not on the outside, either, tagging along, trying to keep up. I was right there in the middle.

  ‘So, Katie, help me out here. I’m playlisting my party and Paige and Sofie are worse than useless.’

  We were trotting along the main road into town after school, Savannah managing to walk surprisingly fast given the height of her heels.

  ‘Well,’ I said, a tiny bit breathlessly, because really, going at that speed is unnecessary, even if the shops are shutting soon, ‘I suppose it depends on what kind of vibe you’re after.’

  ‘It’s going to be totally vibing,’ said Sofie.

  ‘Shut up Sofie,’ said Savannah. ‘Katie is trying to speak. Also, vibing is not a thing.’

  Amazingly, Sofie didn’t seem to mind being told to shut up. And Paige didn’t look especially bothered about being called worse than useless. I suppose you must develop a thick skin, after an extended period of being around Savannah.

  ‘If you want people dancing then some proper disco would be good. Something like Chic, maybe Candi Staton. Then follow it up with –’

  ‘Mm,’ said Savannah. ‘Complete yes. Make it up and send it to me, will you?’

  I spent a moment trying to decide whether I fancied being Savannah’s DJ and then decided that I did. Maybe she’d have those cool big headphones for me to wear.

  Then . . .

  ‘Lacey!’

  Lacey was standing with her mum outside Tesco. When she saw us she turned away, but her mum gave me a wave.

  Which was bizarre, because Lacey’s mum? I don’t know why, but she’s never been my biggest fan.

  I suppose it might have had something to do with the time I gave Lacey mega eyebrows with a black marker. Which turned out to be permanent. The day before her brother’s wedding.

  Or maybe it was from when me and Lace were pogoing to Rihanna and Lacey fell through a glass table and had to get four stitches in her elbow in A&E.

  Or it could have been from when I was demonstrating to Lacey how to turn trousers into pedal pushers and I accidentally cut up her mum’s work suit. Her favourite one. From Chanel.

  The point being, if she did disapprove of me, it was probably fair enough.

  Only, today at least, it seemed that hostilities had been suspended.

  ‘Katie! Sweetheart! You’re a bit of a celebrity at the moment! Love the video. It’s just a shame that Lacey couldn’t have looked a bit more cheerful, isn’t it?’

  Lacey kind of growled.

  Hmm. Maybe not all hostilities.

  ‘Are you out shopping? Lacey, you don’t need to be trogging round Tesco with me. Go. Go!’

  Lacey did not look especially pleased to be joining us, but she stepped into place behind Paige.

  ‘Enjoy yourselves, girls!’ said Lacey’s mum, disappearing off towards the trolleys.

  ‘This is fun,’ said Sofie. ‘Where shall we go, Savannah?’

  ‘Cindy’s,’ said Savannah.

  Cindy’s is the one good shop in Harltree, by which I mean, expensive. They stock Miss Sixty and DKNY and Michael Kors.

  People like me don’t go to Cindy’s.

  ‘We are so going to Cindy’s,’ I said.

  ‘Fabbo,’ said Savannah. ‘I’m longlisting party dresses. I need to find something that really honours what it’s like to be me, at my party. ’

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘And you need to be thinking more about your look, Katie. Like, don’t take this the wrong way, but right now you are so icky.’

  ‘Thousands of people like my look!’ I said, feeling the tiniest bit offended.

  ‘Thousands of people have seen your look,’ said Savannah. ‘That does not mean they like it. And I am saying that as your biggest fan.’

  There were two pieces of information there. I decided to concentrate on the second.

  And yes, I was absolutely aware that Savannah was probably not my biggest fan, seeing as how she had only begun to notice me at the point where the video had happened. Still, though. You have to get your kicks when you can, and right now I was out shopping with a Harltree A-lister, going into Cindy’s and being greeted by a woman who was very probably actual Cindy herself and being offered a free glass of fizzy water.

  What wasn’t to like?

  ‘Darling Savannah,’ said Cindy, whose face was as tanned as it is possible to be before becoming an orange. Then, ‘Oh my goodness! You’re her!’

  ‘She is,’ agreed Savannah.

  ‘I am,’ I said. ‘Sorry, just to check, “her” being . . . ?’

  ‘In today’s paper,’ said Cindy, spreading out the Harltree Gazette on her wooden counter. And there was a picture of me, right on the front page, with my crazy Jaz eyeliner and the headline:

  HARLTREE GIRL HITS ONE MILLION

  I showed th
e article to Lacey, who skimmed down and said, ‘Why are you going on so much about our school music programme?’

  And when I read it myself it did seem to be mainly about that. There was a nice bit about me and my influences, though, and actually, even the eyeliner looked OK, sort of rock and roll.

  Savannah had gone off with Cindy to see some important new jeans, and Lacey said:

  ‘Look, are you sure you want me here?’

  ‘We’re getting a taste of the high life,’ I said.

  Lacey looked a bit worried.

  ‘It’s just for now,’ I said. ‘Then we can go back to being the lowest of the low.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Katie,’ said Paige. ‘What do you think?’ She was holding up a black dress so small that for a second I thought it was a top.

  ‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘Well, you could try it on, I suppose . . .’

  ‘It’s not for me!’ said Paige. ‘It’s for you! I’m trying this.’ She held up something gold and sparkly and about a sixteenth the size of the black mini-dress.

  ‘That is gorgeous,’ said Savannah.

  ‘So nice,’ said Sofie.

  ‘It’s very Paige,’ said Lacey, which made me giggle, which made her giggle.

  This was going to be fun.

  And it was. Even when I got stuck in the mini-dress and Cindy had to come and cut me out again, which we all blamed on a dodgy zip and not the fact that Paige had clearly picked up something that was two sizes too small.

  ‘You’re so humble,’ said Cindy. ‘I’d have expected you to be this little diva, but you’re not.’

  ‘Mppppphhhhhhhh,’ I said, still inside the dress.

  ‘A million people,’ said Cindy.

  ‘Mmmmmmphhhh.’

  ‘And here you are in my little shop.’

  ‘Mphhhh – oh, that’s better, thank you,’ I said, crawling out on to the floor and sucking in lungfuls of delicious, delicious air. ‘I thought I was going to die in there.’

  Lacey, meanwhile, wasn’t taking any of this even slightly seriously, and had used the time while I’d been in my Lycra prison to pick out a selection of things that were simply absurd, like a green lurex playsuit and a leopard-print cape.