Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid (10 page)

‘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 being 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.’

Savannah backs off. ‘Whatever.’ She’s taken off the huge black coat and is somehow making the emo vibe work. The tight black dress looks kind of cool and the dark lipstick is
wickedly vampish under the disco lights. ‘Do you want a Coke or something? LJ’s made friends with the guy behind the bar. He can get anything you want.’

‘A Coke would be great.’ I want to distract her so I can text Will. ‘Can you get me one?’

Music explodes from the stage. Sam’s hanging off the mic while his band rev up behind him.

‘It’s started!’ Savannah twitches like an excited cat. ‘I’d better get back to the others. Come with me.’

I guess ‘the others’ are LJ and his gang.

‘In a minute,’ I promise. ‘I told Mum I’d phone – let her know we got here all right.’

‘OK.’ Savannah fights her way into the crush that’s massing around the stage. Her drink is slopping down her arm as she holds it above her head. ‘Don’t be
long.’ I can hardly hear her over the pounding of Sam’s band. As soon as she’s gone, I slide over to the wall and text Will.

Found something
.

I wait for a reply, heart racing as I stare at my phone.

Nothing.

I head for the foyer. Perhaps the signal’s too weak here.

The foyer’s cool and quiet. I check my signal. It’s strong.

Come on
,
Will!

I can’t wait. I scroll through my contacts and dial his number.

Engaged.

What’s he doing on the phone? Perhaps there’s a chat-line where you get to insult Year Nines for ten pence a minute. I reckon Will would be willing to pay; he seems to enjoy it so
much. I pace up and down till the bouncer on the door starts eyeing me suspiciously.

Savannah bursts out through a door, surfing a guitar riff. ‘Sam’s band are great!’ she shouts.

The bouncer glares at her. She’s talking in her loud-music voice. In the quiet of the foyer she sounds demented.

‘Sorry.’ She tones it down. ‘Wasn’t it sweet of Sam to dedicate a song to you?’

‘He did?’ I blink at her.

‘Yes.’ She glances round the glossy walls of the foyer. ‘What are you doing out here anyway?’

‘Phone.’ I point to my mobile, trying not to give anything away. As I do, it rings, lighting up with Will’s name.

Savannah eyes me suspiciously. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Webzine business,’ I tell her vaguely.

‘Now?’