Signs of Love: Stupid Cupid (12 page)

I hear Treacle on the stairs. She’s clattering.

‘Your Mum asked me to bring these up.’ She pushes my door open with a foot. She’s carrying two plates with cheesecake. She passes me one and flumps on to my bed. She’s already forked in a mouthful by the time she starts speaking. It’s not pretty to watch but when you’re a best friend you have to take the rough with the smooth.

‘It wuz brulliunt,’ she tells me, through the chewed-up cake.

I wait for her to swallow. ‘The dinner with Jeff’s Olds?’

She nods and forks another lump of cheesecake from the slice. Before she can load it into her mouth, I slap my plate on to the desk and zip across the room.

I land next to her and hold down her fork. ‘Give me the cake-free version.’

‘OK.’ She pushes her plate into my hands and leaps to her feet. ‘I arrive, right? And it’s all “Hello, Mrs Simpson. Hello, Mr Simpson. Can I take your coat?”
That’s my coat, not theirs – they weren’t wearing coats. And Jeff’s hopping from one foot to another behind them, with this terrified look like they’re performing
open-heart surgery on the cat.’

‘He’s got a cat?’

‘No.’ She waves away the question. ‘Anyway, we get the hellos done, then they ask if I want to sit down and I say, “what, here?” And I’m looking round the
hall wondering if we’re going to sit on the stairs and chat, which of course is really stupid but I’m so nervous my brain’s not fully functioning, but Mrs S is lovely and suggests
we use the sitting room and I’m expecting the third degree, but they just disappear into the kitchen and leave me and Jeff on our own. So then I get paranoid and wonder if they’ve gone
to talk about me but Jeff says they’re cooking this big tea and I get more nervous in case I can’t eat or they’re roasting a giraffe or something equally gross and he says not to
worry it’s just chicken.’

I lean on a pillow and make myself comfortable, it seems like this is going to be a long story.

Treacle gets up and starts pacing. ‘I’m just starting to unwind when Mr S – Trevor – comes in and he’s wearing an apron and he asks if I want juice and I say
yes.’

I take a mouthful of Treacle’s cheesecake. I’m clearly going to need sustenance. She’s in full flow.

‘So we drink juice and I’m feeling really relaxed now because the house is, like, totally normal with piles of newspapers and books like they’ve sort of tidied up but not gone
mad. And then Mrs S comes out and perches on the arm of the sofa and starts talking about how pleased she is to meet me and how she hopes I like garlic because Trevor – Mr S – goes a
bit nuts with it. And I say, “At least he’s not a vampire,” and Mrs S laughs.’ Treacle stops and stares at me. ‘She actually
laughed
, Gem, and then she said,
“I’ve always preferred werewolves”. And I agreed with her because werewolves are much cooler than vampires. I mean vampires are so puny. They’re allergic to practically
everything – sun, Bibles, crosses, garlic. It’s amazing any of them ever make a kill. I mean if a normal human was allergic to that much stuff they’d have to live in a bubble with
the lights out.’

I swallow another mouthful of cheesecake. ‘Did you share all this with Mrs S?’

‘Jane,’ Treacle corrects me. ‘I’m meant to call her Jane.’

‘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 scoop.

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.