Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid Page 7

  Treacle raises her eyebrows at me. I know what’s she’s thinking. Savannah’s un-frumpable.

  She tries on the grey dress. I’m right; she looks like a secretary, but a secretary who’s just whipped off her specs and let down her hair to reveal her inner beauty queen. If anything, the dullness of the dress highlights her gorgeousness.

  Treacle stares in dismay. ‘It’s not fair.’ She stands next to Savannah in her librarian outfit. ‘We’re like Before and After photos.’

  I herd Treacle away. ‘This is not a good time for comparisons. You’re visiting Aged Relatives. Savannah’s spending the evening with the King of Cool.’ Then an idea flashes in my brain.

  Emo!

  LJ – an all-American, catwalk-worshipping, hair-gel-based life-form – is bound to think that the dark, troubled world of a classic emo is totally without Cool. But how can I sell it to Savannah?

  ‘I know!’ I cry.

  ‘What?’ Treacle and Savannah goggle at me.

  ‘Cindy’s been doing a survey on what boys think are the hottest looks.’ OK, it’s a complete lie, but Savannah’s leaning closer, eyes wide, so I keep going. ‘As beauty editor on the webzine, Cindy is trying to discover what fashion-look gets the most attention from boys aged fourteen to sixteen.’

  Savannah claps her hands excitedly. ‘That’s LJ’s age-group.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Treacle tips her head. ‘Well?’

  I press on. ‘Out of all the boys she surveyed . . .’ I wait for an imaginary drum-roll ‘. . . the most popular look is . . .’

  Savannah’s practically panting.

  ‘. . . emo.’

  ‘Emo?’ Savannah echoes the word like she’s misheard.

  I cross my fingers behind my back and pray she takes the bait.

  ‘Emo,’ she says again. She starts nodding. ‘Emo.’ It’s sinking in. ‘OK. I’ll give it a try.’

  I give Treacle a massive thumbs up behind Savannah’s back. We’re going to make her look grunge-tastic.

  Treacle starts working on her make-up while I find every piece of black clothing I own. When I turn round, arms loaded, Treacle’s already rimmed Savannah’s eyes with red eyeshadow and is working on a thick lining of black.

  I wait while she adds the finishing touches: whitening Savannah’s complexion till it’s vampire-pale and then mixing Savannah’s crimson lipstick with a drop of eyeliner to make a lip-stain so dark it’s scary.

  ‘Now for the clothes,’ I smile.

  Between us, we manage to cover most of Savannah. We swathe her, head to foot in black. Ripped tights, tight dress, all swamped by a flowing coat I borrowed from Mum three years ago when it was already fit for the recycling bin. I’ve got some purple hairspray left over from Halloween to tint a few strands around Savannah’s face.

  I look at my watch. Finished with five minutes to spare.

  ‘What do you think?’ Treacle asks as Savannah looks in the mirror.

  Personally, I love it. She’s a gothic nightmare. Dracula would eat her up. But clean-cut, carb-cutting LJ will recoil in horror.

  ‘I look a bit pale.’ Savannah pinches her cheeks. She doesn’t look entirely in love with the style-change.

  ‘Come on.’ I start hustling her toward the door before she bails. ‘We don’t want to miss the bus.’

  Treacle gasps. ‘I’ve got to be at Jeff’s in fifteen minutes.’ She’s first downstairs and out the front door.

  I follow with Savannah, ushering her after Treacle before I poke my head round the kitchen door.

  Mum looks up from the stove where she’s stirring risotto. ‘Are you off?’

  ‘Got to catch the bus.’

  ‘What about dinner?’

  ‘Save me some,’ I tell her. ‘I won’t be late.’

  ‘Half past ten,’ she calls as I head for the front door.

  ‘OK,’ I yell back.

  Ben is standing in the living-room doorway, staring after Savannah as she flutters out of the house like a bat. ‘Is it a fancy dress party?’ he asks.

  ‘Shh!’ I’m terrified Savannah will hear. ‘It’s just a look she’s trying out.’

  Ben looks thoughtful. ‘She doesn’t look pretty any more.’

  I wave him away, secretly pleased. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Ben.’ Before he can say anything else I follow Treacle and Savannah on to the driveway.

  ‘Bye, Treac!’ I say as we part at the corner. ‘Good luck.’

  Treacle wanders away, shoulders drooping as she heads for Jeff’s.

  ‘You’ll be fine!’ I shout after her.

  ‘Don’t forget to smile!’ Savannah calls.

  Savannah and I head for the bus stop, arriving just as the bus does. ‘You mustn’t smile,’ I tell her as we get onboard. ‘Smiling isn’t part of the look.’

  Swaying as we head upstairs to find seats, I start to feel like a freak next to Sav. I look stupidly normal by comparison and I’m kind of embarrassed to be seen with her. Guilt pricks me and, when I spot Marcus with Ryan, Bilal, Sal and Chris McClaren at the back of the top deck, I feel even worse.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Sal comes racing down the aisle. ‘What have you done to yourself, Sav?’

  I cringe. Shut up, Sal. It’s for her own good!

  ‘What?’ Savannah’s blinking at her.

  ‘You do know LJ will be there, don’t you?’

  Savannah flicks a purple strand of hair over her shoulder. ‘Well, duh!’

  ‘So why are you dressed like Kurt Cobain just died again?’ Sal is clearly in shock.

  ‘I’m trying out a new look.’ She gazes at me fondly. ‘Gemma told me boys think it’s hot.’

  Sally looks over her shoulder at Ryan, Bilal and Chris. They’re sniggering and poking each other, glancing at Savannah. They don’t exactly look over-heated. Then she takes in my clean-jean ensemble. ‘Not hot enough to try it herself, I see.’

  I defend myself, guilt choking me. ‘I’m – er – not interested in anyone . . .’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Sal switches her attention back to Savannah. ‘If we had one more Goth on board, we’d reach critical mass and implode into a black hole.’

  Savannah’s red-rimmed eyes spark with worry. ‘Do I look silly?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Sally comforts her. ‘It’s good to see you trying something . . .’ She fumbles for words ‘. . . new.’

  Bilal hoots with laughter while Ryan turns away. Marcus isn’t laughing. He’s staring at Savannah, his eyes soft. My guilt eases a little. Once again Marcus has proved he’s the best boy for Savannah. If only she’d realize it.

  But she’s sunk into a seat and is slouching against the window. ‘Oh God,’ she whines as I sit next to her. ‘What have I done? I can’t believe I agreed to wear this.’ She fixes me with an earnest look that nearly kills me. ‘Are you sure Cindy’s survey said emo?’

  ‘Definitely.’ I try to ignore the snickering at the back of the bus and focus on the fact I’m saving Savannah from heartbreak. She insists on walking into the lion’s den – I’m just making sure she looks more like a cabbage than a honey-glazed ham. I sit back in my seat and persuade myself it’s going to be a great evening. LJ will snub Savannah and Marcus – sweet, sweet Marcus – will be there to mop up the tears. They’ll be dating within a week and living happily ever after by Easter.

  We get off near the nightclub. As we reach the door, Savannah starts acting like a shrunken violet, hunching inside her flapping black coat. She shows her ticket and slinks past the doorman.

  I follow, sliding my arm through hers. ‘You look great, Sav,’ I tell her. ‘LJ is going to go nuts for you.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she mutters bitterly.

  The club is packed. Familiar faces from school dot the crowd. On the stage at the far end of the room, Sam is fiddling with a microphone, adjusting the height. I wonder if he’s nervous. This must be his biggest gig yet.

  ‘Hi, Savannah.’ A familiar American twang plucks my ear.

  LJ steps from the cr
owd, his entourage filtering out after him.

  Savannah looks ready to die. Her gaze is darting everywhere. She looks like she’s trying to escape her body.

  ‘I love the look.’ LJ traces a finger through the air in front of her. ‘Emo. Nice. And you pull it off great.’ His entourage start nodding and murmuring.

  I make silent goldfish noises. I’m stunned.

  Savannah scrapes her chin off the floor and rolls her shoulders back. ‘It was just the mood I was in,’ she says casually.

  ‘My last photo shoot was all about Goth,’ LJ runs an admiring hand down Savannah’s ragged collar. ‘It’s totally cutting edge and cool like you wouldn’t believe. Black is the new black.’

  Despair swamps me. I’ve messed up again!

  I feel my mobile vibrate. I slide it out of my pocket. It’s Will.

  FOUND ANYTHING YET?

  My thumb hovers over the buttons. Should I reply, ignore, or tell him I’m on the case?

  If in doubt, do nothing.

  As I drop the phone back into my pocket, Sam appears.

  ‘I thought it was you.’ He’s grinning at me. Then he spots Savannah. ‘Whoa.’ He steps back. ‘What’s with the undead look?’

  I give him my Shh! face, but luckily Savannah hasn’t heard. She’s too busy watching LJ melt back into the crowd.

  ‘Join us,’ LJ calls over his shoulder to her. She dives after him like a mermaid on a mission.

  Sam scratches his head. ‘Are you going too?’

  Suddenly I’m torn. I want to follow Savannah to stop her throwing herself at LJ. But I need to ask Sam if he can show me backstage.

  My phone vibrates again. It’s Will.

  SO?

  I switch it off. ‘Sam.’ I stare at his shoes. ‘I was wondering . . .’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Would it be possible to maybe look around backstage?’

  ‘Backstage?’ He’s wearing a quizzical look.

  ‘It’s just that I love backstage.’ My mouth breaks into a gallop. ‘I always have. Since I was a kid. Ballet performances. Pantos. I can’t get enough of the whole greasepaint and sawdust vibe.’

  Sam frowns. ‘It’s not exactly the London Palladium,’ he warns me. ‘It’s more mic stands and speaker cables than greasepaint and sawdust.’

  ‘That’s even more exciting!’ I enthuse wildly. ‘I’ve always wanted to know how these places work. I mean, all the glamour and glitter on the outside. I bet it’s not so sparkly back there. Unless you’ve got a room full of glitter balls and a spare disco floor. Wow, wouldn’t that be good? Your own disco floor. I would love to see that. It would be totally cool. And I promised Treacle I’d—’

  ‘Come on then.’ He holds out a hand and leads me into the crowd.

  Sam guides me through a heavy door beside the stage. Cold air washes over me. After the dark and heat of the dance floor, the bright, chilly world of backstage leaves me blinking. A cluttered hallway splits and stretches away under strips of fluorescent light.

  ‘Hey, Alex!’ Sam waves at a T-shirted boy who’s ambling along one of the breezeblock corridors. Tugging my hand, Sam hurries to catch up. I jump over cables and dodge mic stands till we skid to a halt beside Alex.

  Alex is more hair than boy. When he nods a hello I catch a glimpse of a boney face through the tousled shrubbery.

  ‘Hi.’ I wave like a robot, not sure what to say.

  Another grungy boy slides out of a doorway.

  ‘Meet Gemma.’ Sam says, beckoning Grunge Number Two closer. ‘Gemma, this is Pete.’

  Pete grabs my hand. ‘Hi, Gemma.’ He shakes it fiercely. His fingers are sweaty. I’m glad when he lets go.

  ‘What do you play?’ I ask. I think, Will he notice if I wipe my hand dry on my jeans?

  ‘Bass.’

  ‘Great.’ I slide my hand into my back pocket and let the denim soak up Pete’s sweat.

  When another grunge-Bob flared-pants appears in the doorway, I slide my other hand into my other back pocket. This boy looks like he might leave more than sweat smears.

  ‘This is Joel Kenyon, but we call him Kenny.’ Sam slaps the grubby-looking boy on the back.

  Kenny flops forward, then back, like a knitted toy. Then he grunts and wanders back through the doorway.

  ‘He’s not exactly a people person,’ Sam explains.

  Pete watches Kenny go. ‘He’s a great drummer though,’ he adds.

  Sam looks at me eagerly. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Of Kenny?’

  ‘Of backstage.’

  I gaze around the antiseptic corridor, trying to look impressed.

  ‘Gemma loves behind-the-scenes stuff,’ Sam explains to Pete and Alex.

  I shift my feet. ‘Y-yeah. This is, like, where it all happens.’

  Pete grins. ‘We’re kind of more focused on the onstage side of things.’

  ‘I guess.’ I peer along the corridor, glimpsing some steps. ‘Where does that go?’

  ‘The stage.’ Pete says looking at his watch. ‘We’re on in ten minutes.’ He heads for the doorway. ‘I’d better go and tune up.’

  ‘Is that the dressing room?’ I point to the door Kenny and Pete disappeared through.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sam steers me toward it. ‘Do you want to see it?’

  I’m more interested in Dave Wiggins’s office but I can’t tell Sam that. ‘Actually, I was wondering if there was a loo round here.’

  ‘Sure.’ Sam points down the corridor, towards a fire door. ‘Go through there and turn right.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I hurry away. Nerves flutter in my stomach. What if I get caught snooping? Where’s Scooby Doo when you need him?

  I push through the fire door, unnerved by the silence as it swings shut behind me. It’s like diving underwater. I feel suddenly deaf. Then I hear a voice. It’s gruff and sounds angry.

  Tiptoeing along the corridor, I reach a corner and peer round. There’s a door marked ‘Toilet’ to my right. I creep past it and head for the voice. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. I pass an emergency exit; the door’s half open, a cold breeze funnelling in from outside. A fluorescent strip hums above my head. Boxes are stacked against the walls here, leaving a narrow space down the middle of the corridor. I head along the passageway, my hand on the phone in my pocket. My palms are sweating Pete-like as the voice gets louder. I stop and peek round a mountain of boxes. Beyond it, a door is half open. Behind the door, the gruff voice is barking.

  ‘I don’t want excuses!’

  Is it Dave Wiggins? I lean close and peer through the gap between the hinges. A shadowy shape moves behind a desk. This must be his office!

  ‘The delivery was meant to be here last night!’

  Dave’s snarl is answered by the tinny crackle of a phone voice.

  ‘We made a deal!’ Dave snarls. ‘I want those drugs!’

  Drugs! Adrenaline’s pumping through me like I’ve been stabbed with an epi-pen.

  Dave’s roaring down the phone. ‘I’ve got customers lining up and they’re not the sort of people who like to be kept waiting.’

  I pull my phone from my pocket. I’ve got to record this. I quickly fumble for the memo function and hit record.

  Bang!

  A door slams behind me.

  I turn round, heart exploding. The emergency exit is shut. The wind must have slammed it. The echoing sound seems to shake the walls.

  I feel suddenly exposed. The fire door is miles behind me. I hear footsteps crossing Dave Wiggins’s office. Panicking, I step backward. Boxes tumble behind me as I stumble into them. I drop my phone and it skids, clattering, across the floor. The office door swings open. Dave Wiggins is towering over me. Six foot tall, flashing with gold rings and medallions, he looks like a gorilla. Dark hair sprouts from his orange-tanned chest and his face is thick-jawed and half shaven and topped by a wig that looks like it’s been lifted by CarpetWorld.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he yells at me.

  It’s worse than be
ing shredded by a teacher.

  Terror swamps me.

  Teachers aren’t allowed to murder you and stow your body in the back of their Mercedes. Even if they want to.

  I dive after my phone, snatch it off the floor and back away. This time I avoid the boxes. ‘S-sorry,’ I gibber. ‘I was looking for the loo. I was with the band and they said it was d-down here.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Wiggins stamps after me, eyes narrow. ‘You passed the bog about ten metres back.’

  I’m reversing like crazy.

  ‘It’s got “Toilet” written on the door. Not ’ard to spot.’ He’s still coming at me, balling his fists. ‘Or are you too dumb to read?’

  ‘Oh.’ I glance behind me. ‘I didn’t see it.’

  ‘But you managed to find my office.’ His voice is rich with menace.

  ‘W-was that your office?’ I stammer. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  I hear a sucking noise as the fire door opens behind me.

  ‘Gemma?’

  Relief floods me as I hear Sam’s voice.

  ‘Did you find the loo?’

  Wiggins halts. He stares at me as I back towards Sam.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Sam looks worried. ‘Did you get lost?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I push through the fire door, relieved to hear the faint hubbub of the nightclub in the distance. Wiggins is watching me with a frown. I shiver.

  ‘Cold?’ Sam asks.

  ‘It’s a bit chilly back here.’ I feel sick. ‘I’d better go out front and see if I can find Savannah.’

  ‘There you are!’ Savannah fights her way out of the crowd and stops beside me.

  I need to text Will.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Savannah’s leaning toward me, holding a plastic cup full of juice.

  ‘Sam was showing me backstage.’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘I was interested, that’s all.’

  ‘I didn’t realize.’

  ‘Realize what?’ We seem to be having different conversations.

  ‘You and Sam.’

  I’m bristling with irritation, desperate to tell Will what I’ve found out. ‘There’s nothing between me and Sam,’ I snap. ‘He likes Cindy. I just wanted to see what it was like backstage.’