Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid

by Melody James

  Will grunts. ‘Sounds a lot better than your eat-fruit-look-cute piece.’

  Cindy rounds on him, turning from gentle lamb to big bad wolf in a blink. ‘At least I don’t bore my readers using statistics to state the obvious. What are you working on next week, Will? A well-researched piece that proves some boys are taller than some girls?’

  Will rubs his nose. ‘Next week’s piece will blow you away, Cinders.’

  ‘Really, Will?’ Cindy narrows her eyes. ‘Why don’t you tell us about it?’

  ‘It’s secret.’

  ‘Is that because it doesn’t exist?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘I don’t have to prove anything to you.’

  I sit up. My brain is whirring, this growling match could be the perfect opportunity to get myself upgraded from horoscopes. I give Will my best doe-eyed look. ‘Perhaps it’s something I can help you with?’

  He looks at me like I’m a monkey who just learned to talk. ‘You?’

  It’s just the reaction I’d hoped for. I look appealingly at Cindy, pleased to see her eyes flash. I knew it, she’s not going to miss this chance to sabotage Will.

  ‘What a splendid idea, Gemma.’

  She’s taken the bait. I hold on to my chair, swallowing back excitement. The deal’s not sealed yet.

  Will’s staring at me. ‘How can she help me?’

  I stare back, my smile fixed.

  ‘She’s our editorial assistant,’ Cindy reminds him. ‘Helping out is what she’s here for.’

  I brace myself for Will’s reply when the door opens and Mr Harris peers round. ‘Oh good,’ he says happily. ‘You’re still here. Just thought I’d check in to see how it’s all going. Are we on track for the next edition?’

  ‘Cinderella over there wants me to let a Year Nine help out with my next article,’ Will complains.

  Cindy looks up at Mr Harris warmly. ‘It’ll be such good experience for Gemma,’ she gushes. ‘I know she’s been dying for a chance to get involved in a more serious way.’

  Mr Harris nods approvingly. ‘What a great idea.’ He smiles at me. ‘Are you up for it, Gemma?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ I know I’m just a banana Cindy’s hurling at Will, but I don’t care. If it lands me a real assignment, it’s worth it.

  ‘OK, then.’ Mr Harris turns to Will. ‘I’m sure you’ll find Gemma a great asset.’

  Will’s knuckles are white as he clutches the edges of his chair. ‘OK, Mr Harris,’ he mutters through clenched teeth.

  ‘Good, good.’ Mr Harris glances round the room. ‘Well it seems like you have everything under control, Cindy. Anything else I can help with?’ he asks distractedly.

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Harris.’ Cindy’s nice as pie.

  ‘Good, good.’ Mr Harris withdraws, shutting the door. I thank whichever god sent him.

  ‘Excellent.’ Cindy snaps the agenda off her clipboard. ‘I think that’s enough for today.’

  I half expect Will to lunge forward and throttle her but he just grabs his bag and stomps out.

  As the rest of the team start shrugging on their jackets and grabbing their bags, I freeze in my seat. My stomach feels suddenly hollow.

  What have I done? I’m helping Will on a serious article!

  The dark shadow of failure looms over me like a threatening storm. What if I mess it up and prove that I’m not good enough for anything but horoscopes?

  ‘Get down!’ Will’s hiss echoes round the darkened warehouse.

  I duck down beside him, sheltering behind a row of metal barrels. Peering through the midnight gloom, I can just make out a van.

  Two burly men are pushing a group of huddled men and women into the back.

  ‘These are the vans that drive them to mushroom caves,’ Will whispers.

  ‘And this happens every night?’ I take my reporter’s notebook from my pocket.

  It’s an imaginary notebook of course. In the real world. I’m dunking spag-bol-stained plates into washing-up water. But, in my head, I’m helping Will expose a dangerous gang of human traffickers.

  ‘Every night.’ Will slides a mini video cam out of his pocket. ‘I’ve been staking this place out for a week. It’s the same story. Those men herd the immigrants on to a bus, drive them to the mushroom caves for a night’s harvesting, then bring them back at dawn.’

  I grab a saucepan and plunge it into the warm soapy water. Gloopy pasta is stuck on the bottom. As I attack it with my scrubber, a loud clang booms through the shadowy warehouse. The men have slammed the van doors shut. They swing up into the cab and rev the engine. Petrol fumes sting my nose.

  I scrub at the sticky rim of the pan, then hold it under the cold tap, watching the bubbles rinse down the plughole.

  Wheels screech on wet concrete and the van hares out of the half-opened door at the far end.

  ‘Come on.’ Will ducks out from behind the barrels. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  I gaze in the washing-up bowl, glazing over as I watch rainbow pools of grease float past fast-dying bubbles.

  Water’s dripping from the rafters high above our heads. I hurry after Will, heart hammering, as we run the length of the warehouse, splashing through oily puddles.

  ‘In here.’ Will zigzags between steel pillars to a wire mesh staircase, then starts to climb, his footsteps clanging on the metal steps.

  I follow, breathless by the time we reach the top and head along a walkway high above the ground.

  I grope for cutlery at the bottom of the washing-up bowl. As I poke at spaghetti, gunked between the fork prongs, Will edges toward a steel-clad room built in among the rafters.

  He pauses at the metal door. ‘I can’t hear anyone.’

  I take a torch from my pocket and hand it to him. ‘You might need this.’

  ‘Good thinking, Gem,’ he whispers and steps across the threshold.

  I reach behind me for the frying pan that’s still on the hob, and dunk it into the water.

  Will flicks on my torch. Its beam lights up the floor, highlighting a jumble of sleeping bags, clothes and blankets.

  I gasp. ‘How many people sleep in here?’

  Will shrugs. ‘Between twenty and thirty.’

  The air is thick and hot, and the smell of stale sweat makes me feel sick.

  ‘Give me the torch,’ I tell Will. ‘Then you can video.’

  Will starts to tape what we’re seeing. I can’t wait to publish this.

  ‘Over there.’ He nods toward a corner, to a stinking bucket.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

  ‘Toilet.’

  The phone rings and I nearly crack a plate as it shatters my fantasy.

  ‘Can you get that, Gem?’ Mum calls from the living room.

  ‘Yeah!’ I wipe my hands on my jeans and answer it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Gemma!’ It’s Treacle. She sounds worried.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Facebook!’ she squeaks. ‘Why haven’t you changed your status?’

  ‘My status!’ A blush washes over me like a tidal wave. After all the excitement and worry of landing an actual assignment, I’d completely forgotten I hadn’t changed my status from ‘Marcus Bainbridge’! ‘I’ll ring you back in ten!’ I hang up and race for the living room.

  Ben’s snuggled on the sofa beside Mum, pyjama-ed and physio-ed, puffing on his nebulizer. Dad’s snoring in an armchair, head lolling, mouth open. He worked an extra shift today.

  I whisk past them, haring for the desk in the corner and turn on the computer.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Mum looks up, alarmed.

  ‘Gotta change my Facebook status!’ I slither the mouse back and forth on the desk, hoping to make the computer hurry up. It’s taking longer than it does to wake up than Dad on a Sunday morning. ‘Why do we have such an old PC!’ The desktop icons slowly flash as the processor drags itself out of sleep mode and tries to get with the program.

  ‘Sorry, love.
’ Mum shakes her head sympathetically. ‘It’s next on the list after Ben’s new nebulizer.

  I instantly feel bad for moaning. The compressor on his current one is on its last legs. I can hear the poor old pump now, whining now as it struggles to push air into the nebulizer chamber – air that will turn Ben’s medication into a mist he can breathe. If it breaks altogether we’ll have to get the foot pump out and take it in turns till Dad’s worked enough shifts to buy a new one, so it’s way more important that we get a new nebulizer than a flashy PC.

  I slide into the desk chair and navigate to Facebook in two clicks and login.

  There it is: my status.

  Marcus Bainbridge.

  I feel sick.

  There are fourteen new comments underneath it.

  I hope he gets the message xxx Lauren Allerton.

  Look out, Marcus, you’re a marked man ;) Josh Carter.

  Hey, Gem. Have you been leaving me out of the gossip loop??!! Sally Moore.

  <3 <3 <3 <3 Ryan Edwards.

  I slowly lower my head and quietly bang my forehead on the desk.

  ‘What’s up, love?’ Mum’s looking round.

  ‘Facebook disaster,’ I sigh.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asks.

  I shake my head without even lifting it off the smooth pine. ‘I’ll sort it.’ I take a deep breath and sit up. Clicking in a fresh, uncontaminated status box, I start to type. I decide to act causal. Oops. Silly mistake. Was searching for Marcus and accidentally made him my status. LOL.

  I hit return and my new status slides into place at the top of my profile.

  I read it. Was searching for Marcus and accidentally made him my status.

  What am I thinking? That sounds even worse! Now everyone will know I was searching for his profile.

  Including Marcus.

  Stiff with panic, I stare at the screen, my hands hovering over the keyboard as I try to think of the perfect phrase to snatch me from the jaws of humiliation.

  The desk phone rings. I pick it up before it wakes Dad. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me!’ Savannah sounds delighted. ‘This is soooo romantic! Why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea. Sal’s in an absolute fit. She’s likes to be the first to spot a budding romance.’

  ‘No, it’s not—’

  But Savannah’s too busy gushing to let me get a word in. ‘You’ll make such a cute couple. Marcus is such a sweetie. Have you spoken to him this evening? He hasn’t changed his relationships status yet. Nor have you. Are you going to do it at the same time? That’d be so romantic . . .’

  I stop listening. My heart is sliding into my boots. So much for trying to get Savannah and Marcus together. My brilliant plan has gone horribly wrong. The love-missile I aimed at Marcus has turned out to be a suicide bomb.

  The next morning is one of those clear, crisp March mornings that makes you think spring might happen after all.

  If you hadn’t just destroyed your life on Facebook.

  Savannah’s bouncing along beside me as we walk the bus route to school. ‘So he’s not asked you out, right?’

  I doh-eye her. ‘Why would he?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Because I’m a freaky Facebook stalker?’

  Treacle’s trailing behind us her giant sports bag weighing her down. ‘Explain to me again why we’re walking instead of bussing?’

  Savannah rolls her eyes. ‘We need to talk, of course,’ she explains. ‘You don’t get chat-space on the number thirty-two bus.’

  ‘Oh.’ Treacle kicks a can and sends it rattling along the gutter. She spent half of last night dissecting the Marcus disaster with me on the phone after Savannah had hung up. Savannah, on the other hand, is just coming to terms with the fact that my big status announcement was a mistake – though I can’t explain why I was searching for Marcus’s profile without giving away my secret life as Jessica Jupiter and my plans for her and Marcus.

  ‘Sorry, Treac.’ I glance back

  ‘It’s OK.’ Treacle looks at her watch. ‘Jeff will just have to wait.’

  ‘Bike-shed rendezvous?’ Savannah spins like a terrier smelling a rabbit. ‘Planned a little early-morning kissing?’

  Treacle glares at her. ‘Actually we’re going to practise keepie-uppies.’

  Savannah sighs. ‘Is that all you do?’

  ‘So, Gem,’ Treacle says, quickly turning the spotlight back on me. ‘Are you going to ask Marcus out?’

  Traitor! She knows I have no interest in Marcus as boyfriend material. I zap her with my invisible death ray as Savannah turns and grabs my arm.

  ‘Shall I soften him up for you?’ she offers. ‘I can give him the big sell. Tell him how nice you are. What a great girlfriend you’d make. How clever you are—’

  I hold up my hands. ‘Whoa! I am not interested in Marcus.’

  ‘Then why the Facebook search?’

  ‘It was for a project.’ I try out the excuse I’d rehearsed with Treacle last night. ‘I’m collecting birthdays. For our class. I thought it would be cool if we published a list in the webzine.’

  ‘Oh.’ Savannah looks disappointed, but not for long. ‘You’d make a great couple though.’ She’s off again, painting dream-pictures. ‘And if he hasn’t asked you out yet, I can teach you a zillion ways to make sure he does.’

  ‘Really, Savannah. No.’

  ‘But why?’ She’s giving me pleading eyes. ‘Marcus is a sweetie. He’s so kind and thoughtful. And he’s not a cabbage-brain like Ryan or Josh. When he stops being shy, he’s really smart and funny. You should definitely go out with him.’

  I’m surprised to hear Savannah reel off so many plus-points for Marcus. A glimmer of hope flashes through me. She knows what a nice guy Marcus is; all I have to do is convince her that he’d make a far better boyfriend than LJ.

  A bunch of Year Elevens jostle past us. We’re nearing the school entrance and students throng round the gates. I see Jeff watching through the fence like a chimp waiting for the banana-man. His eyes light up as he spots Treacle.

  I guess it’s feeding time at the zoo.

  Treacle hooks her arm though mine. ‘Will you be OK?’ Meaning: Will you be OK if I desert you for Jeff? My heart sinks as I realize I’m going to have to face the jeering Facebook crowds de-Treacled. I bite my lip. Her eyes are glittering with hope. She’s silently screaming the unspoken fear that makes ninety-nine percent of all girlfriends try too hard: girlfriends will wait, boyfriends might not.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ I give her a reassuring smile. I’ve got Savannah and her aura of confidence will surround us like a high-voltage force-field. Any Facebook-related comment will get fried on entry.

  Treacle gives me a quick hug. ‘You’re a star, Gem.’ She ducks into the crowds and is hanging off Jeff’s arm in three seconds flat. He passes her the football he’s carrying and they head away towards the playing field.

  Butterflies flicker in my stomach as we head through the gates. Chelsea Leeson spots us and comes barrelling towards me. Ryan Edwards and Josh Carter are hot on her heels. I push my lips into the grin of a dead girl and fix my eyes on the school entrance.

  ‘Marcus is over there, Gem!’ Chelsea points towards the bike shed where Marcus is standing with Ryan, shifting from one foot to another, his gaze fixed on his boots.

  ‘Thanks, Chelsea.’ Savannah answers for me, her tone breezy. ‘But unlike you, Gemma doesn’t need to chase boys. They come to her.’

  Chelsea flushes and stomps away, her mini-mob beetling after her.

  ‘Thanks, Sav.’ I squeeze her arm.

  ‘No probs.’ She flashes me a smile. ‘Just keep smil—’ She screeches to a halt as her gaze hits a stooping figure in the centre of the yard.

  LJ.

  The spring sunshine flashes off his hair gel. He’s surrounded by Year Ten girls all paying court like he’s Henry VIII. As we watch, he unpeels his shirt and starts counting his six pack. I wait for one of his audience to swoon. But they stay standing, their eyes popping l
ike steamrollered bubble-wrap.

  ‘I wonder if he’s remembered my name?’ Before I know it, Savannah is trying to drag me towards the group of girls.

  I yank her back.

  ‘What?’ She stares at me.

  ‘I’ve been reading an article,’ I lie quickly. I’ve got to do something before she makes a total idiot of herself by throwing herself at LJ in front of an audience. ‘It says boys are more likely to fall for girls who are a challenge.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m easy?’ Savannah puts her hands on her hips.

  ‘No!’ I backtrack. ‘I’m just saying, play it cool.’

  ‘Since when did you give relationship advice?’

  ‘Like I said, I read it in an article.’ I grab a statistic from the air. ‘Eighty-four percent of all relationships start with an insult.’

  Savannah narrows her eyes. ‘Really?’

  I’ve got her hooked. ‘Yes. Just be rude, act aloof, as though he’s the last boy in the world you’d bother with.’

  ‘And that will get him interested in me?’ She sounds unconvinced.

  ‘He’ll be so hot for you, you’ll have to wear oven gloves.’ I smile in what I hope is a convincing way.

  While Savannah digests, the first bell rings. LJ recovers his six-pack and his fan club begins to drift schoolward.

  Savannah hoists her bag on to her shoulder and heads towards the front entrance, sweeping past LJ with impressive indifference.

  ‘Hey!’ he calls as her bag buffets him.

  She turns, frowning. ‘Are you talking to me?’ I never knew Savannah could sound so cold. She’s Dr Freeze.

  LJ looks confused, like a dog expecting a biscuit and getting a worm pill. ‘You’re climate-zone girl, aren’t you?’

  Savannah tips her head, not missing a beat. ‘As far as you’re concerned, I’m the Arctic.’

  Wow. I watch her walk away, glowing with pride. Then I see LJ’s eyes spark into life. No! For the first time, those dark brown pools have snapped into focus. He looks interested. A small smile curls his lips as he watches Savannah skip up the school steps.

  What have I done?

  I race after Savannah, catching up at the top of the stairs. I try to block her view, but it’s too late. She’s staring back across the yard, her gaze locked with LJ’s.