by Melody James
‘She sounds nice.’
‘She is!’ Treacle sounds amazed. ‘Because I did share all that stuff about vampires because I couldn’t shut up. I was so nervous I couldn’t stop talking.’
I grin. I know the feeling well.
‘But she loved it and we had this big discussion about vampires and how werewolves would totally rule them and then Trevor came in and said dinner was ready.’
‘Garlic chicken?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘And you offered to help?’
‘Are you psychic or something?’
‘I write horoscopes, don’t forget,’ I remind her. ‘I’m in touch with a higher plane. I can see everything.’
Treacle flicks her hair back. ‘You’re just guessing.’
‘Yep.’ I shovel in another piece of Treacle’s cheesecake. ‘What happened next?’
‘I got through dinner without choking on a bone or spilling my juice and then—’
‘Did they interrogate you?’
‘Oh, yeah, kind of.’ Treacle’s casual. ‘But it was OK because they were really interested. Like I was a real person, not just their son’s girlfriend.’
‘Jeff is lucky to have you,’ I comment.
‘That’s what Jane said!’ Treacle grabs the plate of cheesecake I left by my laptop and sits beside me. ‘She said she’s glad he’s interested in something apart from football for a change.’
‘So it went well?’
Treacle smiles a wide smile. ‘I think they actually like me.’
I nudge her. ‘Of course they do! What’s not to like?’
Treacle digs into my cheesecake. ‘They didn’t even seem cross when I sat on Mr Woofy.’
I blink. ‘Mr Woofy?’
‘Their chameleon.’
I gulp. ‘Chameleon?’
‘I didn’t sit down hard,’ Treacle explains. ‘I kind of spotted him just as I was about to land.’
‘So you avoided splatting their pet chameleon?’
‘Yeah.’ Treacle sounds relieved. ‘And they didn’t mind the screaming at all.’
‘Screaming?’
Treacle shoots me a serious look. ‘Have you ever nearly sat on a chameleon?’
I shake my head.
‘Then don’t judge.’ Treacle sniffs. ‘It’s more surprising than you’d imagine. Frankly I think anyone would’ve screamed.’
‘So apart from nearly killing their pet and the screaming, the evening went well?’
‘Jeff said I was brilliant.’ Treacle fills her mouth with more cake. ‘And they said I was welcome any time.’
I feel really proud. Treacle must have charmed Jeff’s parents if they forgave a near murder and a screaming session.
Treacle scoffs down the last of the biscuity base. ‘So how was Sounds?’
‘It was OK.’ I take her plate and stack it on mine. I’m dying to tell her about my scoop but I’m scared of jeopardizing the investigation.
‘Were Sam’s band good?’
I can’t tell her I missed most of the set. ‘Yeah. Savannah loved them.’
As I mention Savannah, I hear a familiar voice at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Thanks, Sarah. I’ll try it, I promise.’
I jerk up. ‘Is that Savannah?’
Treacle tucks her hair behind her ear. ‘You must be psychic, Gem,’ she says as footsteps patter up the stairs and Savannah swings in through my bedroom. ‘You can summon demons.’
Savannah’s still kitted out like the creature from the black lagoon. She peers at us from gruesome purple- and black-rimmed eyes. ‘Oh, ha-ha,’ she huffs, collapsing on to my bed. ‘I’ve been dressing like an emo all weekend and he’s not even called me.’
Treacle looks puzzled.
‘LJ,’ I explain. ‘He really liked Sav’s emo-look.’
‘He liked it?’ Treacle blurts.
I cover her blunder. ‘Yes, because it’s the hottest look, remember?’ Savannah’s not meant to know we wanted him to hate it.
Savannah sniffs. ‘But not hot enough to make him ask me out.’
Phew! When I left Sounds I thought Savannah had conquered Mount LJ, but clearly his admiration went no further than a smile.
Savannah’s splayed on the duvet like a corpse. ‘He didn’t even ask for my number.’ Her face crumples. ‘He left with his arm around Bethany.’
Her sob slices my heart. Me and Treacle are beside her instantly, arms round her.
‘What am I doing wrong?’ Tears well in her eyes. Savannah’s so used to slaying every man she sees, the shock must be terrible. Savannah breaks loose and starts pacing the floor. ‘What’s wrong with me? First Josh chooses Chelsea and now LJ goes for Bethany Richards!’ She turns, her eyes earnest. ‘Have I turned . . .?’ Her breath comes in short panicky gasps. ‘Have I gone . . .?’ She swallows. ‘Ugly?’
A snort of laughter bursts from Treacle.
I grab a pillow and slap it over her. ‘Treacle!’ I use my stern voice. ‘This is serious.’ But I understand Treacle’s amusement. Savannah Smith saying she’s ugly is like Einstein whining that he’s dumb. But Savannah’s really heartbroken and it’s no laughing matter.
Savannah slumps to the floor, her eyeliner running. She squats like a wounded crow, her black tattered dress billowing round her. I can hardly believe my eyes. This tragic heartbreak victim, flailing hopelessly on my bedroom floor, used to be the Queen of Cool.
Suddenly I miss the old Savannah.
It’s time for some drastic action.
Double Maths on a Monday afternoon. What kind of sicko invented that? By the time the bell goes, my head’s drowning in numbers.
Treacle starts packing her book bag beside me. ‘You’ve got the webzine meeting, right?’
I nod. ‘Are you going to wait for Jeff?’
‘And you.’ She ties her shiny black hair into a pony-tail. ‘I’m gonna practise penalties on the field. Then we can all get the bus home together.’ She skims me a high-five and heads for the door.
I grab my books and my bag and slide through the going-home crowds flooding the halls. I’m swimming against the tide and, by the time I reach webzine HQ, I’m crushed and tousled. I smooth my hair, relieved that my curls are still soft for a change, and head into the storeroom.
I’m expecting the room to be crammed after last Monday, when the Year Ten webziners took their study period here. So I’m surprised to find Sam’s the only one in the room. He’s one-finger typing on his usual PC.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask. I want to speak to Will and find out if he’s got any more news on Dave Wiggins.
Sam stops poking his keyboard. ‘They’re robbing the tuck shop.’
I wonder about suggesting to Will that we dig through business directories on the web, to see if we can trace any involvement by Wiggins in other companies.
When I don’t answer him, Sam says, ‘I was kidding – about the tuck shop. There’s a career talk in the library.’ He looks at his watch. ‘They’ll be here in a minute.’
‘Didn’t you want to go to the career talk?’
Sam leans back on his chair. ‘I know what career I want.’
‘Rock star?’
‘Environmental lawyer.’
My eyebrows shoot up.
Sam grins. ‘We all need a plan B.’
Do we? I can’t imagine working as anything other than a journalist. It’s my plan A and B.
‘So, you left the gig on Friday early?’ Sam’s casual question takes me by surprise. The gig’s the last thing on my mind.
The door swings wide and Will strides in.
Sam’s gaze stays on me. ‘I was worried our music might have scared you away.’
Will dumps his bag on his desk. ‘She had to meet me.’ He swings into his chair and puts his feet on the desk.
Sam splutters. ‘You?’
Will grins at him. ‘Can I help it if I’m irresistible?’
I roll my eyes. But I can’t set him straight without giving away our sco
op.
Sam’s narrowed his gaze. ‘I thought Gemma had more taste.’
‘Clearly not.’ Will reaches in his pocket and pulls out two blue tickets. ‘Look, Gemma. I got us into next week’s gig.’ He waves them at me.
‘Fantastic!’ I’m thrilled. Working together in the club, Will and I must be able to track down some hard evidence on Dave Wiggins.
Sam turns to Will. ‘You’re going to the gig with Gemma?’
I stare at Sam. ‘So?’ He’s the last person I expect to be shocked at a Year Nine and Year Ten being seen out together, and I have to admit that I’m a little hurt by his reaction.
Will laughs. ‘Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll take care of her.’
Sam snorts. ‘You’re all heart, Will.’
He gets up and start zipping his backpack.
‘Aren’t you staying for the meeting?’ I’m confused.
Sam doesn’t look up. ‘Why bother? I’ve emailed Cindy my article and next week’s piece is sorted.’
‘Don’t go, Sam.’ Cindy wafts into the room in a cloud of perfume. Barbara drifts in after her.
‘I’ve got to meet someone,’ Sam growls.
‘This is a team meeting,’ Cindy pleads. ‘And you’re an important part of the team.’ She rests her delicate fingers on his arm. ‘Stay,’ she murmurs. ‘Please.’ Her throaty purr seems to work. He drops his bag and slumps back down into his chair.
‘OK,’ he mutters.
‘Gemma.’ Will’s beckoning me. I lean in close and he whispers in my ear. ‘Keep it zipped,’ he warns. ‘Don’t give anything away to Cinders about the story.’
‘Duh!’ I grab a chair as Phil and Dave filter in.
Jeff follows, a football crammed into his book bag.
Cindy perches on her desk while we draw up our chairs. ‘Glad you could all make it.’ She flashes a smile, which lingers on Sam. ‘And I was delighted to see so many articles in my inbox by lunchtime.’ Her gaze pans to Will. ‘Except yours, of course, Will.’ Her sweet voice turns sour. ‘I was so looking forward to the fabulous story you promised us last week.’
Will shrugs. ‘Sorry, Cinders. It’s still a work in progress.’ He nods towards me. ‘Me and Gemma still have some research to cover. I’m not turning in any facts until they’re properly checked.’
Me and Gemma. I’m overheating with excitement. I’m going to be contributing something worthwhile to the webzine at last.
Cindy narrows her eyes. ‘So what are you turning in for this week’s edition then, William?’
‘I’ve got a back-up piece on school trip fatality rates.’ He scratches his nose. ‘I’ll dig it out and email it as soon as I get home.’
Cindy tuts like a primary-school teacher. ‘It’s a shame you and Gemma didn’t manage to get more work done.’
Will’s gaze is steady. ‘We got plenty of work done.’
‘I bet you did,’ Sam mutters.
‘But you can’t hurry a good story.’ Will leans back in his chair. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be well worth waiting for.’
Cindy purses her lips so hard, I’m scared she’ll smudge her lipstick.
Barbara shoots up her hand. ‘Shall I tell everyone about my new piece?’
This week I don’t care what drippy trash she comes out with. I’m working on something important.
Barbara smiles. ‘Helping Out with Chores: Ten Steps to a Harmonious Home.’
Will pounces. ‘Washing up for the washed-up,’ he quips.
‘Leave it, Will.’ Sam scowls at him. ‘Some of us help out at home. Not all of us are obsessed with ourselves.’
I turn in my seat, surprised. Sam’s usually the peacemaker. It’s not like him to start firing on his teammates.
Cindy sweeps her lashes in Sam’s direction. ‘Thank you, Sam,’ she says gratefully. ‘It’s nice to hear someone supporting their colleagues instead of critiquing.’ She scans our faces. ‘Anyone else want to share?’
Dave sticks up his hand. ‘Me and Phil have been reviewing in-ear headphones.’
Cindy tips her head to one side. ‘How interesting.’
Phil chimes in enthusiastically. ‘We’ve got a top five and the most economical.’
‘Sounds great.’ Cindy turns to Jeff. ‘Did you manage to cover the important school matches?’
Jeff nods. “Yes, I’ve got reports from the Year Ten Girls and the Year Nine Boys.’
‘Good, good,’ Cindy says distractedly, gazing back at Sam.
Jeff looks at me and raises his eyebrows – his code for What is up with this girl? I grin and nod my head in Sam’s direction – my code for She’s suffering from a deadly case of smitten-kitten-itis.
Cindy carries on gazing at Sam and actually flutters her eyelashes. I thought people only ever did that in naff novels. ‘I loved your gig, Sam.’
She’d been there? I don’t know why I’m surprised. Sam probably gave her tickets. I hadn’t noticed her in the crowd. I’d been too busy worrying about Savannah and Dave Wiggins to watch out for the Ice Queen.
Cindy goes on. ‘It was sweet of you to give Gemma a backstage tour.’ Her mouth smiles. Her eyes don’t.
She saw us?
I’m amazed she recognized me out of uniform.
‘Yeah, well.’ Sam stares at his boots. ‘I was just trying to be nice.’
Will straightens. ‘Maybe you could give her another tour this week?’ he suggests. ‘I could tag along. I’ve always been interested in what goes on behind the scenes at gigs.’
I chew nervously on a strand of hair. Sam’s going to get suspicious if we both declare our backstage fetish.
‘No way,’ Sam tells Will. ‘Having more than one punter backstage would create a health and safety issue.’
Cindy leans forward. ‘Maybe I could be the lucky one to get the backstage tour this week?’
‘Maybe.’ Sam gets to his feet. ‘I’ve got to go.’ He throws his backpack over his shoulder. ‘By the way, my piece is on how tough it is for a new band to break into the mainstream.’ He tugs the door open. ‘Perhaps I should have focused on backstage groupies.’ He’s out the door before anyone can say goodbye.
I figure he’s joking about the groupies. He must be weirded out by everyone wanting to see his dressing room. I wish I could explain it’s for the story but he’ll find out soon enough.
‘Can we go too?’ Phil and Dave get up.
Will heaves his bag on to his lap. ‘Might as well.’
Cindy doesn’t put up a fight. I guess with Sam gone, she’s lost interest.
‘Are you coming, Gem?’ Jeff’s in the doorway. ‘Treacle’s waiting.’
Cindy holds up a hand. ‘Gemma?’ She’s suspiciously sweet. ‘Would you stay for a moment? I want a word.’
I wonder what she’s up to. ‘Go without me,’ I tell Jeff. ‘I’ll catch the next bus.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks.
‘Yeah,’ I reply.
Will’s already loping toward the staircase as Jeff follows Phil and Dave out into the hallway.
Barbara lingers at the door.
‘I won’t be long,’ Cindy tells her.
Barbara nods. ‘I’ll wait in the entrance hall.’
I wonder for the first time if Cindy’s told her about my secret role as Jessica Jupiter. They’re as tight as super-glued twins and Barbara seems the kind of friend you can trust with a secret.
‘Is that OK, Gemma?’ Cindy asks politely.
‘Sure,’ I tell her. ‘What’s up?’
Barbara clops away down the hall and I wait for Cindy to stop the Sugar Plum Fairy act. But she doesn’t.
‘I just wanted to check in with you to see how everything’s going,’ she says. Immediately I’m suspicious, Cindy is never nice to me. ‘I checked Jessica’s email account today and it looks like she’s still getting a lot of fan mail, so you need to keep on top of that, OK?’ She glances out of the window.
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘I’ll take a look now and send some responses.’
‘Great.’
Something in Cindy’s tone tells me she’s not finished. ‘So,’ she begins, ‘how’s working with Will going?’
‘Not as scary as I thought.’
‘He can be a bit arrogant,’ she sighs. ‘I was worried about putting the two of you together.’
I’m not convinced. ‘Really?’
She ignores me. ‘So, it’s a good story?’
‘Great.’ I know she’s fishing. But I’m not as dumb as she thinks.
‘Is it topical?’
‘I guess.’ I’m pleased that I manage to stay vague.
‘Is it to do with school?’
‘Not really,’ I murmur, though I suspect that, if Wiggins is dealing drugs out of the club, some Green Park students might be buying them.
Cindy keeps probing. ‘So it’s more of a local issue?’
‘Why don’t you wait and see?’ I decide to take evasive action. ‘I should get on with that fan mail. I’ve got to look after my brother later and I’ve got a ton of homework.’ I switch on a PC.
Cindy doesn’t argue. I watch her out of the corner of my eye while she buttons her coat. Why isn’t she giving me the third degree? Conversations with Cindy usually involve bullet-dodging. But here I am, no body armour and still not taking any hits.
She needs me! The realization pops into my head. Jessica Jupiter is the only columnist on the webzine getting emails and I’m the only Jessica she’s got.
Cindy heads for the door. ‘I’ll see you Wednesday, Gemma.’
‘Bye.’ I wave her out, then type in my username, my heart pounding with excitement. I’m no longer just a helpless Year Nine she can dump on. The tide is coming in and my stranded-whale career is finally lifting off the bottom.
Dear Miss Jupiter
I love your horoscopes but I’m very worried. Last week you predicted a cat would surprise me.
(Next door’s cat knocked the lid off the dustbin while I was writing the prediction for Aquarius. Once I’d stopped trembling from the sudden clatter outside my bedroom window, I’d used the incident as ‘inspiration’.)
I have a phobia of cats and now I’m terrified they’re lurking wherever I go. Please tell me the exact time and place I’ll be attacked by cats so I can avoid them.
Yours truly,
Rachel Spalding