Authors: Sophie McKenzie
About twenty minutes later, Emmi, Grace and I won the bowling and the six of us set off for our pizza. As we followed Mum, Dad and Stone across the car park towards the pizza restaurant, Emmi linked arms with me and Grace.
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‘So, d’you want your birthday present, River?’
she said.
I stared at her. I still couldn’t believe she really wanted to be friends. I mean, Emmi was . . . so pretty . . . so confident . . .
‘What?’ Emmi raised her eyebrows.
‘Nothing,’ I stammered. ‘You didn’t have to get me a present.’
‘It’s sooo cool,’ Emmi giggled. ‘Wait till you see.’
‘See what?’
Emmi slipped her slim hand into her tasselled brown bag and pulled out a piece of card. She shoved it into my hand. ‘Look.’
I peered at the card. It was an invitation to the post-screening launch party of a film called
Boy
Band.
Images of stars and cameras were dotted around the edges of the invite.
I looked up at Emmi. ‘I don’t get it,’ I said.
Emmi rolled her eyes. ‘I thought you were a Frankie Clarke fan?’ she said. ‘
Boy Band
is his latest film, the one I told you my sister was working on.’
I gasped. Grace squealed. ‘No
way!
’
Emmi laughed, clearly delighted with the impact she was having.
‘This is an invite to the launch party
.
Louise –
that’s my sister – said I could bring a couple of 32
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friends. Louise says she’ll get us in so long as we don’t show her up.’
My heartbeat quickened. ‘Will Frankie Clarke definitely
be
there?’
‘Course,’ Emmi said. ‘He’s one of the stars.’
Grace squealed again.
I took a deep breath, a warm glow stealing over me. Not only did I have a chance to meet Frankie Clarke, but Emmi actually
wanted
me to go to this party with her. She
wanted
to be friends.
And then a thought struck me. ‘What time is the party?’ I said, looking down at the invite. ‘And where?’
‘It’s next Saturday at a club in central London. It starts at eight p.m.’ Emmi said.
Grace and I stopped walking. We exchanged a look. Mum and Dad had never let me go into central London on a Saturday night before. I was guessing it was the same for Grace.
‘And your parents are okay with you going, Emmi?’ Grace asked.
Emmi shrugged. ‘Yeah, they’re fine about it.
Anyway, my sister will be there.’ She made a face.
‘You guys . . . do you think your parents will let you come?’
I thought it through. Mum and Dad were so over-protective. They had only recently got used to me 33
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going out alone locally. They wouldn’t be happy about me going into central London. Or getting home late, either.
I could hear Mum now . . .
but we don’t know
Emmi’s sister, River, and you still need a sensible bedtime,
even at weekends . . .
‘Mum and Dad will
have
to let me go,’ I said.
‘Cool.’ Emmi grinned.
Up ahead, Mum and Dad had reached the pizza restaurant. Dad turned round and waved us in. He still saw me as his little girl. But I wasn’t. I was at secondary school. I was surviving there, all on my own. And – in seven days from now – I had a chance to meet the boy of my dreams.
No way was I missing out on
that
.
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I worked on Mum and Dad all through the meal.
Emmi helped persuade them to let me go to the launch party, firstly by continuing to act all charming and secondly by stressing how reliable her sister Louise was.
‘It’s still going to be a late night,’ Mum said. ‘How will you all get back home?’
‘Mu-um.’ I could feel my face reddening. Honestly, couldn’t she see how ridiculously over-protective she was being? ‘I’ll be
fine
getting home. Please, I can’t believe you’re even thinking of not letting me go to the party.
Frankie Clarke’s
going to be there
,
for goodness sake.’
‘I don’t care who’s going to be there.’ Mum’s lips tightened. ‘We still need to make arrangements.’
I turned away with a groan.
‘Grace and River can stay over at mine,’ Emmi 35
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said, her eyes sparkling. ‘I’ll get my dad to pick us up from the party.’
‘A sleepover!’ Grace clasped her hands together.
The whole plan was just getting better and better.
‘Please. Mum?’ I said.
She and Dad looked at each other. Dad nodded.
Mum smiled. And I knew they were going to let me go.
Yes.
The week passed unbearably slowly. My main concern was how I looked: What was I going to wear to the launch party? How I was going to sort my hair out by the weekend? Would Frankie Clarke even notice me?
At school, the second week was much like the first. The weather was hot for September and the days were exhausting, though I had, finally, learned my way about the building. It still seemed noisy and chaotic but I was getting used to the older girls now, and my heart had stopped pounding every time I walked between lessons, unsure exactly of where I was going. I knew my teachers’ names and, so far, had done okay in all my lessons. Since almost falling off my chair on the first day, I hadn’t even made an idiot of myself in front of anyone – at least I didn’t think so.
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And yet I still hadn’t really talked to any of the people in my class, apart from Emmi and Grace. It was all down to Shaz. She looked down her nose at me whenever I passed her and every time I was about to pluck up the courage to talk to one of my classmates, I’d always seem to see her hovering in the background and sneering.
At least I had Grace and Emmi. Shaz couldn’t touch either of them. That is, she didn’t seem to really notice Grace, who I often saw in quiet conversation with some of the other, gentler-looking members of our year – and as for Emmi . . . well, now I’d spent more time with her, I couldn’t imagine anyone putting Emmi down. She was so super-confident all the time.
If Shaz had said anything bitchy about her, Emmi would just have said something even more cutting right back.
And
she wouldn’t have cared.
I cared far too much – and Shaz knew it.
At last Saturday arrived. I turned up at Emmi’s house at five p.m. with two bags of clothes options to try on. Grace was already there, looking pretty and demure in shorts with tights and a sweet, scallop-edged T-shirt over a long-sleeved, high-necked top. Emmi pursed her lips at the high neck of the top, insisting Grace take it off and put on some mascara and lip gloss. But she saved her main attentions for me.
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‘You can’t wear any of this,’ she said despairingly, looking up from the second of my plastic bags. ‘All these tops are totally shapeless.’
I could feel my face burning and looked away.
Emmi’s room was twice the size of mine, but then so was her house. She had a huge closet crammed with clothes and a big four-poster bed complete with swags and scatter cushions in a range of dark, sophisticated colours. My bedroom at home – with its daisy-chain pattern on the curtains and bright blue duvet – seemed childish by comparison.
‘You’ll have to borrow something of mine,’ Emmi said. She was across the room in an instant, rifling through the mass of clothes that hung in her wardrobe. ‘Here.’ She held out a tiny green vest top with skinny straps and a star pattern on the front.
‘You’d look good in this.’
I stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘It’s too small,’ I said.
Emmi frowned. ‘No it’s not.’
We stared at each other. For a second I wondered if Emmi was winding me up . . . was it possible that she wanted me to wear something I’d look awful in?
‘You think you’re bigger than you are, River,’
Grace said softly. ‘You have a really nice figure.’
I stared at her. Did Grace mean that?
‘Look!’ Emmi pulled me towards her then spun 38
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me round so we were both standing in front of her full-length mirror.
I peered at my reflection. I was wearing jeans and – it was true – a rather shapeless sweatshirt.
‘Take that off,’ Emmi ordered.
I hesitated, then reluctantly peeled the top over my head. I stood, feeling self-conscious in my blue bra.
‘See?’ Emmi put her hands on her hips. ‘You’ve got proper boobs. Grace and I are still pimples on an ironing board.’
Grace giggled. ‘It’s true, River. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about how you look.’
I ran my hands down my sides and over my
tummy. To my eyes, I looked pudgy. Was that really not what Emmi and Grace saw?
‘See?’ Emmi said again. ‘You’ve got curves.’
I gulped. ‘Okay, I’ll try your top.’
Emmi handed me the little green vest and I slipped it over my head. I tugged it down over my jeans and gazed at myself in the mirror. It was certainly a more fitted top than I was used to wearing – and I’d never usually even consider something green – but it was more slimming than I’d expected. My tummy didn’t bulge as much as I thought it would, and the colour looked great against my skin.
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‘I’ll need something over the top of this for on the way,’ I said, thinking that I’d still feel a bit less self-conscious in a jumper.
‘Jeez, you sound like my mum.’ Emmi rolled her eyes, but she handed me a cardigan in a slightly darker green. ‘This goes well with it.’
I slipped it on. The shape and the colour looked great.
‘You look lovely,’ Grace said admiringly.
‘Really pretty,’ Emmi enthused. ‘Frankie Clarke’s bound to notice you in that.’
‘Thanks, Emmi.’ I smiled. With the cardigan I felt much less self-conscious. And maybe, just maybe, Emmi and Grace were right . . . maybe I did look okay . . . and maybe Frankie Clarke would think so too.
Emmi’s sister Louise, a taller, more glamorous version of Emmi herself, was really kind. She chatted to me and Grace all the way into town, telling us both how nice we looked. I was starting to feel almost comfortable in the green top – though I still hadn’t plucked up enough courage to take the cardigan off yet.
We got off the tube at Leicester Square and, a couple of minutes later, we reached the party venue.
It was on the ground floor of a tall concrete building.
Nothing to look at on the outside, but the inside 40
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room was filled with banks of screens and people in smart clothes, and waiters with trays of colourful cocktails. Music drifted out towards us, along with the sound of clinking glasses and excited chatter. I could barely breathe with anticipation.
‘Now remember,’ Louise said, stopping just outside the door. ‘Behave yourselves. Soft drinks only,
obviousl
y
.
And be ready to leave as soon as I say.’
‘Jeez, Louise,’ Emmi drawled. ‘Lighten up, will you?’
‘I’m serious,’ Louise went on, throwing an exasperated look at her younger sister. ‘I promised Dad I’d have you all outside waiting for him and he’ll totally be on my case if there’s any delay.’ She paused. ‘Most importantly, don’t do
anything
to show me up. Okay girls?’
We nodded. But the truth was I was barely listening. Now we were here it hit me that I was about to enter a room that actually contained Frankie Clarke. It was beyond exciting. It was a total dream come true.
We walked inside. The room was only half full but the atmosphere was electric. I looked round but I couldn’t see anyone famous. Still, I supposed, most people who worked on a film set wouldn’t be well known. Emmi gripped my arm.
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‘Look!’ she hissed.
Beside her, Grace gave a squeal.
I followed their gaze to the corner of the room. It was
him . . .
Frankie Clarke. He was sideways to us, talking to someone out of view. I could see only half of Frankie’s face, but it was enough to recognise him. I stared at his snub nose and the curve of his cheek. My chest tightened with excitement.
‘Oh, wow,’ Grace breathed. ‘His hair’s longer than I thought.’
It was true. Frankie’s streaky blond hair was cut differently than in any of the pictures I’d seen before, in artfully messy waves that curled onto his shoulders.
‘He’s sooo cute,’ Emmi said.
I looked around. Most people in the room were adults – but there was also a sprinkling of girls our age and a bit older. How on earth was I going to get Frankie Clarke to look my way?
And then he turned round and my heart sank down to my shoes as I saw the red-haired girl he was speaking to.
Shaz.
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The party music pounded in my ears. I stared at Shaz, unable to believe what I was seeing.
‘What’s she doing here?’ I turned on Emmi. ‘You invited her, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ Emmi said indignantly. ‘Of course not.’
I glanced at her. Both Emmi and Grace looked as astonished as I felt. Surely they didn’t know Shaz would be here? They would have said something.
But then if Shaz wasn’t here through Emmi, why was she here at all? It was surely too big a coincidence. The whole of the past week – and my growing friendship with Emmi – seemed to crumble in front of me. I turned on her, tears pricking at my eyes.
‘You
know
Shaz hates me,’ I said. ‘You
must
have asked her. Why else would she be here?’ A huge sob welled up inside me. ‘How
could
you, Emmi?’