Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid

by Melody James

  He slides something from his back pocket. ‘I’ve got a spare ticket,’ he says, turning over a thin blue strip in his fingers ‘For our Sounds gig.’

  ‘I thought it was sold out.’ Savannah’s been trying to get hold of tickets since Monday but it seems like the school’s already bought out the gig.

  ‘I get a few extra.’ He stares at the ticket thoughtfully and I wonder if he really wants to give it to me.

  ‘If you’d rather give it to someone else—’ I begin.

  ‘No.’ He thrusts it at me. ‘I figure you’ve heard me talking about the new set for so long, you deserve to hear it.’ He half looks at me then sits down and grabs his guitar.

  ‘Thanks, Sam.’ I’m flattered. I thought he’d save his tickets for his Year Ten friends. They must have tickets already. ‘I’m really looking forward to hear—’

  ‘Gemma,’ Will interrupts.

  I spin, surprised. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you want to start helping me on this article?’ he asks.

  I wonder if there’s a hidden camera in the room. Why does he suddenly seem fine with me helping him? It must be a set up. Some kind of experiment to see what happens if you snatch the Invisibility Cloak off a Year Nine without warning.

  ‘Well?’ he growls. His dark gaze turns all Voldemort.

  My brain shuts down. Except for the huge, dumb bit that controls my mouth. ‘I’m really looking forward to working with you. I’m just so happy you agreed to let me help. I promise I’ll do my best. I really want to –’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ He shuts me up. ‘Do you want to know what the story’s about?’

  ‘The story?’ I’ve turned into a parrot.

  ‘You . . . know . . .’ Will slows his speech like I’m French. ‘The . . . story . . . you’re . . . going . . . to . . . help . . . me . . . with.’

  Sam’s chair scrapes behind me. The sudden noise jumpstarts my brain. ‘Yes!’ I say. ‘The story. Yes!’

  Will stares past me at Sam. ‘We need privacy though.’

  Sam sniffs. ‘I get the message.’ Swinging his guitar, he lopes out of the room.

  Will closes the door after him.

  ‘I’m really happy you’ve agreed to let me help.’ I’m gabbling again.

  ‘So you said already.’ Will starts pacing. ‘Let’s agree you’re pleased and get on with it.’

  He’s breezing back and forth past me. I feel like I’m watching tennis.

  ‘First—’ He stops suddenly. ‘You have to swear to keep this secret.’

  ‘Secret?’ I think back to my dishes daydream about the warehouse and human trafficking. ‘Is it dangerous?’ Excitement prickles my skin.

  ‘Could be.’ Will starts pacing again. ‘You’re going to need to keep your cool.’ He puts the brakes on and leans toward me. ‘You can do that, right?’ He frowns. ‘If you have to?’

  ‘Yes,’ I promise, hoping it’s true. I’ve never faced a really dangerous situation before. What if I lose my cool? What if I end up a quivering wreck who can’t even hold a torch straight?

  ‘OK then.’ He sits back on a desk and stretches out his legs. ‘You swear?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I confess, ‘but not really bad words.’

  He gives me a wake-up-you-idiot look. ‘Not that kind of swear,’ he snaps. ‘Do you swear to keep what I’m about to tell you secret?’

  I catch up, blushing. ‘Yes,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Absolutely. Scout’s honour.’

  ‘Great.’ Will starts tapping his foot. ‘I have a girl scout for a partner. This is what Watergate must have been like.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Watergate,’ he repeats. ‘Woodward and Bernstein? President Nixon? Secret tapes?’

  It rings a bell but I can’t place it. ‘Like the X-Files?’

  ‘Look,’ he sighs. ‘Just Google it when you get home. Right now I need you to listen. We’re going to be working on a story about Sounds.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘The nightclub?’ Will reaches forward and raps his knuckles lightly on my head. ‘Where lover-boy’s gigging on Friday night?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ I try and focus. Why am I acting so dumb? I need to speed up or I’m always going to be three strokes behind his thought-wave.

  Will glances at the door and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘There’s a rumour that the owner, Dave Wiggins, is using it as a front for some seriously dodgy dealing. And we’re going to find out what’s really going on.’

  ‘Dodgy?’ I twitch like a corpse taking a zillion volts. ‘How do you know?’ This could be a real story, not just some pull-out section on homework techniques or lunch-room etiquette.

  Will scratches his nose. ‘I’ve got a source,’ he says meaningfully. ‘He used to work at Sounds.’

  ‘But he doesn’t he work there any more?’ My brain’s fully engaged now.

  ‘He got fired.’

  ‘Can you trust him?’ I ask. ‘He might have a grudge against the person who fired him.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Will concedes. ‘That’s why we need to get in there and find evidence.’

  He said we! ‘Evidence of what?’

  ‘My source claims he’s heard Wiggins making phone calls to some pretty crooked business associates. Guys who’ve done time.’

  ‘In prison?’

  ‘No.’ Will snorts. ‘Disney World.’

  His snarky comment bounces off me. I’m too busy thinking. ‘Is that all we have? A disgruntled employee who claims he heard Wiggins phone an ex-con.’ I sit on the desk opposite Will’s. ‘Is that enough?’

  ‘There’ve been weird deliveries,’ Will goes on. ‘After hours. It’s enough to get my nose twitching. Sounds is launching these underage nights, which every teenager in town wants to go to. If there’s something criminal going on there, the public should know.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ I reach for my bag and slide out a jotter, ready to take notes.

  ‘You’ll be at Sounds this Friday,’ Will tells me. ‘I want you to get Sam to take you backstage.’

  ‘Why don’t you get Sam to take you backstage?’

  ‘I couldn’t get tickets,’ Will says bluntly. ‘I’ve been looking for a way in.’

  ‘And I’m it.’

  ‘You’re it.’ Will’s the parrot now.

  Disappointment drops like a stone into my stomach. That’s why he suddenly wants me on the story. Because Sam gave me a ticket. I resist the urge to tell him to do his own dirty work. This is my chance. So what if Will is just using me as a spy because he’s got no other option? If I can uncover something at the gig, he’ll have to start taking me seriously.

  Will goes on. ‘Just get Sam to take you backstage and have a look around. Make a note of anything suspicious.’

  ‘Why would Sam take me backstage?’

  ‘He gave you the ticket, didn’t he?’

  ‘Only because it was spare,’ I argue. ‘I’m not his special guest or anything.’

  Will stands up. ‘Then give it to me and I’ll ask Sam to show me backstage.’

  I narrow my eyes. There’s no way I’m letting Will snatch this chance. ‘No, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good.’ Will reaches for his backpack and pulls out a scrap of paper. ‘I want you to see if you can find Wiggins’ office. Keep your ears open. If you see him, watch him. And if anything seems out of place, make a note.’

  I wonder how I’m meant to know what’s in place or out of place. The only backstage I’ve ever seen was a church hall when I was eight and starring as Fairy Number Three in Miss Duvall’s ballet troupe.

  I’m going to have to trust my instinct and hope Sam doesn’t mind a nosey Year Nine trailing after him. He’ll understand when the story comes out. If it comes out. Right now it’s just gossip.

  Will’s scribbling on his scrap of paper. He hands it to me. ‘Here’s my number. Text me yours and phone me if you need to.’

  There’s a loud cough from the doorway. We both turn and see Sam standing
there. ‘I forgot my plectrum,’ he mutters, going over to the desk.

  I stare down at the phone number, fingers trembling. Behind me, the door slams shut. Sam’s left and Will ducks out behind him. I’m buzzing with excitement. I’m going to turn gossip into a real news story. If there’s evidence that Sounds is a cover for criminal activity, I’ll find it.

  I slide behind a desk and switch on the PC. I’m picturing my byline next to Will’s: Exclusive by Will Bold and Gemma Stone. This could be the break that launches my career; the first step to winning a global award and international acclaim. The crowds are cheering in my head as I hold up the trophy. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ A small huddle of women and children are sobbing in the front row. My exposé has freed them from a life of slavery and exploitation. I’m just grateful for the chance to have changed their lives.

  ‘Gemma?’

  I nearly fall off my chair as Cindy skids into the room.

  Her blonde bob’s flapping and there’s an excited flush in her cheeks. ‘Was that Will leaving? Has he briefed you yet?’

  I nod dumbly.

  ‘So you know about the story?’

  I nod again.

  ‘Well?’ She’s leaning in, eyes bright. ‘What is it?’

  I shift in my chair. ‘It’s secret.’

  ‘Oh per-leazzze!’ She frowns like I’ve thwarted her evil scheme to take over the world. I half expect her to rush to the window and summon her army of winged monkeys.

  First I’m eye-speared by Voldemort, now the Wicked Witch of the West is grilling me. I think I preferred it when Will and Cindy just ignored me.

  She flings her bag down. ‘What was the point of putting you on the story if you don’t dish the dirt?’

  ‘I thought you were trying to annoy Will,’ I mutter, ‘not spy on him.’

  ‘Annoying him was just a bonus.’ Cindy starts rooting in her bag, her smooth-as-silk forehead crumpling. I recognize the look; she’s concentrating. I guess that she’s fumbling for samples for her beauty column. I say a silent prayer: Don’t dump them on me. With horoscopes to write and Will’s story to work on, there’s no way I’ll have time to give her feedback on this week’s war-paint.

  I hit shutdown and grab my bag. ‘Got to go,’ I say quickly. ‘Treacle’s waiting.’

  ‘But—’

  I don’t hear the rest. I’m out the door and haring down the hallway.

  ‘You’ll never guess!’ Savannah ambushes me outside our form room.

  ‘You’re right. I won’t.’ I don’t have time for guessing games. My mind’s whirling with plans for my Friday-night undercover assignment at Sounds.

  Savannah’s hanging off my arm, her green eyes bright. ‘Pleeeeeaaase guess.’

  ‘LJ?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

  ‘He asked you out.’ I say the most ludicrous thing I can think of.

  ‘Yes!’ Savannah is jubilant.

  No!

  My disappointment doesn’t register on Savannah’s mood scale; she’s too close to ecstasy to notice. ‘He’s asked me to the gig at Sounds on Friday night!’ She bounces round like Tigger on a sugar rush.

  What about Marcus? I think, she’ll never notice him now. Not even if Jessica Jupiter spells his name out in flashing stars.

  Savannah waves a familiar blue strip of paper in my face. ‘You should have seen the look on Bethany’s face when LJ gave me this ticket and told me he’d see me at Sounds on Friday.’

  Hope glints like a diamond in my pit of despair. ‘So he didn’t actually ask you out on a date?’

  Savannah blinks at me. ‘It’s as good as a date.’ She waves the ticket again. ‘He didn’t give a ticket to Bethany, did he?’

  ‘She might already have one,’ I point out.

  ‘Why are you being such a doom-merchant?’ Savannah loses her bounce and stares at me.

  ‘Sorry.’ Upsetting Savannah isn’t my plan. I slide the ticket Sam gave me out of my pocket and show her. ‘I’m going too!’ I flash her a smile.

  She grasps my hand. ‘Where on earth did you get it! These are like gold dust!’

  ‘Sam,’ I tell her.

  She looks at me from beneath her lashes like I’ve just admitted I’m Batman. ‘Really?’ She says, using her meaningful voice.

  ‘It’s his gig,’ I point out. ‘He’s probably got too many tickets and needs to unload some.’

  Savannah raises an eyebrow. ‘Whatever you say, Gem.’ She flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘You know what this means though?’

  ‘What?’ I try and guess where Savannah’s butterfly mind is fluttering to now.

  ‘We can get ready together!’ she squeals.

  Treacle bobs round the corner, glossy black hair windblown, cheeks rosy from the chilly football field. ‘Get ready for what?’

  Savannah shows Treacle our tickets. ‘We’re both going on Friday night!’

  Treacle slumps against the form-room door. ‘I wish I was going to the gig instead of meeting Jeff’s parents.’

  Savannah starts bouncing again. ‘You could get ready with us!’ she gasps. ‘Then we can give you moral support, and you can help Gemma with her hair.’ She glances at my curls, wild now the morning straightening has worn off. ‘I don’t think I can manage it alone.’ She gives me a wicked grin.

  Treacle hugs me protectively. ‘Gem’s hair is gorgeous,’ she protests. ‘Her wild, windswept look is cool.’

  Savannah tips her head. ‘Less windswept, more hurricane survivor!’

  ‘Hey!’ I belt her with my bag and she escapes squealing into the classroom.

  ‘Help me!’

  I chase her in, ignoring her pleas for mercy until she cowers behind a desk. Marcus, feet up on a chair, is leafing through a comic at the back of the classroom. ‘Do you need assistance?’

  Savannah looks up eagerly. ‘Yes!’

  Marcus winks. ‘I was talking to Gemma, not you.’ He sounds relaxed. Like he’s deleted our lunchtime soap-opera moment. Savannah gawps at him while I collapse into relieved giggles and spare her life.

  We calm down and settle in our usual spot beside the radiator. Treacle clings on to it, breathing in the rising heat.

  Savannah stretches out her long legs. ‘Friday is going to be so great.’

  Treacle looks at her doubtfully. ‘For you, maybe.’

  I bite my lip. Doubt creeps into my mind. What if LJ ignores Sav completely and she’s devastated? Or, even worse, makes a move on her? What if I fail to find anything to report back to Will? He’ll never take me seriously and I’ll be stuck on the horoscopes for life. I start chewing my thumbnail, suddenly worried. Friday night might turn out to be anything but great.

  ‘How are we going to make Sav look terrible?’ Treacle is sitting on my bed, reviewing my brilliant plan to bomb Savannah’s chances with LJ.

  It’s Friday night and the bus leaves in an hour. I look at my watch. Savannah’s fifteen minutes late. If she doesn’t arrive soon, there won’t be time to turn her from beauty to beast.

  ‘Savannah’s way too pretty,’ Treacle points out. ‘She’d even look great in this!’ She looks down at the caramel cardigan and neat turquoise dogtooth checked skirt she’s borrowed from her mother.

  Jeff’s parents will think he’s dating a librarian.

  I peer out the window at the empty street. ‘We’ve made you look like Ugly Betty,’ I argue. ‘We can do it with Sav too.’

  My bedroom is awash with discarded clothes. Treacle’s tried on everything I own, but decided in the end caramel and turquoise is the only way to go.

  My outfit was easy to choose. I’m not trying to impress anyone. I’m just after a good story so all I need are trainers for creeping around backstage, a pocket for my phone, and jeans so I can climb out a window in an emergency.

  I check my watch again. She’s sixteen minutes late now. ‘Hurry up, Sav!’

  ‘Are you sure this is fair?’ Treacle asks me, a worried look on her face.

  ‘It’s the only way I can think of
to save her from LJ.’

  ‘Does she need saving?’ Treacle suddenly seems doubtful. ‘She really likes LJ.’

  ‘I know,’ I concede. ‘But the only person LJ really likes is himself. We’re just trying to protect her.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll be different with Savannah,’ Treacle says. ‘He did give her a ticket.’

  ‘I bet he gave tickets to his whole fan club.’

  The doorbell goes and I shoot out on to the landing. ‘Savannah!’

  She’s hammering upstairs. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she puffs. ‘Forgot to switch on the hair straightners. I spent ten minutes trying to flatten my hair with sub-zero GHDs!’ She races past me, a designer carrier bag trailing, and disappears into my room.

  Poor Sav. She must be in a state to make such a basic fashion error. I follow her into my room. The carrier bag’s on the floor and she’s already holding up two stunning outfits.

  ‘Which one?’ She wafts an electric blue tulip dress in front of her. It’s fabulous. Then she does a quick switch and dangles a sequined sheath dress under her chin. The spangles light her up like a goddess.

  ‘Neither.’ I snatch them from her quickly. ‘You’ll look the same as the rest of his groupies.’

  She gapes at me. ‘But they’re my best outfits.’

  ‘And they’re beautiful.’ I lay them carefully on the bed. ‘But what if Bethany’s there. You know she’s going to go for the same leggy, knock-out look. You need to stand out.’

  Savannah’s face crumples with doubt. ‘Do you think so?’ She looks at Treacle.

  Treacle nods. ‘Gemma’s right.’ She picks up a long beige dress from the floor. ‘Try this. It’s slinky.’

  It is figure-hugging but we’re hoping the mushroom sheen will make Savannah invisible.

  She slides it on and turns round to check the mirror. ‘Not bad . . .’

  Not bad? It clings to her from neck to ankle. She looks fabulous, like a lotus flower about to blossom. ‘No good.’ I grab a grey, boxy, knee-length dress that should turn her into a dowdy secretary.

  ‘Really?’ Savannah’s still admiring the lotus dress. ‘I quite like this one.’

  ‘You’ll love this one more,’ I promise, holding out the grey dress.

  She takes it uncertainly. ‘Won’t I look like a frump?’